Part Four: Chapter 19

by Leo Tolstoy

　　The mistake made by Alexey Alexandrovitch in that, when preparingfor seeing his wife, he had overlooked the possibility that herrepentance might be sincere, and he might forgive her, and shemight not die--this mistake was two months after his return fromMoscow brought home to him in all its significance. But themistake made by him had arisen not simply from his havingoverlooked that contingency, but also from the fact that untilthat day of his interview with his dying wife, he had not knownhis own heart. At his sick wife's bedside he had for the firsttime in his life given way to that feeling of sympatheticsuffering always roused in him by the sufferings of others, andhitherto looked on by him with shame as a harmful weakness. Andpity for her, and remorse for having desired her death, and mostof all, the joy of forgiveness, made him at once conscious, notsimply of the relief of his own sufferings, but of a spiritualpeace he had never experienced before. He suddenly felt that thevery thing that was the source of his sufferings had become thesource of his spiritual joy; that what had seemed insoluble whilehe was judging, blaming, and hating, had become clear and simplewhen he forgave and loved.

　　He forgave his wife and pitied her for her sufferings and herremorse. He forgave Vronsky, and pitied him, especially afterreports reached him of his despairing action. He felt more forhis son than before. And he blamed himself now for having takentoo little interest in him. But for the little newborn baby hefelt a quite peculiar sentiment, not of pity, only, but oftenderness. At first, from a feeling of compassion alone, he hadbeen interested in the delicate little creature, who was not hischild, and who was cast on one side during her mother's illness,and would certainly have died if he had not troubled about her,and he did not himself observe how fond he became of her. Hewould go into the nursery several times a day, and sit there fora long while, so that the nurses, who were at first afraid ofhim, got quite used to his presence. Sometimes for half an hourat a stretch he would sit silently gazing at the saffron-red,downy, wrinkled face of the sleeping baby, watching the movementsof the frowning brows, and the fat little hands, with clenchedfingers, that rubbed the little eyes and nose. At such momentsparticularly, Alexey Alexandrovitch had a sense of perfect peaceand inward harmony, and saw nothing extraordinary in hisposition, nothing that ought to be changed.

　　But as time went on, he saw more and more distinctly that howevernatural the position now seemed to him, he would not long beallowed to remain in it. He felt that besides the blessedspiritual force controlling his soul, there was another, a brutalforce, as powerful, or more powerful, which controlled his life,and that this force would not allow him that humble peace helonged for. He felt that everyone was looking at him withinquiring wonder, that he was not understood, and that somethingwas expected of him. Above all, he felt the instability andunnaturalness of his relations with his wife.

　　When the softening effect of the near approach of death hadpassed away, Alexey Alexandrovitch began to notice that Anna wasafraid of him, ill at ease with him, and could not look himstraight in the face. She seemed to be wanting, and not daring,to tell him something; and as though foreseeing their presentrelations could not continue, she seemed to be expectingsomething from him.

　　Towards the end of February it happened that Anna's babydaughter, who had been named Anna too, fell ill. AlexeyAlexandrovitch was in the nursery in the morning, and leavingorders for the doctor to be sent for, he went to his office. Onfinishing his work, he returned home at four. Going into thehall he saw a handsome groom, in a braided livery and a bear furcape, holding a white fur cloak.

　　"Who is here?" asked Alexey Alexandrovitch.

　　"Princess Elizaveta Federovna Tverskaya," the groom answered, andit seemed to Alexey Alexandrovitch that he grinned.

　　During all this difficult time Alexey Alexandrovitch had noticedthat his worldly acquaintances, especially women, took a peculiarinterest in him and his wife. All these acquaintances heobserved with difficulty concealing their mirth at something; thesame mirth that he had perceived in the lawyer's eyes, and justnow in the eyes of this groom. Everyone seemed, somehow, hugelydelighted, as though they had just been at a wedding. When theymet him, with ill-disguised enjoyment they inquired after hiswife's health. The presence of Princess Tverskaya was unpleasantto Alexey Alexandrovitch from the memories associated with her,and also because he disliked her, and he went straight to thenursery. In the day nursery Seryozha, leaning on the table withhis legs on a chair, was drawing and chatting away merrily. TheEnglish governess, who had during Anna's illness replaced theFrench one, was sitting near the boy knitting a shawl. Shehurriedly got up, curtseyed, and pulled Seryozha.

　　Alexey Alexandrovitch stroked his son's hair, answered thegoverness's inquiries about his wife, and asked what the doctorhad said of the baby.

　　"The doctor said it was nothing serious, and he ordered a bath,sir."

　　"But she is still in pain," said Alexey Alexandrovitch, listeningto the baby's screaming in the next room.

　　"I think it's the wet-nurse, sir," the Englishwoman said firmly.

　　"What makes you think so?" he asked, stopping short.

　　"It's just as it was at Countess Paul's, sir. They gave the babymedicine, and it turned out that the baby was simply hungry: thenurse had no milk, sir."

　　Alexey Alexandrovitch pondered, and after standing still a fewseconds he went in at the other door. The baby was lying withits head thrown back, stiffening itself in the nurse's arms, andwould not take the plump breast offered it; and it never ceasedscreaming in spite of the double hushing of the wet-nurse and theother nurse, who was bending over her.

　　"Still no better?" said Alexey Alexandrovitch.

　　"She's very restless," answered the nurse in a whisper.

　　"Miss Edwarde says that perhaps the wet-nurse has no milk," hesaid.

　　"I think so too, Alexey Alexandrovitch."

　　"Then why didn't you say so?"

　　"Who's one to say it to? Anna Arkadyevna still ill..." said thenurse discontentedly.

