The Tangled Web of Love, Marriage, and Morality in “Anna Karenina”
Though the book is named for her, fifty pages pass before Anna Karenina makes her first appearance. Within those opening pages, we are introduced to Anna’s brother Oblonsky, whose extramarital affair has driven his wife Dolly to tears and a request for divorce. We also encounter Levin, a friend of Oblonsky who is in love with Dolly’s sister, the beautiful and much-admired Kitty. While Oblonsky has dishonored his vows to Dolly and is struggling to keep her in the marriage, Levin dreams of an idyllic, even sacred relationship with Kitty, with whom he feels certain of achieving perfect marital bliss. Consequently, before we even meet Anna we are confronted with one of the central themes of the novel: the institution of marriage. Very soon, Anna’s life will be consumed by an agonizing dilemma over the obligations of marriage and its relation to love.
For those who know beforehand that the story of Anna Karenina is one of infidelity, it might come as a surprise that Anna first appears as an example of feminine virtue. Her brother calls upon her to come visit and convince Dolly to forego divorce, an uncommon and unfavorable move in the aristocratic society to which they belong. By gently urging Dolly to forgive Oblonsky and reconcile with him, Anna is herself modeling the gracious behavior expected of high-society women. Because Dolly is concerned for her children’s future and, despite the situation, still loves her husband, she is moved by Anna’s sympathetic persuasion to remain Oblonsky’s faithful wife.
By convincing the wronged party to forgive and thus saving the marriage, Anna plays a role that she is later unable to perform for herself. Directly and quite personally, Anna witnesses the harm and destruction that adultery can cause. She sees the unbelieving hurt in the eyes of the innocent and selfless Dolly, and she hears from Dolly’s own lips how her love for and trust in her husband has been woefully shaken. But though she pities Dolly’s tears and says that she cannot take Oblonsky’s side, Anna does not seem to think the worse of her brother for his adultery, nor does she seem to deplore the act itself. It seems that if Dolly had not been wounded, the affair would not have been an issue at all. And though it was an unfortunate occurrence, Dolly forgave, and the marriage was salvaged; the consequences do not, at first, seem grave. It is only much later that we see the irreparable damage caused by Oblonsky’s lack of remorse and continued infidelity, and Dolly’s subsequent sorrow, anger, and even hatred for her husband — but by that time, Anna has already given herself to the romantic Count Vronsky.
In other words, Anna leaves Oblonsky and Dolly’s home with the impression that adultery can be forgiven and forgotten, the marriage mended without the guilty party having to face any dire consequences. Oblonsky still has his home, his children, and his wife (even if the latter is more quick to suspicion than before). With this as her example, perhaps Anna gives in to Vronsky in part because she believes that she, too, can be pardoned. Anna is convinced that she would be willing to forgive adultery, and so she hopes that her own husband, Karenin, would do the same.
Nonetheless, Anna is not one to casually perform a lapse in morality or dignity. From her interactions with Dolly and with her own son, we see that Anna is a woman of sincerity, compassion, and affection. In her relations with her husband and society, she is poised, elegant, and charming. We do not expect Anna to succumb easily to adultery, and indeed she does not: it takes Vronsky a year to convince Anna to embrace him as her lover. But nor does she take the necessary steps to safeguard herself from his attentions. After explicitly rejecting his advance once, she ceases to reproach him. On the contrary: her eyes express the joy and animation caused by his presence, and instead of avoiding him Anna changes her Petersburg social circle to coincide with his. Though her conscience warns her that her relationship with Vronsky is too intimate — too magnetic — to be appropriate, she is unable to resist his handsome charm and devotion. Enthralled by her first intoxicating taste of love, she cannot bring herself to renounce it.
Anna is neither strong nor motivated enough to do so. Away from her husband, in the company of her brother and his friends, she blossoms: lovely in appearance, vivacious in her movements, and amiable in her conversation, Anna appears contentedly at ease. When she captivates Vronsky’s attention at the ball, she is thriving: her demeanor, her face, and even her hands are enchanting. But that brightness fades away almost immediately when she returns home. Her eyes lose their spark and her heart its blaze, leaving behind a chill emptiness in its place. As she once again looks into Karenin’s eyes and hears his voice, Anna is struck by the lack of confidence and satisfaction with herself that his presence makes her feel — emotions which indicate the very opposite of love. It becomes clear that Anna, a young and passionate woman, is stifled by a political marriage to a man who, though respectful and just, is nonetheless old, formal, rigid, and rather detached. With Vronsky steadfastly pursuing her, Anna is drawn to him as a beggar is to food, or a freezing man to a fire. But all the while that she is tempted and drawing nearer, Anna is instinctively aware that the shining apple has a rotten core, and that the brightness of the flames conceals an unpredictable and deadly force. As enticing and promising as a life with Vronsky appears, she hesitates.
