Anna Karenina

he waiting-room of the celebrated Petersburg lawyer was full when
Alexey Alexandrovitch entered it. Three ladies—an old lady, a young
lady, and a merchant’s wife—and three gentlemen—one a German banker
with a ring on his finger, the second a merchant with a beard, and the
third a wrathful-looking government clerk in official uniform, with a
cross on his neck—had obviously been waiting a long while already. Two
clerks were writing at tables with scratching pens. The appurtenances
of the writing-tables, about which Alexey Alexandrovitch was himself
very fastidious, were exceptionally good. He could not help observing
this. One of the clerks, without getting up, turned wrathfully to
Alexey Alexandrovitch, half closing his eyes. “What are you wanting?”

He replied that he had to see the lawyer on some business.

“He is engaged,” the clerk responded severely, and he pointed with his
pen at the persons waiting, and went on writing.

“Can’t he spare time to see me?” said Alexey Alexandrovitch.

“He has no time free; he is always busy. Kindly wait your turn.”

“Then I must trouble you to give him my card,” Alexey Alexandrovitch
said with dignity, seeing the impossibility of preserving his
incognito.

The clerk took the card and, obviously not approving of what he read on
it, went to the door.

Alexey Alexandrovitch was in principle in favor of the publicity of
legal proceedings, though for some higher official considerations he
disliked the application of the principle in Russia, and disapproved of
it, as far as he could disapprove of anything instituted by authority
of the Emperor. His whole life had been spent in administrative work,
and consequently, when he did not approve of anything, his disapproval
was softened by the recognition of the inevitability of mistakes and
the possibility of reform in every department. In the new public law
courts he disliked the restrictions laid on the lawyers conducting
cases. But till then he had had nothing to do with the law courts, and
so had disapproved of their publicity simply in theory; now his
disapprobation was strengthened by the unpleasant impression made on
him in the lawyer’s waiting room.

“Coming immediately,” said the clerk; and two minutes later there did
actually appear in the doorway the large figure of an old solicitor who
had been consulting with the lawyer himself.

The lawyer was a little, squat, bald man, with a dark, reddish beard,
light-colored long eyebrows, and an overhanging brow. He was attired as
though for a wedding, from his cravat to his double watch-chain and
varnished boots. His face was clever and manly, but his dress was
dandified and in bad taste.

“Pray walk in,” said the lawyer, addressing Alexey Alexandrovitch; and,
gloomily ushering Karenin in before him, he closed the door.

“Won’t you sit down?” He indicated an armchair at a writing-table
covered with papers. He sat down himself, and, rubbing his little hands
with short fingers covered with white hairs, he bent his head on one
side. But as soon as he was settled in this position a moth flew over
the table. The lawyer, with a swiftness that could never have been
expected of him, opened his hands, caught the moth, and resumed his
former attitude.

“Before beginning to speak of my business,” said Alexey Alexandrovitch,
following the lawyer’s movements with wondering eyes, “I ought to
observe that the business about which I have to speak to you is to be
strictly private.”

The lawyer’s overhanging reddish mustaches were parted in a scarcely
perceptible smile.

“I should not be a lawyer if I could not keep the secrets confided to
me. But if you would like proof....”

Alexey Alexandrovitch glanced at his face, and saw that the shrewd,
gray eyes were laughing, and seemed to know all about it already.

“You know my name?” Alexey Alexandrovitch resumed.

“I know you and the good”—again he caught a moth—“work you are doing,
like every Russian,” said the lawyer, bowing.

Alexey Alexandrovitch sighed, plucking up his courage. But having once
made up his mind he went on in his shrill voice, without timidity—or
hesitation, accentuating here and there a word.

“I have the misfortune,” Alexey Alexandrovitch began, “to have been
deceived in my married life, and I desire to break off all relations
with my wife by legal means—that is, to be divorced, but to do this so
that my son may not remain with his mother.”

The lawyer’s gray eyes tried not to laugh, but they were dancing with
irrepressible glee, and Alexey Alexandrovitch saw that it was not
simply the delight of a man who has just got a profitable job: there
was triumph and joy, there was a gleam like the malignant gleam he saw
in his wife’s eyes.

“You desire my assistance in securing a divorce?”

“Yes, precisely so; but I ought to warn you that I may be wasting your
time and attention. I have come simply to consult you as a preliminary
step. I want a divorce, but the form in which it is possible is of
great consequence to me. It is very possible that if that form does not
correspond with my requirements I may give up a legal divorce.”

“Oh, that’s always the case,” said the lawyer, “and that’s always for
you to decide.”

He let his eyes rest on Alexey Alexandrovitch’s feet, feeling that he
might offend his client by the sight of his irrepressible amusement. He
looked at a moth that flew before his nose, and moved his hands, but
did not catch it from regard for Alexey Alexandrovitch’s position.

