Part One: Chapter 3

by Leo Tolstoy

　　When he was dressed, Stepan Arkadyevitch sprinkled some scent onhimself, pulled down his shirt-cuffs, distributed into hispockets his cigarettes, pocketbook, matches, and watch with itsdouble chain and seals, and shaking out his handkerchief, feelinghimself clean, fragrant, healthy, and physically at ease, inspite of his unhappiness, he walked with a slight swing on eachleg into the dining-room, where coffee was already waiting forhim, and beside the coffee, letters and papers from the office.

　　He read the letters. One was very unpleasant, from a merchantwho was buying a forest on his wife's property. To sell thisforest was absolutely essential; but at present, until he wasreconciled with his wife, the subject could not be discussed.The most unpleasant thing of all was that his pecuniary interestsshould in this way enter into the question of his reconciliationwith his wife. And the idea that he might be let on by hisinterests, that he might seek a reconciliation with his wife onaccount of the sale of the forest--that idea hurt him.

　　When he had finished his letters, Stepan Arkadyevitch moved theoffice-papers close to him, rapidly looked through two pieces ofbusiness, made a few notes with a big pencil, and pushing awaythe papers, turned to his coffee. As he sipped his coffee, heopened a still damp morning paper, and began reading it.

　　Stepan Arkadyevitch took in and read a liberal paper, not anextreme one, but one advocating the views held by the majority.And in spite of the fact that science, art, and politics had nospecial interest for him, he firmly held those views on all thesesubjects which were held by the majority and by his paper, and heonly changed them when the majority changed them--or, morestrictly speaking, he did not change them, but they imperceptiblychanged of themselves within him.

　　Stepan Arkadyevitch had not chosen his political opinions or hisviews; these political opinions and views had come to him ofthemselves, just as he did not choose the shapes of his hat andcoat, but simply took those that were being worn. And for him,living in a certain society--owing to the need, ordinarilydeveloped at years of discretion, for some degree of mentalactivity--to have views was just as indispensable as to have ahat. If there was a reason for his preferring liberal toconservative views, which were held also by many of his circle,it arose not from his considering liberalism more rational, butfrom its being in closer accordance with his manner of life. Theliberal party said that in Russia everything is wrong, andcertainly Stepan Arkadyevitch had many debts and was decidedlyshort of money. The liberal party said that marriage is aninstitution quite out of date, and that it needs reconstruction;and family life certainly afforded Stepan Arkadyevitch littlegratification, and forced him into lying and hypocrisy, which wasso repulsive to his nature. The liberal party said, or ratherallowed it to be understood, that religion is only a curb to keepin check the barbarous classes of the people; and StepanArkadyevitch could not get through even a short service withouthis legs aching from standing up, and could never make out whatwas the object of all the terrible and high-flown language aboutanother world when life might be so very amusing in this world.And with all this, Stepan Arkadyevitch, who liked a joke, wasfond of puzzling a plain man by saying that if he prided himselfon his origin, he ought not to stop at Rurik and disown the firstfounder of his family--the monkey. And so Liberalism had becomea habit of Stepan Arkadyevitch's, and he liked his newspaper, ashe did his cigar after dinner, for the slight fog it diffused inhis brain. He read the leading article, in which it wasmaintained that it was quite senseless in our day to raise anoutcry that radicalism was threatening to swallow up allconservative elements, and that the government ought to takemeasures to crush the revolutionary hydra; that, on the contrary,"in our opinion the danger lies not in that fantasticrevolutionary hydra, but in the obstinacy of traditionalismclogging progress," etc., etc. He read another article, too, afinancial one, which alluded to Bentham and Mill, and droppedsome innuendoes reflecting on the ministry. With hischaracteristic quickwittedness he caught the drift of eachinnuendo, divined whence it came, at whom and on what ground itwas aimed, and that afforded him, as it always did, a certainsatisfaction. But today that satisfaction was embittered byMatrona Philimonovna's advice and the unsatisfactory state of thehousehold. He read, too, that Count Beist was rumored to haveleft for Wiesbaden, and that one need have no more gray hair, andof the sale of a light carriage, and of a young person seeking asituation; but these items of information did not give him, asusual, a quiet, ironical gratification. Having finished thepaper, a second cup of coffee and a roll and butter, he got up,shaking the crumbs of the roll off his waistcoat; and, squaringhis broad chest, he smiled joyously: not because there wasanything particularly agreeable in his mind--the joyous smilewas evoked by a good digestion.