Seeing Anna step closer and closer to the precipice, disregarding proper conduct and entertaining delusions of perfect happiness, Karenin decides that he must warn her of the certain consequences of her actions. Surprisingly, he begins by telling her that he will not question her feelings or reasons because they belong to her conscience, which is her own concern — not his. Perhaps Karenin refrains from inquiring into Anna’s heart in order to protect his own; nevertheless, his words imply that his position as her husband does not grant him the right to be her confidant. In other words, Karenin treats feelings and obligations — that is, love and marriage — as two separate spheres. This concept has a further implication: Anna’s affection for another man does not grant her the right to destroy their marriage. Karenin focuses on this point, reminding Anna of her social and religious duties. He begs her to reconsider her current course for the sake of their son and their union, a bond sanctioned not only by man but also by God. He warns her that violating such a relationship is essentially a crime, which surely and justly brings punishment.
But such an argument does not sway Anna, nor does it waken her from her carefully nurtured dream. She views Karenin’s words as evidence that he is shallow and heartless, and that her feelings for another man do not hurt him; rather, he is concerned only because society has been shocked and given reason to gossip, which is not sufficient reason for her to give up her new happiness. Anna is seeking attention and love, not status and approval. Only affection could persuade her to stay with Karenin, and yet she cannot believe — indeed, she refuses to believe — that Karenin truly cares for her, or is even capable of doing so. As a result, his subsequent confession of love acts as a provocation: Anna becomes flustered and resentful, irritated that Karenin’s words of affection, as formal as they may be, contradict her mental narrative and justification of her behavior. Tragically, Karenin’s sincerity is obscured by his characteristic lack of warmth, ultimately convincing Anna that true and ardent love can only be found in Vronsky’s arms.
Eventually, Anna does give herself to Vronsky; but it is not at all how she — or the reader — expects. Poignant and exceptionally striking, the consummation of their illicit love unfolds as a shocking scene of murder. Sliding to the floor at Vronsky’s feet, pale and pitiful as a corpse, Anna writhes in pain, unable to support herself or even raise her head. She and Vronsky had anticipated pleasure and gratification, but instead they are both overcome by guilt, shame, and even horror. For Anna, it is a moment in which the enchanting and reassuring illusion under which she had operated, the romantic dream which had so captivated her, is smashed by the gravity of her actions: she feels in her soul that her reputation and her very future have been suddenly but unquestionably killed.
Anna is gutted by the realization that her affair signifies the renunciation of society and morality, of both man and God. She has sacrificed her future in order to be present with Vronsky, but he appears now not as her comfort and joy but as her sole support, the single lifeboat that saves her from drowning. Her social and spiritual death is intensely felt by Vronsky, who looks at the devastated Anna and feels himself to be a murderer. But though he is horrified by the ruin that he has caused her, Vronsky is not ashamed of their adulterous love, nor does he regret it. He buries his momentary shock and embraces their situation as he embraces the woman he loves. Ultimately, Vronsky enjoys his conquest and the newfound life with which it has granted him.
But Anna, receiving Vronsky’s kisses and caresses, lies limp and helpless as one dead in his arms. Unlike her lover, Anna cannot bear her new reality. She thought she would only be sacrificing her social life and status, but now she feels that she has also given up her claim to morality and thus to God Himself. It is only after she has committed adultery does she realize the full weight and import of her actions; only after the deed is done does her unbidden disgust and shame reveal that she had indeed believed in marriage as a sacred promise. She begs for forgiveness but does not believe that anyone hears her but Vronsky, and so it is to him that she turns for pardon. But his touch has sealed her fate: rather than her salvation, the heat of his love has proved to be a devouring, ruinous blaze.
“He looked at her as a man might look at a faded flower he had plucked, in which it was difficult for him to trace the beauty that had made him pick and so destroy it.”
