Leo Tolstoy

by Anna Karenina (tr Richard Pevear, Larissa Volokhonsky) (Penguin Classics) (epub)

  He waited for her to protest; but she was silent, looking straight ahead of her.

  ‘I have asked you before to conduct yourself in society so that wicked tongues can say nothing against you. There was a time when I spoke of our inner relations; now I am not speaking of them. Now I am speaking of our external relations. You conducted yourself improperly, and I do not wish it to be repeated.’

  She did not hear half of his words, she felt afraid of him and was wondering whether it was true that Vronsky had not been hurt. Was it of him they had said that he was well, but the horse had broken its back? She only smiled with false mockery when he finished and made no reply, because she had not heard what he said. Alexei Alexandrovich had begun speaking boldly, but when he understood clearly what he was speaking about, the fear that she experienced communicated itself to him. He saw this smile and a strange delusion came over him.

  ‘She’s smiling at my suspicions. Yes, she will presently tell me what she said to me the other time: that there are no grounds for my suspicions, that they are ridiculous.’

  Now, when the disclosure of everything was hanging over him, he wished for nothing so much as that she would mockingly answer him, just as before, that his suspicions were ridiculous and had no grounds. So dreadful was what he knew, that he was now ready to believe anything. But the expression of her face, frightened and gloomy, did not promise even deceit.

  ‘Perhaps I am mistaken,’ he said. ‘In that case I beg your pardon.’

  ‘No, you are not mistaken,’ she said slowly, looking desperately into his cold face. ‘You are not mistaken. I was and could not help being in despair. I listen to you and think about him. I love him, I am his mistress, I cannot stand you, I’m afraid of you, I hate you … Do what you like with me.’

  And, throwing herself back into the corner of the carriage, she began to sob, covering her face with her hands. Alexei Alexandrovich did not stir or change the straight direction of his gaze. But his entire face suddenly acquired the solemn immobility of a dead man, and that expression did not change during the whole drive to their country house. As they approached the house, he turned his head to her with the same expression.

  ‘So be it! But I demand that the outward conventions of propriety be observed until’ – his voice trembled – ‘until I take measures to secure my honour and inform you of them.’

  He got out first and helped her out. In the presence of the servants he silently pressed her hand, got into the carriage and drove off to Petersburg.

  After he left, a footman came from Princess Betsy and brought Anna a note:

  ‘I sent to Alexei to find out about him, and he wrote me that he is safe and sound, but in despair.’

  ‘So he will come!’ she thought. ‘How well I did to tell him everything.’

  She looked at her watch. There were still three hours to go, and the memory of the details of their last meeting fired her blood.

  ‘My God, what light! It’s frightening, but I love seeing his face and love this fantastic light… My husband! Ah, yes … Well, thank God it’s all over with him.’

  XXX

  As in all places where people gather, so in the small German watering–place to which the Shcherbatskys came there occurred the usual crystallization, as it were, of society, designating for each of its members a definite and invariable place. As definitely and invariably as a particle of water acquires the specific form of a snowflake in freezing, so each new person arriving at the spa was put at once into the place appropriate for him.

  Fürst Shcherbatsky sammt Getnahlin und Tochter,* by the quarters they occupied, by name, and by the acquaintances they found, crystallized at once into their definite and allotted place.

  At the spa that year there was a real German Fürstin* owing to whom the crystallization of society took place still more energetically. The princess was absolutely set on introducing her daughter to the Fürstin and performed this ritual the very next day. Kitty made a low and graceful curtsy in her very simple – that is, very smart – summer dress, ordered from Paris. The Fürstin said: ‘I hope the roses will soon return to this pretty little face’ – and at once certain paths of life were firmly established for the Shcherbatskys, from which it was no longer possible to stray. The Shcherbatskys became acquainted with the family of an English lady, and with a German countess and her son, wounded in the last war, and with a Swedish scholar, and with M. Canut and his sister. But the main company of the Shcherbatskys involuntarily constituted itself of the Moscow lady Marya Evgenyevna Rtishchev, her daughter, whom Kitty found disagreeable because, like Kitty, she had become ill from love, and a Moscow colonel whom Kitty had seen and known since childhood in a uniform and epaulettes and who was extraordinarily ridiculous here, with his little eyes and open neck in a brightly coloured tie, and tedious because there was no getting rid of him. When all this became firmly established, Kitty began to be bored, the more so as the prince left for Karlsbad and she stayed alone with her mother. She was not interested in those she knew, feeling that nothing new would come from them. Her main heartfelt interest at the spa now consisted in her observations and surmises about those she did not know. By virtue of

  * Prince Shcherbatsky with wife and daughter.

  * Princess.

  her character, Kitty always assumed the most beautiful things about people, especially those she did not know. And now, making guesses about who was who, what relations they were in, and what sort of people they were, Kitty imagined to herself the most amazing and beautiful characters and found confirmation in her observations.

