Chapter 17

Stepan Arkadyevitch’s affairs were in a very bad way.

The money for two-thirds of the forest had all been spent already, and he had borrowed from the merchant in advance at ten per cent discount, almost all the remaining third. The merchant would not give more, especially as Darya Alexandrovna, for the first time that winter insisting on her right to her own property, had refused to sign the receipt for the payment of the last third of the forest. All his salary went on household expenses and in payment of petty debts that could not be put off. There was positively no money.

This was unpleasant and awkward, and in Stepan Arkadyevitch’s opinion things could not go on like this. The explanation of the position was, in his view, to be found in the fact that his salary was too small. The post he filled had been unmistakably very good five years ago, but it was so no longer.

Petrov, the bank director, had twelve thousand; Sventitsky, a company director, had seventeen thousand; Mitin, who had founded a bank, received fifty thousand.

‘Clearly I’ve been napping, and they’ve overlooked me,’ Stepan Arkadyevitch thought about himself. And he began keeping his eyes and ears open, and towards the end of the winter he had discovered a very good berth and had formed a plan of attack upon it, at first from Moscow through aunts, uncles, and friends, and then, when the matter was well advanced, in the spring, he went himself to Petersburg. It was one of those snug, lucrative berths of which there are so many more nowadays than there used to be, with incomes ranging from one thousand to fifty thousand roubles. It was the post of secretary of the committee of the amalgamated agency of the southern railways, and of certain banking companies. This position, like all such appointments, called for such immense energy and such varied qualifications, that it was difficult for them to be found united in any one man. And since a man combining all the qualifications was not to be found, it was at least better that the post be filled by an honest than by a dishonest man. And Stepan Arkadyevitch was not merely an honest man—unemphatically—in the common acceptation of the words, he was an honest man—emphatically—in that special sense which the word has in Moscow, when they talk of an ‘honest’ politician, an ‘honest’ writer, an ‘honest’ newspaper, an ‘honest’ institution, an ‘honest’ tendency, meaning not simply that the man or the institution is not dishonest, but that they are capable on occasion of taking a line of their own in opposition to the authorities.

Stepan Arkadyevitch moved in those circles in Moscow in which that expression had come into use, was regarded there as an honest man, and so had more right to this appointment than others.

The appointment yielded an income of from seven to ten thousand a year, and Oblonsky could fill it without giving up his government position. It was in the hands of two ministers, one lady, and two Jews, and all these people, though the way had been paved already with them, Stepan Arkadyevitch had to see in Petersburg. Besides this business, Stepan Arkadyevitch had promised his sister Anna to obtain from Karenin a definite answer on the question of divorce. And begging fifty roubles from Dolly, he set off for Petersburg.

Stepan Arkadyevitch sat in Karenin’s study listening to his report on the causes of the unsatisfactory position of Russian finance, and only waiting for the moment when he would finish to speak about his own business or about Anna.

‘Yes, that’s very true,’ he said, when Alexey Alexandrovitch took off the pince-nez, without which he could not read now, and looked inquiringly at his former brother-in-law, ‘that’s very true in particular cases, but still the principle of our day is freedom.’

‘Yes, but I lay down another principle, embracing the principle of freedom,’ said Alexey Alexandrovitch, with emphasis on the word ‘embracing,’ and he put on his pince-nez again, so as to read the passage in which this statement was made. And turning over the beautifully written, wide-margined manuscript, Alexey Alexandrovitch read aloud over again the conclusive passage.

‘I don’t advocate protection for the sake of private interests, but for the public weal, and for the lower and upper classes equally,’ he said, looking over his pince-nez at Oblonsky. ‘But they cannot grasp that, they are taken up now with personal interests, and carried away by phrases.’

Stepan Arkadyevitch knew that when Karenin began to talk of what they were doing and thinking, the persons who would not accept his report and were the cause of everything wrong in Russia, that it was coming near the end. And so now he eagerly abandoned the principle of free-trade, and fully agreed. Alexey Alexandrovitch paused, thoughtfully turning over the pages of his manuscript.

‘Oh, by the way,’ said Stepan Arkadyevitch, ‘I wanted to ask you, some time when you see Pomorsky, to drop him a hint that I should be very glad to get that new appointment of secretary of the committee of the amalgamated agency of the southern railways and banking companies.’ Stepan Arkadyevitch was familiar by now with the title of the post he coveted, and he brought it out rapidly without mistake.

Alexey Alexandrovitch questioned him as to the duties of this new committee, and pondered. He was considering whether the new committee would not be acting in some way contrary to the views he had been advocating. But as the influence of the new committee was of a very complex nature, and his views were of very wide application, he could not decide this straight off, and taking off his pince-nez, he said:

‘Of course, I can mention it to him; but what is your reason precisely for wishing to obtain the appointment?’

