by Leo Tolstoy
I've come at the wrong time, it seems - too early,' he said, glancing around the empty drawing room. When he saw that his expectations had been fulfilled, that nothing prevented him from speaking out, his face darkened.
'Oh, no,' said Kitty, and she sat down at the table.
'But this is just what I wanted, to find you alone,' he began, not sitting down and not looking at her, so as not to lose courage.
'Mama will come out presently. Yesterday she got very tired. Yesterday...'
She spoke, not knowing what her lips were saying, and not taking her pleading and caressing eyes off him.
He glanced at her; she blushed and fell silent.
'I told you I didn't know whether I had come for long ... that it depended on you ...'
She hung her head lower and lower, not knowing how she would reply to what was coming.
'That it depended on you,' he repeated. 'I wanted to say ... I wanted to say ... I came for this ... that ... to be my wife!' he said, hardly aware of what he was saying; but, feeling that the most dreadful part had been said, he stopped and looked at her.
She was breathing heavily, not looking at him. She was in ecstasy. Her soul overflowed with happiness. She had never imagined that the voicing of his love would make such a strong impression on her. But this lasted only a moment. She remembered Vronsky. Raising her light, truthful eyes to Levin and seeing his desperate face, she hastily replied:
'It cannot be ... forgive me ...'
How close she had been to him just a minute ago, how important for his life! And now how alien and distant from him she had become!
'It couldn't have been otherwise,' he said, not looking at her.
He bowed and was about to leave.
XIV
But just then the princess came out. Horror showed on her face when she saw them alone and looking upset. Levin bowed to her and said nothing. Kitty was silent, not raising her eyes. 'Thank God, she's refused him,' thought the mother, and her face brightened with the usual smile with which she met her guests on Thursdays. She sat down and began asking Levin about his life in the country. He sat down again, awaiting the arrival of other guests so that he could leave inconspicuously.
Five minutes later Kitty's friend, Countess Nordston, who had been married the previous winter, came in.
She was a dry, yellow woman, sickly and nervous, with black shining eyes. She loved Kitty, and her love expressed itself, as a married woman's love for young girls always does, in her wish to get Kitty married according to her own ideal of happiness, and therefore she wished her to marry Vronsky. Levin, whom she had met often in their house at the beginning of winter, she had always found disagreeable. Her constant and favourite occupation when she met him consisted in making fun of him.
'I love it when he looks down at me from the height of his grandeur: either he breaks off his clever conversation with me because I'm stupid, or he condescends to me. Condescends! I just love it! I'm very glad he can't stand me,' she said of him.
She was right, because Levin indeed could not stand her and had contempt for what she took pride in and counted as a merit - her nervousness, her refined contempt and disregard for all that was coarse and common.
Between Countess Nordston and Levin there had been established those relations, not infrequent in society, in which two persons, while ostensibly remaining on friendly terms, are contemptuous of each other to such a degree that they cannot even treat each other seriously and cannot even insult one another.
Countess Nordston fell upon Levin at once.
'Ah! Konstantin Dmitrich! You've come back to our depraved Babylon,' she said, giving him her tiny yellow hand and recalling the words he had spoken once at the beginning of winter, that Moscow was Babylon. 'Has Babylon become better, or have you become worse?' she added, glancing at Kitty with a mocking smile.
I'm very flattered, Countess, that you remember my words so well,' answered Levin, who had managed to recover and by force of habit entered at once into his banteringly hostile attitude towards Countess Nordston. 'They must have had a very strong effect on you.'
Oh, surely! I write it all down. Well, Kitty, so you went skating again?'
And she began talking with Kitty. Awkward as it was for Levin to eave now, it was still easier for him to commit that awkwardness than to stay all evening and see Kitty, who glanced at him now and then yet avoided his eyes. He was about to get up, but the princess, noticing that he was silent, addressed him: 'Have you come to Moscow for long? Though it seems you're involved with the zemstvo and cannot be long away.'
'No, Princess, I'm no longer involved with the zemstvo,' he said. 'I've come for a few days.'
'Something peculiar has happened to him,' thought Countess Nordston, studying his stern, serious face, 'something keeps him from getting into his tirades. But I'll draw him out. I'm terribly fond of making a fool of him in front of Kitty, and so I will.'
'Konstantin Dmitrich,' she said to him, 'explain to me, please, what it means - you know all about this - that on our Kaluga estate the muzhiks and their women drank up all they had and now don't pay us anything? What does it mean? You praise muzhiks all the time.'
Just then another lady came in, and Levin rose.
'Excuse me, Countess, but I really know nothing about it and can tell you nothing,' he said, and turned to look at the military man who came in after the lady.
'That must be Vronsky,' thought Levin and, to make sure of it, he glanced at Kitty. She had already had time to glance at Vronsky and now looked at Levin. And by that one glance of her involuntarily brightened eyes Levin understood that she loved this man, understood it as surely as if she had told it to him in words. But what sort of man was he?
Now - for good or ill - Levin could not help staying: he had to find out what sort of man it was that she loved.
