Yes, yes, how was it now? Now, how was it? To be sure! Alabin was giving a dinner at Darmstadt; no, not Darmstadt, but something American. Yes, but then, Darmstadt was in America. Yes, Alabin was giving a dinner on glass tables, and the tables sang, Il mio tesoro—not Il mio tesoro though, but something better, and there were some sort of little decanters on the table, and they were women, too. Yes, it was nice, very nice. There was a great deal more that was delightful, only there’s no putting it into words, or even expressing it in one’s thoughts awake.


Ah, ah, ah! Oo!... Yes, she won’t forgive me, and she can’t forgive me. And the most awful thing about it is that it’s all my fault—all my fault, though I’m not to blame. That’s the point of the whole situation. Oh, oh, oh!


What’s this? this?


It’s that idiotic smile that’s to blame for it all. But what’s to be done? What’s to be done?


Oh, it’s awful! oh dear, oh dear! awful! And how well things were going up till now! how well we got on! She was contented and happy in her children; I never interfered with her in anything; I let her manage the children and the house just as she liked. It’s true it’s bad her having been a governess in our house. That’s bad! There’s something common, vulgar, in flirting with one’s governess. But what a governess! But after all, while she was in the house, I kept myself in hand. And the worst of it all is that she’s already ... it seems as if ill-luck would have it so! Oh, oh! But what, what is to be done? Then we shall see,


Are there any papers from the office?


On the table. They’ve sent from the carriage-jobbers.


Why do you tell me that? don’t you know?


I told them to come on Sunday, and till then not to trouble you or themselves for nothing,


Matvey, my sister Anna Arkadyevna will be here tomorrow,


Thank God! Alone, or with her husband? Alone. Is the room to be got ready upstairs?


Inform Darya Alexandrovna: where she orders.


Darya Alexandrovna?


Yes, inform her. Here, take the telegram; give it to her, and then do what she tells you.


Yes, sir. Darya Alexandrovna told me to inform you that she is going away. Let him do—that is you—as he likes,


Eh, Matvey?


It’s all right, sir; she will come round,


Come round?


Yes, sir.


Do you think so? Who’s there?


It’s I,


Well, what is it, Matrona? Well, what now?


Go to her, sir; own your fault again. Maybe God will aid you. She is suffering so, it’s sad to see her; and besides, everything in the house is topsy-turvy. You must have pity, sir, on the children. Beg her forgiveness, sir. There’s no help for it! One must take the consequences....


But she won’t see me.


You do your part. God is merciful; pray to God, sir, pray to God.


Come, that’ll do, you can go. Well now, do dress me.


I told you not to sit passengers on the roof, there, pick them up!


How is mamma? Good morning,


Mamma? She is up,


Well, is she cheerful?


I don’t know. She did not say we must do our lessons, but she said we were to go for a walk with Miss Hoole to grandmamma’s.


Well, go, Tanya, my darling. Oh, wait a minute, though,


For Grisha?


Yes, yes.


The carriage is ready, but there’s someone to see you with a petition.


Been here long?


Half an hour.


How many times have I told you to tell me at once?


One must let you drink your coffee in peace, at least,


Well, show the person up at once,


Ah, yes! To go, or not to go! It must be some time, though: it can’t go on like this,


Dolly!


What do you want?


Dolly! Anna is coming today.


Well, what is that to me? I can’t see her!


But you must, really, Dolly....


Go away, go away, go away!


My God! what have I done? Dolly! For God’s sake!... You know.... Dolly, what can I say?... One thing: forgive.... Remember, cannot nine years of my life atone for an instant.... —instant of passion?


Go away, go out of the room! and don’t talk to me of your passion and your loathsomeness.


Dolly! for mercy’s sake, think of the children; they are not to blame! I am to blame, and punish me, make me expiate my fault. Anything I can do, I am ready to do anything! I am to blame, no words can express how much I am to blame! But, Dolly, forgive me!


You remember the children, Stiva, to play with them; but I remember them, and know that this means their ruin. I think of the children, and for that reason I would do anything in the world to save them, but I don’t myself know how to save them. By taking them away from their father, or by leaving them with a vicious father—yes, a vicious father.... Tell me, after what ... has happened, can we live together? Is that possible? Tell me, eh, is it possible? after my husband, the father of my children, enters into a love affair with his own children’s governess?


But what could I do? what could I do?


You are loathsome to me, repulsive! Your tears mean nothing! You have never loved me; you have neither heart nor honorable feeling! You are hateful to me, disgusting, a stranger—yes, a complete stranger!


It is awful! awful! Dolly, one word more,


If you come near me, I will call in the servants, the children! They may all know you are a scoundrel! I am going away at once, and you may live here with your mistress!


Matvey says she will come round; but how? I don’t see the least chance of it. Ah, oh, how horrible it is! And how vulgarly she shouted,


scoundrel mistress


Matvey! Arrange everything with Darya in the sitting room for Anna Arkadyevna,


Yes, sir. You won’t dine at home?


That’s as it happens. But here’s for the housekeeping. That’ll be enough.


Enough or not enough, we must make it do,


Ah, let me alone, let me alone! He has gone! But has he broken it off with her? Can it be he sees her? Why didn’t I ask him! No, no, reconciliation is impossible. Even if we remain in the same house, we are strangers—strangers forever! And how I loved him! my God, how I loved him!... How I loved him! And now don’t I love him? Don’t I love him more than before? The most horrible thing is,


Let us send for my brother, he can get a dinner anyway, or we shall have the children getting nothing to eat till six again, like yesterday.


Very well, I will come directly and see about it. But did you send for some new milk?


We have succeeded in getting the information from the government department of Penza. Here, would you care?... You’ve got them at last? Now, gentlemen.... If they knew, what a guilty little boy their president was half an hour ago.


We shall have time to finish after lunch,


To be sure we shall!


A pretty sharp fellow this Fomin must be,


Who was that came in?


Someone, your excellency, crept in without permission directly my back was turned. He was asking for you. I told him: when the members come out, then....


Where is he?


Maybe he’s gone into the passage, but here he comes anyway. That is he,


Why, it’s actually you, Levin, at last! How is it you have deigned to look me up in this den? Have you been here long?


I have just come, and very much wanted to see you,


Well, let’s go into my room,


We have long been expecting you. I am very, very glad to see you. Well, how are you? Eh? When did you come? Ah, to be sure, let me introduce you. My colleagues: Philip Ivanitch Nikitin, Mihail Stanislavitch Grinevitch a district councilor, a modern district councilman, a gymnast who lifts thirteen stone with one hand, a cattle-breeder and sportsman, and my friend, Konstantin Dmitrievitch Levin, the brother of Sergey Ivanovitch Koznishev.


Delighted,


I have the honor of knowing your brother, Sergey Ivanovitch,


No, I am no longer a district councilor. I have quarreled with them all, and don’t go to the meetings any more,


You’ve been quick about it! But how? why?


It’s a long story. I will tell you some time. Well, to put it shortly, I was convinced that nothing was really done by the district councils, or ever could be. On one side it’s a plaything; they play at being a parliament, and I’m neither young enough nor old enough to find amusement in playthings; and on the other side it’s a means for the coterie of the district to make money. Formerly they had wardships, courts of justice, now they have the district council—not in the form of bribes, but in the form of unearned salary,


Aha! You’re in a new phase again, I see—a conservative. However, we can go into that later.


Yes, later. But I wanted to see you,


How was it you used to say you would never wear European dress again? Ah! I see: a new phase.


Oh, where shall we meet? You know I want very much to talk to you,


I’ll tell you what: let’s go to Gurin’s to lunch, and there we can talk. I am free till three.


No. I have got to go on somewhere else.


All right, then, let’s dine together.


Dine together? But I have nothing very particular, only a few words to say, and a question I want to ask you, and we can have a talk afterwards.


Well, say the few words, then, at once, and we’ll gossip after dinner.


Well, it’s this, but it’s of no importance, though. What are the Shtcherbatskys doing? Everything as it used to be?


You said a few words, but I can’t answer in a few words, because.... Excuse me a minute.... No, you do as I told you. So do it that way, if you please, Zahar Nikititch.


I don’t understand it, I don’t understand it,


What don’t you understand?


I don’t understand what you are doing. How can you do it seriously?


Why not?


Why, because there’s nothing in it.


You think so, but we’re overwhelmed with work.


On paper. But, there, you’ve a gift for it,


That’s to say, you think there’s a lack of something in me?


