The Kreutzer Sonata: Chapter 20

Chapter 20

"In order that you may understand me, I must tell you how this happened.
We were living along, and all seemed well. Suddenly we began to talk
of the children's education. I do not remember what words either of us
uttered, but a discussion began, reproaches, leaps from one subject to
another. 'Yes, I know it. It has been so for a long time.' . . . 'You
said that.' . . . 'No, I did not say that.' . . . 'Then I lie?' etc.

"And I felt that the frightful crisis was approaching when I should
desire to kill her or else myself. I knew that it was approaching; I
was afraid of it as of fire; I wanted to restrain myself. But rage
took possession of my whole being. My wife found herself in the same
condition, perhaps worse. She knew that she intentionally distorted each
of my words, and each of her words was saturated with venom. All that
was dear to me she disparaged and profaned. The farther the quarrel
went, the more furious it became. I cried, 'Be silent,' or something
like that.

"She bounded out of the room and ran toward the children. I tried to hold
her back to finish my insults. I grasped her by the arm, and hurt her.
She cried: 'Children, your father is beating me.' I cried: 'Don't lie.'
She continued to utter falsehoods for the simple purpose of irritating
me further. 'Ah, it is not the first time,' or something of that sort.
The children rushed toward her and tried to quiet her. I said: 'Don't
sham.' She said: 'You look upon everything as a sham. You would kill a
person and say he was shamming. Now I understand you. That is what you
want to do.' 'Oh, if you were only dead!' I cried.

"I remember how that terrible phrase frightened me. Never had I thought
that I could utter words so brutal, so frightful, and I was stupefied at
what had just escaped my lips. I fled into my private apartment. I sat
down and began to smoke. I heard her go into the hall and prepare to go
out. I asked her: 'Where are you going? She did not answer. 'Well, may
the devil take you!' said I to myself, going back into my private room,
where I lay down again and began smoking afresh. Thousands of plans of
vengeance, of ways of getting rid of her, and how to arrange this, and
act as if nothing had happened,--all this passed through my head. I
thought of these things, and I smoked, and smoked, and smoked. I thought
of running away, of making my escape, of going to America. I went so far
as to dream how beautiful it would be, after getting rid of her, to love
another woman, entirely different from her. I should be rid of her if
she should die or if I should get a divorce, and I tried to think how
that could be managed. I saw that I was getting confused, but, in order
not to see that I was not thinking rightly, I kept on smoking.

"And the life of the house went on as usual. The children's teacher came
and asked: 'Where is Madame? When will she return?'

"The servants asked if they should serve the tea. I entered the
dining-room. The children, Lise, the eldest girl, looked at me with
fright, as if to question me, and she did not come. The whole evening
passed, and still she did not come. Two sentiments kept succeeding each
other in my soul,--hatred of her, since she tortured myself and the
children by her absence, but would finally return just the same, and
fear lest she might return and make some attempt upon herself. But where
should I look for her? At her sister's? It seemed so stupid to go to ask
where one's wife is. Moreover, may God forbid, I hoped, that she should
be at her sister's! If she wishes to torment any one, let her torment
herself first. And suppose she were not at her sister's.

"Suppose she were to do, or had already done, something.

"Eleven o'clock, midnight, one o'clock. . . . I did not sleep. I did not
go to my chamber. It is stupid to lie stretched out all alone, and to
wait. But in my study I did not rest. I tried to busy myself, to write
letters, to read. Impossible! I was alone, tortured, wicked, and
I listened. Toward daylight I went to sleep. I awoke. She had not
returned. Everything in the house went on as usual, and all looked at
me in astonishment, questioningly. The children's eyes were full of
reproach for me.

"And always the same feeling of anxiety about her, and of hatred because
of this anxiety.

"Toward eleven o'clock in the morning came her sister, her ambassadress.
Then began the usual phrases: 'She is in a terrible state. What is
the matter?' 'Why, nothing has happened.' I spoke of her asperity of
character, and I added that I had done nothing, and that I would not
take the first step. If she wants a divorce, so much the better! My
sister-in-law would not listen to this idea, and went away without
having gained anything. I was obstinate, and I said boldly and
determinedly, in talking to her, that I would not take the first
step. Immediately she had gone I went into the other room, and saw the
children in a frightened and pitiful state, and there I found myself
already inclined to take this first step. But I was bound by my word.
Again I walked up and down, always smoking. At breakfast I drank brandy
and wine, and I reached the point which I unconsciously desired, the
point where I no longer saw the stupidity and baseness of my situation.

"Toward three o'clock she came. I thought that she was appeased, or
admitted her defeat. I began to tell her that I was provoked by her
reproaches. She answered me, with the same severe and terribly downcast
face, that she had not come for explanations, but to take the children,
that we could not live together. I answered that it was not my fault,
that she had put me beside myself. She looked at me with a severe and
solemn air, and said: 'Say no more. You will repent it.' I said that I
could not tolerate comedies. Then she cried out something that I did not
understand, and rushed toward her room. The key turned in the lock,
and she shut herself up. I pushed at the door. There was no response.
Furious, I went away.

"A half hour later Lise came running all in tears. 'What! Has anything
happened? We cannot hear Mamma!' We went toward my wife's room. I pushed
the door with all my might. The bolt was scarcely drawn, and the door
opened. In a skirt, with high boots, my wife lay awkwardly on the bed.
On the table an empty opium phial. We restored her to life. Tears and
then reconciliation! Not reconciliation; internally each kept the hatred
for the other, but it was absolutely necessary for the moment to end
the scene in some way, and life began again as before. These scenes, and
even worse, came now once a week, now every month, now every day. And
invariably the same incidents. Once I was absolutely resolved to fly,
but through some inconceivable weakness I remained.

"Such were the circumstances in which we were living when the MAN came.
The man was bad, it is true. But what! No worse than we were."

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