Chapter 4
IV. Darya Alexandrovna, surrounded by all sorts of things thrown in confusion about the room, was standing before an open chiffonniere, from which she was removing the contents. She had on a dressing sack, and the thin braids of her once luxuriant and beautiful hair were pinned back.
Her face was thin and sunken, and her big eyes, protruding from her pale, worn face, had an expression of terror. When she heard her husband's steps she stopped in her work and, gazing at the door, vainly tried to give her face a stern and forbidding expression. She was conscious that she feared him and that she dreaded the coming interview.
She was in the act of doing what she had attempted to do a dozen times during those three days, gathering up her own effects and those of her children to carry to her mother's house, and again she could not bring herself to do it. Yet now, as before, she said to herself that things could not remain as they were, that she must take some measure to punish him, to put him to shame, to have some revenge
on him, if only for a small part of the anguish that he had caused her. She still kept saying that she should leave him, but she felt that it was impossible. It was impossible because she could not cease to consider him her husband and to love him. Moreover, she confessed that if here, in her own home, she had barely succeeded in looking after her five children, it would be far worse where she was going with them.
In the course of these three days the youngest child had been made ill by eating some poor soup and the rest had been obliged to go almost dinnerless the night before. She felt that it was impossible to leave, yet for the sake of deceiving herself she was collecting her things and pretending that she was going. When she saw her husband she thrust her hands into a drawer of the chiffonniere as if trying
to find something, and looked at him only when he came up close to her. But her face, to which she had intended to give a stern and resolute expression, showed her confusion and anguish of mind. Dolly, said he, in a gentle, subdued voice. He hung his head and tried to assume a humble and submissive mean, but nevertheless he was
radiant with fresh life and health. She gave him a quick glance which took in his whole figure from head to foot, radiant with life and health. Yes, he is happy and contented, she said to herself, but I, and this good nature which makes everybody like him so well and praise him, is revolting to me.
I hate this good nature of his. Her mouth grew firm and the muscles of her right cheek contracted. She looked pale and nervous. What do you want? she demanded, in a quick, unnatural tone. Dolly, he repeated, with a quaver in his voice.
Anna is coming today. Well, what is that to me? I cannot receive her, she cried. Still, it must be done, Dolly. Go away, go away, go away, she cried, without looking at him as if her words were torn from
her bi-physical agony. Stefan Arkadievich might be calm enough as his thoughts turn to his wife. He might have some hope that it would all straighten itself out according to Matva's prediction and he might be able, tranquilly, to read his morning paper and drink his coffee. But when he saw her tortured, suffering face, when he heard that resigned and hopeless tone
of her voice, he breathed hard. Something rose in his throat and his eyes filled with tears. My God, what have I done? For God's sake! He could not say another word for the sobs that choked him.
She shut the drawer violently and looked at him. Dolly, what can I say? Only one thing. Forgive me. Just think.
Cannot nine years of my life pay for a single moment, a moment? She let her eyes fall and listened to what he was going to say, as if beseeching him to persuade her of his innocence. A single moment of temptation, he ended, and was going to continue, but at that word Dolly's lips again closed tight, as if from physical pain, and again the muscles of her right cheek
contracted. Go away, go away from here, she cried still more impetuously, and don't speak to me of your temptations and your wretched conduct. She attempted to leave the room, but she almost fell and was obliged to lean upon a chair for support.
Oblonski's face grew melancholy, his lips trembled, and his eyes filled with tears. Dolly, said he, almost sobbing, for God's sake, think of the children. They are not to blame. I am the one to blame. Punish me.
Tell me how I can atone for my fault. I am ready to do anything. I am guilty. No words can tell how guilty I am, but— Dolly, forgive me.
She sat down. He heard her quick, hard breathing, and his soul was filled with pity for her. She tried several times to speak, but could not utter a word. He waited. You think of the children because you like to play with them, but I think of them, too,
and I know what they have lost, said she, repeating one of the phrases that during the last three days she had many times repeated to herself. She had used the familiar, Tui, Thou, and he looked at her with gratitude and made a movement as if to take her hand, but she turned away from him with abhorrence. I have consideration for my children, and therefore I would do all in the world to save
them, but I do not myself know how I can best save them, by taking them from their father, or by leaving them with a father who is a libertine. Yes, a libertine. Now tell me after this. This has happened.