Perhaps so. But all the same I admire your grandeur, and am proud that I’ve a friend in such a great person. You’ve not answered my question, though,


Oh, that’s all very well. You wait a bit, and you’ll come to this yourself. It’s very nice for you to have over six thousand acres in the Karazinsky district, and such muscles, and the freshness of a girl of twelve; still you’ll be one of us one day. Yes, as to your question, there is no change, but it’s a pity you’ve been away so long.


Oh, why so?


Oh, nothing. We’ll talk it over. But what’s brought you up to town?


Oh, we’ll talk about that, too, later on,


All right. I see. I should ask you to come to us, you know, but my wife’s not quite the thing. But I tell you what; if you want to see them, they’re sure now to be at the Zoological Gardens from four to five. Kitty skates. You drive along there, and I’ll come and fetch you, and we’ll go and dine somewhere together.


Capital. So good-bye till then.


Now mind, you’ll forget, I know you, or rush off home to the country!


No, truly!


That gentleman must be a man of great energy,


Yes, my dear boy, he’s a lucky fellow! Over six thousand acres in the Karazinsky district; everything before him; and what youth and vigor! Not like some of us.


You have a great deal to complain of, haven’t you, Stepan Arkadyevitch?


Ah, yes, I’m in a poor way, a bad way,


I cannot admit it. I cannot in any case agree with Keiss that my whole conception of the external world has been derived from perceptions. The most fundamental idea, the idea of existence, has not been received by me through sensation; indeed, there is no special sense-organ for the transmission of such an idea.


Yes, but they—Wurt, and Knaust, and Pripasov—would answer that your consciousness of existence is derived from the conjunction of all your sensations, that that consciousness of existence is the result of your sensations. Wurt, indeed, says plainly that, assuming there are no sensations, it follows that there is no idea of existence.


I maintain the contrary,


According to that, if my senses are annihilated, if my body is dead, I can have no existence of any sort?


That question we have no right to answer as yet.


We have not the requisite data. No. I would point out the fact that if, as Pripasov directly asserts, perception is based on sensation, then we are bound to distinguish sharply between these two conceptions.


Delighted that you’ve come. For some time, is it? How’s your farming getting on?


Well, how is your district council doing?


I really don’t know.


What! Why, surely you’re a member of the board?


No, I’m not a member now; I’ve resigned, and I no longer attend the meetings.


What a pity! That’s how it always is! We Russians are always like that. Perhaps it’s our strong point, really, the faculty of seeing our own shortcomings; but we overdo it, we comfort ourselves with irony which we always have on the tip of our tongues. All I say is, give such rights as our local self-government to any other European people—why, the Germans or the English would have worked their way to freedom from them, while we simply turn them into ridicule.


But how can it be helped? It was my last effort. And I did try with all my soul. I can’t. I’m no good at it.


It’s not that you’re no good at it, it is that you don’t look at it as you should.


Perhaps not,


Oh! do you know brother Nikolay’s turned up again?


What did you say? How do you know?


Prokofy saw him in the street.


Here in Moscow? Where is he? Do you know?


I am sorry I told you. I sent to find out where he is living, and sent him his IOU to Trubin, which I paid. This is the answer he sent me.


I humbly beg you to leave me in peace. That’s the only favor I ask of my gracious brothers.—Nikolay Levin.


He obviously wants to offend me, but he cannot offend me, and I should have wished with all my heart to assist him, but I know it’s impossible to do that.


Yes, yes. I understand and appreciate your attitude to him; but I shall go and see him.


If you want to, do; but I shouldn’t advise it. As regards myself, I have no fear of your doing so; he will not make you quarrel with me; but for your own sake, I should say you would do better not to go. You can’t do him any good; still, do as you please.


Very likely I can’t do any good, but I feel—especially at such a moment—but that’s another thing—I feel I could not be at peace.


Well, that I don’t understand. One thing I do understand, it’s a lesson in humility. I have come to look very differently and more charitably on what is called infamous since brother Nikolay has become what he is ... you know what he did....


Oh, it’s awful, awful!


You mustn’t be excited, you must be calm. What’s the matter with you? What do you want? Be quiet, stupid,


Is it possible I can go over there on the ice, go up to her?


Ah, the first skater in Russia! Been here long? First-rate ice—do put your skates on.


I haven’t got my skates,


Have you been here long? Thank you,


I? I’ve not long ... yesterday ... I mean today ... I arrived. I was meaning to come and see you,


I didn’t know you could skate, and skate so well. Your praise is worth having. The tradition is kept up here that you are the best of skaters,


Yes, I used once to skate with passion; I wanted to reach perfection.


You do everything with passion, I think. I should so like to see how you skate. Put on skates, and let us skate together.


Skate together! Can that be possible? I’ll put them on directly,


It’s a long while since we’ve seen you here, sir. Except you, there’s none of the gentlemen first-rate skaters. Will that be all right?


Oh, yes, yes; make haste, please. Yes, this now is life, this is happiness! Together, she said; let us skate together! Speak to her now? But that’s just why I’m afraid to speak—because I’m happy now, happy in hope, anyway.... And then?... But I must! I must! I must! Away with weakness!


With you I should soon learn; I somehow feel confidence in you,


And I have confidence in myself when you are leaning on me. Is there anything troubling you?—though I’ve no right to ask such a question,


Oh, why so?... No, I have nothing to trouble me. You haven’t seen Mlle. Linon, have you?


Not yet.


Go and speak to her, she likes you so much.


Yes, you see we’re growing up, and growing old. Tiny bear has grown big now! Do you remember that’s what you used to call them? Now, go and skate, go and skate. Our Kitty has learned to skate nicely, hasn’t she?


Surely you must be dull in the country in the winter, aren’t you?


No, I’m not dull, I am very busy,


Are you going to stay in town long?


I don’t know,


How is it you don’t know?


I don’t know. It depends upon you. My God! what have I done! Merciful God! help me, guide me. Ah, that’s a new trick!


Don’t break your neck! it needs practice!


How splendid, how nice he is! And can it be my fault, can I have done anything wrong? They talk of flirtation. I know it’s not he that I love; but still I am happy with him, and he’s so jolly. Only, why did he say that?...


Delighted to see you. On Thursdays we are home, as always.


Today, then?


We shall be pleased to see you,


Good-bye till this evening.


Well, shall we set off? I’ve been thinking about you all this time, and I’m very, very glad you’ve come,


Yes, come along,


To the England or the Hermitage?


I don’t mind which.


All right, then, the England. Have you got a sledge? That’s first-rate, for I sent my carriage home. You like turbot, don’t you?


Eh? Turbot? Yes, I’m awfully fond of turbot.


This way, your excellency, please. Your excellency won’t be disturbed here. Walk in, your excellency. If you prefer it, your excellency, a private room will be free directly; Prince Golistin with a lady. Fresh oysters have come in.


Ah! oysters. How if we were to change our program, Levin? Are the oysters good? Mind now.


They’re Flensburg, your excellency. We’ve no Ostend.


Flensburg will do, but are they fresh?


Only arrived yesterday.


Well, then, how if we were to begin with oysters, and so change the whole program? Eh?


It’s all the same to me. I should like cabbage soup and porridge better than anything; but of course there’s nothing like that here.


Porridge à la Russe, your honor would like?


No, joking apart, whatever you choose is sure to be good. I’ve been skating, and I’m hungry. And don’t imagine, that I shan’t appreciate your choice. I am fond of good things.


I should hope so! After all, it’s one of the pleasures of life. Well, then, my friend, you give us two—or better say three—dozen oysters, clear soup with vegetables....


Printanière,


With vegetables in it, you know. Then turbot with thick sauce, then ... roast beef; and mind it’s good. Yes, and capons, perhaps, and then sweets.


What shall we drink?


What you like, only not too much. Champagne,


What! to start with? You’re right though, I dare say. Do you like the white seal?


Cachet blanc,


Very well, then, give us that brand with the oysters, and then we’ll see.


Yes, sir. And what table wine?


You can give us Nuits. Oh, no, better the classic Chablis.


Yes, sir. And your cheese, your excellency?


Oh, yes, Parmesan. Or would you like another?


No, it’s all the same to me,


Not bad. Not bad. You don’t care much for oysters, do you? or you’re worried about something. Eh?


I? Yes, I am; but besides, all this bothers me. You can’t conceive how queer it all seems to a country person like me, as queer as that gentleman’s nails I saw at your place....