‘It’s a good salary, rising to nine thousand, and my means…’

‘Nine thousand!’ repeated Alexey Alexandrovitch, and he frowned. The high figure of the salary made him reflect that on that side Stepan Arkadyevitch’s proposed position ran counter to the main tendency of his own projects of reform, which always leaned towards economy.

‘I consider, and I have embodied my views in a note on the subject, that in our day these immense salaries are evidence of the unsound economic assiette of our finances.’

‘But what’s to be done?’ said Stepan Arkadyevitch. ‘Suppose a bank director gets ten thousand—well, he’s worth it; or an engineer gets twenty thousand—after all, it’s a growing thing, you know!’

‘I assume that a salary is the price paid for a commodity, and it ought to conform with the law of supply and demand. If the salary is fixed without any regard for that law, as, for instance, when I see two engineers leaving college together, both equally well trained and efficient, and one getting forty thousand while the other is satisfied with two; or when I see lawyers and hussars, having no special qualifications, appointed directors of banking companies with immense salaries, I conclude that the salary is not fixed in accordance with the law of supply and demand, but simply through personal interest. And this is an abuse of great gravity in itself, and one that reacts injuriously on the government service. I consider…’

Stepan Arkadyevitch made haste to interrupt his brother-in-law.

‘Yes; but you must agree that it’s a new institution of undoubted utility that’s being started. After all, you know, it’s a growing thing! What they lay particular stress on is the thing being carried on honestly,’ said Stepan Arkadyevitch with emphasis.

But the Moscow significance of the word ‘honest’ was lost on Alexey Alexandrovitch.

‘Honesty is only a negative qualification,’ he said.

‘Well, you’ll do me a great service, anyway,’ said Stepan Arkadyevitch, ‘by putting in a word to Pomorsky—just in the way of conversation….’

‘But I fancy it’s more in Volgarinov’s hands,’ said Alexey Alexandrovitch.

‘Volgarinov has fully assented, as far as he’s concerned,’ said Stepan Arkadyevitch, turning red. Stepan Arkadyevitch reddened at the mention of that name, because he had been that morning at the Jew Volgarinov’s, and the visit had left an unpleasant recollection.

Stepan Arkadyevitch believed most positively that the committee in which he was trying to get an appointment was a new, genuine, and honest public body, but that morning when Volgarinov had— intentionally, beyond a doubt—kept him two hours waiting with other petitioners in his waiting room, he had suddenly felt uneasy.

Whether he was uncomfortable that he, a descendant of Rurik, Prince Oblonsky, had been kept for two hours waiting to see a Jew, or that for the first time in his life he was not following the example of his ancestors in serving the government, but was turning off into a new career, anyway he was very uncomfortable. During those two hours in Volgarinov’s waiting room Stepan Arkadyevitch, stepping jauntily about the room, pulling his whiskers, entering into conversation with the other petitioners, and inventing an epigram on his position, assiduously concealed from others, and even from himself, the feeling he was experiencing.

But all the time he was uncomfortable and angry, he could not have said why—whether because he could not get his epigram just right, or from some other reason. When at last Volgarinov had received him with exaggerated politeness and unmistakable triumph at his humiliation, and had all but refused the favor asked of him, Stepan Arkadyevitch had made haste to forget it all as soon as possible. And now, at the mere recollection, he blushed.

Chapter 18

‘Now there is something I want to talk about, and you know what it is. About Anna,’ Stepan Arkadyevitch said, pausing for a brief space, and shaking off the unpleasant impression.

As soon as Oblonsky uttered Anna’s name, the face of Alexey Alexandrovitch was completely transformed; all the life was gone out of it, and it looked weary and dead.

‘What is it exactly that you want from me?’ he said, moving in his chair and snapping his pince-nez.

‘A definite settlement, Alexey Alexandrovitch, some settlement of the position. I’m appealing to you’ (“not as an injured husband,’ Stepan Arkadyevitch was going to say, but afraid of wrecking his negotiation by this, he changed the words) ‘not as a statesman’ (which did not sound a propos), ‘but simply as a man, and a good-hearted man and a Christian. You must have pity on her,’ he said.

‘That is, in what way precisely?’ Karenin said softly.

‘Yes, pity on her. If you had seen her as I have!—I have been spending all the winter with her—you would have pity on her. Her position is awful, simply awful!’

‘I had imagined,’ answered Alexey Alexandrovitch in a higher, almost shrill voice, ‘that Anna Arkadyevna had everything she had desired for herself.’

