She talked on, not knowing what her lips were uttering, and not taking
her supplicating and caressing eyes off him.
He glanced at her; she blushed, and ceased speaking.
“I told you I did not know whether I should be here long … that it
depended on you….”
She dropped her head lower and lower, not knowing herself what answer
she should make to what was coming.
“That it depended on you,” he repeated. “I meant to say … I meant to say
… I came for this … to be my wife!” he brought out, not knowing what he
was saying; but feeling that the most terrible thing was said, he stopped
short and looked at her….
She was breathing heavily, not looking at him. She was feeling ecstasy.
Her soul was flooded with happiness. She had never anticipated that the
utterance of love would produce such a powerful effect on her. But it lasted
only an instant. She remembered Vronsky. She lifted her clear, truthful eyes,
and seeing his desperate face, she answered hastily:
“That cannot be … forgive me.”
A moment ago, and how close she had been to him, of what importance
in his life! And how aloof and remote from him she had become now!
“It was bound to be so,” he said, not looking at her.
He bowed, and was meaning to retreat.
Chapter 14
But at that very moment the princess came in. There was a look of horror
on her face when she saw them alone, and their disturbed faces. Levin
bowed to her, and said nothing. Kitty did not speak nor lift her eyes. “Thank
God, she has refused him,” thought the mother, and her face lighted up with
the habitual smile with which she greeted her guests on Thursdays. She sat
down and began questioning Levin about his life in the country. He sat
down again, waiting for other visitors to arrive, in order to retreat
unnoticed.
Five minutes later there came in a friend of Kitty’s, married the preceding
winter, Countess Nordston.
She was a thin, sallow, sickly, and nervous woman, with brilliant black
eyes. She was fond of Kitty, and her affection for her showed itself, as the
affection of married women for girls always does, in the desire to make a
match for Kitty after her own ideal of married happiness; she wanted her to
marry Vronsky. Levin she had often met at the Shtcherbatskys’ early in the
winter, and she had always disliked him. Her invariable and favorite
pursuit, when they met, consisted in making fun of him.
“I do like it when he looks down at me from the height of his grandeur,
or breaks off his learned conversation with me because I’m a fool, or is
condescending to me. I like that so; to see him condescending! I am so glad
he can’t bear me,” she used to say of him.
She was right, for Levin actually could not bear her, and despised her for
what she was proud of and regarded as a fine characteristic—her
nervousness, her delicate contempt and indifference for everything coarse
and earthly.
The Countess Nordston and Levin got into that relation with one another
not seldom seen in society, when two persons, who remain externally on
friendly terms, despise each other to such a degree that they cannot even
take each other seriously, and cannot even be offended by each other.
The Countess Nordston pounced upon Levin at once.
“Ah, Konstantin Dmitrievitch! So you’ve come back to our corrupt
Babylon,” she said, giving him her tiny, yellow hand, and recalling what he
had chanced to say early in the winter, that Moscow was a Babylon. “Come,
is Babylon reformed, or have you degenerated?” she added, glancing with a
simper at Kitty.
“It’s very flattering for me, countess, that you remember my words so
well,” responded Levin, who had succeeded in recovering his composure,
and at once from habit dropped into his tone of joking hostility to the
Countess Nordston. “They must certainly make a great impression on you.”
“Oh, I should think so! I always note them all down. Well, Kitty, have
you been skating again?…”
And she began talking to Kitty. Awkward as it was for Levin to withdraw
now, it would still have been easier for him to perpetrate this awkwardness
than to remain all the evening and see Kitty, who glanced at him now and
then and avoided his eyes. He was on the point of getting up, when the
princess, noticing that he was silent, addressed him.
“Shall you be long in Moscow? You’re busy with the district council,
though, aren’t you, and can’t be away for long?”
“No, princess, I’m no longer a member of the council,” he said. “I have
come up for a few days.”
“There’s something the matter with him,” thought Countess Nordston,
glancing at his stern, serious face. “He isn’t in his old argumentative mood.
But I’ll draw him out. I do love making a fool of him before Kitty, and I’ll
do it.”
“Konstantin Dmitrievitch,” she said to him, “do explain to me, please,
what’s the meaning of it. You know all about such things. At home in our
village of Kaluga all the peasants and all the women have drunk up all they
possessed, and now they can’t pay us any rent. What’s the meaning of that?
