He who was so wise and astute in official affairs did not realize the insanity of such an attitude toward his wife. He did not understand it because it would have been too terrible to realize his real situation and he had closed, locked, and sealed that compartment of his soul which contained his feelings for his family — that is, his wife and son.
He who had been a considerate father, since the end of that winter had become particularly cold toward his son, and treated him in the same bantering manner as he did his wife. ‘Ah, young man!’ was the way in which he addressed him.
Karenin thought and said that in no previous year had he had so much official business as this year; but he was not conscious of the fact that this year he invented work for himself, and that this was one of the means of keeping that compartment closed where lay his feelings for and thoughts of his family, which became more terrible the longer they lay there. If anyone had ventured to ask him what he thought of his wife’s conduct, the mild and gentle Karenin would not have given any answer, but would have been angry with the man who put such a question. That was why Karenin’s face bore a stern, proud expression when anyone asked about his wife’s health. He did not wish to think about his wife’s conduct and feelings at all, and he really did not think about them.
The country house the Karenins regularly occupied in summer was in Peterhof, and generally the Countess Lydia Ivanovna also lived near by and was in constant touch with Anna. That year the Countess Lydia Ivanovna refused to live in Peterhof, did not once come to see Anna, and hinted to Karenin the undesirability of Anna’s intimacy with Betsy and Vronsky. Karenin stopped her severely, expressing the opinion that his wife was above suspicion, and from that time began to avoid the Countess. He did not wish to see, and did not see, that many people in Society already looked askance at Anna; he did not wish to understand, and did not understand, why his wife particularly insisted on moving to Tsarskoe Selo, where Betsy lived and near which place Vronsky’s regiment was stationed. He did not let himself think about this and did not think about it; yet at the bottom of his soul, without admitting it to himself or having any proofs or even suspicions of it, he nevertheless knew certainly that he was a wronged husband, and was therefore profoundly unhappy.
How often during the eight years of happy married life with his wife, when he saw others who were unfaithful wives or deceived husbands, had Karenin said to himself, ‘How could they let it come to that? How is it they do not end such a hideous state of things?’ But now, when the misfortune had fallen on his own head, he not only did not think of how to end it, but did not wish to recognize it at all — and did not wish to recognize it just because it was too terrible, too unnatural.
Since his return from abroad Karenin had been twice at the country house. Once he dined there, and the other time he spent an evening with some visitors, but he had not once stayed the night, as he used to do in former years.
The day of the races was a very busy one for Karenin; but in the morning when he made his plans for the day he decided that immediately after an early dinner he would go to see his wife at the country house, and from there to the races, at which the whole Court would be present and where he ought to appear. He would call on his wife, because he had decided to do so once a week for the sake of propriety. Besides, he had that day to give her money for her expenses, due according to their custom by the fifteenth of each month.
Having with the mental control habitual to him considered these matters concerning his wife, he did not allow his thoughts to run on further about her.
He had a very busy morning. On the previous day the Countess Lydia Ivanovna had sent him a pamphlet by a celebrated traveller in China, and a letter asking him to receive this traveller, who for various reasons was very interesting and necessary to them. Karenin had not had time to finish the pamphlet the evening before, and did so in the morning. Then he received petitioners, heard reports, gave audiences, assigned posts and ordered dismissals, apportioned rewards, pensions, and salaries, and attended to correspondence — everyday matters, as he called them, which took up so much of his time. After that came personal matters — a visit from his doctor and one from his steward. The latter did not keep him long. He only handed Karenin the money he wanted and gave him a short account of the state of his affairs, which was not quite satisfactory, for it happened that, owing to their having been from home a good deal, more had been spent that year than usual and there was a deficit. But the doctor, a celebrated Petersburg physician who was on friendly terms with Karenin, took up a good deal of time. Karenin had not expected him to-day and was surprised to see him, and yet more surprised that the doctor questioned him very particularly about his state of health, sounding his chest and tapping and feeling his liver. Karenin did not know that his friend Lydia Ivanovna, having noticed that he was not in good health that summer, had asked the doctor to go and see his patient. ‘Do it for my sake,’ the Countess Lydia Ivanovna had said.
‘I will do it for the sake of Russia, Countess,’ replied the doctor.
‘Dear man!’ the Countess Lydia Ivanovna had exclaimed.
The doctor was very dissatisfied with Karenin’s state of health. He found him insufficiently nourished and his liver much enlarged, and that the waters had had no effect at all. He prescribed as much physical exercise and as little mental strain as possible, and above all no worries of any kind — that is, he advised what was for Karenin as impossible as not to breathe, and he went away leaving Karenin with a disagreeable consciousness that something was wrong with him which could not be remedied.
In the porch, after leaving Karenin, the doctor met Slyudin, Karenin’s private secretary, whom he knew very well. They had been at the University together, and though they very seldom met, they respected one another and were good friends, and to no one but Slyudin would the doctor have expressed his opinion about his patient.
‘I am very glad you have been to see him,’ said Slyudin. ‘He is not well, and I believe that … Well, what is it?’
‘It is this,’ said the doctor, beckoning over Slyudin’s head to his coachman to drive up. ‘It’s this,’ and with his white hands he took a finger of his kid glove and stretched it; ‘if you try to break a cord that is slack it is not easy to break it, but strain that cord to its utmost and the weight of a finger will snap it. And he, by his hard work and the conscientious way he does it, is strained to the utmost; and there is a pressure from outside, and a heavy one,’ concluded the doctor, raising his eyebrows significantly. ‘Will you be at the races?’ he added, descending the steps to his brougham.
‘Yes, yes, of course it takes a lot of time,’ he replied to some remark of Slyudin’s which he had not quite caught.
After the doctor, who had taken up so much time, came the famous traveller, and Karenin, thanks to the pamphlet he had just read and to what he knew before, greatly impressed the traveller by the depth of his knowledge of the subject and the breadth of his enlightened outlook.
At the same time as the traveller, a provincial Marshal of the Nobility was announced with whom Karenin had some things to talk over. When he too had left, he had to finish his everyday business with his private secretary and had also to drive to see an important personage on a grave and serious matter. He only managed to get back at five, his dinnertime, and having dined with his private secretary, he invited the latter to drive with him to his country house and to go to the races with him.
Without acknowledging it to himself, Karenin now looked out for opportunities of having a third person present at his interviews with his wife.
Chapter 27