  Among these people she was especially taken by a Russian girl who had come to the spa with an ailing Russian lady, Mme Stahl, as everyone called her. Mme Stahl belonged to high society, but was so ill that she was unable to walk, and only on rare good days appeared at the springs in a bath–chair. But, less from illness than from pride, as the princess explained, Mme Stahl was not acquainted with any of the Russians. The Russian girl looked after Mme Stahl and, besides that, as Kitty noticed, made friends with all the gravely ill, of whom there were many at the spa, and looked after them in the most natural way. This Russian girl, from Kitty’s observation, was not related to Mme Stahl and at the same time was not a hired helper. Mme Stahl called her Varenka, and the others ‘Mlle Varenka’. Not only was Kitty interested in observing the relations of this girl with Mme Stahl and other persons unknown to her, but, as often happens, she felt an inexplicable sympathy for this Mlle Varenka and sensed, when their eyes met, that she, too, was liked.

  This Mlle Varenka was not really past her first youth, but was, as it were, a being without youth: she might have been nineteen, she might have been thirty. If one studied her features, she was more beautiful than plain, despite her sickly complexion. She would also have been of good build, if it had not been for the excessive leanness of her body and a head much too large for her medium height; but she must not have been attractive to men. She was like a beautiful flower which, while still full of petals, is scentless and no longer blooming. Besides that, she also could not be attractive to men because she lacked what Kitty had in over–abundance – the restrained fire of life and an awareness of her attractiveness.

  She always seemed to be busy doing something that could not be doubted, and therefore it seemed she could not be interested in anything outside it. By this contrast with herself she especially attracted Kitty. Kitty felt that in her, in her way of life, she would find a model for what she now sought so tormentingly: interests in life, virtues in life, outside the social relations of a girl with men, which Kitty found repulsive, picturing them now as a disgraceful exhibition of wares awaiting their buyers. The more Kitty observed her unknown friend, the more convinced she was that this girl was that same perfect being she pictured to herself, and the more she wished to make her acquaintance.

  The two girls met several times a day and at each meeting Kitty’s eyes said: ‘Who are you? What are you? Are you truly the lovely being I imagine you to be? B
ut for God’s sake don’t think,’ her eyes added, ‘that I would allow myself to force an acquaintance. I simply admire you and love you.’ ‘I love you, too, and you are very, very sweet. And I would love you still more if I had time,’ the unknown girl’s eyes answered. And indeed Kitty saw that she was always busy: she would take the children of a Russian family home from the springs, or bring a rug for an ailing woman and wrap her up, or try to divert some irritated patient, or choose and buy pastries for someone’s coffee.

  Soon after the Shcherbatskys’ arrival, two more people appeared at the morning session, attracting general and unfriendly attention. These were a very tall, stoop–shouldered man with enormous hands, in an old coat that was too short for him, with dark, naive and at the same time frightening eyes, and a nice–looking, slightly pockmarked woman, very poorly and tastelessly dressed. Having recognized these people as Russians, Kitty had already begun putting together in her imagination a beautiful and moving romance about them. But the princess, learning from the Kurliste* that they were Nikolai Levin and Marya Nikolaevna, explained to Kitty what a bad man this Levin was, and all her dreams about these two persons vanished. Not so much because of what her mother told her as because this was Konstantin’s brother, these persons suddenly became highly disagreeable to her. This Levin, by his habit of twitching his head, now provoked in her an irrepressible feeling of disgust.

  It seemed to her that his big, frightening eyes, which followed her persistently, expressed a feeling of hatred and mockery, and she tried to avoid meeting him.

  * Patients’ list.

  XXXI

  It was a nasty day, rain fell all morning, and patients with umbrellas crowded into the gallery.

  Kitty was walking with her mother and the Moscow colonel, who gaily showed off his little European frock coat, bought ready–to–wear in Frankfurt. They were walking along one side of the gallery, trying to avoid Levin, who was walking along the other side. Varenka, in her dark dress and a black hat with the brim turned down, was walking with a blind Frenchwoman the whole length of the gallery, and each time she met Kitty, they exchanged friendly looks.

  ‘Mama, may I speak to her?’ said Kitty, who was watching her unknown friend and noticed that she was approaching the springs and that they might come together there.

  ‘If you want to so much, I’ll find out about her first and approach her myself,’ her mother replied. ‘What do you find so special about her? A lady’s companion, she must be. If you wish, I’ll make the acquaintance of Mme Stahl. I knew her belle–soeur,’ the princess added, raising her head proudly.

  Kitty knew that the princess was offended that Mme Stahl seemed to avoid making her acquaintance. She did not insist.

  ‘A wonder, such a dear!’ she said, looking at Varenka, just as she was handing a glass to the Frenchwoman. ‘Look, it’s all so simple and sweet.’

