‘I must think it over, resolve it and cast it aside,’ he said aloud.
‘Questions about her feelings, about what has been or might be going on in her soul, are none of my business; they are the business of her conscience and belong to religion,’ he said to himself, feeling relieved at the awareness that he had found the legitimate category to which the arisen circumstance belonged.
‘And so,’ Alexei Alexandrovich said to himself, ‘questions of her feelings and so on are questions of her conscience, which can be no business of mine. My duty is then clearly defined. As head of the family, I am the person whose duty it is to guide her and am therefore in part the person responsible: I must point out the danger I see, caution her, and even use authority. I must speak out to her.’
And in Alexei Alexandrovich’s head everything he would presently say to his wife took clear shape. Thinking over what he would say, he regretted that he had to put his time and mental powers to such inconspicuous domestic use; but, in spite of that, the form and sequence of the imminent speech took shape in his head clearly and distinctly, like a report. ‘I must say and speak out the following: first, an explanation of the meaning of public opinion and propriety; second, a religious explanation of the meaning of marriage; third, if necessary, an indication of the possible unhappiness for our son; fourth, an indication of her own unhappiness.’ And, interlacing his fingers, palms down, Alexei Alexandrovich stretched so that the joints cracked.
This gesture, a bad habit - joining his hands and cracking his fingers - always calmed him down and brought him to precision, which he had such need of now. There was the sound of a carriage driving up by the entrance. Alexei Alexandrovich stopped in the middle of the drawing room.
A woman’s footsteps came up the stairs. Alexei Alexandrovich, prepared for his speech, stood pressing his crossed fingers, seeing whether there might be another crack somewhere. One joint cracked.
By the sound of light footsteps on the stairs he could already sense her approach and, though he was pleased with his speech, he felt afraid of the imminent talk ...
IX
Anna was walking with her head bowed, playing with the tassels of her hood. Her face glowed with a bright glow; but this glow was not happy - it was like the terrible glow of a fire on a dark night. Seeing her husband, Anna raised her head and, as if waking up, smiled.
‘You’re not in bed? What a wonder!’ she said, threw off her hood and, without stopping, went on into her dressing room. ‘It’s late, Alexei Alexandrovich,’ she said from behind the door.
‘Anna, I must have a talk with you.’
‘With me?’ she said in surprise, stepping out from behind the door and looking at him.
‘Yes.’
‘What’s the matter? What is it about?’ she asked, sitting down. ‘Well, let’s have a talk, if it’s so necessary. But it would be better to go to sleep.’
Anna said whatever came to her tongue, and was surprised, listening to herself, at her ability to lie. How simple, how natural her words were, and how it looked as if she simply wanted to sleep! She felt herself clothed in an impenetrable armour of lies. She felt that some invisible force was helping her and supporting her.
‘Anna, I must warn you,’ he said.
‘Warn me?’ she said. ‘About what?’
She looked at him so simply, so gaily, that no one who did not know her as her husband did could have noticed anything unnatural either in the sound or in the meaning of her words. But for him who knew her, who knew that when he went to bed five minutes late, she noticed it and asked the reason, who knew that she told him at once her every joy, happiness, or grief — for him it meant a great deal to see now that she did not want to notice his state or say a word about herself. He saw that the depth of her soul, formerly always open to him, was now closed to him. Moreover, by her tone he could tell that she was not embarrassed by it, but was as if saying directly to him: yes, it’s closed, and so it ought to be and will be in the future. He now felt the way a man would feel coming home and finding his house locked up. ‘But perhaps the key will still be found,’ thought Alexei Alexandrovich.
‘I want to warn you,’ he said in a low voice, ‘that by indiscretion and light-mindedness you may give society occasion to talk about you. Your much too animated conversation tonight with Count Vronsky’ (he articulated this name firmly and with calm measuredness) attracted attention.’
He spoke and looked at her laughing eyes, now frightening to him in their impenetrability, and as he spoke he felt all the uselessness and idleness of his words.
‘You’re always like that,’ she replied, as if she had not understood him at all and had deliberately grasped only the last thing he had said. ‘First you’re displeased when I’m bored, then you’re displeased when I’m merry. I wasn’t bored. Does that offend you?’
Alexei Alexandrovich gave a start and bent his hands in order to crack them.
‘Ah, please don’t crack them, I dislike it so,’ she said.
‘Anna, is this you?’ Alexei Alexandrovich said in a low voice, making an effort and restraining the movement of his hands.
‘But what is all this?’ she said with sincere and comical surprise. ‘What do you want from me?’
Alexei Alexandrovich paused and rubbed his forehead and eyes with his hand. He saw that instead of what he had wanted to do, that is, warn his wife about a mistake in the eyes of society, he was involuntarily worrying about something that concerned her conscience and was struggling with some wall that he had imagined.
‘Here is what I intend to say,’ he went on coldly and calmly, ‘and I ask you to listen to me. As you know, I look upon jealousy as an insulting and humiliating feeling, and I would never allow myself to be guided by it. But there are certain laws of propriety against which one cannot trespass with impunity. I did not notice it this evening, but judging by the impression made upon the company, everyone noticed that you behaved and bore yourself not quite as one might wish.’
‘I really don’t understand,’ said Anna, shrugging her shoulders. ‘He doesn’t care,’ she thought. ‘But society noticed and that troubles him.’
‘You’re unwell, Alexei Alexandrovich,’ she added, stood up, and was about to go out of the door, but he moved forward as if wishing to stop her.
His face was ugly and sullen, as Anna had never seen it before. She stopped and, leaning her head back to one side, with her quick hand began taking out her hairpins.
‘Well, sir, I’m listening for what comes next,’ she said calmly and mockingly. ‘And even listening with interest, because I wish to understand what it’s all about.’
She spoke and was surprised by the naturally calm, sure tone with which she spoke and her choice of words.
‘I have no right to enter into all the details of your feelings, and generally I consider it useless and even harmful,’ Alexei Alexandrovich began. ‘Rummaging in our souls, we often dig up something that ought to have lain there unnoticed. Your feelings are a matter for your conscience; but it is my duty to you, to myself, and to God, to point out your duties to you. Our lives are bound together, and bound not by men but by God. Only a crime can break this bond, and a crime of that sort draws down a heavy punishment.’
‘I don’t understand a thing. Ah, my God, and unfortunately I’m sleepy!’ she said, quickly running her hand over her hair, searching for any remaining hairpins.
‘Anna, for God’s sake, don’t talk like that,’ he said meekly. ‘Perhaps I am mistaken, but believe me, what I am saying I say as much for myself as for you. I am your husband and I love you.’
For a moment her face fell and the mocking spark in her eye went out; but the word ‘love’ again made her indignant. She thought: ‘Love? But can he love? If he hadn’t heard there was such a thing as love, he would never have used the word. He doesn’t even know what love is.’