Can we live together? Is it possible? Tell me is it possible, she demanded, raising her voice, when my husband, the father of my children, has a love affair with their governess? But what is to be done about it?
What is to be done, said he, interrupting with broken voice, not knowing what he said, and letting his head sink lower and lower. You are revolting to me. You are insulting, she cried, with increasing anger. Your tears are water.
You never loved me. You have no heart, no honor. You are abominable, revolting, and henceforth you are a stranger to me. Yes, a perfect stranger. And she repeated with spiteful anger this word stranger, which was so terrible in her
own ears. He looked at her, and the anger expressed in her face alarmed and surprised him. He had no realizing sense that his pity exasperated his wife. He saw that he felt sympathy for her, but not love. No, she hates me.
She will not forgive me, he said to himself. This is terrible, terrible, he cried. At this moment one of the children in the next room, having apparently had a fall, began to cry. Daria Alexandrovna listened, and her face suddenly softened.
She seemed to collect her thoughts for a few seconds, as if she did not know where she was and what was happening to her. Then, quickly rising, she hastened to the door. At any rate she loves my child, thought Oblonsky, who had noticed the change in her face as she heard the little one's cry.
My child, how then can she hate me? Dolly, just one word more, he said following her. If you follow me I will call the domestics, the children, let them all know that you are infamous. I leave you this very day, and you may live here with your paramour."
And she went out and slammed the door. Stefan Arkadievich sighed, wiped his face, and softly left the room. Matva says this can be settled, but how? I don't see the possibility. Oh, how terrible, and how foolishly she shrieked, said he to himself as he recalled her cry
in the words infamous and paramour. Perhaps the chambermaids heard her, horribly foolish, horribly. Stefan Arkadievich stood by himself a few seconds, rubbed his eyes, sighed, and then, throwing out his chest, left the room. It was Friday, and in the dining-room the German clockmaker was winding the clock.
Stefan Arkadievich remembered a joke that he had made about this punctilious German clockmaker to the effect that he must have been wound up himself for a lifetime for the purpose of winding clocks, and he smiled. Stefan Arkadievich loved a good joke. Perhaps it will straighten itself out.
That's a good little phrase. Straighten itself out, he thought. I must tell that. Matva, he shouted, and when the old servant appeared he said, Have Maria put the best room in order for Anna Arkadievna.
Very well. Stefan Arkadievich took his fur coat and started down the steps. Shall you dine at home? asked Matva, as he escorted him down. That depends.
Here, take this if you need to spend anything, said he, taking out a bill of ten rubles from his pocket-book. That will be enough. Whether it is enough or not it will have to do, said Matva, as he shut the carriage door and went up the steps.
Meantime Daria Alexandrovna, having pacified the child and knowing by the sound of the carriage that he was gone, came back to her room. This was her sole refuge from the domestic troubles that besieged her as soon as she went out. Even during the short time that she had been in the nursery the English maid, Amatriona
Fila-Manovna, asked her all sorts of questions demanding immediate attention, questions which she alone could answer. What clothes should they put on the children for their walk? And should they give them milk? Should they send for another cook?
Ugh! Leave me alone! Leave me alone! she cried, and hastening back to the chamber she sat down in the place where she had been talking with her husband. Then clasping her thin hands, on whose fingers the rings would scarcely stay, she reviewed
the whole conversation. He has gone, but has he broken with her? she asked herself. Does he still continue to see her? Why didn't I ask him? No, no, we cannot live together, even if we continue to live in the same house.
We are only strangers, strangers forever, she repeated with a strong emphasis on the word that hurt her so cruelly. How I loved him! And even now do I not love him? Do I not love him even more than before?
That is the most terrible thing, she was beginning to say, but she did not finish out her thought, because Matriona-Fila-Manovna put her head in at the door. Give orders to send for my brother, said she. He will get dinner. If you don't, it will be like yesterday, when the children did not have anything to eat
for six hours. Very good. I will come and give the order. Have you sent for some fresh milk? And Darya Alexandrovna entered into her daily tasks, and in them forgot her sorrow for the
time being. End of chapter 4
