Anna Karenina (Dole)/Part Five/Chapter 5
CHAPTER V
All Moscow, all the relatives and acquaintances, were at the church. And during the time of the marriage service, in the brilliant light that flooded the church, in that throng of handsomely dressed women and girls, and of men in white neckties, in swallow-tails, or in uniform, there was a decorously subdued conversation, especially among the men, for the women were absorbed in observing all the details of a ceremony which is always so full of interest for them.
A little group of friends surrounded the bride, and among them were her two sisters, Dolly, and the beautiful Madame Lvova just returned from abroad.
"Why is Mary in lilac at a wedding? It is almost mourning," said Madame Korsunsky.
"With her complexion it's her only salvation," replied Madame Drubetsky. "But I wonder why they had the ceremony in the evening? That savors of the merchant."
"It is pleasanter. I, too, was married in the evening," said Madame Korsunsky, sighing, and recalling how beautiful she had been on that day, and how ridiculously in love with her her husband had been, and how it was all so different now!
"They say that those who have been best men more than ten times never marry. I tried to make myself proof against marriage, in this way, but the place was taken," said Count Siniavin to the handsome young Princess Charskaya, who had designs on him.
A smile was her only reply. She was looking at Kitty, and thinking how and when she would stand with Count Siniavin in Kitty's place; and how she would then remind him of the joke that he had made.
Shcherbatsky confided to the old Freïlina Nikolayeva his intention to place the crown on Kitty's head-dress to bring her good luck.
"There is no need of wearing a head-dress," replied Freïlina Nikolayeva, who had long ago decided that if the old widower whom she was setting her cap for should offer himself, she would be married very simply. "I don't like this display."
Sergyeï Ivanovitch was talking with Darya Dmitrievna, jestingly declaring that the fashion of wedding tours was becoming widespread because young couples were always rather bashful.
"Your brother may well be proud of his choice. She is charming. You must envy him."
"The time has gone by for that, Darya Dmitrievna," he replied, and an unexpected expression of sadness overspread his face.
Stepan Arkadyevitch was telling his sister-in-law his pun on divorce.
"Somebody ought to arrange her wreath," replied the latter, without listening.
"What a pity that she has grown so ugly!" said the Countess Nordstone to Madame Lvova. "After all, he isn't worth her little finger, is he?"
"I don't agree with you; I am very much pleased with him, and not only because he is going to be my beau-frère," replied Madame Lvova. "How well he appears! It is so difficult to appear well at such a time and not to be absurd. He is neither ridiculous nor stiff; one feels that he is touched."
"Did you expect this marriage?"
"Almost. He has always been in love with her."
"Well, we shall see which will be the first to step on the carpet. I have advised Kitty to look out for that."
"That makes no difference," replied Madame Lvova; "in our family we are all submissive wives."
"But I have taken pains to keep mine under the thumb.—How is it with you, Dolly?"
Dolly was standing near them, and heard them, but she did not reply. She was affected; tears filled her eyes, and she could not have uttered a word without crying. She was glad for Kitty and Levin; she was thinking of her own wedding; and as she glanced at the brilliant Stepan Arkadyevitch, she forgot the real state of things, and only remembered his first, innocent love. She was thinking, too, of other women,—her relatives and acquaintances,—whom she remembered at this important and solemn hour of their lives; how they, like Kitty, stood under the crown; how they renounced the past with joy, and began a mysterious future, with hope and fear in their hearts. Among the number she recalled her dear Anna, the details of whose approaching divorce she had just heard; she had seen her enveloped in a white veil, as pure as Kitty, with her wreath of orange-blossoms. And now?" It is terribly strange!" she whispered.
The sisters and friends were not the only ones to follow with interest the minutest details of the ceremony; there were women among the strangers looking on, who held their breath, for fear of losing a single movement of bride or bridegroom, and who replied absent-mindedly to the jokes or idle remarks of the men, often not even hearing them,
"Why is she so troubled? Are they marrying her against her will?"
"Against her will? to such a handsome man? Is he a prince?"
"Is that her sister in white satin? There! Just hear the deacon howl, 'Let her fear her husband'!"
"Are the singers from Chudof?"[1]
"No; from the synod."
"I have asked the servant about it. He says that her husband is going to take her away to his estate. Awfully rich, they say. That is why she is marrying him."
"They make a handsome pair."
"And you pretend to say, Marya Vasilievna, that they don't wear crinolines[2] any longer. Just look at that one in a puce-colored dress! You would say she was an ambassador's wife by the way she is dressed. Do you see now?"
"What a sweet little creature the bride is!—like a lamb for the slaughter. You may say what you please, I can't help pitying her."
Such were the remarks of the spectators who had succeeded in getting past the door of the church.