Since she cannot erase her transgression, Anna tries to decrease its enormity by redefining the idea of marriage. She refuses to speak of Karenin as her husband and claims that Vronsky, with his love, more truly occupies that position. In other words, Anna downplays the character of marriage as a social and religious vow in favor of the more romantic, forgiving notion that it is a consummated pact of mutual love and desire. Her obligations are thus to her heart and not to her conscience, which Anna struggles to silence; but she is never able to fully convince herself. Though she has moments of ease and happiness in her life with Vronsky, Anna is never again the proud, composed woman that she was as Karenin’s loyal wife. Her own mind hounds her, reproaching her for abandoning her innocent and loving son and her former dignified way of life. Her internal shame and guilt are then reinforced by the contempt and ostracism she consistently receives from her former social circle. Insecure and humiliated, Anna must rely on Vronsky to fulfill all of her needs and desires; but this fact serves to accentuate her anxiety and to make his love her sole consuming and unhealthy concern. This complete dependence, as well as Vronsky’s comparative liberty, breeds resentment as well as fear of abandonment in Anna’s heart: if Vronsky forsook her, she would be in an even more morally and physically compromised position. Harassed as she is from within and without, Anna can no longer convince herself that she has committed no wrong, and she slowly loses her composure and even her reason. Constantly fretful, she turns to opium for the oblivion that is her only repose.
Anna becomes motivated by her fear, which manifests as vicious and irrational jealousy. She no longer feels that she is enough for Vronsky, nor he for her. She even avoids their daughter, for whom she can muster no affection. Anna becomes as frightened and desperate as she was during her pregnancy, which nearly took her life: at that time, she had consciously and vocally craved death, and once again does death appear to her as the only solution to her suffering. She had spurned Karenin’s proffered forgiveness and irrevocably united her life with Vronsky, whose love can now no longer comfort or sustain her.
Anna eventually reaches her breaking point. Pursued by guilt, shame, and anxiety, she is overcome by her distress and can only perceive the world through that dismal lens. Whether among friends or strangers, Anna perceives in the faces and voices of other people a mirror of her own unhappiness and contempt. Her mental narrative fixed and inflexible, she is trapped within her depressed and unraveling mind, unable to listen or entertain hope.
Anna and Vronsky’s relationship began in tragedy, and thus does it end. At the train station where they first met, a peasant suffered an ugly death under the wheels of a locomotive. His death was an unforeseen and cruel twist of fate, and so proves to be Anna and Vronsky’s meeting. The consummation of their affair is, correspondingly, an ugly scene of murder and grief that portends more sorrow to come. The end of their affair is consistently gruesome: Anna believes that she can only escape her misery by putting an end to her life. As she prepares to throw herself under a train pulling into the station, she thinks back to the death of the peasant and the ominous beginning of her fatal love.
It must be mentioned that another cruel twist of fate is the fact that both Karenin and Vronsky — Anna’s two husbands — are named Alexis. In effect, Anna experiences a different aspect of marriage with each man — or, alternatively, experiences two different marriages. With Karenin, Anna enjoys the status of a socially and religiously sanctioned union; with Vronsky, Anna experiences the passion and transcendent bond of a loving relationship. Anna’s tragedy occurs because her marriages do not coincide.
Anna’s complicated relationship with the institution of marriage also highlights the more difficult and fragile position of women in Russian society. For instance, Oblonsky cheats on Dolly and continues to commit adultery, but Dolly feels bound to their marriage for the sake of their children and appearances. Though she suffers, she knows that leaving the marriage would put her and her children in an awkward social and financial situation. Additionally, though Anna and Vronsky are equally at fault, Anna faces condemnation and ostracism while Vronsky continues to move about relatively freely and proudly in society. The burden of wrongdoing falls much more heavily on Anna, who has the added misfortune of being completely dependent on her male relations for her welfare and sustenance. Though Anna is pushed to such a desperate conclusion primarily due to a tortured conscience, the fact that she could not financially provide for herself is a significant factor that should not be ignored.
The story of Anna Karenina is neither a simple nor a predictable one. Anna does not represent the archetypal seductress. She enters the ball in a gown of black, a color indicative of maturity and gravity. Nor does she possess a perfectly pretty face, like the rosy Kitty. When he first sees Anna, Vronsky is struck not by her beauty or elegance, but by the sweet tenderness and bright vitality of her face. He is drawn to the lovely liveliness that animates her movements and expressions, that lovely liveliness which is Anna Karenina’s defining feature.
Nor is Anna an inherently immoral or depraved woman. She is a realistic human being, simultaneously virtuous and flawed, strong and weak, likable and aggravating. She succumbs to loneliness and a craving for love, for someone to understand and match her feelings; and, having succumbed, she feels the burden of her conscience and the twisting thorn of shame and regret. She is so tormented that she comes to believe that death offers the only release, the only solution — and so she throws herself prematurely into that eternal rest. But though the flame of her life is quenched, the ashes continue to burn in Vronsky’s heart.