Yes, I saw how much interested you were in poor Grinevitch’s nails,


It’s too much for me. Do try, now, and put yourself in my place, take the point of view of a country person. We in the country try to bring our hands into such a state as will be most convenient for working with. So we cut our nails; sometimes we turn up our sleeves. And here people purposely let their nails grow as long as they will, and link on small saucers by way of studs, so that they can do nothing with their hands.


Oh, yes, that’s just a sign that he has no need to do coarse work. His work is with the mind....


Maybe. But still it’s queer to me, just as at this moment it seems queer to me that we country folks try to get our meals over as soon as we can, so as to be ready for our work, while here are we trying to drag out our meal as long as possible, and with that object eating oysters....


Why, of course. But that’s just the aim of civilization—to make everything a source of enjoyment.


Well, if that’s its aim, I’d rather be a savage.


And so you are a savage. All you Levins are savages. Oh, I say, are you going tonight to our people, the Shtcherbatskys’, I mean?


Yes, I shall certainly go, though I fancied the princess was not very warm in her invitation.


What nonsense! That’s her manner.... Come, boy, the soup!... That’s her manner—grande dame. I’m coming, too, but I have to go to the Countess Bonina’s rehearsal. Come, isn’t it true that you’re a savage? How do you explain the sudden way in which you vanished from Moscow? The Shtcherbatskys were continually asking me about you, as though I ought to know. The only thing I know is that you always do what no one else does.


Yes, you’re right. I am a savage. Only, my savageness is not in having gone away, but in coming now. Now I have come....


Oh, what a lucky fellow you are!


Why?


‘I know a gallant steed by tokens sure. And by his eyes I know a youth in love,’ Everything is before you.


Why, is it over for you already?


No; not over exactly, but the future is yours, and the present is mine, and the present—well, it’s not all that it might be.


How so?


Oh, things go wrong. But I don’t want to talk of myself, and besides I can’t explain it all. Well, why have you come to Moscow, then?... Hi! take away!


You guess?


I guess, but I can’t be the first to talk about it. You can see by that whether I guess right or wrong,


Well, and what have you to say to me? How do you look at the question?


I? there’s nothing I desire so much as that—nothing! It would be the best thing that could be.


But you’re not making a mistake? You know what we’re speaking of? You think it’s possible?


I think it’s possible. Why not possible?


No! do you really think it’s possible? No, tell me all you think! Oh, but if ... if refusal’s in store for me!... Indeed I feel sure....


Why should you think that?


It seems so to me sometimes. That will be awful for me, and for her too.


Oh, well, anyway there’s nothing awful in it for a girl. Every girl’s proud of an offer.


Yes, every girl, but not she.


Stay, take some sauce,


No, stop a minute, stop a minute. You must understand that it’s a question of life and death for me. I have never spoken to anyone of this. And there’s no one I could speak of it to, except you. You know we’re utterly unlike each other, different tastes and views and everything; but I know you’re fond of me and understand me, and that’s why I like you awfully. But for God’s sake, be quite straightforward with me.


I tell you what I think. But I’ll say more: my wife is a wonderful woman.... She has a gift of foreseeing things. She sees right through people; but that’s not all; she knows what will come to pass, especially in the way of marriages. She foretold, for instance, that Princess Shahovskaya would marry Brenteln. No one would believe it, but it came to pass. And she’s on your side.


How do you mean?


It’s not only that she likes you—she says that Kitty is certain to be your wife.


She says that! I always said she was exquisite, your wife. There, that’s enough, enough said about it,


All right, but do sit down.


You must understand, it’s not love. I’ve been in love, but it’s not that. It’s not my feeling, but a sort of force outside me has taken possession of me. I went away, you see, because I made up my mind that it could never be, you understand, as a happiness that does not come on earth; but I’ve struggled with myself, I see there’s no living without it. And it must be settled.


What did you go away for?


Ah, stop a minute! Ah, the thoughts that come crowding on one! The questions one must ask oneself! Listen. You can’t imagine what you’ve done for me by what you said. I’m so happy that I’ve become positively hateful; I’ve forgotten everything. I heard today that my brother Nikolay ... you know, he’s here ... I had even forgotten him. It seems to me that he’s happy too. It’s a sort of madness. But one thing’s awful.... Here, you’ve been married, you know the feeling ... it’s awful that we—old—with a past ... not of love, but of sins ... are brought all at once so near to a creature pure and innocent; it’s loathsome, and that’s why one can’t help feeling oneself unworthy.


Oh, well, you’ve not many sins on your conscience.


Alas! all the same, when with loathing I go over my life, I shudder and curse and bitterly regret it.... Yes.


What would you have? The world’s made so,


Forgive me not according to my unworthiness, but according to Thy loving-kindness. That’s the only way she can forgive me.


There’s one other thing I ought to tell you. Do you know Vronsky?


No, I don’t. Why do you ask?


Give us another bottle. Why you ought to know Vronsky is that he’s one of your rivals.


Who’s Vronsky?


Vronsky is one of the sons of Count Kirill Ivanovitch Vronsky, and one of the finest specimens of the gilded youth of Petersburg. I made his acquaintance in Tver when I was there on official business, and he came there for the levy of recruits. Fearfully rich, handsome, great connections, an aide-de-camp, and with all that a very nice, good-natured fellow. But he’s more than simply a good-natured fellow, as I’ve found out here—he’s a cultivated man, too, and very intelligent; he’s a man who’ll make his mark. Well, he turned up here soon after you’d gone, and as I can see, he’s over head and ears in love with Kitty, and you know that her mother....


Excuse me, but I know nothing,


You wait a bit, wait a bit. I’ve told you what I know, and I repeat that in this delicate and tender matter, as far as one can conjecture, I believe the chances are in your favor.


But I would advise you to settle the thing as soon as may be. No, thanks, I can’t drink any more. I shall be drunk.... Come, tell me how are you getting on?


One word more: in any case I advise you to settle the question soon. Tonight I don’t advise you to speak. Go round tomorrow morning, make an offer in due form, and God bless you....


Oh, do you still think of coming to me for some shooting? Come next spring, do,


I’ll come some day. But women, my boy, they’re the pivot everything turns upon. Things are in a bad way with me, very bad. And it’s all through women. Tell me frankly now, give me your advice.


Why, what is it?


I’ll tell you. Suppose you’re married, you love your wife, but you’re fascinated by another woman....


Excuse me, but I’m absolutely unable to comprehend how ... just as I can’t comprehend how I could now, after my dinner, go straight to a baker’s shop and steal a roll.


Why not? A roll will sometimes smell so good one can’t resist it. Himmlisch ist’s, wenn ich bezwungen Meine irdische Begier; Aber doch wenn’s nich gelungen Hatt’ ich auch recht hübsch Plaisir! Yes, but joking apart, you must understand that the woman is a sweet, gentle loving creature, poor and lonely, and has sacrificed everything. Now, when the thing’s done, don’t you see, can one possibly cast her off? Even supposing one parts from her, so as not to break up one’s family life, still, can one help feeling for her, setting her on her feet, softening her lot?


Well, you must excuse me there. You know to me all women are divided into two classes ... at least no ... truer to say: there are women and there are ... I’ve never seen exquisite fallen beings, and I never shall see them, but such creatures as that painted Frenchwoman at the counter with the ringlets are vermin to my mind, and all fallen women are the same. Ah, drop that! Christ would never have said those words if He had known how they would be abused. Of all the Gospel those words are the only ones remembered. However, I’m not saying so much what I think, as what I feel. I have a loathing for fallen women. You’re afraid of spiders, and I of these vermin. Most likely you’ve not made a study of spiders and don’t know their character; and so it is with me.


It’s very well for you to talk like that; it’s very much like that gentleman in Dickens who used to fling all difficult questions over his right shoulder. But to deny the facts is no answer. What’s to be done—you tell me that, what’s to be done? Your wife gets older, while you’re full of life. Before you’ve time to look round, you feel that you can’t love your wife with love, however much you may esteem her. And then all at once love turns up, and you’re done for, done for. But what’s to be done?


Don’t steal rolls.


Oh, moralist! But you must understand, there are two women; one insists only on her rights, and those rights are your love, which you can’t give her; and the other sacrifices everything for you and asks for nothing. What are you to do? How are you to act? There’s a fearful tragedy in it.