  ‘I find these engouements* of yours so funny,’ said the princess. ‘No, better let’s go back,’ she added, noticing Levin coming their way with his lady and a German doctor, to whom he was saying something loudly and crossly.

  They were turning to go back when they suddenly heard not loud talking now, but shouting. Levin had stopped and was shouting, and the doctor, too, was excited. A crowd was gathering around them. The princess and Kitty hastily withdrew, and the colonel joined the crowd to find out what was the matter.

  A few minutes later, the colonel caught up with them.

  ‘What was it?’ asked the princess.

  ‘Shame and disgrace!’ replied the colonel. ‘There is only one thing to

  * Infatuations.

  fear – meeting Russians abroad. That tall gentleman quarrelled with the doctor, said impertinent things to him for not treating him correctly, and even raised his stick. It’s simply a disgrace!’

  ‘Ah, how unpleasant!’ said the princess. ‘Well, how did it end?’

  ‘Thank heavens, that girl intervened … the one in the mushroom hat. A Russian, it seems,’ said the colonel.

  ‘Mlle Varenka?’ Kitty asked joyfully.

  ‘Yes, yes. She found the way more quickly than anyone: she took the gentleman by the arm and led him away.’

  ‘See, mama,’ Kitty said to her mother, ‘and you’re surprised that I admire her.’

  The next day, observing her unknown friend, Kitty noticed that Mlle Varenka already had the same sort of relations with Levin and his woman as with her other protégés. She went up to them, talked, served as interpreter for the woman, who could not speak any foreign languages.

  Kitty started pleading still more with her mother to allow her to make Varenka’s acquaintance. And, disagreeable though it was for the princess to take, as it were, the first step towards becoming acquainted with Mme Stahl, who permitted herself to be proud of something, she made inquiries about Varenka and, learning details about her allowing her to conclude that there was nothing bad, though also little good, in this acquaintance, first approached Varenka herself and became acquainted with her.

  Choosing a moment when her daughter had gone to the springs and Varenka had stopped in front of the bakery, the princess approached her.

  ‘Allow me to make your acquaintance,’ she said with her dignified smile. ‘My daughter is in love with you,’ she said. ‘Perhaps you do not know me. I am …’

  ‘It’s more than reciprocated, Princess,’ Varenka replied hastily.

  ‘What a good deed you did yesterday for our pathetic compatriot!’ said the princess.

  Varenka blushed.

  ‘I don’t remember. I don’t think I did anything,’ she said.

  ‘Why, you saved this Levin from unpleasantness.’

  ‘Yes, sa compagne* called me, and I did my best to calm him down:

  * His companion.

  he’s very ill and was displeased with the doctor. And I’m used to looking after these patients.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve heard that you live in Menton with Mme Stahl – your aunt, I believe. I knew her belle–soeur.’

  ‘No, she’s not my aunt. I call her maman, but I’m not related to her; I was brought up by her,’ Varenka replied, blushing again.

  This was said so simply, so sweet was the truthful and open expression of her face, that the princess understood why her Kitty loved Varenka.

  ‘Well, what about this Levin?’ asked the princess.

  ‘He’s leaving,’ replied Varenka.

  At that moment, beaming with joy that her mother had made the acquaintance of her unknown friend, Kitty came from the springs.

  ‘So, Kitty, your great desire to make the acquaintance of Mlle …’

  ‘Varenka,’ prompted Varenka, smiling, ‘that’s what everyone calls me.’

  Kitty blushed with joy and for a long time silently pressed her new friend’s hand, which did not respond to this pressing but lay motionless in her hand. But though her hand did not respond, the face of Mlle Varenka lit up with a quiet, joyful, though also somewhat sad smile, revealing big but beautiful teeth.

  ‘I’ve long wanted this myself,’ she said.

  ‘But you’re so busy …’

  ‘Ah, on the contrary, I’m not busy at all,’ replied Varenka, but that same minute she had to leave her new acquaintances because two little Russian girls, daughters of one of the patients, came running to her.

  ‘Varenka, mama’s calling!’ they shouted.

  And Varenka went after them.

  XXXII

  The details that the princess had learned about Varenka’s past and her relations with Mme Stahl, and about Mme Stahl herself, were the following.

  Mme Stahl, of whom some said that she had tormented her husband, and others that he had tormented her with his immoral behaviour, had always been a sickly and rapturous woman. She gave birth to her first child when she was already divorced from her husband. The child died at once, and Mme Stahl’s family, knowing her susceptibility and fearing the news might kill her, replaced the baby, taking the daughter of a court cook born the same night and in the
same house in Petersburg. This was Varenka. Mme Stahl learned later that Varenka was not her daughter, but continued to bring her up, the more so as Varenka soon afterwards had no family left.