Anna Karenina (Dole)/Part Seven/Chapter 1

by Leo Tolstoy

CHAPTER I

The Levins had been in Moscow for two months, and the time fixed by competent authorities for Kitty's deliverance was already passed.

But she was still waiting, and there was no sign that the time was any nearer than it had been two months before. The doctor and the midwife and Dolly and her mother, and especially Levin, who could not without terror think of the approaching event, now began to feel impatient and anxious. Kitty alone kept perfectly calm and happy. She now clearly recognized in her heart the birth of a new feeling of love for the child which already partly existed for her, and she entertained this feeling with joy. The child was no longer only a part of her; even now it already lived its own independent life at times. This caused her suffering; but at the same time she felt like laughing, with a strange, unknown joy.

All whom she loved were with her, and all were so good to her, took such care of her, and tried so to make everything pleasant for her, that, if she had not known and felt that the end must soon come, this would have been the happiest and best part of her life. Only one thing clouded her perfect happiness, and this was that her husband was different from the Levin she loved or the Levin that lived in the country.

She had loved his calm, gentle, and hospitable ways in the country. In the city he seemed all the time rest- less and on his guard, as if he feared that some one was going to insult him or her. There in the country he was usefully occupied, and seemed to know that he was in his place. Here in the city he was constantly on the go, as if he were afraid of forgetting something; but he had nothing really to do. And she felt sorry for him.

But she knew that to his friends he was not an object of commiseration; and when in society she looked at him as one studies those who are beloved, endeavoring to look on him as a stranger, and see what effect he produced on others, she saw with anxiety the danger that she herself might become jealous of him for the reason that he was not at all pitiable, but was rather an exceedingly attractive man by reason of his dignified, rather old-fashioned, shy politeness to ladies, his strong physique, and his very expressive face. But she read his inner nature. She saw that he was not himself, otherwise she could not define his actions. But sometimes in her heart she reproached him because he could not adapt himself to city life. Sometimes even she confessed that it was really difficult for him to conduct his life so as to please her.

But, indeed, what could he find to do He was not fond of cards. He did not go to the clubs. She now knew what it meant to frequent the company of high livers, like Oblonsky. .... It meant to drink and to go to places— she could not think without horror of where these men were in the habit of going. Should he go into society? She knew that to enjoy that it would be necessary to find pleasure in the company of young ladies, and she could not desire that. Then, should he sit at home with her, with her mother, and her sister? But however pleasant these conversations might be to her, she knew that they must be wearisome to him. What, then, remained for him to do? Was he to go on with his book? He intended to do this, and began to make researches in the public library; but, as he confessed to Kitty, the more he had nothing to do, the less time he had. Moreover, he complained to her that too much was said about his book, and that therefore his ideas were thrown into confusion and that his interest in his work was flagging.

One result of their life in Moscow was that there were no more quarrels between them, either because city conditions were different, or because both were beginning to be more guarded and prudent; the fact remained that, since they left the country, the scenes of jealousy which they feared might again arise were not repeated.

In these circumstances one very important affair for them both took place: Kitty had a meeting with Vronsky.

Kitty's godmother, the old Princess Marya Borisovna, was always very fond of her, and wanted to see her. Kitty, though owing to her condition she was not going out now, went with her father to see the stately old princess; and there she met Vronsky. At this meeting Kitty could reproach herself only for the fact that for the moment when she first saw the features, once so familiar, she felt her heart beat fast, and her face redden; but her emotion lasted only a few seconds. The old prince hastened to begin an animated conver- sation with Vronsky; and by the time he had finished Kitty was ready to look at Vronsky, or to talk with him if need be, just as she was talking with the princess, and, what was more, without a smile or an intonation which would have been disagreeable to her husband, whose invisible presence, as it were, she felt near her at the moment.

She exchanged some words with Vronsky, smiled serenely when he jestingly called the assembly at Kashin "our parliament,"—she had to smile so as to show that she understood the jest. Then she addressed herself to the old princess, and did not turn her head until Vronsky rose to take leave. Then she looked at him, but evidently it was only because it is impolite not to look at a man when he bows.

She was grateful to her father because he said nothing about this meeting with Vronsky; but Kitty understood from his especial tenderness after their visit, during their usual walk, that he was satisfied with her. She felt satisfied with herself. She had never anticipated that she should have the strength of mind to remember all the details of her former feelings toward Vronsky, and yet to seem and to feel perfectly indifferent and calm in his presence.

Levin turned far more crimson than she did, when she told him about her meeting with Vronsky at the house of the Princess Marya Borisovna. It was very hard for her to tell him about it, and still harder to go on relating the details of the meeting, for the reason that he did not ask her a question, but only gazed at her and frowned.

"It was such a pity that you weren't there," she said to her husband,—"not in the room, for before you I should not have been so self-possessed. I'm blushing now ever and ever so much more than I did then," said she, blushing till the tears came,—"but if you could have looked through the keyhole."

Her sincere eyes told Levin that she was satisfied with her behavior, and, though she blushed, he immediately became calm; he asked her some questions, just as she wished him to do. When he had heard the whole story, even to the detail that she could not help blushing for the first second, and afterward was per- fectly at her ease as if she had never met him before. Levin grew extraordinarily gay, and declared that he was very glad of it, and that in future he should not behave so foolishly as he had done at the elections, but that when he met Vronsky again he should be as friendly as possible.

"It is so painful to look on him almost as an enemy, whom it is hard to meet. I am very, very glad."