If you care for my profession of faith as regards that, I’ll tell you that I don’t believe there was any tragedy about it. And this is why. To my mind, love ... both the sorts of love, which you remember Plato defines in his Banquet, served as the test of men. Some men only understand one sort, and some only the other. And those who only know the non-platonic love have no need to talk of tragedy. In such love there can be no sort of tragedy. ‘I’m much obliged for the gratification, my humble respects’—that’s all the tragedy. And in platonic love there can be no tragedy, because in that love all is clear and pure, because.... But perhaps you are right. Very likely ... I don’t know, I don’t know.


Why, has he been here long?


He came today, mamma.


There’s one thing I want to say....


Mamma, please, please don’t say anything about that. I know, I know all about it.


I only want to say that to raise hopes....


Mamma, darling, for goodness’ sake, don’t talk about it. It’s so horrible to talk about it.


I won’t, but one thing, my love; you promised me you would have no secrets from me. You won’t?


Never, mamma, none, but there’s no use in my telling you anything, and I ... I ... if I wanted to, I don’t know what to say or how.... I don’t know....


Konstantin Dmitrievitch Levin.


My God! shall I myself really have to say it to him? Can I tell him I don’t love him? That will be a lie. What am I to say to him? That I love someone else? No, that’s impossible. I’m going away, I’m going away. No! it’s not honest. What have I to be afraid of? I have done nothing wrong. What is to be, will be! I’ll tell the truth. And with him one can’t be ill at ease. Here he is,


It’s not time yet; I think I’m too early,


Oh, no,


But this was just what I wanted, to find you alone,


Mamma will be down directly. She was very much tired.... Yesterday....


I told you I did not know whether I should be here long ... that it depended on you.... That it depended on you. I meant to say ... I meant to say ... I came for this ... to be my wife!


That cannot be ... forgive me.


It was bound to be so,


Thank God, she has refused 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,


Ah, Konstantin Dmitrievitch! So you’ve come back to our corrupt Babylon. Come, is Babylon reformed, or have you degenerated?


It’s very flattering for me, countess, that you remember my words so well. 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?...


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. I have come up for a few days.


There’s something the matter with him. 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, 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.


Excuse me, countess, but I really know nothing about it, and can’t tell you anything. That must be Vronsky,


Let me introduce you. Konstantin Dmitrievitch Levin, Count Alexey Kirillovitch Vronsky.


I believe I was to have dined with you this winter, but you had unexpectedly left for the country.


Konstantin Dmitrievitch despises and hates town and us townspeople,


My words must make a deep impression on you, since you remember them so well,


Are you always in the country? 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,


I am fond of the country,


But I hope, count, you would not consent to live in the country always,


I don’t know; I have never tried for long. I experienced a queer feeling once. 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....


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,


Very well, next Saturday. But you, Konstantin Dmitrievitch, do you believe in it?


Why do you ask me? You know what I shall say.


But I want to hear your opinion.


My opinion, 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?


Oh, no, Masha, Konstantin Dmitrievitch said he could not believe in it,


You do not admit the conceivability at all? 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, 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.


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, 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.


Do let us try at once, countess,


I think,


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.


And I think you would be a first-rate medium, there’s something enthusiastic in you.


Do let us try table-turning at once, please. Princess, will you allow it?


If you can forgive me, forgive me. I am so happy.


I hate them all, and you, and myself,


Ah! Been here long, my boy? I didn’t even know you were in town. Very glad to see you.


Prince, let us have Konstantin Dmitrievitch, 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. There’s some sense in that, anyway.


I hope you will be there?


I’m sorry, I’m sorry; but what could I do? It’s not my fault. Lord, have pity on us; Lord, have pity on us; Lord, have pity on us!


What? I’ll tell you what! That you’ve no pride, no dignity; that you’re disgracing, ruining your daughter by this vulgar, stupid matchmaking!


But, really, for mercy’s sake, prince, what have I done?


What have you done? I’ll tell you what. First of all, you’re trying to catch an eligible gentleman, and all Moscow will be talking of it, and with good reason. If you have evening parties, invite everyone, don’t pick out the possible suitors. Invite all the young bucks. Engage a piano player, and let them dance, and not as you do things nowadays, hunting up good matches. It makes me sick, sick to see it, and you’ve gone on till you’ve turned the poor wench’s head. Levin’s a thousand times the better man. As for this little Petersburg swell, they’re turned out by machinery, all on one pattern, and all precious rubbish. But if he were a prince of the blood, my daughter need not run after anyone.


But what have I done?


Why, you’ve....


I know if one were to listen to you, we should never marry our daughter. If it’s to be so, we’d better go into the country.


Well, and we had better.


But do wait a minute. Do I try and catch them? I don’t try to catch them in the least. A young man, and a very nice one, has fallen in love with her, and she, I fancy....


Oh, yes, you fancy! And how if she really is in love, and he’s no more thinking of marriage than I am!... Oh, that I should live to see it! Ah! spiritualism! Ah! Nice! Ah! the ball! And this is how we’re preparing wretchedness for Kitty; and she’s really got the notion into her head....


But what makes you suppose so?


I don’t suppose; I know. We have eyes for such things, though women-folk haven’t. I see a man who has serious intentions, that’s Levin: and I see a peacock, like this feather-head, who’s only amusing himself.


Oh, well, when once you get an idea into your head!...


Well, you’ll remember my words, but too late, just as with Dolly.


Well, well, we won’t talk of it,


By all means, and good-night!


what is so exquisite, what is so exquisite is that not a word has been said by me or by her, but we understand each other so well in this unseen language of looks and tones, that this evening more clearly than ever she told me she loves me. And how secretly, simply, and most of all, how trustfully! I feel myself better, purer. I feel that I have a heart, and that there is a great deal of good in me. Those sweet, loving eyes! When she said: ‘Indeed I do....’ Well, what then? Oh, nothing. It’s good for me, and good for her. Club? a game of bezique, champagne with Ignatov? No, I’m not going. Château des Fleurs; there I shall find Oblonsky, songs, the cancan. No, I’m sick of it. That’s why I like the Shtcherbatskys’, that I’m growing better. I’ll go home.


Ah! your excellency! whom are you meeting?


My mother. She is to be here from Petersburg today.


I was looking out for you till two o’clock last night. Where did you go after the Shtcherbatskys’?


Home. I must own I felt so well content yesterday after the Shtcherbatskys’ that I didn’t care to go anywhere.


I know a gallant steed by tokens sure, And by his eyes I know a youth in love. Honi soit qui mal y pense! My sister Anna.


Ah! that’s Madame Karenina. You know her, no doubt? I think I do. Or perhaps not ... I really am not sure. I know him by reputation and by sight. I know that he’s clever, learned, religious somewhat.... But you know that’s not ... not in my line,


Yes, he’s a very remarkable man; rather a conservative, but a splendid man, a splendid man.


Oh, well, so much the better for him. Oh, you’ve come, come here. Well, what do you say? Shall we give a supper on Sunday for the diva?


Of course. I’m collecting subscriptions. Oh, did you make the acquaintance of my friend Levin?


Yes; but he left rather early.


He’s a capital fellow. Isn’t he?


I don’t know why it is, in all Moscow people—present company of course excepted, there’s something uncompromising. They are all on the defensive, lose their tempers, as though they all want to make one feel something....


No, you’ve not got a true impression of Levin. He’s a very nervous man, and is sometimes out of humor, it’s true, but then he is often very nice. He’s such a true, honest nature, and a heart of gold. But yesterday there were special reasons. Yes, there were reasons why he could not help being either particularly happy or particularly unhappy.


How so? Do you mean he made your belle-sœur an offer yesterday?


Maybe. I fancied something of the sort yesterday. Yes, if he went away early, and was out of humor too, it must mean it.... He’s been so long in love, and I’m very sorry for him.


So that’s it! I should imagine, though, she might reckon on a better match, though I don’t know him, of course. Yes, that is a hateful position! That’s why most fellows prefer to have to do with Klaras. If you don’t succeed with them it only proves that you’ve not enough cash, but in this case one’s dignity’s at stake. But here’s the train.


Countess Vronskaya is in that compartment,


You got my telegram? Quite well? Thank God.


You had a good journey?


All the same I don’t agree with you,


It’s the Petersburg view, madame.


Not Petersburg, but simply feminine,


Well, well, allow me to kiss your hand.


Good-bye, Ivan Petrovitch. And could you see if my brother is here, and send him to me?


Well, have you found your brother?


Your brother is here. Excuse me, I did not know you, and, indeed, our acquaintance was so slight, that no doubt you do not remember me.