“Though in their general features our laws on this subject are known to
me,” pursued Alexey Alexandrovitch, “I should be glad to have an idea
of the forms in which such things are done in practice.”

“You would be glad,” the lawyer, without lifting his eyes, responded,
adopting, with a certain satisfaction, the tone of his client’s
remarks, “for me to lay before you all the methods by which you could
secure what you desire?”

And on receiving an assuring nod from Alexey Alexandrovitch, he went
on, stealing a glance now and then at Alexey Alexandrovitch’s face,
which was growing red in patches.

“Divorce by our laws,” he said, with a slight shade of disapprobation
of our laws, “is possible, as you are aware, in the following cases....
Wait a little!” he called to a clerk who put his head in at the door,
but he got up all the same, said a few words to him, and sat down
again. “... In the following cases: physical defect in the married
parties, desertion without communication for five years,” he said,
crooking a short finger covered with hair, “adultery” (this word he
pronounced with obvious satisfaction), “subdivided as follows” (he
continued to crook his fat fingers, though the three cases and their
subdivisions could obviously not be classified together): “physical
defect of the husband or of the wife, adultery of the husband or of the
wife.” As by now all his fingers were used up, he uncrooked all his
fingers and went on: “This is the theoretical view; but I imagine you
have done me the honor to apply to me in order to learn its application
in practice. And therefore, guided by precedents, I must inform you
that in practice cases of divorce may all be reduced to the
following—there’s no physical defect, I may assume, nor desertion?...”

Alexey Alexandrovitch bowed his head in assent.

“—May be reduced to the following: adultery of one of the married
parties, and the detection in the fact of the guilty party by mutual
agreement, and failing such agreement, accidental detection. It must be
admitted that the latter case is rarely met with in practice,” said the
lawyer, and stealing a glance at Alexey Alexandrovitch he paused, as a
man selling pistols, after enlarging on the advantages of each weapon,
might await his customer’s choice. But Alexey Alexandrovitch said
nothing, and therefore the lawyer went on: “The most usual and simple,
the sensible course, I consider, is adultery by mutual consent. I
should not permit myself to express it so, speaking with a man of no
education,” he said, “but I imagine that to you this is
comprehensible.”

Alexey Alexandrovitch was, however, so perturbed that he did not
immediately comprehend all the good sense of adultery by mutual
consent, and his eyes expressed this uncertainty; but the lawyer
promptly came to his assistance.

“People cannot go on living together—here you have a fact. And if both
are agreed about it, the details and formalities become a matter of no
importance. And at the same time this is the simplest and most certain
method.”

Alexey Alexandrovitch fully understood now. But he had religious
scruples, which hindered the execution of such a plan.

“That is out of the question in the present case,” he said. “Only one
alternative is possible: undesigned detection, supported by letters
which I have.”

At the mention of letters the lawyer pursed up his lips, and gave
utterance to a thin little compassionate and contemptuous sound.

“Kindly consider,” he began, “cases of that kind are, as you are aware,
under ecclesiastical jurisdiction; the reverend fathers are fond of
going into the minutest details in cases of that kind,” he said with a
smile, which betrayed his sympathy with the reverend fathers’ taste.
“Letters may, of course, be a partial confirmation; but detection in
the fact there must be of the most direct kind, that is, by
eyewitnesses. In fact, if you do me the honor to intrust your
confidence to me, you will do well to leave me the choice of the
measures to be employed. If one wants the result, one must admit the
means.”

“If it is so....” Alexey Alexandrovitch began, suddenly turning white;
but at that moment the lawyer rose and again went to the door to speak
to the intruding clerk.

“Tell her we don’t haggle over fees!” he said, and returned to Alexey
Alexandrovitch.

On his way back he caught unobserved another moth. “Nice state my rep
curtains will be in by the summer!” he thought, frowning.

“And so you were saying?...” he said.

“I will communicate my decision to you by letter,” said Alexey
Alexandrovitch, getting up, and he clutched at the table. After
standing a moment in silence, he said: “From your words I may
consequently conclude that a divorce may be obtained? I would ask you
to let me know what are your terms.”

“It may be obtained if you give me complete liberty of action,” said
the lawyer, not answering his question. “When can I reckon on receiving
information from you?” he asked, moving towards the door, his eyes and
his varnished boots shining.

“In a week’s time. Your answer as to whether you will undertake to
conduct the case, and on what terms, you will be so good as to
communicate to me.”

“Very good.”

The lawyer bowed respectfully, let his client out of the door, and,
left alone, gave himself up to his sense of amusement. He felt so
mirthful that, contrary to his rules, he made a reduction in his terms
to the haggling lady, and gave up catching moths, finally deciding that
next winter he must have the furniture covered with velvet, like
Sigonin’s.