VIII.

Alexei Alexandrovich, on coming back from church service, had spent the whole morning indoors. He had two pieces of business before him that morning; first, to receive and send on a deputation from the native tribes which was on its way to Peterburg, and which was now at Moscow; secondly, to write the promised letter to the lawyer. The deputation, though it had been summoned at Alexei Alexandrovich’s instigation, was not without its discomforting and even dangerous aspect, and he was glad he had found it in Moscow. The members of this deputation had not the slightest conception of their duty and the part they were to play. They naively believed that it was their business to lay before the Commission their needs and the actual condition of things, and to ask assistance of the government, and utterly failed to grasp that some of their statements and requests supported the contention of the enemy’s side, and so spoiled the whole business. Alexei Alexandrovich was busily engaged with them for a long while, drew up a program for them from which they were not to depart, and on dismissing them wrote a letter to Peterburg for the guidance of the deputation. He had his chief support in this affair in the Countess Lidia Ivanovna. She was a specialist in the matter of deputations, and no one knew better than she how to puff, and put them in the way they should go. Having completed this task, Alexei Alexandrovich wrote the letter to the lawyer. Without the slightest hesitation he gave him permission to act as he might judge best. In the letter he enclosed three of Vronsky’s notes to Anna, which were in the portfolio he had taken away.

Since Alexei Alexandrovich had left home with the intention of not returning to his family again, and since he had been at the lawyer’s and had spoken, though only to one man, of his intention, since, moreover, he had translated the matter from the world of real life to the world of ink and paper, he had grown more and more used to his own intention, and by now distinctly perceived the feasibility of its execution.

He was sealing the envelope to the lawyer, when he heard the loud tones of Stepan Arkadyevich’s voice. Stepan Arkadyevich was disputing with Alexei Alexandrovich’s servant, and insisting on being announced.

“No matter,” thought Alexei Alexandrovich, “so much the better. I will inform him at once of my position in regard to his sister, and explain why it is I can’t dine with him.”

“Come in!” he said aloud, collecting his papers, and putting them under the blotting pad.

“There, you see, you’re talking nonsense, and he is at home!” responded Stepan Arkadyevich’s voice, addressing the servant, who had refused to let him in, and, taking off his coat as he went, Oblonsky walked into the room. “Well, I’m awfully glad I’ve found you! So I hope . . .” Stepan Arkadyevich began cheerfully.

“I cannot come,” Alexei Alexandrovich said coldly, standing and not asking his visitor to sit down.

Alexei Alexandrovich had thought to pass at once into those frigid relations in which he ought to stand with the brother of a wife against whom he was beginning a suit for divorce. But he had not taken into account the ocean of kindliness brimming over in the heart of Stepan Arkadyevich.

Stepan Arkadyevich opened wide his clear, shining eyes.

“Why can’t you? What do you mean?” he asked in perplexity, speaking in French. “Oh, but it’s a promise. And we’re all counting on you.”

“I want to tell you that I can’t dine at your house, because the terms of relationship which have existed between us must cease.”

“How? How do you mean? For what reason?” said Stepan Arkadyevich with a smile.

“Because I am beginning an action for divorce against your sister, my wife. I ought to have . . .”

But, before Alexei Alexandrovich had time to finish his sentence, Stepan Arkadyevich was behaving not at all as he had expected. Stepan Arkadyevich groaned and sank into an armchair.

“No, Alexei Alexandrovich! What are you saying?” cried Oblonsky, and his suffering was apparent in his face.

“It is so.”

“Excuse me, I can’t, I can’t believe it!”

Alexei Alexandrovich sat down, feeling that his words had not had the effect he anticipated, and that it would be unavoidable for him to explain his position, and that, whatever explanations he might make, his relations with his brother-in-law would remain unchanged.

“Yes, I am brought to the painful necessity of seeking a divorce,” he said.

“I will say one thing, Alexei Alexandrovich. I know you for an excellent, upright man; I know Anna — excuse me, I can’t change my opinion of her — for a good, an excellent woman; and so you must excuse me if I cannot believe it. There is some misunderstanding,” said he.

“Oh, if it were merely a misunderstanding! . . .”

“Pardon, I understand,” interposed Stepan Arkadyevich. “But of course . . . One thing: you must not act in haste. You must not, you must not act in haste!”

“I am not acting in haste,” Alexei Alexandrovich said coldly, “but one cannot ask advice of anyone in such a matter. I have quite made up my mind.”

“This is awful!” said Stepan Arkadyevich. “I would do one thing, Alexei Alexandrovich. I beseech you — do it!” he said. “No action has yet been taken, if I understand rightly. Before you take advice, see my wife, talk to her. She loves Anna like a sister, she loves you, and she’s a wonderful woman. For God’s sake, talk to her! Do me that favor, I beseech you!”

Alexei Alexandrovich pondered, and Stepan Arkadyevich looked at him sympathetically, without interrupting his silence.

“You will go to see her?”

“I don’t know. That was just why I have not been to see you. I imagine our relations must change.”

“Why so? I don’t see that. Allow me to believe that, apart from our connection, you have for me, at least in part, the same friendly feeling I have always had for you . . . and sincere esteem,” said Stepan Arkadyevich, pressing his hand. “Even if your worst suppositions were correct, I don’t — and never would — take on myself to judge either side, and I see no reason why our relations should be affected. But now, do this, come and see my wife.”

“Well, we look at the matter differently,” said Alexei Alexandrovich coldly. “However, we won’t discuss it.”

“No; why shouldn’t you come today to dine, anyway? My wife’s expecting you. Please, do come. And, above all, talk it over with her. She’s a wonderful woman. For God’s sake, on my knees, I implore you!”

“If you so much wish it, I will come,” said Alexei Alexandrovich, sighing.

And, anxious to change the conversation, he inquired about what interested them both — the new head of Stepan Arkadyevich’s board, a man not yet old, who had suddenly been promoted to so high a position.

Alexei Alexandrovich had previously felt no liking for Count Anychkin, and had always differed from him in his opinions. But now, from a feeling readily comprehensible to officials — that hatred felt by one who has suffered a defeat in the service for one who has received a promotion — he could not endure him.

“Well, have you seen him?” said Alexei Alexandrovich with a malignant smile.

“Of course; he was at our sitting yesterday. He seems to know his work capitally, and to be very energetic.”

“Yes, but what is his energy directed to?” said Alexei Alexandrovich. “Is he aiming at doing anything, or simply doing again what’s been done? It’s the great misfortune of our government — this paper administration, of which he’s a worthy representative.”

“Really, I don’t know what fault one could find with him. His policy I don’t know, but one thing is certain — he’s a very fine fellow,” answered Stepan Arkadyevich. “I’ve just been seeing him, and he’s really a fine fellow. We lunched together, and I taught him how to make — you know that drink — wine and oranges. It’s so cooling. And it’s a wonder he didn’t know it. He liked it awfully. No, really, he’s a fine fellow.”

Stepan Arkadyevich glanced at his watch.

“Why, good heavens, it’s four already, and I’ve still to go to Dolgovushin’s! So please come round to dinner. You can’t imagine how you will grieve my wife and me if you don’t.”

The way in which Alexei Alexandrovich saw his brother-in-law out was very different from the manner in which he had met him.

“I’ve promised, and I’ll come,” he answered wearily.

“Believe me, I appreciate it, and I hope you won’t regret it,” answered Stepan Arkadyevich, smiling.

And, putting on his coat as he went, he patted the footman on the head with his coat sleeve, chuckled, and went out.

“At five o’clock, and wear your frock coat, please,” he shouted once more, returning at the door.