Oh, no. I should have known you because your mother and I have been talking, I think, of nothing but you all the way. And still no sign of my brother.


Do call him, Alexey,


Oblonsky! Here!


She’s very sweet, isn’t she? Her husband put her with me, and I was delighted to have her. We’ve been talking all the way. And so you, I hear ... vous filez le parfait amour. Tant mieux, mon cher, tant mieux.


I don’t know what you are referring to, maman. Come, maman, let us go.


Well, countess, you have met your son, and I my brother. And all my gossip is exhausted. I should have nothing more to tell you.


Oh, no. I could go all around the world with you and never be dull. You are one of those delightful women in whose company it’s sweet to be silent as well as to talk. Now please don’t fret over your son; you can’t expect never to be parted. Anna Arkadyevna, has a little son eight years old, I believe, and she has never been parted from him before, and she keeps fretting over leaving him.


Yes, the countess and I have been talking all the time, I of my son and she of hers,


I am afraid that you must have been dreadfully bored,


Thank you so much. The time has passed so quickly. Good-bye, countess.


Good-bye, my love. Let me have a kiss of your pretty face. I speak plainly, at my age, and I tell you simply that I’ve lost my heart to you.


Very charming,


Well, maman, are you perfectly well?


Everything has been delightful. Alexander has been very good, and Marie has grown very pretty. She’s very interesting.


Here’s Lavrenty, now we can go, if you like. Come; there’s not such a crowd now,


What?... What?... Where?... Flung himself!... Crushed!...


Ah, how awful! Ah, Anna, if you had seen it! Ah, how awful! Oh, if you had seen it, countess. And his wife was there.... It was awful to see her!... She flung herself on the body. They say he was the only support of an immense family. How awful!


Couldn’t one do anything for her?


I’ll be back directly, maman. Now let us be off,


You gave my assistant two hundred roubles. Would you kindly explain for whose benefit you intend them?


For the widow. I should have thought there was no need to ask.


You gave that? Very nice, very nice! Isn’t he a splendid fellow? Good-bye, countess.


What a horrible death! They say he was cut in two pieces.


On the contrary, I think it’s the easiest—instantaneous,


How is it they don’t take proper precautions?


What is it, Anna?


It’s an omen of evil,


What nonsense! You’ve come, that’s the chief thing. You can’t conceive how I’m resting my hopes on you.


Have you known Vronsky long?


Yes. You know we’re hoping he will marry Kitty.


Yes? Come now, let us talk of you. Let us talk of your affairs. I got your letter, and here I am.


Yes, all my hopes are in you,


Well, tell me all about it.


Keep your hands still, Grisha,


What, here already!


Dolly, how glad I am to see you!


I am glad, too. Most likely she knows. Well, come along, I’ll take you to your room,


Is this Grisha? Heavens, how he’s grown! No, please, let us stay here.


You are radiant with health and happiness!


I?... Yes. Merciful heavens, Tanya! You’re the same age as my Seryozha. Delightful child, delightful! Show me them all.


Very well, we will go to them. It’s a pity Vassya’s asleep.


Dolly, he has told me. Dolly, dear. I don’t want to speak for him to you, nor to try to comfort you; that’s impossible. But, darling, I’m simply sorry, sorry from my heart for you!


To comfort me’s impossible. Everything’s lost after what has happened, everything’s over!


But, Dolly, what’s to be done, what’s to be done? How is it best to act in this awful position—that’s what you must think of.


All’s over, and there’s nothing more. And the worst of all is, you see, that I can’t cast him off: there are the children, I am tied. And I can’t live with him! it’s a torture to me to see him.


Dolly, darling, he has spoken to me, but I want to hear it from you: tell me about it.


Very well. But I will tell you it from the beginning. You know how I was married. With the education mamma gave us I was more than innocent, I was stupid. I knew nothing. I know they say men tell their wives of their former lives, but Stiva Stepan Arkadyevitch told me nothing. You’ll hardly believe it, but till now I imagined that I was the only woman he had known. So I lived eight years. You must understand that I was so far from suspecting infidelity, I regarded it as impossible, and then—try to imagine it—with such ideas, to find out suddenly all the horror, all the loathsomeness.... You must try and understand me. To be fully convinced of one’s happiness, and all at once.... to get a letter ... his letter to his mistress, my governess. No, it’s too awful! I can understand being carried away by feeling, but deliberately, slyly deceiving me ... and with whom?... To go on being my husband together with her ... it’s awful! You can’t understand....


Oh, yes, I understand! I understand! Dolly, dearest, I do understand,


And do you imagine he realizes all the awfulness of my position? Not the slightest! He’s happy and contented.


Oh, no! He’s to be pitied, he’s weighed down by remorse....


Is he capable of remorse?


Yes. I know him. I could not look at him without feeling sorry for him. We both know him. He’s good-hearted, but he’s proud, and now he’s so humiliated. What touched me most.... he’s tortured by two things: that he’s ashamed for the children’s sake, and that, loving you—yes, yes, loving you beyond everything on earth, he has hurt you, pierced you to the heart. ‘No, no, she cannot forgive me,’ he keeps saying.


Yes, I can see that his position is awful; it’s worse for the guilty than the innocent, if he feels that all the misery comes from his fault. But how am I to forgive him, how am I to be his wife again after her? For me to live with him now would be torture, just because I love my past love for him.... She’s young, you see, she’s pretty. Do you know, Anna, my youth and my beauty are gone, taken by whom? By him and his children. I have worked for him, and all I had has gone in his service, and now of course any fresh, vulgar creature has more charm for him. No doubt they talked of me together, or, worse still, they were silent. Do you understand?


And after that he will tell me.... What! can I believe him? Never! No, everything is over, everything that once made my comfort, the reward of my work, and my sufferings.... Would you believe it, I was teaching Grisha just now: once this was a joy to me, now it is a torture. What have I to strive and toil for? Why are the children here? What’s so awful is that all at once my heart’s turned, and instead of love and tenderness, I have nothing but hatred for him; yes, hatred. I could kill him. Darling Dolly, I understand, but don’t torture yourself. You are so distressed, so overwrought, that you look at many things mistakenly.


What’s to be done? Think for me, Anna, help me. I have thought over everything, and I see nothing.


One thing I would say. I am his sister, I know his character, that faculty of forgetting everything, everything that faculty for being completely carried away, but for completely repenting too. He cannot believe it, he cannot comprehend now how he can have acted as he did.


No; he understands, he understood! But I ... you are forgetting me ... does it make it easier for me?


Wait a minute. When he told me, I will own I did not realize all the awfulness of your position. I saw nothing but him, and that the family was broken up. I felt sorry for him, but after talking to you, I see it, as a woman, quite differently. I see your agony, and I can’t tell you how sorry I am for you! But, Dolly, darling, I fully realize your sufferings, only there is one thing I don’t know; I don’t know ... I don’t know how much love there is still in your heart for him. That you know—whether there is enough for you to be able to forgive him. If there is, forgive him!


No,


I know more of the world than you do. I know how men like Stiva look at it. You speak of his talking of you with her. That never happened. Such men are unfaithful, but their home and wife are sacred to them. Somehow or other these women are still looked on with contempt by them, and do not touch on their feeling for their family. They draw a sort of line that can’t be crossed between them and their families. I don’t understand it, but it is so.


Yes, but he has kissed her....


Dolly, hush, darling. I saw Stiva when he was in love with you. I remember the time when he came to me and cried, talking of you, and all the poetry and loftiness of his feeling for you, and I know that the longer he has lived with you the loftier you have been in his eyes. You know we have sometimes laughed at him for putting in at every word: ‘Dolly’s a marvelous woman.’ You have always been a divinity for him, and you are that still, and this has not been an infidelity of the heart....


But if it is repeated?


It cannot be, as I understand it....


Yes, but could you forgive it?


I don’t know, I can’t judge.... Yes, I can. Yes, I can, I can, I can. Yes, I could forgive it. I could not be the same, no; but I could forgive it, and forgive it as though it had never been, never been at all....


Oh, of course, else it would not be forgiveness. If one forgives, it must be completely, completely. Come, let us go; I’ll take you to your room. My dear, how glad I am you came. It has made things better, ever so much better.


Come, God is merciful. Stiva,


go, and God help you.


Come, come, as we were sitting before. And when is your next ball?


Next week, and a splendid ball. One of those balls where one always enjoys oneself.


Why, are there balls where one always enjoys oneself?


