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Originally Posted by
Janine
I don't think we should keep harping on this one aspect of the story. I feel we have missed much and should move on...
But, by all means, Quark, do post parts of the story for us to examine.
Good idea. Let's move on and talk about Anna Alekseevna. We're introduced to her here:
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And here it was my lot to meet Anna Alexyevna, Luganovitch's wife. At that time she was still very young, not more than twenty-two, and her first baby had been born just six months before. It is all a thing of the past; and now I should find it difficult to define what there was so exceptional in her, what it was in her attracted me so much; at the time, at dinner, it was all perfectly clear to me. I saw a lovely young, good, intelligent, fascinating woman, such as I had never met before; and I felt her at once some one close and already familiar, as though that face, those cordial, intelligent eyes, I had seen somewhere in my childhood, in the album which lay on my mother's chest of drawers.
Alekhin recounts love at first sight, but he doesn't remember why he was so infatuated with her. That should already draw questions from the reader: "Has he really forgotten or does he just not want to say? Or did he ever know?" Alekhin tries to make his feeling clearer, but he only obscures the matter further. Even though Alekhin's knowledge of Anna could only be superficial at this point, he immediately describes a sense of familiarity with Anna. The only substantial observation Alekhin has made so far is of her "cordial, intelligent eyes" which makes me even more suspicious of Alekhin's crush. He's been longing to get back to his refined lifestyle of courteous manners and intelligent conversation, and the woman he's infatuated with just happens to possess features that bespeak cordiality and intelligence. Alekhin may be cloaking his longing for culture and refinement inside a romantic infatuation with a woman who embodies those virtues.
Of course, who's to say that this wasn't genuine love? Alekhin's feelings are quite touching, and it's possible that bad memory could be causing the discrepancies in his story-telling. Looking further ahead might help us come to a better conclusion. Let's look at some scenes where they interact more. First, this one at the theatre:
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"In the late autumn there was a theatrical performance for some charitable object in the town. I went into the governor's box (I was invited to go there in the interval); I looked, and there was Anna Alexyevna sitting beside the governor's wife; and again the same irresistible, thrilling impression of beauty and sweet, caressing eyes, and again the same feeling of nearness. We sat side by side, then went to the foyer.
" 'You've grown thinner,' she said; 'have you been ill?'
" 'Yes, I've had rheumatism in my shoulder, and in rainy weather I can't sleep.'
" 'You look dispirited. In the spring, when you came to dinner, you were younger, more confident. You were full of eagerness, and talked a great deal then; you were very interesting, and I really must confess I was a little carried away by you. For some reason you often came back to my memory during the summer, and when I was getting ready for the theatre today I thought I should see you.'
"And she laughed.
" 'But you look dispirited today,' she repeated; 'it makes you seem older.'
And this description of Alekhin's place in the Lugovitch's home:
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"Her eyes, the elegant refined hand she gave me, her indoor dress, the way she did her hair, her voice, her step, always produced the same impression on me of something new and extraordinary in my life, and very important. We talked together for hours, were silent, thinking each our own thoughts, or she played for hours to me on the piano. If there were no one at home I stayed and waited, talked to the nurse, played with the child, or lay on the sofa in the study and read; and when Anna Alexyevna came back I met her in the hall, took all her parcels from her, and for some reason I carried those parcels every time with as much love, with as much solemnity, as a boy.
The byplay in the first passage shows some more of what each of them mean to one another. Oddly enough, I find little in either of them that makes me think Anna is madly in love with him. Compassion and some slight interest in his conversation are what Anna shows him at the theater. Alekhin believes that she's hiding her true feelings under this more polite manner, but why does he think that?
The second part I quoted has Alekhin once again describing Anna very superficially. It's her elegance, the way she does her hair, and her step that attract him. Their interaction doesn't give him much satisfaction. They remain silent during their walks, and he's practically her servant in the household. We get the image of Alekhin doting on her for unknown reasons, and Anna not returning his feelings. Alekhin will later refer to his affection as a "sad love", and it starting to become clear why.
The more I read this story the less I believe Alekhin. While there's nothing to indicate that he's deliberately avoiding the truth, he's so out of touch with everything that it makes it impossible to agree with him. I still think it's possible that he's being truthful. After all, the story wouldn't work if you weren't moved at least a little by what Alekhin says. But, the holes in his story create a space where a second explanation of their relationship arises--one where Alekhin is deceived about Anna. The more I look over things the more I tend to agree with that second one.
Janine, I'll respond to the rest of your post when I start talking about the husband.
