Leo Tolstoy

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

  Now, in her country solitude, she was more aware of these joys. Often, looking at them, she made every possible effort to convince herself that she was mistaken, that as a mother she was partial to her children; all the same, she could not but tell herself that she had lovely children, all six of them, each in a different way, but such as rarely happens – and she was happy in them and proud of them.

  VIII

  At the end of May, when everything was already more or less settled, she received her husband’s reply to her complaints about country inconveniences. He wrote to her, asking forgiveness for not having thought of everything, and promised to come at the first opportunity. The opportunity did not present itself, and until the beginning of June Darya Alexandrovna lived alone in the country.

  On Sunday during St Peter’s, Darya Alexandrovna went to the liturgy and had all her children take communion. In her intimate, philosophical conversations with her sister, mother and friends, she very often surprised them with her freethinking in regard to religion. She had her own strange religion of metempsychosis, in which she firmly believed, caring little for the dogmas of the Church. But in the family she strictly fulfilled all the requirements of the Church – not only to set an example, but with all her heart – and the fact that the children had not received communion for more than a year[8] troubled her greatly. And so, with Matryona Filimonovna’s full approval and sympathy, she decided to do it now, in the summer.

  Darya Alexandrovna thought about how to dress the children several days ahead of time. Dresses were made, altered and washed, seams and ruffles were let out, buttons were sewn on and ribbons prepared. Only Tanya’s dress, which the governess had undertaken to make, considerably soured Darya Alexandrovna’s disposition. The governess, as she made the alterations, had taken tucks in the wrong places, cut the arm–holes too big, and all but ruined the dress. Tanya’s shoulders were so tight it was painful to see. Matryona Filimonovna thought of putting in gussets and making a little pelerine. That improved things, but there was nearly a quarrel with the governess. In the morning, however, everything was settled, and by nine o’clock – the priest had been asked to wait till then with the liturgy – the dressed–up children, radiant with joy, stood before the carriage at the porch waiting for their mother.

  In place of the restive Raven, through Matryona Filimonovna’s patronage, the steward’s Brownie was harnessed to the carriage, and Darya Alexandrovna, delayed by the cares of her toilette, came out in a white muslin dress to get in.

  Darya Alexandrovna had done her hair and dressed with care and excitement. Once she used to dress for herself, to be beautiful and admired; then, the older she became, the more unpleasant it was for her to dress; she saw that she had lost her good looks. But now she again dressed with pleasure and excitement. Now she dressed not for herself, not for her own beauty, but so that, being the mother of these lovely things, she would not spoil the general impression. And taking a last look in the mirror, she remained satisfied with herself. She was pretty. Not as pretty as she had once wanted to be at a ball, but pretty enough for the purpose she now had in mind.

  There was no one in the church except some muzhiks, the caretakers and their women. But Darya Alexandrovna saw, or it seemed to her that she saw, the admiration aroused by her children and herself. The children were not only beautiful in their fine clothes, but were also sweet in behaving so well. True, Alyosha did not want to stand quite properly; he kept turning and wanted to see his jacket from behind; but all the same he was remarkably sweet. Tanya stood like a big girl and looked after the little ones. But the smallest, Lily, was lovely with her naive surprise at everything, and it was hard not to smile when, after taking communion, she said in English: ‘Please, some more.’

  Returning home, the children felt that something solemn had taken place and were very quiet.

  Everything went well at home, too; but at lunch Grisha started whistling and, what was worst of all, did not obey the governess and had to go without cake. Darya Alexandrovna, had she been there, would not have let it go as far as punishment on such a day, but she had to uphold the governess’s orders, and she confirmed her decision that Grisha would not have any cake.

  Grisha wept, saying that Nikolenka had also whistled but was not being punished, and that he was weeping not because of the cake – it made no difference to him – but because he had been unfairly dealt with. This was much too sad, and Darya Alexandrovna decided to talk with the governess and get her to forgive him. But, passing through the drawing room, she saw a scene that filled her heart with such joy that tears came to her eyes, and she herself forgave the culprit.

  The punished boy was sitting at the corner window in the drawing room; next to him stood Tanya with a plate. Under the pretext of wishing to feed her dolls, she had asked the governess’s permission to take her portion of cake to the nursery and had brought it to her brother instead. Continuing to weep about the unfairness of the punishment he was suffering, he ate the cake she had brought, saying between sobs: ‘You eat it, too, we’ll eat it together … together.’

  Tanya was affected first by pity for Grisha, then by the consciousness of her virtuous deed, and there were tears in her eyes, too; but she did not refuse and was eating her share.

