Anna Karenina

by Leo Tolstoy

  'But what is this all about?' he said, horrified at the expression of her despair and, leaning towards her again, he took her hand and kissed it.

  'Why? Do I look for outside amusements? Don't I avoid other women's company?'

  'I should hope so!' she said.

  'Well, tell me, what must I do to set you at peace? I'm ready to do anything to make you happy,' he said, moved by her despair. 'There's nothing I won't do to deliver you from such grief as now, Anna!' he said.

  'Never mind, never mind!' she said. 'I myself don't know: maybe it's the lonely life, nerves ... Well, let's not speak of it. How was the race? You haven't told me,' she asked, trying to hide her triumph at the victory, which after all was on her side.

  He asked for supper and began telling her the details of the race; but in his tone, in his eyes, which grew colder and colder, she saw that he did not forgive her the victory, that the feeling of obstinacy she had fought against was there in him again. He was colder to her than before, as if he repented of having given in. And, recalling the words that had given her the victory - 'I'm close to terrible disaster and afraid of myself' - she realized that this was a dangerous weapon and that she could not use it a second time. She felt that alongside the love that bound them, there had settled between them an evil spirit of some sort of struggle, which she could not drive out of his heart and still less out of her own.

  XIII

  There are no conditions to which a person cannot grow accustomed, especially if he sees that everyone around him lives in the same way. Levin would not have believed three months earlier that he could fall peacefully asleep in circumstances such as he was in now; that, living an aimless, senseless life, a life also beyond his means, after drunkenness (he could not call what had happened at the club by any other name), an awkward friendliness shown to a man with whom his wife had once been in love, and a still more awkward visit to a woman who could be called nothing other than fallen, and having been attracted to that woman, thus upsetting his wife - that in such circumstances he could fall peacefully asleep. But under the influence of fatigue, a sleepless night and the wine he had drunk, he slept soundly and peacefully. At five o'clock he was awakened by the creak of an opening door. He sat up and looked around. Kitty was not in bed beside him. But there was a light moving behind the partition, and he heard her steps.

  'What?... What is it?' he asked, half awake. 'Kitty! What is it?'

  'Nothing,' she said, coming from behind the partition with a candle in her hand. 'Nothing. I wasn't feeling well,' she said, smiling with an especially sweet and meaningful smile.

  'What? It's starting? Is it starting?'he said fearfully.'We must send .. .' And he hastily began to get dressed.

  'No, no,' she said, smiling and holding him back. 'It's probably nothing. I just felt slightly unwell. But it's over now.'

  And, coming to the bed, she put out the candle, lay down and was quiet. Though he was suspicious of that quietness, as if she were holding her breath, and most of all of the expression of special tenderness and excitement with which she had said 'Nothing' to him, as she came from behind the partition, he was so sleepy that he dozed off at once. Only later did he remember the quietness of her breathing and understand what had been going on in her dear, sweet soul while she lay beside him, without stirring, awaiting the greatest event in a woman's life. At seven o'clock he was awakened by the touch of her hand on his shoulder and a soft whisper. It was as if she were struggling between being sorry to awaken him and the wish to speak to him.

  'Kostya, don't be frightened. It's nothing. But I think ... We must send for Lizaveta Petrovna.'

  The candle was burning again. She was sitting on the bed holding her knitting, which she had busied herself with during the last few days.

  'Please don't be frightened, it's nothing. I'm not afraid at all,' she said, seeing his frightened face, and she pressed his hand to her breast, then to her lips.

  He hastily jumped out of bed, unaware of himself and not taking his eyes off her, put on his dressing gown, and stood there, still looking at her. He had to go, but he could not tear himself from her eyes. Not that he did not love her face and know her expression, her gaze, but he had never seen her like that. When he remembered how upset she had been yesterday, how vile and horrible he appeared to himself before her as she was now! Her flushed face, surrounded by soft hair coming from under her nightcap, shone with joy and resolution.

  However little unnaturalness and conventionality there was in Kitty's character generally, Levin was still struck by what was uncovered to him now, when all the veils were suddenly taken away and the very core of her soul shone in her eyes. And in that simplicity and nakedness she, the very one he loved, was still more visible. She looked at him and smiled; but suddenly her eyebrows twitched, she raised her head and, quickly going up to him, took his hand and pressed all of herself to him, so that he could feel her hot breath on him. She was suffering and seemed to be complaining to him of her suffering. And by habit, in the first moment, he thought that he was to blame. But there was a tenderness in her eyes that said she not only did not reproach him but loved him for these sufferings. 'If it's not I, then who is to blame for this?' he thought involuntarily, looking for the one to blame in order to punish him; but there was no one to blame. No one was to blame, but then was it not possible simply to help her, to free her? But that, too, was impossible, was not needed. She suffered, complained and yet triumphed in these sufferings, and rejoiced in them, and loved them. He saw that something beautiful was being accomplished in her soul, but what - he could not understand. It was above his understanding.

  'I've sent for mama. And you go quickly for Lizaveta Petrovna ... Kostya!... Never mind, it's over.'

  She moved away from him and rang the bell.

  'Well, go now. Pasha's coming. I'm all right.'

