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The Kreutzer Sonata Variations

Lev Tolstoy's Novella and Counterstories by Sofiya Tolstaya and Lev Lvovich Tolstoy

Yale UNIVERSITY PRESS

The Kreutzer Sonata

LEV NIKOLAEVICH TOLSTOY

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But I say unto you, that whosoever looketh on a woman to lust after her hath committed adultery with her already in his heart. (MATTHEW 5:28)

His disciples say unto him, if the case of the man be so with his wife, it is not good to marry. But he said unto them, all men cannot receive this saying, save they to whom it is given. For there are some eunuchs, which were so born from their mother's womb: and there are some eunuchs, which were made eunuchs of men: and there be eunuchs, which have made themselves eunuchs for the kingdom of heaven's sake. He that is able to receive it, let him receive it. (MATTHEW 19:10–12)

1

IT WAS EARLY SPRING. We had been traveling for two days. Passengers going short distances kept entering and leaving the train, but three people, like myself, were going the whole way: an unattractive woman, a smoker, no longer young, with a weary expression, wearing a mannish overcoat and cap; her acquaintance, a talkative man about forty years old whose things were neat and new; and a gentleman of medium height with brusque gestures who kept to himself; he was not yet old, but his curly hair had obviously turned gray prematurely and his unusually glittering eyes darted quickly from object to object. He was wearing an old overcoat made by an expensive tailor: it had an astrakhan collar and he wore a tall astrakhan hat. Under his coat, when he unbuttoned it, he had on a tight-fitting jacket and an embroidered Russian shirt. Another peculiarity of this man consisted in the fact that from time to time he emitted strange sounds, similar to clearing his throat or to a laugh begun and then broken off.

During the entire journey, this gentleman assiduously avoided making the acquaintance of other passengers. In response to his neighbors' overtures at conversation, he replied curtly and abruptly, or else he read; or, staring out the window, after first taking out some food from his old bag, he smoked, or drank tea, or ate a snack.

He seemed oppressed by his loneliness; several times I wanted to engage him in conversation, but each time our eyes met, which happened frequently since we were sitting opposite each other, he turned away and either picked up his book or looked out the window.

Toward evening of the second day, when the train had stopped at a large station, this nervous gentleman went to fetch some hot water to make himself tea. The fellow with the neat new things, a lawyer, as I subsequently discovered, went to have tea in the station with his neighbor, the lady in the mannish overcoat, the smoker.

During the absence of the gentleman and the lady, several new passengers entered the car, including a tall, clean-shaven, wrinkled old man, obviously a merchant, wearing a coat of mink fur and a cloth cap with a large peak. He sat opposite the lady and the lawyer, and immediately entered into conversation with another young man, apparently a merchant's clerk, who had also boarded at this station.

I was sitting diagonally across from him and, since the train was standing still, during those moments when no one was passing through the car, I could overhear snatches of their conversation. The merchant first announced that he was traveling to his estate only one stop further; then, as usual, they began talking about prices and trade; they spoke, as always, about how business was in Moscow these days, and then started chatting about the trade fair in Nizhny Novgorod. The clerk began telling a story about the drinking bouts of some wealthy merchant with whom they were both acquainted, but the old man didn't let him finish; instead, he began describing his own past binges at Kunavino. Obviously he was proud of his participation and described with obvious delight how once, together with this same rich merchant, he had gotten drunk and played some prank that could be talked about only in a whisper; the clerk burst into laughter that filled the entire train car; then the old man started laughing, too, exposing two yellow teeth.

Not expecting to hear anything interesting, I stood up to walk along the platform until the train departed. At the door I met the lawyer and the lady, who were talking about something excitedly as they approached.

"You won't have time," the sociable lawyer said to me. "The second bell's about to ring."

And sure enough, hardly had I managed to reach the end of the train when the bell rang. When I returned, the lawyer and the lady were still engaged in lively conversation. The old merchant was sitting opposite, staring ahead sternly, from time to time chewing his lips in disapproval.

"Then she plainly informed her husband," the lawyer was saying with a smile just as I passed, "that she was both unable and unwilling to live with him, since ..."

He continued, saying something else that I couldn't hear. Two more passengers came on after me; then the conductor went through, a porter rushed in, and there was so much noise that I couldn't make out their conversation. When everything had quieted down and I could hear the lawyer's voice again, the conversation, obviously, had moved on from a particular case to more general considerations.