  Seeing their mother, they were frightened, but peering into her face, they understood that they were doing a good thing, laughed and, their mouths full of cake, began wiping their smiling lips with their hands, smearing tears and jam all over their beaming faces.

  ‘Goodness! Your new white dress! Tanya! Grisha!’ the mother said, trying to save the dress, but with tears in her eyes, smiling a blissful, rapturous smile.

  The new clothes were taken off, the girls were told to put on blouses and the boys old jackets, and the order was given to harness up the break – again, to the steward’s chagrin, with Brownie as the shaft–horse – to go gathering mushrooms and then to the bathing house. A sound of rapturous squealing arose in the nursery and never stopped till they left for the bathing house.

  They gathered a whole basket of mushrooms, even Lily found a birch boletus. Before, it used to be Miss Hull who would find one and show her, but now she herself found a big, squishy boletus, and there was a general cry of delight: ‘Lily found a squishy one!’

  Then they drove to the river, left the horses under the birches and went to the bathing house. The coachman, Terenty, having tethered the horses to a tree, where they stood swishing away gadflies, lay down in the shade of the birches, flattening out the grass, and smoked tobacco, while from the bathing house there came to him the ceaseless merry squealing of the children.

  Though it was a chore to look after all the children and stop their pranks, though it was hard to remember and not mix up all those stockings, drawers, shoes from different feet, and to untie, unbutton and retie so many tapes and buttons, Darya Alexandrovna, who had always loved bathing herself, and considered it good for the children, enjoyed nothing so much as this bathing with them all. To touch all those plump little legs, pulling stockings on them, to take in her arms and dip those naked little bodies and hear joyful or frightened shrieks; to see the breathless faces of those splashing little cherubs, with their wide, frightened and merry eyes, was a great pleasure for her.

  When half the children were clothed again, some dressed–up peasant women, who had gone gathering angelica and milkwort, approached the bathing house and stopped timidly. Matryona Filimonovna called to one of them to give her a towel and a shirt that had dropped into the water so that she could wring them out, and Darya Alexandrovna struck up a conversation with the women. The women laughed behind their hands at first, but then became bolder and began to talk, winning Darya Alexandrovna over at once by the sincere admiration they showed for her children.

  ‘See what a beauty, white as sugar,’ said one, admiring Tanechka and wagging her head. ‘But thin …’

  ‘Yes, she was ill.’

  ‘You see, he must have been bathing, too,’ another said about th
e baby.

  ‘No, he’s only three months old,’ Darya Alexandrovna replied proudly.

  ‘Just look at that!’

  ‘And do you have children?’

  ‘I’ve had four, there’s two left, a boy and a girl. I weaned her before this past Lent.’

  ‘And how old is she?’

  ‘Over a year.’

  ‘Why did you nurse her so long?’

  ‘That’s how we do it: three fasts .. .’[9]

  And the conversation came to what interested Darya Alexandrovna most: how was the birth? what illnesses have they had? where is the husband? does he visit often?[10]

  Darya Alexandrovna did not want to part from the women, so interesting was it for her to talk with them, so completely identical were their interests. What pleased Darya Alexandrovna most was that she could see clearly that all these women particularly admired how many children she had and how good they were. The women made Darya Alexandrovna laugh and offended the governess, who was the cause of this –for her incomprehensible – laughter. One of the young women was watching the governess, who got dressed last of all, and as she put on her third petticoat, could not help observing: ‘See, she wraps and wraps and can’t get done wrapping!’ – and they all burst into laughter.

  IX

  Surrounded by all her bathed, wet–headed children, Darya Alexandrovna, a kerchief on her head, was driving up to her house when the coachman said:

  ‘Some gentleman’s coming, looks like the one from Pokrovskoe.’

  Darya Alexandrovna peered ahead and rejoiced, seeing the familiar figure of Levin in a grey hat and grey coat coming to meet them. She was always glad to see him, but she was especially glad now that he would see her in all her glory. No one could understand her grandeur better than Levin.

  Seeing her, he found himself before one of the pictures of his imaginary future family life.

  ‘You’re just like a mother hen, Darya Alexandrovna.’

  ‘Ah, I’m so glad!’ she said, giving him her hand.

  ‘Glad, but you didn’t even let me know. My brother’s staying with me. I got a note from Stiva saying that you were here.’

  ‘From Stiva?’ Darya Alexandrovna asked in surprise.

