Leo Tolstoy

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

  He forgave his wife and pitied her for her sufferings and repentance. He forgave Vronsky and pitied him, especially after rumours reached him of his desperate act. He also pitied his son more than before, and now reproached himself for having been too little concerned with him. But for the newborn little girl he had some special feeling, not only of pity but also of tenderness. At first it was only out of compassion that he concerned himself with the newborn, weak little girl, who was not his daughter and who was neglected during her mother’s illness and would probably have died if he had not looked after her – and he did not notice how he came to love her. He went to the nursery several times a day and sat there for a long while, so that the wet nurse and the nanny, who were intimidated at first, became used to him. He would sometimes spend half an hour silently gazing at the saffron–red, downy and wrinkled little face of the sleeping baby, watching the movements of her scowling forehead and plump little hands with curled fingers that rubbed her little eyes and nose with their backs. At such moments especially Alexei Alexandrovich felt utterly at peace and in harmony with himself, and saw nothing extraordinary in his situation, nothing that needed to be changed.

  But the more time that passed, the more clearly he saw that, natural as this situation was for him now, he would not be allowed to remain in it. He felt that, besides the good spiritual force that guided his soul, there was another force, crude and equally powerful, if not more so, that guided his life, and that this force would not give him the humble peace he desired. He felt that everybody looked at him with questioning surprise, not understanding him and expecting something from him. In particular, he felt the precariousness and unnaturalness of his relations with his wife.

  When the softening produced in her by the nearness of death passed, Alexei Alexandrovich began to notice that Anna was afraid of him, felt burdened by him, and could not look him straight in the eye. It was as if there were something she wanted but could not bring herself to say to him, and as if, also anticipating that their relations could not continue, she expected something from him.

  At the end of February it happened that Anna’s newborn daughter, who had also been named Anna, fell ill. Alexei Alexandrovich visited the nursery in the morning and, after giving orders to send for the doctor, went to the ministry. Having finished his work, he returned home towards four o’clock. On entering the front hall, he saw a handsome footman in galloons and a bear–skin cape, holding a white cloak of American dog.

  ‘Who is here?’ asked Alexei Alexandrovich.

  ‘Princess Elizaveta Fyodorovna Tverskoy,’ the footman replied, with what seemed to Alexei Alexandrovich like a smile.

  Throughout that difficult time, Alexei Alexandrovich had noticed that his society acquaintances, especially the women, took a special interest in him and his wife. He had noticed that all these acquaintances had trouble concealing their joy over something, the same joy he had seen in the lawyer’s eyes and now in the eyes of the footman. They were all as if delighted, as if they were getting somebody married. When meeting him, they would ask about his wife’s health with barely concealed joy.

  The presence of Princess Tverskoy, both by the memories associated with her and because he generally disliked her, was unpleasant for Alexei Alexandrovich, and he went directly to the nursery. In the first nursery Seryozha, his chest leaning on the desk and his legs on the chair, was drawing something and merrily talking away. The English governess, who had replaced the Frenchwoman during Anna’s illness, was sitting by the boy crocheting migniardise and hastily rose and curtsied, giving Seryozha a tug.

  Alexei Alexandrovich stroked the boy’s hair with his hand, answered the governess’s question about his wife’s health, and asked what the doctor had said about the baby.

  ‘The doctor said there was nothing dangerous, sir, and prescribed baths.’

  ‘But she’s still suffering,’ said Alexei Alexandrovich, listening to the baby crying in the next room.

  ‘I think the wet nurse is no good, sir,’ the governess said resolutely.

  ‘What makes you think so?’ he asked, stopping.

  ‘That’s what happened with Countess Paul, sir. The baby was treated, but it turned out that it was simply hungry: the wet nurse had no milk, sir.’

  Alexei Alexandrovich reflected and, after standing there for a few seconds, went through the other door. The little girl lay, her head thrown back, squirming in the wet nurse’s arms, and refused either to take the plump breast offered to her or to be silent, despite the double shushing of the wet nurse and the nanny leaning over her.

  ‘Still no better?’ said Alexei Alexandrovich.

  ‘She’s very restless,’ the nanny answered in a whisper.

  ‘Miss Edwards says the wet nurse may have no milk,’ he said.

  ‘I’ve been thinking so myself, Alexei Alexandrovich.’

  ‘Then why didn’t you say so?’

  ‘Who was I to say it to? Anna Arkadyevna’s still unwell,’ the nanny said, displeased.

  The nanny was an old household servant. And in these simple words of/hers Alexei Alexandrovich seemed to hear a hint at his situation.

  The baby cried still louder, ran out of breath and choked. The nanny waved her hand, went over to her, took her from the wet nurse’s arms and began rocking her as she walked.

  ‘We must ask the doctor to examine the wet nurse,’ said Alexei Alexandrovich.

