Anna Karenina (Dole)/Part Seven/Chapter 12

by Leo Tolstoy

 

CHAPTER XII

After having said good-by to her visitors, without sitting down Anna began to walk up and down the full length of her apartments.

Of late she had got into the habit of unconsciously doing all she could to attract young men to her; and so this whole evening she had striven to awaken a feeling of love in Levin. But though she knew that she had succeeded in doing this as far as it was possible with a chaste married man, and though he pleased her very much,—and in spite of the sharply defined dissimilarity between Vronsky and Levin, she as a woman was able to detect the subtile likeness between them which had caused Kitty to be in love with them both,—yet as soon as he had left the room she ceased to think about him.

One thought and one only in various guises followed her:—

"Why, since I have so evidently an attraction for others,—for this married man, who is in love with his wife,—why is he so cold to me? .... Yet not exactly cold; he loves me, I know; but lately something new has come between us. Why has he spent the whole evening away? He told Stiva that he could not leave Yashvin, but had to watch him while he played. Is Yashvin a baby? It must be true; he never tells lies. But there's something else back of it. He is glad of the chance to show me that he has other duties. I know this. I don't object to it, but what need has he to assert it so? He wants to show that his love for me must not interfere with his independence! But the proof is not necessary. I must have his love. He ought to understand the wretchedness of the life I lead here in Moscow. Why am I living? I am not living,—only dragging out life, in hope of a turn in affairs, which never, never comes. And Stiva says that he can't go to Alekseï Aleksandrovitch. And I can't write again. I cannot do anything, I can't begin anything, or make any changes, but only control myself, wait, and invent amusements—this English family, my reading, my writing; but it is all only to deceive myself, like this morphine. He ought to be sorry for me," she said, feeling how the tears of pity at her own lot filled her eyes.

She heard the door-bell Vronsky rang violently; and instantly she wiped away her tears, not only wiped away the tears, but sat down near the lamp with a book, and pretended to be calm. She felt that she must show her dissatisfaction because he had not returned as he had promised, but not to let her grief be seen. She might pity herself, but Vronsky must not be allowed to pity her. She did not want a contest, she blamed him because he wanted to quarrel, but she herself involuntarily took the attitude of an opponent.

"Well! you weren't lonely, were you?" said he, briskly and cheerfully, as he came toward her. "What a terrible passion gambling is."

"No, I was not lonely. I long ago learned not to be lonely. Stiva and Levin have been here to see me."

"Yes, I knew that they intended to come. Well, and how do you like Levin?" he asked, as he sat down near her.

"Very much. They have only just gone. How about Yashvin?"

"He had won seventeen thousand rubles. I got him away, but he escaped from me, and went back again; and now he's losing."

"But why did you abandon him?" said Anna, suddenly raising her eyes to his. The expression of her face was cold and unpleasant. "You told Stiva that you were going to stay, to bring him away. Now you abandon him!"

"In the first place, I did not send any message to you; in the second place, I never tell lies; and chiefly, I wished to stay and I stayed," he answered angrily. "Anna, why, why do you do so?" added he, after a moment's silence, holding out his hand to her, in the hope that she would place hers in it.

She was glad of this appeal to her love, but some strange spirit of evil prevented her from yielding.

"Of course you stayed because you wanted to; you always do as you please. But why tell me so? What is the good?" answered she, growing more and more heated. "Who denies that you tell the truth? You wish to justify yourself, do so then!"

Vronsky drew back his hand, and his face became more set than before.

"For you this is a matter of obstinacy," she cried, looking at him fixedly, and suddenly finding the term by which to call the expression of his face which exasperated her—"sheer obstinacy. For you the question is to see whether you will win the victory over me. But the question for me .... "and again the sense of her pitiable lot came over her, and she almost sobbed. "If you knew what it meant for me when I feel, as I do now, that you hate me, ....yes, hate me! If you knew what it meant for me! If you knew how near I am to horrible misfortune at these moments! how I fear.... how I fear for myself,"—and she turned away to hide her sobs.

"But what's all this for?" said Vronsky, alarmed at this despair, and leaning toward Anna to take her hand and kiss it. "Do I seek outside diversion? Don't I avoid the society of women?"

"As if that were all!" said she.

"Well! Tell me what I must do to make you content. I am ready to do anything that you may be happy," said he, moved to see her in such despair. "What would I not do to spare you such grief, Anna!" he said.

"It's nothing, nothing," she replied. "I myself don't know. It's the loneliness: it 's my nerves. .... There, let's not talk about it any more. .... Tell me what happened at the races. Why have n't you told me about it?" she asked, attempting to conceal the pride she felt at her victory, for she knew it rested with her.

Vronsky asked for some supper, and as he was eating described to her the incidents of the races; but from the sound of his voice, and from his glance, that grew colder and colder, she saw that he would not forgive her for the victory, that the sense of obstinacy which she had struggled to overcome was as firm in him as ever. He was colder toward her than before, as if he regretted having yielded to her. And as she remembered the words that won her the victory, especially the words, "How near I am to horrible misfortune, and I fear for myself," she realized that it was a dangerous weapon, and that she must never employ it again. But she felt that along with the love which united them, there stood between them an evil spirit of conflict which she had not the power to drive from his heart, and still less from her own.