The lawyer was saying that the question of divorce was now occupying public opinion in Europe and that similar cases were occurring more and more frequently in Russia. Having noticed that his voice was the only one audible, the lawyer stopped speaking and turned to the old man.

"Those things didn't happen in the old days, did they?" he said, smiling pleasantly.

The old man wanted to make some reply, but at that moment the train began moving and the old man took off his cap and started crossing himself, whispering a prayer. The lawyer looked away and waited politely. After finishing his prayers and crossing himself three times, the old man put his cap back on, pulled it down low, settled into his seat, and began speaking.

"They did happen, sir, but less often," he said. "Nowadays it can't help from happening. People have become so educated."

The train, gaining speed, rattled over the rail joints; it became hard for me to hear, but I was interested, so I moved closer. My neighbor, the nervous man with glittering eyes, apparently also took an interest; without getting up from his place, he, too, began listening.

"What's wrong with education?" the lady asked with a slight smile. "Would it really be better to marry as in the old days, when the bride and groom had never seen each other?" she continued. She was replying, as is the habit of many women, not to her interlocutor's actual words, but to those she thought he would say. "They didn't know if they loved each other or could love each other; they married whoever happened along and suffered all their lives. Do you think that's better?" she asked, evidently addressing me and the lawyer primarily, least of all the old man with whom she was talking.

"People have become so educated," repeated the merchant, looking with contempt at the lady, leaving her question unanswered.

"It'd be interesting to know how you explain the connection between education and marital discord," the lawyer said with a slight smile.

The merchant wanted to say something, but the lady interrupted him.

"No, those days have passed," she said. But the lawyer stopped her.

"No, allow him to express his thought."

"Foolishness results from education," the old man replied authoritatively.

"Marriages are arranged between people who don't love one another, and then everyone's surprised when they don't get along," the lady hastened to add, looking at the lawyer and at me, and even at the clerk, who rose from his place. Leaning against the seat, he was listening to the conversation with a smile. "It's only animals that can be paired up as the owner wishes; people have their own inclinations and attachments," she said, obviously wishing to irritate the merchant.

"There's no reason to talk like that, madam," said the old man. "Animals are beasts, but man has been given law."

"But how can one live with a man when there's no love?" the lady hastened to express her views, which she probably thought were original.

"People used not to talk about such things," the old man said in an emphatic tone of voice. "That only happens nowadays. Something occurs and right away the wife says, 'I'm leaving you.' This fashion's caught on even among our peasants. 'Here,' she says, 'take your shirts and trousers. I'm running away with Vanka. His hair's curlier than yours.' What can you say? The first thing a woman should have is fear."

The clerk glanced at the lawyer, the lady, and at me, obviously suppressing a smile, prepared to deride or approve the merchant's words, depending on how they were received.

"What sort of fear?" the lady asked.

"Why this: she should fear her hus-s-s-band! That sort of fear."

"Well, my dear man, that time has passed," the lady said with a measure of anger.

"No, madam, that time cannot pass. Just as Eve, a woman, was created from man's rib, so she'll remain until the end of time," said the old man, tossing his head so sternly and triumphantly that the clerk immediately concluded that victory belonged to the merchant and he laughed loudly.

"That's the way you men think," the lady said, refusing to yield and glancing at us. "You've given yourselves freedom, but you want to lock women away in a tower. Then I suppose you'll permit yourselves everything."

"No one has to grant permission; it's just that a man doesn't bring any offspring home after his exploits, while a woman is a frail vessel," the merchant continued to insist.

His impressive tone, obviously, vanquished his listeners; even the lady felt crushed, but still didn't give up.

"Yes, but I think you'll agree that a woman is a person and has feelings just like a man. So what should she do if she doesn't love her husband?"

"Doesn't love him!" the merchant repeated loudly, knitting his brows and pursing his lips. "She'll love him, she will!"

The clerk in particular liked this unexpected opinion and produced a sound of approval.

"Oh, no, she won't," said the lady. "And if there's no love, it can't possibly be forced."

"Well, and what if a wife betrays her husband, then what?" asked the lawyer.

"That's not supposed to happen," said the old man. "You have to be on the lookout."

"And if it does, then what? You know, it happens."

"It happens to some, but not people like us," said the old man.

