The Kreutzer Sonata Page #2

"The Kreutzer Sonata" is a novella by Leo Tolstoy, first published in 1889. The story revolves around a man named Pozdnyshev, who recounts his tumultuous marriage and the deep-seated jealousy that led him to commit a tragic act of violence against his wife. Catalyzed by his obsession with her perceived infidelity, Pozdnyshev’s narrative explores themes of love, passion, and the complexities of human relationships, while also critiquing societal norms surrounding marriage and sexuality. The title refers to Beethoven's Kreutzer Sonata, which serves as a poignant backdrop to the emotional and psychological turmoil experienced by the protagonist. The novella challenges conventional views on love and the institution of marriage, making it a thought-provoking work that resonates with contemporary issues.

								

repressing a smile, and all ready to deride or approve the merchant’s
words, according to the attitude of the others.

“What fear?” said the lady.

“This fear,—the wife must fear her husband; that is what fear.”

“Oh, that, my little father, that is ended.”

“No, madam, that cannot end. As she, Eve, the woman, was taken from
man’s ribs, so she will remain unto the end of the world,” said the old
man, shaking his head so triumphantly and so severely that the clerk,
deciding that the victory was on his side, burst into a loud laugh.

“Yes, you men think so,” replied the lady, without surrendering, and
turning toward us. “You have given yourself liberty. As for woman, you
wish to keep her in the seraglio. To you, everything is permissible. Is
it not so?”

“Oh, man,—that’s another affair.”

“Then, according to you, to man everything is permissible?”

“No one gives him this permission; only, if the man behaves badly
outside, the family is not increased thereby; but the woman, the wife,
is a fragile vessel,” continued the merchant, severely.

His tone of authority evidently subjugated his hearers. Even the lady
felt crushed, but she did not surrender.

“Yes, but you will admit, I think, that woman is a human being, and has
feelings like her husband. What should she do if she does not love her
husband?”

“If she does not love him!” repeated the old man, stormily, and
knitting his brows; “why, she will be made to love him.”

This unexpected argument pleased the clerk, and he uttered a murmur of
approbation.

“Oh, no, she will not be forced,” said the lady. “Where there is no
love, one cannot be obliged to love in spite of herself.”

“And if the wife deceives her husband, what is to be done?” said the
lawyer.

“That should not happen,” said the old man. “He must have his eyes
about him.”

“And if it does happen, all the same? You will admit that it does
happen?”

“It happens among the upper classes, not among us,” answered the old
man. “And if any husband is found who is such a fool as not to rule his
wife, he will not have robbed her. But no scandal, nevertheless. Love
or not, but do not disturb the household. Every husband can govern his
wife. He has the necessary power. It is only the imbecile who does not
succeed in doing so.”

Everybody was silent. The clerk moved, advanced, and, not wishing to
lag behind the others in the conversation, began with his eternal
smile:

“Yes, in the house of our employer, a scandal has arisen, and it is
very difficult to view the matter clearly. The wife loved to amuse
herself, and began to go astray. He is a capable and serious man.
First, it was with the book-keeper. The husband tried to bring her back
to reason through kindness. She did not change her conduct. She plunged
into all sorts of beastliness. She began to steal his money. He beat
her, but she grew worse and worse. To an unbaptized, to a pagan, to a
Jew (saving your permission), she went in succession for her caresses.
What could the employer do? He has dropped her entirely, and now he
lives as a bachelor. As for her, she is dragging in the depths.”

“He is an imbecile,” said the old man. “If from the first he had not
allowed her to go in her own fashion, and had kept a firm hand upon
her, she would be living honestly, no danger. Liberty must be taken
away from the beginning. Do not trust yourself to your horse upon the
highway. Do not trust yourself to your wife at home.”

At that moment the conductor passed, asking for the tickets for the
next station. The old man gave up his.

“Yes, the feminine sex must be dominated in season, else all will
perish.”

“And you yourselves, at Kounavino, did you not lead a gay life with the
pretty girls?” asked the lawyer with a smile.

“Oh, that’s another matter,” said the merchant, severely. “Good-by,” he
added, rising. He wrapped himself in his cloak, lifted his cap, and,
taking his bag, left the car.

CHAPTER II.

Scarcely had the old man gone when a general conversation began.

“There’s a little Old Testament father for you,” said the clerk.

“He is a Domostroy,”[*] said the lady. “What savage ideas about a woman
and marriage!”

[*] The Domostroy is a matrimonial code of the days of Ivan the
Terrible.

“Yes, gentlemen,” said the lawyer, “we are still a long way from the
European ideas upon marriage. First, the rights of woman, then free
marriage, then divorce, as a question not yet solved.” . . .

“The main thing, and the thing which such people as he do not
understand,” rejoined the lady, “is that only love consecrates
marriage, and that the real marriage is that which is consecrated by
love.”

The clerk listened and smiled, with the air of one accustomed to store
in his memory all intelligent conversation that he hears, in order to
make use of it afterwards.

“But what is this love that consecrates marriage?” said, suddenly, the
voice of the nervous and taciturn gentleman, who, unnoticed by us, had
approached.

He was standing with his hand on the seat, and evidently agitated. His
face was red, a vein in his forehead was swollen, and the muscles of
his cheeks quivered.

“What is this love that consecrates marriage?” he repeated.

“What love?” said the lady. “The ordinary love of husband and wife.”

“And how, then, can ordinary love consecrate marriage?” continued the
nervous gentleman, still excited, and with a displeased air. He seemed
to wish to say something disagreeable to the lady. She felt it, and
began to grow agitated.

“How? Why, very simply,” said she.

The nervous gentleman seized the word as it left her lips.

“No, not simply.”

“Madam says,” interceded the lawyer indicating his companion, “that
marriage should be first the result of an attachment, of a love, if you
will, and that, when love exists, and in that case only, marriage
represents something sacred. But every marriage which is not based on a
natural attachment, on love, has in it nothing that is morally
obligatory. Is not that the idea that you intended to convey?” he asked
the lady.

The lady, with a nod of her head, expressed her approval of this
translation of her thoughts.

“Then,” resumed the lawyer, continuing his remarks.

But the nervous gentleman, evidently scarcely able to contain himself,
without allowing the lawyer to finish, asked:

“Yes, sir. But what are we to understand by this love that alone
consecrates marriage?”

“Everybody knows what love is,” said the lady.

“But I don’t know, and I should like to know how you define it.”

“How? It is very simple,” said the lady.

And she seemed thoughtful, and then said:

“Love . . . love . . . is a preference for one man or one woman to the
exclusion of all others. . . .”

“A preference for how long? . . . For a month, two days, or half an
hour?” said the nervous gentleman, with special irritation.

“No, permit me, you evidently are not talking of the same thing.”

“Yes, I am talking absolutely of the same thing. Of the preference for
one man or one woman to the exclusion of all others. But I ask: a
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