There are people who, on meeting a successful rival in whatever it may be, are ready at once to turn their eyes from everything good in him and to see only the bad; then there are people who, on the contrary, want most of all to find the qualities in this successful rival that enabled him to defeat them, and with aching hearts seek only the good. Levin was one of those people. But it was not hard for him to find what was good and attractive in Vronsky. It struck his eyes at once. Vronsky was a sturdily built, dark-haired man of medium height, with a good-naturedly handsome, extremely calm and firm face. In his face and figure, from his closely cropped dark hair and freshly shaven chin to his wide-cut, brand-new uniform, everything was simple and at the same time elegant. Making way for the lady who was entering, Vronsky went up to the princess and then to Kitty.
As he went up to her, his beautiful eyes began to glitter with a special tenderness, and with a barely noticeable happy and modestly triumphant smile (as it seemed to Levin), bending over her respectfully and carefully, he gave her his small but broad hand.
After greeting and saying a few words to everyone, he sat down, without a glance at Levin, who did not take his eyes off him.
'Allow me to introduce you,' said the princess, indicating Levin. 'Konstantin Dmitrich Levin. Count Alexei Kirillovich Vronsky.'
Vronsky rose and, looking amiably into Levin's eyes, shook hands with him.
'I believe I was to have dined with you this winter,' he said, smiling his simple and frank smile, 'but you unexpectedly left for the country.'
'Konstantin Dmitrich despises and hates the city and us city-dwellers,' said Countess Nordston.
'My words must have a strong effect on you, since you remember them so well,' said Levin and, realizing that he had already said that earlier, he turned red.
Vronsky looked at Levin and Countess Nordston and smiled.
'And do you live in the country all year round?' he asked. 'I suppose the winters are boring?'
'No, not if you're busy and are not bored with your own self,' Levin replied curtly.
'I like the country,' said Vronsky, noticing Levin's tone and pretending he had not noticed it.
'But I do hope, Count, that you would not agree to live in the country all year round,' said Countess Nordston.
'I don't know, I've never tried it. I once experienced a strange feeling,' he went on. 'Nowhere have I ever missed the country, the Russian country, with its bast shoes and muzhiks, so much as when I spent a winter with my mother in Nice. Nice is boring in itself, you know. Naples and Sorrento are also good only for a short time. And it is there that one remembers Russia especially vividly, and precisely the country. It's as if they ...'
He spoke, addressing both Kitty and Levin and shifting his calm and amiable glance from one to the other - saying, evidently, whatever came into his head.
Noticing that Countess Nordston wanted to say something, he stopped without finishing what he had begun and listened attentively to her.
The conversation never flagged for a minute, so that the old princess, who, in case a topic was lacking, always kept two heavy cannon in reserve - classical versus modern education, and general military conscription - did not have to move them up, and Countess Nordston had no chance to tease Levin.
Levin wanted but was unable to enter into the general conversation; saying 'Go now' to himself every minute, he did not leave, but kept waiting for something.
The conversation moved on to table-turning and spirits[27] and Countess Nordston, who believed in spiritualism, began telling about the wonders she had seen.
'Ah, Countess, you must take me, for God's sake, take me to them! I've never seen anything extraordinary, though I keep looking everywhere,' Vronsky said, smiling.
'Very well, next Saturday,' Countess Nordston replied. 'But you, Konstantin Dmitrich, do you believe in it?' she asked Levin.
'Why do you ask me? You know what I'm going to say.'
'But I want to hear your opinion.'
'My opinion,' answered Levin, 'is simply that these turning tables prove that our so-called educated society is no higher than the muzhiks. They believe in the evil eye, and wicked spells, and love potions, while we ...'
'So, then, you don't believe in it?'
'I cannot believe, Countess.'
'But if I saw it myself?'
'Peasant women also tell of seeing household goblins themselves.'
'So you think I'm not telling the truth?'
And she laughed mirthlessly.
'No, Masha, Konstantin Dmitrich says he cannot believe in it,' said Kitty, blushing for Levin, and Levin understood it and, still more annoyed, was about to reply, but Vronsky, with his frank, cheerful smile, at once came to the rescue of the conversation, which was threatening to turn unpleasant.
'You don't admit any possibility at all?' he asked. 'Why not? We admit the existence of electricity, which we know nothing about; why can't there be a new force, still unknown to us, which ...'
'When electricity was found,' Levin quickly interrupted, 'it was merely the discovery of a phenomenon, and it was not known where it came from or what it could do, and centuries passed before people thought of using it. The spiritualists, on the contrary, began by saying that tables write to them and spirits come to them, and only afterwards started saying it was an unknown force.'
Vronsky listened attentively to Levin, as he always listened, evidently interested in his words.
'Yes, but the spiritualists say: now we don't know what this force is, but the force exists, and these are the conditions under which it acts. Let the scientists find out what constitutes this force. No, I don't see why it can't be a new force, if it...'