It’s strange, but there are. At the Bobrishtchevs’ one always enjoys oneself, and at the Nikitins’ too, while at the Mezhkovs’ it’s always dull. Haven’t you noticed it?


No, my dear, for me there are no balls now where one enjoys oneself. No, my dear, for me there are no balls now where one enjoys oneself. For me there are some less dull and tiresome. Why should not I be dull at a ball? In the first place it’s never so; and secondly, if it were, what difference would it make to me?


Are you coming to this ball?


I imagine it won’t be possible to avoid going. Here, take it,


I shall be so glad if you go. I should so like to see you at a ball.


Anyway, if I do go, I shall comfort myself with the thought that it’s a pleasure to you ... Grisha, don’t pull my hair. It’s untidy enough without that. I imagine you at the ball in lilac. And why in lilac precisely? I know why you press me to come to the ball. You expect a great deal of this ball, and you want everyone to be there to take part in it. Oh! what a happy time you are at. I remember, and I know that blue haze like the mist on the mountains in Switzerland. That mist which covers everything in that blissful time when childhood is just ending, and out of that vast circle, happy and gay, there is a path growing narrower and narrower, and it is delightful and alarming to enter the ballroom, bright and splendid as it is.... Who has not been through it? I know something. Stiva told me, and I congratulate you. I liked him so much. I met Vronsky at the railway station.


Oh, was he there? What was it Stiva told you?


Stiva gossiped about it all. And I should be so glad ... I traveled yesterday with Vronsky’s mother, and his mother talked without a pause of him, he’s her favorite. I know mothers are partial, but....


What did his mother tell you?


Oh, a great deal! And I know that he’s her favorite; still one can see how chivalrous he is.... Well, for instance, she told me that he had wanted to give up all his property to his brother, that he had done something extraordinary when he was quite a child, saved a woman out of the water. He’s a hero, in fact. She pressed me very much to go and see her, and I shall be glad to go to see her tomorrow. Stiva is staying a long while in Dolly’s room, thank God. All together. I am afraid you’ll be cold upstairs,


I want to move you downstairs, and we shall be nearer.


Oh, please, don’t trouble about me,


It will be lighter for you here,


I assure you that I sleep everywhere, and always like a marmot.


What’s the question?


I want to move Anna downstairs, but we must hang up blinds. No one knows how to do it; I must see to it myself,


God knows whether they are fully reconciled. Oh, nonsense, Dolly, always making difficulties. Come, I’ll do it all, if you like....


Yes, they must be reconciled. I know how you do everything. You tell Matvey to do what can’t be done, and go away yourself, leaving him to make a muddle of everything,


Full, full reconciliation, full, thank God!


Not at all. Why do you always look down on me and Matvey?


She is in my album, and, by the way, I’ll show you my Seryozha,


Who can that be?


It’s early for me to be fetched, and for anyone else it’s late,


Sure to be someone with papers for me,


And nothing would induce him to come up. What a queer fellow he is!


He has been at home, and didn’t find me, and thought I should be here, but he did not come up because he thought it late, and Anna’s here.


How nice you’ve come in good time, such a bad habit to be late. It’s a rest to waltz with you. It’s exquisite—such lightness, precision.


Another turn, eh? You’re not tired?


No, thank you!


Where shall I take you?


Madame Karenina’s here, I think ... take me to her.


Wherever you command. Pardon, mesdames, pardon, pardon, mesdames


No, I don’t throw stones, though I can’t understand it. You came into the room dancing,


This is one of my most faithful supporters. The princess helps to make balls happy and successful. Anna Arkadyevna, a waltz?


Why, have you met?


Is there anyone we have not met? My wife and I are like white wolves—everyone knows us. A waltz, Anna Arkadyevna?


I don’t dance when it’s possible not to dance,


But tonight it’s impossible,


Well, since it’s impossible tonight, let us start,


Pardon! pardon! Waltz! waltz!


Kitty, what is it? I don’t understand it. Kitty, you’re not dancing the mazurka?


No, no,


He asked her for the mazurka before me. She said: ‘Why, aren’t you going to dance it with Princess Shtcherbatskaya?’


Oh, I don’t care!


Delightful ball!


Yes,


Nonsense, Anna Arkadyevna. I’ve such an idea for a cotillion! Un bijou!


No, I am not going to stay. No; why, as it is, I have danced more at your ball in Moscow than I have all the winter in Petersburg. I must rest a little before my journey.


Are you certainly going tomorrow then?


Yes, I suppose so,


Yes, there is something in me hateful, repulsive. And I don’t get on with other people. Pride, they say. No, I have no pride. If I had any pride, I should not have put myself in such a position. Yes, she was bound to choose him. So it had to be, and I cannot complain of anyone or anything. I am myself to blame. What right had I to imagine she would care to join her life to mine? Who am I and what am I? A nobody, not wanted by anyone, nor of use to anybody. Isn’t he right that everything in the world is base and loathsome? And are we fair in our judgment of brother Nikolay? Of course, from the point of view of Prokofy, seeing him in a torn cloak and tipsy, he’s a despicable person. But I know him differently. I know his soul, and know that we are like him. And I, instead of going to seek him out, went out to dinner, and came here.


It all depends with how much judgment and knowledge the thing’s done.


Well, the devil flay them, the privileged classes. Masha! get us some supper and some wine if there’s any left; or else go and get some. Whom do you want? Who’s I?


Ah, Kostya! I wrote to you and Sergey Ivanovitch both that I don’t know you and don’t want to know you. What is it you want?


I didn’t want to see you for anything. I’ve simply come to see you.


You’re of the Kiev university?


Yes, I was of Kiev,


Then, Masha, tell them to bring supper; three portions, spirits and wine.... No, wait a minute.... No, it doesn’t matter.... Go along. So you see. Here, do you see?... Do you see that? That’s the beginning of a new thing we’re going into. It’s a productive association.... You know that capital oppresses the laborer. The laborers with us, the peasants, bear all the burden of labor, and are so placed that however much they work they can’t escape from their position of beasts of burden. All the profits of labor, on which they might improve their position, and gain leisure for themselves, and after that education, all the surplus values are taken from them by the capitalists. And society’s so constituted that the harder they work, the greater the profit of the merchants and landowners, while they stay beasts of burden to the end. And that state of things must be changed. And so we’re founding a locksmiths’ association, where all the production and profit and the chief instruments of production will be in common.


Where is the association to be?


In the village of Vozdrem, Kazan government.


But why in a village? In the villages, I think, there is plenty of work as it is. Why a locksmiths’ association in a village?


Why? Because the peasants are just as much slaves as they ever were, and that’s why you and Sergey Ivanovitch don’t like people to try and get them out of their slavery. I know your and Sergey Ivanovitch’s aristocratic views. I know that he applies all the power of his intellect to justify existing evils.


No; and what do you talk of Sergey Ivanovitch for?


Sergey Ivanovitch? I’ll tell you what for! I’ll tell you what for.... But what’s the use of talking? There’s only one thing.... What did you come to me for? You look down on this, and you’re welcome to,—and go away, in God’s name go away!


I don’t look down on it at all. I don’t even dispute it.


I’m not well; I’ve grown irritable, and then you talk to me of Sergey Ivanovitch and his article. It’s such rubbish, such lying, such self-deception. What can a man write of justice who knows nothing of it? Have you read his article?


I’ve not read it,


Why not?


Because I didn’t see the use of wasting my time over it.


Oh, but excuse me, how did you know it would be wasting your time? That article’s too deep for many people—that’s to say it’s over their heads. But with me, it’s another thing; I see through his ideas, and I know where its weakness lies. He’s no good either. What do you want now?


Have you been long with my brother?


Yes, more than a year. Nikolay Dmitrievitch’s health has become very poor. Nikolay Dmitrievitch drinks a great deal,


That is ... how does he drink?


Drinks vodka, and it’s bad for him.


And a great deal?


What were you talking about? What was it?


Oh, nothing,


Oh, if you don’t want to say, don’t. Only it’s no good your talking to her. She’s a wench, and you’re a gentleman. You understand everything, I see, and have taken stock of everything, and look with commiseration on my shortcomings,


Nikolay Dmitrievitch, Nikolay Dmitrievitch,


Oh, very well, very well!... But where’s the supper? Ah, here it is. Here, set it here. Like a drink? Well, enough of Sergey Ivanovitch. I’m glad to see you, anyway. After all’s said and done, we’re not strangers. Come, have a drink. Tell me what you’re doing. How are you living?