  The healthy–looking, well–dressed wet nurse, afraid that she might be dismissed, muttered something under her breath and, hiding away her big breast, smiled contemptuously at any doubt of her milkiness. In that smile Alexei Alexandrovich also detected mockery of his situation.

  ‘Poor baby!’ said the nanny, hushing the baby and continuing to walk.

  Alexei Alexandrovich sat down on a chair and with a suffering, downcast face watched the nanny pacing back and forth.

  When the baby, finally quieted, was lowered into the deep crib, and the nanny straightened the pillow and backed away, Alexei Alexandrovich got up and, walking with difficulty on tiptoe, went over to look. For a minute he stood silently with the same downcast face, but suddenly a smile, moving the hair and skin of his forehead, showed on his face, and he left the room just as quietly.

  In the dining room he rang and told the servant who came to send for the doctor again. He was vexed with his wife for not taking care of this lovely baby, and he did not want to go to her in this irritated mood, nor did he want to see Princess Betsy; but his wife might wonder why he did not come to her as usual, and therefore he made an effort and went to her bedroom. Going over the soft carpet to her door, he inadvertently heard a conversation he did not want to hear.

  ‘If he weren’t going away, I would understand your refusal and his as well. But your husband ought to be above that,’ Betsy was saying.

  ‘I don’t want it, not for my husband’s sake but for my own. Don’t say it!’ Anna’s agitated voice replied.

  ‘Yes, but you can’t not want to say goodbye to a man who shot himself on account of you …’

  ‘That’s why I don’t want to.’

  Alexei Alexandrovich stopped with a frightened and guilty expression and was about to go back unnoticed. But, considering that it would be unworthy of him, he turned again and, coughing, went towards the bedroom. The voices fell silent and he went in.

  Anna, in a grey dressing gown, her short–cropped black hair growing again like a thick brush on her round head, was sitting on the couch. As always at the sight of her husband, the animation on her face suddenly vanished; she bowed her head and glanced round uneasily at Betsy. Betsy, dressed after the very latest fashion, in a hat that hovered somewhere over her head like a lampshade over a lamp, and in a dove–grey dress with sharp diagonal stripes going one way on the bodice and the other way on the skirt, was sitting by Anna. Holding her flat, tall figure erect and bowing her head, she met Alexei Alexandrovich with a mocking smile.

  ‘Ah!’ she said, as if surprised. ‘I’m very glad you’re home.
You don’t show yourself anywhere, and I haven’t seen you since Anna became ill. I’ve heard all about your attentiveness. Yes, you are an amazing husband!’ she said with a meaningful and benign look, as though conferring an order of magnanimity on him for his behaviour towards his wife.

  Alexei Alexandrovich bowed coldly and, after kissing his wife’s hand, asked about her health.

  ‘I think I’m better,’ she said, avoiding his eyes.

  ‘But your face seems to have a feverish colour,’ he said, emphasizing the word ‘feverish’.

  ‘We’ve talked too much,’ said Betsy. ‘I feel it’s been egoism on my part, and I’m leaving.’

  She stood up, but Anna, suddenly blushing, quickly seized her hand.

  ‘No, stay a moment, please. I must tell you … no, you,’ she turned to Alexei Alexandrovich, and the crimson spread over her neck and forehead. ‘I cannot and do not wish to keep anything concealed from you,’ she said.

  Alexei Alexandrovich cracked his fingers and bowed his head.

  ‘Betsy was saying that Count Vronsky wished to come here and say goodbye before he leaves for Tashkent.’ She was not looking at her husband and was obviously hurrying to say everything, difficult as it was for her. ‘I said I could not receive him.’

  ‘You said, my friend, that it would depend on Alexei Alexandrovich,’ Betsy corrected her.

  ‘But no, I cannot receive him, and there’s no point in …’ She suddenly stopped and glanced questioningly at her husband (he was not looking at her). ‘In short, I don’t want to …’

  Alexei Alexandrovich stirred and was about to take her hand.

  Her first impulse was to pull her hand away from his moist hand with its big, swollen veins as it sought hers, but with an obvious effort she took it.

  ‘I am very grateful for your confidence, but…’ he said, feeling with embarrassment and vexation that what he could resolve easily and clearly in himself, he could not discuss in front of Princess Tverskoy, who was for him an embodiment of that crude force which was to guide his life in the eyes of the world and which prevented him from giving himself to his feeling of love and forgiveness. He stopped, looking at Princess Tverskoy.

  ‘Well, good–bye, my lovely,’ said Betsy, getting up. She kissed Anna and went out. Alexei Alexandrovich saw her off.