You always praise the peasants so.”
At that instant another lady came into the room, and Levin got up.
“Excuse me, countess, but I really know nothing about it, and can’t tell
you anything,” he said, and looked round at the officer who came in behind
the lady.
“That must be Vronsky,” thought Levin, and, to be sure of it, glanced at
Kitty. She had already had time to look at Vronsky, and looked round at
Levin. And simply from the look in her eyes, that grew unconsciously
brighter, Levin knew that she loved that man, knew it as surely as if she had
told him so in words. But what sort of a man was he? Now, whether for
good or for ill, Levin could not choose but remain; he must find out what
the man was like whom she loved.
There are people who, on meeting a successful rival, no matter in what,
are at once disposed to turn their backs on everything good in him, and to
see only what is bad. There are people, on the other hand, who desire above
all to find in that lucky rival the qualities by which he has outstripped them,
and seek with a throbbing ache at heart only what is good. Levin belonged
to the second class. But he had no difficulty in finding what was good and
attractive in Vronsky. It was apparent at the first glance. Vronsky was a
squarely built, dark man, not very tall, with a good-humored, handsome,
and exceedingly calm and resolute face. Everything about his face and
figure, from his short-cropped black hair and freshly shaven chin down to
his loosely fitting, brand-new uniform, was simple and at the same time
elegant. Making way for the lady who had come in, Vronsky went up to the
princess and then to Kitty.
As he approached her, his beautiful eyes shone with a specially tender
light, and with a faint, happy, and modestly triumphant smile (so it seemed
to Levin), bowing carefully and respectfully over her, he held out his small
broad hand to her.
Greeting and saying a few words to everyone, he sat down without once
glancing at Levin, who had never taken his eyes off him.
“Let me introduce you,” said the princess, indicating Levin. “Konstantin
Dmitrievitch Levin, Count Alexey Kirillovitch Vronsky.”
Vronsky got up and, looking cordially at Levin, shook hands with him.
“I believe I was to have dined with you this winter,” he said, smiling his
simple and open smile; “but you had unexpectedly left for the country.”
“Konstantin Dmitrievitch despises and hates town and us townspeople,”
said Countess Nordston.
“My words must make a deep impression on you, since you remember
them so well,” said Levin, and, suddenly conscious that he had said just the
same thing before, he reddened.
Vronsky looked at Levin and Countess Nordston, and smiled.
“Are you always in the country?” he inquired. “I should think it must be
dull in the winter.”
“It’s not dull if one has work to do; besides, one’s not dull by oneself,”
Levin replied abruptly.
“I am fond of the country,” said Vronsky, noticing, and affecting not to
notice, Levin’s tone.
“But I hope, count, you would not consent to live in the country always,”
said Countess Nordston.
“I don’t know; I have never tried for long. I experienced a queer feeling
once,” he went on. “I never longed so for the country, Russian country, with
bast shoes and peasants, as when I was spending a winter with my mother
in Nice. Nice itself is dull enough, you know. And indeed, Naples and
Sorrento are only pleasant for a short time. And it’s just there that Russia
comes back to me most vividly, and especially the country. It’s as
though….”
He talked on, addressing both Kitty and Levin, turning his serene,
friendly eyes from one to the other, and saying obviously just what came
into his head.
Noticing that Countess Nordston wanted to say something, he stopped
short without finishing what he had begun, and listened attentively to her.
The conversation did not flag for an instant, so that the princess, who
always kept in reserve, in case a subject should be lacking, two heavy guns
—the relative advantages of classical and of modern education, and
universal military service—had not to move out either of them, while
Countess Nordston had not a chance of chaffing Levin.
Levin wanted to, and could not, take part in the general conversation;
saying to himself every instant, “Now go,” he still did not go, as though
waiting for something.
The conversation fell upon table-turning and spirits, and Countess
Nordston, who believed in spiritualism, began to describe the marvels she
had seen.
“Ah, countess, you really must take me, for pity’s sake do take me to see
them! I have never seen anything extraordinary, though I am always on the
lookout for it everywhere,” said Vronsky, smiling.
“Very well, next Saturday,” answered Countess Nordston. “But you,
Konstantin Dmitrievitch, do you believe in it?” she asked Levin.