I live alone in the country, as I used to. I’m busy looking after the land,


Why don’t you get married?


It hasn’t happened so,


Why not? For me now ... everything’s at an end! I’ve made a mess of my life. But this I’ve said, and I say still, that if my share had been given me when I needed it, my whole life would have been different.


Do you know your little Vanya’s with me, a clerk in the countinghouse at Pokrovskoe.


Yes, tell me what’s going on at Pokrovskoe. Is the house standing still, and the birch trees, and our schoolroom? And Philip the gardener, is he living? How I remember the arbor and the seat! Now mind and don’t alter anything in the house, but make haste and get married, and make everything as it used to be again. Then I’ll come and see you, if your wife is nice.


But come to me now. How nicely we would arrange it!


I’d come and see you if I were sure I should not find Sergey Ivanovitch. Yes, but say what you like, you will have to choose between me and him,


If you want to hear my confession of faith on the subject, I tell you that in your quarrel with Sergey Ivanovitch I take neither side. You’re both wrong. You’re more wrong externally, and he inwardly.


Ah, ah! You see that, you see that!


But I personally value friendly relations with you more because....


Why, why?


Enough, Nikolay Dmitrievitch!


Let it be! Don’t insist! I’ll beat you! And do you suppose she understands nothing? She understands it all better than any of us. Isn’t it true there’s something good and sweet in her?


Were you never before in Moscow?


Only you mustn’t be polite and stiff with her. It frightens her. No one ever spoke to her so but the justices of the peace who tried her for trying to get out of a house of ill-fame. Mercy on us, the senselessness in the world! These new institutions, these justices of the peace, rural councils, what hideousness it all is!


In another world we shall understand it all,


In another world! Ah, I don’t like that other world! I don’t like it. Here one would think that to get out of all the baseness and the mess, one’s own and other people’s, would be a good thing, and yet I’m afraid of death, awfully afraid of death. But do drink something. Would you like some champagne? Or shall we go somewhere? Let’s go to the Gypsies! Do you know I have got so fond of the Gypsies and Russian songs.


You’re soon back again, sir,


I got tired of it, Agafea Mihalovna. With friends, one is well; but at home, one is better,


No, you’re not going to get away from us, and you’re not going to be different, but you’re going to be the same as you’ve always been; with doubts, everlasting dissatisfaction with yourself, vain efforts to amend, and falls, and everlasting expectation, of a happiness which you won’t get, and which isn’t possible for you.


Kouzma, give me my sheepskin. And you tell them to take a lantern. I’ll come and look at her,


Here, bring the light, Fyodor, this way. Like the mother! though the color takes after the father; but that’s nothing. Very good. Long and broad in the haunch. Vassily Fedorovitch, isn’t she splendid?


How could she fail to be? Oh, Semyon the contractor came the day after you left. You must settle with him, Konstantin Dmitrievitch. I did inform you about the machine.


Well, I’ll stay a while, sir,


There, who’d have thought it? The dog now ... why, she understands that her master’s come home, and that he’s low-spirited.


Why low-spirited?


Do you suppose I don’t see it, sir? It’s high time I should know the gentry. Why, I’ve grown up from a little thing with them. It’s nothing, sir, so long as there’s health and a clear conscience. Shall I fetch you another cup?


No, I must go, I must go no, it had really better be today!


How queer you are today!


I? Do you think so? I’m not queer, but I’m nasty. I am like that sometimes. I keep feeling as if I could cry. It’s very stupid, but it’ll pass off. In the same way I didn’t want to leave Petersburg, and now I don’t want to go away from here.


You came here and did a good deed,


Don’t say that, Dolly. I’ve done nothing, and could do nothing. I often wonder why people are all in league to spoil me. What have I done, and what could I do? In your heart there was found love enough to forgive....


If it had not been for you, God knows what would have happened! How happy you are, Anna! Everything is clear and good in your heart.


Every heart has its own skeletons, as the English say.


You have no sort of skeleton, have you? Everything is so clear in you.


I have!


Come, he’s amusing, anyway, your skeleton, and not depressing,


No, he’s depressing. Do you know why I’m going today instead of tomorrow? It’s a confession that weighs on me; I want to make it to you. Yes. Do you know why Kitty didn’t come to dinner? She’s jealous of me. I have spoiled ... I’ve been the cause of that ball being a torture to her instead of a pleasure. But truly, truly, it’s not my fault, or only my fault a little bit,


Oh, how like Stiva you said that!


Oh no, oh no! I’m not Stiva. That’s why I’m telling you, just because I could never let myself doubt myself for an instant,


Yes, Stiva told me you danced the mazurka with him, and that he....


You can’t imagine how absurdly it all came about. I only meant to be matchmaking, and all at once it turned out quite differently. Possibly against my own will....


Oh, they feel it directly?


But I should be in despair if there were anything serious in it on his side. And I am certain it will all be forgotten, and Kitty will leave off hating me.


All the same, Anna, to tell you the truth, I’m not very anxious for this marriage for Kitty. And it’s better it should come to nothing, if he, Vronsky, is capable of falling in love with you in a single day.


Oh, heavens, that would be too silly! And so here I am going away, having made an enemy of Kitty, whom I liked so much! Ah, how sweet she is! But you’ll make it right, Dolly? Eh?


An enemy? That can’t be.


I did so want you all to care for me, as I do for you, and now I care for you more than ever. Ah, how silly I am today!


Remember, Anna, what you’ve done for me—I shall never forget. And remember that I love you, and shall always love you as my dearest friend!


I don’t know why,


You understood me, and you understand. Good-bye, my darling!


Come, it’s all over, and thank God! Thank God! tomorrow I shall see Seryozha and Alexey Alexandrovitch, and my life will go on in the old way, all nice and as usual.


What have I to be ashamed of?


Warm, very warm, hot. Well, what is it? What does it mean? Am I afraid to look it straight in the face? Why, what is it? Can it be that between me and this officer boy there exist, or can exist, any other relations than such as are common with every acquaintance?


Do you wish to get out?


Yes, I want a little air. It’s very hot in here.


Hand over that telegram!


This way! No. 28!


I didn’t know you were going. What are you coming for?


What am I coming for? You know that I have come to be where you are. I can’t help it. Forgive me, if you dislike what I said,


It’s wrong, what you say, and I beg you, if you’re a good man, to forget what you’ve said, as I forget it,


Not one word, not one gesture of yours shall I, could I, ever forget....


Enough, enough!


Oh, mercy! why do his ears look like that?


Yes, as you see, your tender spouse, as devoted as the first year after marriage, burned with impatience to see you,


Is Seryozha quite well?


And is this all the reward, for my ardor? He’s quite well....


No, she does not love him and cannot love him. Have you passed a good night?


Thank you, very good,


Count Vronsky,


Ah! We are acquainted, I believe. You set off with the mother and you return with the son. You’re back from leave, I suppose? Well, were a great many tears shed at Moscow at parting?


I hope I may have the honor of calling on you,


Delighted. On Mondays we’re at home. Most fortunate, that I should just have half an hour to meet you, so that I can prove my devotion,


You lay too much stress on your devotion for me to value it much. But what has it to do with me?


Oh, capitally! Mariette says he has been very good, And ... I must disappoint you ... but he has not missed you as your husband has. But once more merci, my dear, for giving me a day. Our dear Samovar will be delighted. She has been continually asking after you. And, do you know, if I may venture to advise you, you should go and see her today. You know how she takes everything to heart. Just now, with all her own cares, she’s anxious about the Oblonskys being brought together.


But you know I wrote to her?


Still she’ll want to hear details. Go and see her, if you’re not too tired, my dear. Well, Kondraty will take you in the carriage, while I go to my committee. I shall not be alone at dinner again. You wouldn’t believe how I’ve missed....


Mother! mother! I told you it was mother! I knew!


Why, am I not so nice as she?


To me you’re nicer than anyone in the world.


I know that,


Well, my dear, so you took the olive branch?


Yes, it’s all over, but it was all much less serious than we had supposed. My belle-sœur is in general too hasty.


Yes, there’s plenty of sorrow and evil in the world. I am so worried today.


Oh, why?


I’m beginning to be weary of fruitlessly championing the truth, and sometimes I’m quite unhinged by it. The Society of the Little Sisters was going splendidly, but with these gentlemen it’s impossible to do anything. They pounce on the idea, and distort it, and then work it out so pettily and unworthily. Two or three people, your husband among them, understand all the importance of the thing, but the others simply drag it down. Yesterday Pravdin wrote to me....