  And with surprise Levin saw her take up the knitting she had brought during the night and begin to knit again.

  As he was going out of one door, he heard the maid come in the other. He stopped in the doorway and heard Kitty give detailed orders to the maid and help her to start moving the bed.

  He got dressed and, while the horse was being harnessed, since there were no cabs yet, again ran to the bedroom, not on tiptoe but on wings, as it seemed to him. Two maids with a preoccupied air were moving something in the bedroom. Kitty was walking and knitting, quickly throwing over the stitches as she gave orders.

  'I'm going for the doctor now. They've sent for Lizaveta Petrovna, but I'll call there, too. Do we need anything else? Ah, yes, shall I send for Dolly?'

  She looked at him, obviously not listening to what he was saying.

  'Yes, yes. Go, go,' she said quickly, frowning and waving her hand at him.

  He was going into the drawing room when he suddenly heard a pitiful, instantly fading moan from the bedroom. He stopped and for a long time could not understand.

  'Yes, it's she,' he said to himself and, clutching his head, he ran down the stairs.

  'Lord, have mercy, forgive us, help us!' he repeated words that somehow suddenly came to his lips. And he, an unbeliever, repeated these words not just with his lips. Now, in that moment, he knew that neither all his doubts, nor the impossibility he knew in himself of believing by means of reason, hindered him in the least from addressing God. It all blew off his soul like dust. To whom was he to turn if not to Him in whose hands he felt himself, his soul and his love to be?

  The horse was still not ready, but feeling in himself a special straining of physical powers and of attention to what he was going to do, so as not to lose a single minute, he started on foot without waiting for the horse, telling Kuzma to catch up with him.

  At the corner he met a speeding night cab. In the small sleigh sat Lizaveta Petrovna in a velvet cloak, with a kerchief wrapped round her head. 'Thank God, thank God,' he said, recognizing with delight her small blond face, which now wore an especially serious, even stern, expression. He ran back alongside her without telli
ng the driver to stop.

  'So it's been about two hours? Not more?' she asked. 'You'll find Pyotr Dmitrich, only don't rush him. And get some opium at the apothecary's.'

  'So you think it may be all right? Lord have mercy and help us!' said Levin, seeing his horse come through the gate. Jumping into the sleigh beside Kuzma, he told him to go to the doctor's.

  XIV

  The doctor was not up yet, and the footman said he 'went to bed late and was not to be awakened, but would be getting up soon'. The footman was cleaning the lamp-glasses and seemed to be very absorbed in it. His attention to the glasses and indifference to what was happening at home at first astounded Levin, but, thinking better, he realized at once that no one knew or was obliged to know his feelings, and that his actions had to be all the more calm, thoughtful and resolute, so as to break through this wall of indifference and achieve his goal. 'Don't rush and don't overlook anything,' Levin said to himself, feeling a greater and greater upsurge of physical strength and attentiveness to all he was going to do.

  Having learned that the doctor was not up yet, Levin, out of all the plans he could think of, settled on the following: Kuzma would go with a note to another doctor; he himself would go to the pharmacy to get the opium, and if, when he came back, the doctor was still not up, he would bribe the footman or, if he refused, awaken the doctor by force at all costs.

  At the apothecary's a lean dispenser, with the same indifference with which the footman had cleaned the glasses, was compressing powders into pills for a waiting coachman and refused him the opium. Trying not to hurry or become angry, Levin began persuading him, giving him the names of the doctor and the midwife and explaining what the opium was needed for. The dispenser asked in German for advice about providing the medicine and, getting approval from behind a partition, took out a bottle and a funnel, slowly poured from the big bottle into a small one, stuck on a label, sealed it, despite Levin's requests that he not do so, and also wanted to wrap it up. That was more than Levin could bear; he resolutely tore the bottle from his hands and ran out through the big glass door. The doctor was not up yet, and the footman, now occupied with spreading a carpet, refused to wake him. Levin unhurriedly took out a ten-rouble note and, articulating the words slowly, yet wasting no time, handed him the note and explained that Pyotr Dmitrich (how great and significant the previously unimportant Pyotr Dmitrich now seemed to Levin!) had promised to come at any time, that he would certainly not be angry, and therefore he must wake him at once.

  The footman consented and went upstairs, inviting Levin into the consulting room.

  Through the door Levin could hear the doctor coughing, walking about, washing and saying something. Some three minutes passed; to Levin they seemed more like an hour. He could not wait any longer.

  'Pyotr Dmitrich, Pyotr Dmitrich!' he said in a pleading voice through the open door. 'For God's sake, forgive me. Receive me as you are. It's already been more than two hours.'

  'Coming, coming!' replied the voice, and Levin was amazed to hear the doctor chuckle as he said it.

  'For one little moment...'

  'Coming!'

  Two more minutes went by while the doctor put his boots on, and another two minutes while he put his clothes on and combed his hair.

  'Pyotr Dmitrich!' Levin began again in a pitiful voice; but just then the doctor came out, dressed and combed. 'These people have no shame,' thought Levin, 'combing his hair while we perish!'

