Anna Karenina (Dole)/Part Seven/Chapter 26

by Leo Tolstoy

CHAPTER XXVI

Never before had they let a day end with a quarrel unsettled. This was the first time. This was not a mere quarrel; it was evidently the avowal of permanent coldness. How was it possible for him to look at her as he had done when he came into her room after his document? how could he look at her, and see that her heart was full of despair, and then go out with a calm, indifferent face? He had not only grown cold to her, but he hated her, because he loved some other woman. This was clear. And, as she recalled all the cruel words which he had said to her, Anna began to imagine also the words which she was certain he would like to say to her and might say, and she grew more and more irritated.

"I will not keep you," she imagined him saying. "You may go wherever you please. As you don't care to be divorced from your husband, you probably intend to go back to him. If you want money, I will give it to you. How many rubles do you want?"

All these insulting words which the cruel man might say were said merely in her imagination, but she could not forgive him any more than if he had really said them.

"But did he not swear to me only yesterday that he loved me? Is he not a sincere and honest man?" she said to herself a moment afterward. "Have I not been in despair several times before, all for nothing?"

She passed the entire day, except two hours during which she made a visit to her protégés, the Wilsons, in alternate doubt and hope. Was all at an end? Was there any chance of a reconciliation? Should she leave him then and there, or should she wait and see him once again? She waited for him all day; and in the eve ning she went to her room, telling Annushka to say that she had a headache.

"If he comes in spite of that, it will show that he loves me still; if not, it is over, and I shall make up my mind what there is for me to do."....

Late in the evening she heard his carriage-wheels on the pavement, his ring, and his steps, and his colloquy with the maid; he believed what he was told, he did not care to make any further inquiries, and he went to his room. Evidently all was at an end. And Death as the only means of establishing a love for her in his heart, of punishing him, and of winning the victory in the struggle which the evil spirit that had possession of her soul was waging with him, clearly, vividly, presented itself before her.

Now everything was a matter of indifference—whether they went to the country or not, whether she procured the divorce or not—it was unnecessary; the one essential thing was to punish him.

When she poured out her usual dose of opium, and it came over her that if she swallowed all that was in the vial she would die, it seemed so easy and simple that she felt a real joy in imagining how he would mourn, repent, and love her when it was too late. She lay on her bed with open eyes, and watched the dying candle-light on the molded cornice of the ceiling mingle with the shadow of the screen which divided the room; she vividly pictured to herself how he would think when she was no more, when she was only a memory. "How could I speak to her such cruel words?" He would say to himself. "How could I leave her without saying anything at all? and now she is no more; she has left us forever! She is there ...."

Suddenly the shadow of the screen seemed to waver and cover the whole cornice, the whole ceiling; other shadows from the other sides joined in with it; for an instant they seemed to be running, then with new rapidity they trembled, melted together, and all became dark.

"Death!" thought she; and such a great terror seized upon her, that for a long time she did not know where she was; and it was long before her trembling hands could find the matches, in order to light another candle in place of the one that had burned down and gone out.

"No, no! anything .... only to live! I love him, and he loves me; these dreadful days will go by!" she said to herself, feeling that tears of joy poured down her cheeks at her return to life. And to escape her terror she fled to Vronsky's library.

He was in his library, soundly sleeping. She went to him, and, holding the candle above his face, looked at him a long time. Now, as he slept, she felt such love for him, that at the sight of him she could not refrain from tears of tenderness; but she knew that, if he woke he would look at her with a cold, self-justifying look, and that before she spoke a word of her love she would not be able to resist the temptation of proving to him how wrong he was.

Without waking him she went back to her room; and, after a second dose of opium, she fell into a heavy sleep which lasted till morning, and all the time she was conscious of herself.

Toward morning she had the frightful nightmare which she had experienced several times even before her liaison with Vronsky. She saw a little old man, with unkempt beard, doing something, bending over a gourd, and muttering unintelligible French words; and, as always when she had this nightmare, and therein lay the horror of the dream, she felt that the little old man paid no heed to her, but did this horrible something in the gourd over her head. She awoke in a cold perspiration.

When she got up, the events of the day before seemed enveloped in mist.

"There was a quarrel. It has happened several times before. I said I had a headache, and he didn't come to see me. That is all. To-morrow we shall go away. I must see him, and get ready for our departure," she said to herself; and, knowing that he was in his library, she started to go to him.

But, in crossing the drawing-room, her attention was arrested by the sound of a carriage stopping, and she looked out of the window and saw a carriage, from the window of which a young girl in a light hat was putting out her head, and giving orders to the footman, who was at the door-bell. After a colloquy in the vestibule, some one came up-stairs, and Anna heard Vronsky's steps in the room next the drawing-room. Then he ran swiftly down-stairs. Anna looked out again, and saw him go out to the door-steps bare-headed, and approach the carriage. The young girl in the lilac-colored hat handed him a package. Vronsky smiled as he spoke to her. The carriage drove away, and Vronsky came quickly up-stairs again.

The mist which enwrapped everything in Anna's soul suddenly cleared away. The feelings of the day before tore her anguished heart more cruelly than ever. She now could not understand how she could have so far debased herself as to stay a single day under his roof. She went to his library, to acquaint him with the resolution that she had taken.

"The Princess Sorokin and her daughter have brought me the money and papers from maman. I could not get them yesterday. How is your headache? better?" he said quietly, seeming not to notice the gloomy and solemn expression of Anna's face.

She did not reply; but, standing in the middle of the room, she looked fixedly at him. He glanced at her for an instant, his brows contracted, and he continued to read his letter. Without speaking, Anna turned slowly about, and left the room. He might yet detain her; but she had reached the door. He said not a word, the only sound heard was the rustling of the sheet of paper.

"Oh! by the way," he exclaimed, just as she was on the threshold, "do we really go to-morrow?"

"You, but not I," answered she, turning round on him.

"Anna, it is impossible to live in this way."

"You, not I," she repeated.

"It's becoming intolerable!"

"You .... you will be sorry for this," said she; and she went out.

Frightened at the despairing tone with which she spoke those last words, he sprang up and started to follow her; but, on reflection, he seated himself again, and, firmly clenching his teeth, he frowned. That unbecoming threat, as he termed it, irritated him. "I have tried every means," he said to himself: "the only thing left is to pay no attention;" and he made up his mind to go to the city and to his mother's again, to have her sign a deed,.

Anna heard the sound of his steps in his library and the dining-room. He stopped at the drawing-room. But he did not come to her: he only gave some directions about sending the stallion to Voitof. Then she heard the calash drive to the entrance, a door opened and Vronsky went out. Then he came back into the vestibule again and some one ran up-stairs. It was his valet, who was sent to get a pair of forgotten gloves. She went to the window, and saw Vronsky take his gloves, then touch the coachman's back, and say some words to him; and then, without glancing at the window, he sat down as usual, in the carriage, crossing one leg over the other. And, putting on the gloves, he turned the corner, and disappeared from Anna's sight.