'Because,' Levin interrupted again, 'with electricity, each time you rub resin against wool, a certain phenomenon manifests itself, while here it's not each time, and therefore it's not a natural phenomenon.'
Probably feeling that the conversation was acquiring too serious a character for a drawing room, Vronsky did not object, but, trying to change the subject, smiled cheerfully and turned to the ladies.
'Let's try it now, Countess,' he began. But Levin wanted to finish saying what he thought.
'I think,' he continued, 'that this attempt by the spiritualists to explain their wonders by some new force is a most unfortunate one. They speak directly about spiritual force and want to subject it to material experiment.'
They were all waiting for him to finish, and he felt it.
'And I think that you'd make an excellent medium,' said Countess Nordston, 'there's something ecstatic in you.'
Levin opened his mouth, wanted to say something, turned red, and said nothing.
'Let's try the tables now, Princess, if you please,' said Vronsky. 'With your permission, Madame?' He turned to the old princess.
And Vronsky stood up, his eyes searching for a table.
Kitty got up from her little table and, as she passed by, her eyes met Levin's. She pitied him with all her heart, the more so as she was the cause of his unhappiness. 'If I can be forgiven, forgive me,' her eyes said, 'I'm so happy.'
I hate everybody, including you and myself,' his eyes answered, and he picked up his hat. But he was not fated to leave yet. They were just settling around the little table, and Levin was on the point of leaving, when the old prince came in and, after greeting the ladies, turned to him.
Ah!' he began joyfully. 'Been here long? And I didn't know you were here. Very glad to see you, sir.'
The old prince sometimes addressed Levin formally, sometimes informally. He embraced Levin, talking to him and not noticing Vronsky, who rose and waited calmly for the prince to turn to him.
Kitty sensed that, after what had happened, her father's cordiality would be oppressive for Levin. She also saw how coldly her father finally responded to Vronsky's bow and how Vronsky looked at her father with friendly perplexity, trying but failing to understand how and why it was possible to have an unfriendly attitude towards him, and she blushed.
'Prince, give us Konstantin Dmitrich,' said Countess Nordston. 'We want to make an experiment.'
'What experiment? Table-turning? Well, excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, but I think it's more fun to play the ring game,' said the old prince, looking at Vronsky and guessing that he had started it. 'The ring game still has some sense to it.'
Vronsky gave the prince a surprised look with his firm eyes and, smiling slightly, immediately began talking with Countess Nordston about a big ball that was to take place in a week.
'I hope you'll be there?' he turned to Kitty.
As soon as the old prince turned away from him, Levin went out unobserved, and the last impression he took away with him from that evening was the smiling, happy face of Kitty answering Vronsky's question about the ball.
XV
When the evening was over, Kitty told her mother about her conversation with Levin, and, despite all the pity she felt for Levin, she was glad at the thought that she had been proposed to. She had no doubt that she had acted rightly. But when she went to bed, she could not fall asleep for a long time. One impression pursued her relentlessly. It was Levin's face with its scowling eyebrows and his kind eyes looking out from under them with gloomy sullenness, as he stood listening to her father and glancing at her and Vronsky. And she felt such pity for him that tears came to her eyes. But she immediately thought of the one she had exchanged him for. She vividly recalled that manly, firm face, the noble calm and the kindness towards all that shone in him; she recalled the love for her of the one she loved, and again she felt joy in her soul, and with a smile of happiness she lay back on the pillow. 'It's a pity, a pity, but what to do? It's not my fault,' she kept saying to herself; yet her inner voice was saying something else. Whether she repented of having led Levin on, or of having rejected him, she did not know. But her happiness was poisoned by doubts. 'Lord have mercy, Lord have mercy, Lord have mercy!' she kept saying to herself till she fell asleep.
Just then, downstairs in the prince's small study, one of those so often repeated scenes was taking place between the parents over their favourite daughter.
'What? Here's what!' the prince shouted, waving his arms and at once cl
osing his squirrel-skin dressing gown. 'That you have no pride, no dignity, that you disgrace and ruin your daughter with this mean, foolish matchmaking!'
'But, please, for the love of God, Prince, what have I done?' the princess said, almost in tears.
Happy and pleased after talking with her daughter, she had come to say good night to the prince as usual, and though she had not intended to tell him about Levin's proposal and Kitty's refusal, she had hinted to her husband that she thought the matter with Vronsky quite concluded, that it would be decided as soon as his mother came. And here, at these words, the prince had suddenly flared up and begun shouting unseemly things.
'What have you done? Here's what: in the first place, you lure a suitor, and all Moscow is going to be talking, and with reason. If you give soirees, invite everybody, and not some chosen little suitors. Invite all those twits' (so the prince called the young men of Moscow), 'invite a pianist and let them dance, but not like tonight - suitors and matchmaking. It's loathsome, loathsome to look at, and you've succeeded, you've turned the silly girl's head. Levin is a thousand times the better man. And this little fop from Petersburg - they're made by machine, they're all the same sort, and all trash. Even if he was a prince of the blood, my daughter doesn't need anybody!'