Everyone fell silent. The clerk stirred, moved even closer, and, apparently not wishing to be left behind, said with a smile:

"Yes, sir, there was quite a scandal with one of our young men. It's also very hard to resolve. It involved a loose woman. She began acting like a devil. The young husband was steady and mature. At first she went after an office clerk. The husband tried kindness. She wouldn't stop. She did all sorts of nasty things. She began stealing his money. And he beat her. But she just got worse. She even carried on with an unbaptized Jew, if I may say so. Well, what could he do? So he threw her out. Now he lives like a bachelor while she walks the streets."

"Because he's a fool," said the old man. "If he'd given her less leeway right from the start, if he'd disciplined her as he should've, she'd still be with him, she would. You can't give 'em freedom at the outset. 'Don't trust your horse in the field or your wife in the house.'"

Just then the conductor came in to collect tickets for the next station. The old man handed his over.

"Yes, sir, you have to rein in the female sex, or else all's lost."

"Well, weren't you just saying how married men misbehave at the fair in Kunavino?" I asked, unable to restrain myself.

"That's a different story," said the merchant and sank into silence.

When the whistle sounded, the merchant stood up, took his sack from under the seat, buttoned his coat, doffed his cap, and left the carriage.

2

As soon as the old man left, several voices rose in conversation.

"A papa right out of the Old Testament," said the clerk.

"He's a walking Domostroi," said the lady. "What a strange idea he has of women and marriage!"

"Yes, indeed. We Rus sians are far from sharing the European view of marriage," said the lawyer.

"The main thing that such people don't understand," said the lady, "is that marriage without love isn't really marriage, that only love sanctifies marriage, and the only true marriage is one sanctified by love."

The clerk listened and smiled, wishing to commit to memory for future use as much as he could from this clever conversation.

In the midst of the lady's remarks we heard behind me something like the sound of broken laughter or sobbing; turning around, we saw my neighbor, the lonely gray-haired man with glittering eyes, who, during the conversation, which obviously interested him, had moved closer to us unnoticed. He stood, resting his arms on the back of the seat, evidently in great agitation: his face was flushed and one of his cheek muscles was twitching.

"What kind of love ... love ... love ... sanctifies marriage?" he asked, stammering.

Seeing the agitated state of her interlocutor, the lady tried to respond as gently and fully as possible.

"True love.... Only if this love is present between a man and a woman, is marriage possible," said the lady.

"Yes, ma'am, but what do you mean by true love?" asked the man with glittering eyes, timidly and with an awkward smile.

"Everyone knows what love is," said the lady, obviously wishing to end the conversation with him.

"But I don't," said the gentleman. "You must define what you mean ..."

"What? It's very simple," said the lady, but stopped to think. "Love? Love is the exclusive preference for one man or one woman over everyone else," she said.

"Preference for how long? A month? Two days? Half an hour?" asked the gray-haired man and then laughed.

"No, excuse me. You're obviously talking about something else."

"No, ma'am, I'm talking about the same thing."

"She means," the lawyer intervened, pointing to the lady, "that marriage must follow, in the first place, from attachment, or love, if you like, and if that exists, then only in that case does marriage constitute something sacred, so to speak. Thus any marriage lacking in this natural attachment—love, if you like—has nothing morally obligatory about it. Do I understand you correctly?" he asked, turning to the lady.

The lady indicated her approval of this explanation of her view with a nod of her head.

"Thereafter," continued the lawyer, but the nervous gentleman with eyes now burning as if on fire, obviously restraining himself with difficulty, didn't let him finish, and began again:

"No, I'm talking about that same preference of one man or one woman over everyone else, but I only ask: preference for how long?"

"How long? For a long time, sometimes one's whole life," said the lady, shrugging her shoulders.

"That only happens in novels, never in real life. In life this preference for one person over everyone else can last a year, which is very rare, more often only months, or even weeks, days, hours," he said, obviously knowing that he'd astonish everyone with his opinion and feeling pleased by that fact.

"What are you saying? No. Excuse me," all three replied in one voice. Even the clerk emitted some sound of disapproval.

"Yes, ma'am, I know," the gray-haired man outshouted us, "you're talking about how things are supposed to be, while I'm talking about how things really are. Every man experiences what you call love for every single beautiful woman."

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Excerpted from The Kreutzer Sonata Variations by Michael R. Katz. Copyright © 2014 Yale University. Excerpted by permission of Yale UNIVERSITY PRESS.
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