　　But this joyous smile at once recalled everything tohim, and he grew thoughtful.

　　Two childish voices (Stepan Arkadyevitch recognized the voices ofGrisha, his youngest boy, and Tanya, his eldest girl) were heardoutside the door. They were carrying something, and dropped it.

　　"I told you not to sit passengers on the roof," said the littlegirl in English; "there, pick them up!"

　　"Everything's in confusion," thought Stepan Arkadyevitch; "thereare the children running about by themselves." And going to thedoor, he called them. They threw down the box, that representeda train, and came in to their father.

　　The little girl, her father's favorite, ran up boldly, embracedhim, and hung laughingly on his neck, enjoying as she always didthe smell of scent that came from his whiskers. At last thelittle girl kissed his face, which was flushed from his stoopingposture and beaming with tenderness, loosed her hands, and wasabout to run away again; but her father held her back.

　　"How is mamma?" he asked, passing his hand over his daughter'ssmooth, soft little neck. "Good morning," he said, smiling tothe boy, who had come up to greet him. He was conscious that heloved the boy less, and always tried to be fair; but the boy feltit, and did not respond with a smile to his father's chillysmile.

　　"Mamma? She is up," answered the girl.

　　Stepan Arkadyevitch sighed. "That means that she's not sleptagain all night," he thought.

　　"Well, is she cheerful?"

　　The little girl knew that there was a quarrel between her fatherand mother, and that her mother could not be cheerful, and thather father must be aware of this, and that he was pretending whenhe asked about it so lightly. And she blushed for her father.He at once perceived it, and blushed too.

　　"I don't know," she said. "She did not say we must do ourlessons, but she said we were to go for a walk with Miss Hoole tograndmamma's."

　　"Well, go, Tanya, my darling. Oh, wait a minute, though," hesaid, still holding her and stroking her soft little hand.

　　He took off the matelpiece, where he had put it yesterday, alittle box of sweets, and gave her two, picking out herfavorites, a chocolate and a fondant.

　　"For Grisha?" said the little girl, pointing to the chocolate.

　　"Yes, yes." And still stroking her little shoulder, he kissedher on the roots of here hair and neck, and let her go.

　　"The carriage is ready," said Matvey; "but there's some one tosee you with a petition."

　　"Been here long?" asked Stepan Arkadyevitch.

　　"Half an hour."

　　"How many times have I told you to tell me at once?"

　　"One must let you drink your coffee in peace, at least," saidMatvey, in the affectionately gruff tone with which it wasimpossible to be angry.

　　"Well, show the person up at once," said Oblonsky, frowning withvexation.

　　The petitioner, the widow of a staff captain Kalinin, came with arequest impossible and unreasonable; but Stepan Arkadyevitch, ashe generally did, made her sit down, heard her to the endattentively without interrupting her, and gave her detailedadvice as to how and to whom to apply, and even wrote her, in hislarge, sprawling, good and legible hand, a confident and fluentlittle note to a personage who might be of use to her. Havinggot rid of the staff captain's widow, Stepan Arkadyevitch tookhis hat and stopped to recollect whether he had forgottenanything. It appeared that he had forgotten nothing except whathe wanted to forget--his wife.

　　"Ah, yes!" He bowed his head, and his handsome face assumed aharassed expression. "To go, or not to go!" he said to himself;and an inner voice told him he must not go, that nothing couldcome of it but falsity; that to amend, to set right theirrelations was impossible, because it was impossible to make herattractive again and able to inspire love, or to make him an oldman, not susceptible to love. Except deceit and lying nothingcould come of it now; and deceit and lying were opposed to hisnature.

　　"It must be some time, though: it can't go on like this," hesaid, trying to give himself courage. He squared his chest, tookout a cigarette, took two whiffs at it, flung it into amother-of-pearl ashtray, and with rapid steps walked through thedrawing room, and opened the other door into his wife's bedroom.