‘Oh, Alexey Alexandrovitch, for heaven’s sake, don’t let us indulge in recriminations! What is past is past, and you know what she wants and is waiting for—divorce.’

‘But I believe Anna Arkadyevna refuses a divorce, if I make it a condition to leave me my son. I replied in that sense, and supposed that the matter was ended. I consider it at an end,’ shrieked Alexey Alexandrovitch.

‘But, for heaven’s sake, don’t get hot!’ said Stepan Arkadyevitch, touching his brother-in-law’s knee. ‘The matter is not ended. If you will allow me to recapitulate, it was like this: when you parted, you were as magnanimous as could possibly be; you were ready to give her everything—freedom, divorce even. She appreciated that. No, don’t think that. She did appreciate it—to such a degree that at the first moment, feeling how she had wronged you, she did not consider and could not consider everything. She gave up everything. But experience, time, have shown that her position is unbearable, impossible.’

‘The life of Anna Arkadyevna can have no interest for me,’ Alexey Alexandrovitch put in, lifting his eyebrows.

‘Allow me to disbelieve that,’ Stepan Arkadyevitch replied gently. ‘Her position is intolerable for her, and of no benefit to anyone whatever. She has deserved it, you will say. She knows that and asks you for nothing; she says plainly that she dare not ask you. But I, all of us, her relatives, all who love her, beg you, entreat you. Why should she suffer? Who is any the better for it?’

‘Excuse me, you seem to put me in the position of the guilty party,’ observed Alexey Alexandrovitch.

‘Oh, no, oh, no, not at all! please understand me,’ said Stepan Arkadyevitch, touching his hand again, as though feeling sure this physical contact would soften his brother-in-law. ‘All I say is this: her position is intolerable, and it might be alleviated by you, and you will lose nothing by it. I will arrange it all for you, so that you’ll not notice it. You did promise it, you know.’

‘The promise was given before. And I had supposed that the question of my son had settled the matter. Besides, I had hoped that Anna Arkadyevna had enough generosity…’ Alexey Alexandrovitch articulated with difficulty, his lips twitching and his face white.

‘She leaves it all to your generosity. She begs, she implores one thing of you—to extricate her from the impossible position in which she is placed. She does not ask for her son now. Alexey Alexandrovitch, you are a good man. Put yourself in her position for a minute. The question of divorce for her in her position is a question of life and death. If you had not promised it once, she would have reconciled herself to her position, she would have gone on living in the country. But you promised it, and she wrote to you, and moved to Moscow. And here she’s been for six months in Moscow, where every chance meeting cuts her to the heart, every day expecting an answer. Why, it’s like keeping a condemned criminal for six months with the rope round his neck, promising him perhaps death, perhaps mercy. Have pity on her, and I will undertake to arrange everything. Vos scrupules…’

‘I am not talking about that, about that…’ Alexey Alexandrovitch interrupted with disgust. ‘But, perhaps, I promised what I had no right to promise.’

‘So you go back from your promise?’

‘I have never refused to do all that is possible, but I want time to consider how much of what I promised is possible.’

‘No, Alexey Alexandrovitch!’ cried Oblonsky, jumping up, ‘I won’t believe that! She’s unhappy as only an unhappy woman can be, and you cannot refuse in such…’

‘As much of what I promised as is possible. Vous professez d’etre libre penseur. But I as a believer cannot, in a matter of such gravity, act in opposition to the Christian law.’

‘But in Christian societies and among us, as far as I’m aware, divorce is allowed,’ said Stepan Arkadyevitch. ‘Divorce is sanctioned even by our church. And we see…’

‘It is allowed, but not in the sense…’

‘Alexey Alexandrovitch, you are not like yourself,’ said Oblonsky, after a brief pause. ‘Wasn’t it you (and didn’t we all appreciate it in you?) who forgave everything, and moved simply by Christian feeling was ready to make any sacrifice? You said yourself: if a man take thy coat, give him thy cloak also, and now…’

‘I beg,’ said Alexey Alexandrovitch shrilly, getting suddenly onto his feet, his face white and his jaws twitching, ‘I beg you to drop this…to drop…this subject!’

‘Oh, no! Oh, forgive me, forgive me if I have wounded you,’ said Stepan Arkadyevitch, holding out his hand with a smile of embarrassment; ‘but like a messenger I have simply performed the commission given me.’

Alexey Alexandrovitch gave him his hand, pondered a little, and said:

‘I must think it over and seek for guidance. The day after tomorrow I will give you a final answer,’ he said, after considering a moment.