  'Good morning!' the doctor said to him, holding out his hand, as if teasing him with his calmness. 'Don't be in a hurry. Well, sir?'

  Trying to be as thorough as possible, Levin began to give all the unnecessary details of his wife's condition, constantly interrupting his story with requests that the doctor come with him at once.

  'Don't you be in a hurry. You see, I'm probably not even needed, but I promised and so I'll come if you like. But there's no hurry. Sit down, please. Would you care for some coffee?'

  Levin looked at him, asking with his eyes whether he was laughing at him. But the doctor never even thought of laughing.

  'I know, sir, I know,' the doctor said, smiling, 'I'm a family man myself; but in these moments we husbands are the most pathetic people. I have a patient whose husband always runs out to the stable on such occasions.'

  'But what do you think, Pyotr Dmitrich? Do you think it may end well?'

  'All the evidence points to a good outcome.'

  'Then you'll come now?' said Levin, looking spitefully at the servant who brought the coffee.

  'In about an hour.'

  'No, for God's sake!'

  'Well, let me have some coffee first.'

  The doctor began on his coffee. The two were silent.

  'The Turks are certainly taking a beating, though. Did you read yesterday's dispatch?' the doctor said, chewing his roll.

  'No, I can't stand it!' said Levin, jumping up. 'So you'll be there in a quarter of an hour?'

  'In half an hour.'

  'Word of honour?'

  When Levin returned home, he drove up at the same time as the princess, and together they went to the bedroom door. There were tears in the princess's eyes and her hands were trembling. Seeing Levin, she embraced him and wept.

  'What news, darling Lizaveta Petrovna?' she said, seizing the hand of Lizaveta Petrovna, who came out to meet them with a radiant and preoccupied face.

  'It's going well,' she said. 'Persuade her to lie down. It will be easier.' From the moment he had woken up and realized what was happening, Levin had prepared himself to endure what awaited him, without reflecting, without anticipating, firmly locking up all his thoughts and feelings, without upsetting his wife, but, on the contrary, calming and supporting her. Not allowing himself even to think of what would happen, of how it would end, going by his inquiries about how long it usually lasts, Levin had prepared himself in his imagination to endure and keep his heart under control for some five hours, and that seemed possible to him. But when he came back from the doctor's and again saw her sufferings, he began to repeat more and more often: 'Lord, forgive us and help us,' to sigh and lift up his eyes, and he was afraid that he would not hold out, that he would burst into tears or run away. So tormenting it was for him. And only one hour had passed.

  But after that hour another hour passed, two, three, all five hours that he had set for himself as the furthest limit of his endurance, and the situation was still the same; and he still endured, because there was nothing else he could do, thinking every moment that he had reached the final limit of endurance and that his heart was about to break from compassion.

  But more minutes passed, hours and more hours, and his feelings of suffering and dread grew and became more intense.

  All the ordinary circumstances of life, without which nothing could be imagined, ceased to exist for Levin. He lost awareness of time. Sometimes minutes - those minutes when she called him to her and he held her sweaty hand, which now pressed his with extraordinary force, now pushed him away - seemed like hours to him, and sometimes hours seemed like minutes. He was surprised when Lizaveta Petrovna asked him to light a candle behind the screen, and he discovered that it was already five o'clock in the evening. If he had been told that it was now only ten o'clock in the morning, he would have been no more surprised. Where he had been during that time he did not know, any more than he knew when things had happened. He saw her burning face, bewildered and suffering, then smiling and comforting him. He saw the princess, red, tense, her grey hair uncurled, biting her lips in an effort to hide her tears; he saw Dolly, and the doctor smoking fat cigarettes, and Lizaveta Petrovna with her firm, resolute and comforting face, and the old prince pacing the reception room with a frown. But how they all came and went, and where they were, he did not know. The princess was now with the doctor in the bedroom, now in the study where a laid table had appeared; then it was not she but Dolly. Then Levin remembered being sent somewhere. Once he was sent to move a table and a sofa. He did it zealously, thinking it was for he
r, and only later learned that he had prepared his own bed. Then he was sent to the study to ask the doctor something. The doctor answered and then began talking about the disorders in the Duma. Then he was sent to the princess's bedroom to fetch an icon in a gilded silver casing, and with the princess's old maid he climbed up to take it from the top of a cabinet and broke the icon lamp; the princess's maid comforted him about his wife and the icon lamp, and he brought the icon and put it by Kitty's head, carefully tucking it behind the pillow. But where, when, and why all this happened, he did not know. Nor did he know why the princess took him by the hand and, gazing pitifully at him, asked him to calm down, why Dolly kept telling him to eat something and leading him out of the room, and even the doctor looked at him gravely and commiseratingly and offered him some drops.

  He knew and felt only that what was being accomplished was similar to what had been accomplished a year ago in a hotel in a provincial capital, on the deathbed of his brother Nikolai. But that had been grief and this was joy. But that grief and this joy were equally outside all ordinary circumstances of life, were like holes in this ordinary life, through which something higher showed. And just as painful, as tormenting in its coming, was what was now being accomplished; and just as inconceivably, in contemplating this higher thing, the soul rose to such heights as it had never known before, where reason was no longer able to overtake it.