“Why do you ask me? You know what I shall say.”
“But I want to hear your opinion.”
“My opinion,” answered Levin, “is only that this table-turning simply
proves that educated society—so called—is no higher than the peasants.
They believe in the evil eye, and in witchcraft and omens, while we….”
“Oh, then you don’t believe in it?”
“I can’t believe in it, countess.”
“But if I’ve seen it myself?”
“The peasant women too tell us they have seen goblins.”
“Then you think I tell a lie?”
And she laughed a mirthless laugh.
“Oh, no, Masha, Konstantin Dmitrievitch said he could not believe in it,”
said Kitty, blushing for Levin, and Levin saw this, and, still more
exasperated, would have answered, but Vronsky with his bright frank smile
rushed to the support of the conversation, which was threatening to become
disagreeable.
“You do not admit the conceivability at all?” he queried. “But why not?
We admit the existence of electricity, of which we know nothing. Why
should there not be some new force, still unknown to us, which….”
“When electricity was discovered,” Levin interrupted hurriedly, “it was
only the phenomenon that was discovered, and it was unknown from what it
proceeded and what were its effects, and ages passed before its applications
were conceived. But the spiritualists have begun with tables writing for
them, and spirits appearing to them, and have only later started saying that
it is an unknown force.”
Vronsky listened attentively to Levin, as he always did listen, obviously
interested in his words.
“Yes, but the spiritualists say we don’t know at present what this force is,
but there is a force, and these are the conditions in which it acts. Let the
scientific men find out what the force consists in. No, I don’t see why there
should not be a new force, if it….”
“Why, because with electricity,” Levin interrupted again, “every time you
rub tar against wool, a recognized phenomenon is manifested, but in this
case it does not happen every time, and so it follows it is not a natural
phenomenon.”
Feeling probably that the conversation was taking a tone too serious for a
drawing-room, Vronsky made no rejoinder, but by way of trying to change
the conversation, he smiled brightly, and turned to the ladies.
“Do let us try at once, countess,” he said; but Levin would finish saying
what he thought.
“I think,” he went on, “that this attempt of the spiritualists to explain their
marvels as some sort of new natural force is most futile. They boldly talk of
spiritual force, and then try to subject it to material experiment.”
Everyone was waiting for him to finish, and he felt it.
“And I think you would be a first-rate medium,” said Countess Nordston;
“there’s something enthusiastic in you.”
Levin opened his mouth, was about to say something, reddened, and said
nothing.
“Do let us try table-turning at once, please,” said Vronsky. “Princess, will
you allow it?”
And Vronsky stood up, looking for a little table.
Kitty got up to fetch a table, and as she passed, her eyes met Levin’s. She
felt for him with her whole heart, the more because she was pitying him for
suffering of which she was herself the cause. “If you can forgive me,
forgive me,” said her eyes, “I am so happy.”
“I hate them all, and you, and myself,” his eyes responded, and he took
up his hat. But he was not destined to escape. Just as they were arranging
themselves round the table, and Levin was on the point of retiring, the old
prince came in, and after greeting the ladies, addressed Levin.
“Ah!” he began joyously. “Been here long, my boy? I didn’t even know
you were in town. Very glad to see you.” The old prince embraced Levin,
and talking to him did not observe Vronsky, who had risen, and was
serenely waiting till the prince should turn to him.
Kitty felt how distasteful her father’s warmth was to Levin after what had
happened. She saw, too, how coldly her father responded at last to
Vronsky’s bow, and how Vronsky looked with amiable perplexity at her
father, as though trying and failing to understand how and why anyone
could be hostilely disposed towards him, and she flushed.
“Prince, let us have Konstantin Dmitrievitch,” said Countess Nordston;
“we want to try an experiment.”
“What experiment? Table-turning? Well, you must excuse me, ladies and
gentlemen, but to my mind it is better fun to play the ring game,” said the
old prince, looking at Vronsky, and guessing that it had been his suggestion.
“There’s some sense in that, anyway.”
Vronsky looked wonderingly at the prince with his resolute eyes, and,
with a faint smile, began immediately talking to Countess Nordston of the
great ball that was to come off next week.
“I hope you will be there?” he said to Kitty. As soon as the old prince
turned away from him, Levin went out unnoticed, and the last impression