  ‘Yes. He wrote that you’d moved, and he thought you might allow me to help you in some way,’ Levin said and, having said it, suddenly became embarrassed, fell silent and went on walking beside the break, plucking linden shoots and biting them in two. He was embarrassed by the realization that it might be unpleasant for Darya Alexandrovna to be helped by an outsider in something that should have been done by her husband. Darya Alexandrovna indeed disliked this way Stepan Arkadyich had of foisting his family affairs on others. And she knew at once that Levin understood it. It was for this subtle understanding, for this delicacy, that Darya Alexandrovna loved him.

  ‘I understood, of course,’ said Levin, ‘that it only meant you wanted to see me, and I’m very glad of it. Of course, I can imagine that you, the mistress of a town house, may find it wild here, and if there’s any need, I’m entirely at your service.’

  ‘Oh, no!’ said Dolly. ‘At first it was uncomfortable, but now everything’s settled beautifully, thanks to my old nanny,’ she said, pointing to Matryona Filimonovna, who, realizing that they were talking about her, smiled gaily and amiably to Levin. She knew him, knew that he was a good match for the young lady, and wished things would work out.

  ‘Get in, please, we’ll squeeze over,’ she said to him.

  ‘No, I’ll walk. Children, who wants to race the horses with me?’

  The children scarcely knew Levin, did not remember when they had last seen him, but did not show that strange feeling of shyness and aversion towards him that children so often feel for shamming adults, for which they are so often painfully punished. Shamming in anything at all can deceive the most intelligent, perceptive person; but the most limited child will recognize it and feel aversion, no matter how artfully it is concealed. Whatever Levin’s shortcomings were, there was no hint of sham in him, and therefore the children showed him the same friendliness they found in their mother’s face. At his invitation the two older ones at once jumped down and ran with him as simply as they would have run with the nanny, with Miss Hull, or with their mother. Lily also started asking to go with him, and her mother handed her down to him; he put her on his shoulders and ran with her.

  ‘Don’t be afraid, don’t be afraid, Darya Alexandrovna!’ he said, smiling gaily to the mother. ‘There’s no chance I’ll hurt her or drop her.’

  And seeing his deft, strong, cautiously mindful and all–too–tense movements, the mother calmed down and smiled gaily and approvingly as she watched him.

  Here, in the country, with the children and Darya Alexandrovna, who was so sympathetic to him, Levin got into that childishly merry state of mind that often came over him, and which Darya Alexandrovna especially loved in him. He ran with the children, taught them gymnastics, made Miss Hull laugh with his bad English, and told Darya Alexandrovna about his occupations in the country.

  After dinner, sitting alone with him on the balcony, Darya Alexandrovna began talking about Kitty.

  ‘Do you know, Kitty’s coming here and will spend the summer with me.’

  ‘Really?’ he said, flushing; and to change the subject, said at once: ‘Shall I send you two cows then? If you want to keep accounts, then you can pay me five roubles a month, if you’re not ashamed.’

  ‘No, thank you. We’re all settled.’

  ‘Well, then I’ll have a look at your cows and, with your permission, give orders on how to feed them. The whole thing is in the feeding.’

  And Levin, only to divert the conversation, explained to Darya Alexandrovna the theory of dairy farming, the essence of which was that a cow is merely a machine for processing feed into milk, and so on.

  He was saying that while passionately wishing to hear the details about Kitty and at the same time fearing it. He was afraid that the peace he had attained with such difficulty might be disturbed.

  ‘Yes, but anyhow all that has to be looked after, and who will do it?’ Darya Alexandrovna replied reluctantly.

  She had now set up her housekeeping so well through Matryona Filimonovna that she did not want to change anything in it; nor did she trust Levin’s knowledge of agriculture. The argument that a cow is a machine for producing milk was suspect to her. It seemed to her that such arguments could only hinder things. To her it all seemed much simpler: as Matryona Filimonovna explained, they had only to give Spotty and Whiterump more to eat and drink, and keep the cook from taking the kitchen scraps to the washerwoman’s cow. That was clear. And all this talk about starchy and grassy feeds was dubious and vague. Above all she wanted to talk about Kitty.

  X

  ‘Kitty writes to me that she wishes for nothing so much as solitude and quiet,’ Dolly said after the ensuing pause.

  ‘And has her health improved?’ Levin asked anxiously.

  ‘Thank God, she’s quite recovered. I never believed she had anything wrong with her lungs.’

  ‘Ah, I’m very glad!’ said Levin, and it seemed to Dolly that there was something touching and helpless in his face as he said it and silently looked at her.

  ‘Listen, Konstantin Dmitrich,’ said Darya Alexandrovna, smiling her kind and slightly mocking smile, ‘why are you angry with Kitty?’

  ‘I? I’m not angry,’ said Levin.

  ‘No, you are angry. Why didn’t you come either to see us or to see them when you were in Moscow?’