　　The nurse was an old servant of the family. And in her simplewords there seemed to Alexey Alexandrovitch an allusion to hisposition.

　　The baby screamed louder than ever, struggling and sobbing. Thenurse, with a gesture of despair, went to it, took it from thewet-nurse's arms, and began walking up and down, rocking it.

　　"You must ask the doctor to examine the wet-nurse," said AlexeyAlexandrovitch. The smartly dressed and healthy-looking nurse,frightened at the idea of losing her place, muttered something toherself, and covering her bosom, smiled contemptuously at theidea of doubts being cast on her abundance of milk. In thatsmile, too, Alexey Alexandrovitch saw a sneer at his position.

　　"Luckless child!" said the nurse, hushing the baby, and stillwalking up and down with it.

　　Alexey Alexandrovitch sat down, and with a despondent andsuffering face watched the nurse walking to and fro.

　　When the child at last was still, and had been put in a deep bed,and the nurse, after smoothing the little pillow, had left her,Alexey Alexandrovitch got up, and walking awkwardly on tiptoe,approached the baby. For a minute he was still, and with thesame despondent face gazed at the baby; but all at once a smile,that moved his hair and the skin of his forehead, came out on hisface, and he went as softly out of the room.

　　In the dining room he rang the bell, and told the servant whocame in to send again for the doctor. He felt vexed with hiswife for not being anxious about this exquisite baby, and in thisvexed humor he had no wish to go to her; he had no wish, either,to see Princess Betsy. But his wife might wonder why he did notgo to her as usual; and so, overcoming his disinclination, hewent towards the bedroom. As he walked over the soft rug towardsthe door, he could not help overhearing a conversation he did notwant to hear.

　　"If he hadn't been going away, I could have understood youranswer and his too. But your husband ought to be above that,"Betsy was saying.

　　"It's not for my husband; for myself I don't wish it. Don't saythat!" answered Anna's excited voice.

　　"Yes, but you must care to say good-bye to a man who has shothimself on your account...."

　　"That's just why I don't want to."

　　With a dismayed and guilty expression, Alexey Alexandrovitchstopped and would have gone back unobserved. But reflecting thatthis would be undignified, he turned back again, and clearing histhroat, he went up to the bedroom. The voices were silent, andhe went in.

　　Anna, in a gray dressing gown, with a crop of short clusteringblack curls on her round head, was sitting on a settee. Theeagerness died out of her face, as it always did, at the sight ofher husband; she dropped her head and looked round uneasily atBetsy. Betsy, dressed in the height of the latest fashion, in ahat that towered somewhere over her head like a shade on a lamp,in a blue dress with violet crossway stripes slanting one way onthe bodice and the other way on the skirt, was sitting besideAnna, her tall flat figure held erect. Bowing her head, shegreeted Alexey Alexandrovitch with an ironical smile.

　　"Ah!" she said, as though surprised. "I'm very glad you're athome. You never put in an appearance anywhere, and I haven'tseen you ever since Anna has been ill. I have heard all aboutit--your anxiety. Yes, you're a wonderful husband!" she said,with a meaning and affable air, as though she were bestowing anorder of magnanimity on him for his conduct to his wife.

　　Alexey Alexandrovitch bowed frigidly, and kissing his wife'shand, asked how she was.

　　"Better, I think," she said, avoiding his eyes.

　　"But you've rather a feverish-looking color," he said, layingstress on the word "feverish."

　　"We've been talking too much," said Betsy. "I feel it'sselfishness on my part, and I am going away."

　　She got up, but Anna, suddenly flushing, quickly caught at herhand.

　　"No, wait a minute, please. I must tell you...no, you." sheturned to Alexey Alexandrovitch, and her neck and brow weresuffused with crimson. "I won't and can't keep anything secretfrom you," she said.

　　Alexey Alexandrovitch cracked his fingers and bowed his head.

　　"Betsy's been telling me that Count Vronsky wants to come here tosay good-bye before his departure for Tashkend." She did notlook at her husband, and was evidently in haste to haveeverything out, however hard it might be for her. "I told her Icould not receive him."

　　"You said, my dear, that it would depend on AlexeyAlexandrovitch," Betsy corrected her.

　　"Oh, no, I can't receive him; and what object would there...."She stopped suddenly, and glanced inquiringly at her husband (hedid not look at her). "In short, I don't wish it...."

　　Alexey Alexandrovitch advanced and would have taken her hand.

　　Her first impulse was to jerk back her hand from the damp handwith big swollen veins that sought hers, but with an obviouseffort to control herself she pressed his hand.

　　"I am very grateful to you for your confidence, but..." he said,feeling with confusion and annoyance that what he could decideeasily and clearly by himself, he could not discuss beforePrincess Tverskaya, who to him stood for the incarnation of thatbrute force which would inevitably control him in the life he ledin the eyes of the world, and hinder him from giving way to hisfeeling of love and forgiveness. He stopped short, looking atPrincess Tverskaya.

　　"Well, good-bye, my darling," said Betsy, getting up. She kissedAnna, and went out. Alexey Alexandrovitch escorted her out.

　　"Alexey Alexandrovitch! I know you are a truly magnanimous man,"said Betsy, stopping in the little drawing-room, and with specialwarmth shaking hands with him once more. "I am an outsider, butI so love her and respect you that I venture to advise. Receivehim. Alexey Vronsky is the soul of honor, and he is going awayto Tashkend."

　　"Thank you, princess, for your sympathy and advice. But thequestion of whether my wife can or cannot see anyone she mustdecide herself."

　　He said this from habit, lifting his brows with dignity, andreflected immediately that whatever his words might be, therecould be no dignity in his position. And he saw this by thesuppressed, malicious, and ironical smile with which Betsyglanced at him after this phrase.