  ‘Alexei Alexandrovich! I know you to be a truly magnanimous man,’ said Betsy, stopping in the small drawing room and pressing his hand once more especially firmly. T am an outsider, but I love her and respect you so much that I will allow myself this advice. Receive him. Alexei Vronsky is the embodiment of honour, and he’s leaving for Tashkent.’

  ‘Thank you, Princess, for your concern and advice. But my wife will decide for herself the question of whether she can or cannot receive someone.’

  He said this, out of habit, with a dignified raising of eyebrows, and at once reflected that, whatever his words might be, there could be no dignity in his position. And this he saw in the restrained, spiteful and mocking smile with which Betsy looked at him after his phrase.

  XX

  Alexei Alexandrovich bowed to Betsy in the reception room and went back to his wife. She was lying down, but, hearing his footsteps, hastily sat up in her former position and looked at him in fear. He saw that she had been crying.

  ‘I am very grateful for your confidence in me.’ He meekly repeated in Russian the phrase he had spoken in French when Betsy was there, and sat down next to her. When he spoke in Russian and used the intimate form of address, it was irrepressibly annoying to Anna. ‘And I am very grateful for your decision. I, too, suppose that, since he’s leaving, there’s no need for Count Vronsky to come here. However …’

  ‘But I’ve already said it, so why repeat it?’ Anna suddenly interrupted him with an annoyance she had no time to restrain. ‘No need,’ she thought, ‘for a man to come and say good–bye to the woman he loves, for whom he wanted to destroy and did destroy himself, and who cannot live without him. No need at all!’ She pressed her lips together and lowered her shining eyes to his hands with their swollen veins, which were slowly rubbing each other.

  ‘Let’s not ever talk about it,’ she added more calmly.

  ‘I’ve left it for you to decide this question, and I’m very glad to see …’ Alexei Alexandrovich began.

  ‘That my wish coincides with yours,’ she quickly finished, annoyed that he spoke so slowly, while she knew beforehand everything he was going to say.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘and Princess Tverskoy meddles quite inappropriately in the most difficult family matters. In particular, she …’

  ‘I don’t believe anything they say about her,’ Anna said quickly. ‘I know that she sincerely loves me.’

  Alexei Alexandrovich sighed and fell silent. She played anxiously with the tassels of her dressing gown, glancing at him with that painful feeling of physical revulsion towards him for which she reproached herself and which she could not overcome. She now wished for only one thing – to be rid of his hateful presence.

  ‘I’ve just sent for the doctor,’ said Alexei Alexandrovich.

  ‘I’m well – what do I need the doctor for?’

  ‘No, the little one is crying, and they say the wet nurse doesn’t have enough milk.’ ‘Then why didn’t you let me nurse her when I begged to? Anyway’ (Alexei Alexandrovich understood the meaning of this ‘anyway’), ‘she’s a baby, and they’ll be the death of her.’ She rang and ordered the baby to be brought. ‘I asked to nurse her, they didn’t let me, and now I’m being reproached.’

  ‘I’m not reproaching you …’

  ‘Yes, you are! My God! Why didn’t I die!’ And she burst into sobs. ‘Forgive me, I’m annoyed, I’m not being fair,’ she said, recovering. ‘But do go …’

  ‘No, it cannot remain like this,’ Alexei Alexandrovich said resolutely to himself, after leaving his wife.

  The impossibility of his position in the eyes of the world, and his wife’s hatred of him, and generally the power of that crude, mysterious force which, contrary to his inner mood, guided his life, demanding the carrying out of its will and a change in his relations with his wife, had never before been presented to him with such obviousness as now. He saw clearly that his wife and the whole of society demanded something of him, but precisely what, he could not understand. He felt how, in response to it, a spiteful feeling arose in his soul that destroyed his peace and all the worthiness of his deed. He considered that for Anna it would be better to break connections with Vronsky, but if they all regarded it as impossible, he was even prepared to allow these relations again, so long as the children were not disgraced and he was not deprived of them or forced to change his position. Bad as that was, it would still be better than a break–up, which would put her in a hopeless, shameful position and deprive him of everything he loved. But he felt powerless. He knew beforehand that everything was against him and that he would not be allowed to do what now seemed to him so natural and good, but would be forced to do what was bad but seemed to them the proper thing.

  XXI

  Betsy had not yet had time to leave the reception room when Stepan Arkadyich, just come from Yeliseev’s,[18] where fresh oysters had been delivered, met her in the doorway.

  ‘Ah, Princess! What a happy meeting!’ he began. ‘And I was just at your place.’ ‘A momentary meeting, because I’m on my way out,’ said Betsy, smiling and putting on a glove.

  ‘Wait, Princess, before you put your glove on, let me kiss your little hand. I’m grateful for nothing so much as the return of old fashions, such as the kissing of hands.’ He kissed Betsy’s hand. ‘When shall we see each other?’

  ‘You don’t deserve it,’ Betsy replied, smiling.