It was all the same before, of course; but why was it I didn’t notice it before? Or has she been very much irritated today? It’s really ludicrous; her object is doing good; she a Christian, yet she’s always angry; and she always has enemies, and always enemies in the name of Christianity and doing good.


What was it? Nothing. Vronsky said something silly, which it was easy to put a stop to, and I answered as I ought to have done. To speak of it to my husband would be unnecessary and out of the question. To speak of it would be to attach importance to what has no importance. So then there’s no reason to speak of it? And indeed, thank God, there’s nothing to speak of,


Unhasting and unresting. Yes, my solitude is over. You wouldn’t believe how uncomfortable it is to dine alone.


Here you are at last!


Altogether then, I see your visit was a success,


Oh, yes,


I imagine one cannot exonerate such a man from blame, though he is your brother. I am glad it has all ended so satisfactorily, and that you are back again. Come, what do they say about the new act I have got passed in the council? Here, on the other hand, it has made a great sensation. I was very, very glad. It shows that at last a reasonable and steady view of the matter is becoming prevalent among us. And you’ve not been anywhere this evening? You’ve been dull, I expect?


Oh, no! What are you reading now?


Just now I’m reading Duc de Lille, Poésie des Enfers. A very remarkable book.


Well, God be with you. And I’ll write to Moscow. All the same he’s a good man; truthful, good-hearted, and remarkable in his own line. But why is it his ears stick out so strangely? Or has he had his hair cut?


It’s time, it’s time,


And what right had he to look at him like that?


If that’s one of the villains, don’t let him in! Bravo! Vronsky! Our host himself! Baroness, some coffee for him out of the new coffee pot. Why, we didn’t expect you! Hope you’re satisfied with the ornament of your study. You know each other, of course?


I should think so. What next! I’m an old friend.


You’re home after a journey, so I’m flying. Oh, I’ll be off this minute, if I’m in the way.


You’re home, wherever you are, baroness. How do you do, Kamerovsky?


There, you never know how to say such pretty things,


No; what’s that for? After dinner I say things quite as good.


After dinner there’s no credit in them? Well, then, I’ll make you some coffee, so go and wash and get ready. Pierre, give me the coffee. I’ll put it in.


You’ll spoil it!


No, I won’t spoil it! Well, and your wife? We’ve been marrying you here. Have you brought your wife?


No, baroness. I was born a Bohemian, and a Bohemian I shall die.


So much the better, so much the better. Shake hands on it. He persists in refusing to give me a divorce! Well, what am I to do? Now I want to begin a suit against him. What do you advise? Kamerovsky, look after the coffee; it’s boiling over. You see, I’m engrossed with business! I want a lawsuit, because I must have my property. Do you understand the folly of it, that on the pretext of my being unfaithful to him, he wants to get the benefit of my fortune.


Well now, good-bye, or you’ll never get washed, and I shall have on my conscience the worst sin a gentleman can commit. So you would advise a knife to his throat?


To be sure, and manage that your hand may not be far from his lips. He’ll kiss your hand, and all will end satisfactorily,


So at the Français!


Impossible! Impossible! And is he as stupid and pleased as ever? Well, and how’s Buzulukov?


Oh, there is a tale about Buzulukov—simply lovely! You know his weakness for balls, and he never misses a single court ball. He went to a big ball in a new helmet. Have you seen the new helmets? Very nice, lighter. Well, so he’s standing.... No, I say, do listen.


I am listening,


Up comes the Grand Duchess with some ambassador or other, and, as ill-luck would have it, she begins talking to him about the new helmets. The Grand Duchess positively wanted to show the new helmet to the ambassador. They see our friend standing there. The Grand Duchess asked him to give her the helmet; he doesn’t give it to her. What do you think of that? Well, everyone’s winking at him, nodding, frowning—give it to her, do! He doesn’t give it to her. He’s mute as a fish. Only picture it!... Well, the ... what’s his name, whatever he was ... tries to take the helmet from him ... he won’t give it up!... He pulls it from him, and hands it to the Grand Duchess. 'Here, your Highness,' says he, 'is the new helmet.' She turned the helmet the other side up, And—just picture it!—plop went a pear and sweetmeats out of it, two pounds of sweetmeats!... He’d been storing them up, the darling!


Well, doctor, decide our fate. Tell me everything. Is there hope? Well, doctor?


Immediately, princess. I will talk it over with my colleague, and then I will have the honor of laying my opinion before you.


So we had better leave you?


As you please. Yes. But.... The commencement of the tuberculous process we are not, as you are aware, able to define; till there are cavities, there is nothing definite. But we may suspect it. And there are indications; malnutrition, nervous excitability, and so on. The question stands thus: in presence of indications of tuberculous process, what is to be done to maintain nutrition?


But, you know, there are always moral, spiritual causes at the back in these cases,


Yes, that’s an understood thing. Beg pardon, is the Yausky bridge done yet, or shall I have to drive around? Ah! it is. Oh, well, then I can do it in twenty minutes. So we were saying the problem may be put thus: to maintain nutrition and to give tone to the nerves. The one is in close connection with the other, one must attack both sides at once.


And how about a tour abroad?


I’ve no liking for foreign tours. And take note: if there is an early stage of tuberculous process, of which we cannot be certain, a foreign tour will be of no use. What is wanted is means of improving nutrition, and not for lowering it.


But in favor of foreign travel I would urge the change of habits, the removal from conditions calling up reminiscences. And then the mother wishes it,


Ah! Well, in that case, to be sure, let them go. Only, those German quacks are mischievous.... They ought to be persuaded.... Well, let them go then.


What! another examination! Oh, no, only a few details, princess.


May I trouble you to sit down, princess?


Excuse me, doctor, but there is really no object in this. This is the third time you’ve asked me the same thing.


Nervous irritability. However, I had finished....


Really, I’m quite well, mamma. But if you want to go abroad, let’s go!


Well, well? You’re all in good spirits. Good news, then?


Ah, mamma, we have plenty of troubles of our own. Lili is ill, and I’m afraid it’s scarlatina. I have come here now to hear about Kitty, and then I shall shut myself up entirely, if—God forbid—it should be scarlatina.


How have you settled it? you’re going? Well, and what do you mean to do with me? That’s as you like.


Mamma, why shouldn’t father come with us? It would be nicer for him and for us too.


These stupid chignons! There’s no getting at the real daughter. One simply strokes the bristles of dead women. Well, Dolinka, what’s your young buck about, hey?


Nothing, father. He’s always out; I scarcely ever see him,


Why, hasn’t he gone into the country yet—to see about selling that forest?


No, he’s still getting ready for the journey.


Oh, that’s it! And so am I to be getting ready for a journey too? At your service. And I tell you what, Katia, you must wake up one fine day and say to yourself: Why, I’m quite well, and merry, and going out again with father for an early morning walk in the frost. Hey?


See what comes of your jokes! You’re always.... She’s so much to be pitied, poor child, so much to be pitied, and you don’t feel how it hurts her to hear the slightest reference to the cause of it. Ah! to be so mistaken in people! I don’t know why there aren’t laws against such base, dishonorable people.


Ah, I can’t bear to hear you! There are laws, madam, and since you’ve challenged me to it, I’ll tell you who’s to blame for it all: you and you, you and nobody else. Laws against such young gallants there have always been, and there still are! Yes, if there has been nothing that ought not to have been, old as I am, I’d have called him out to the barrier, the young dandy. Yes, and now you physic her and call in these quacks.


Alexander, Alexander,


There, that’s enough, that’s enough! You’re wretched too, I know. It can’t be helped. There’s no great harm done. God is merciful ... thanks....


I’d been meaning to tell you something for a long while, mamma: did you know that Levin meant to make Kitty an offer when he was here the last time? He told Stiva so.


Well, what then? I don’t understand....


So did Kitty perhaps refuse him?... She didn’t tell you so?


No, she has said nothing to me either of one or the other; she’s too proud. But I know it’s all on account of the other.


Yes, but suppose she has refused Levin, and she wouldn’t have refused him if it hadn’t been for the other, I know. And then, he has deceived her so horribly.


Oh, I really don’t understand! Nowadays they will all go their own way, and mothers haven’t a word to say in anything, and then....


Mamma, I’ll go up to her.


Well, do. Did I tell you not to?


I’m just going now, and I shall have to keep in and you won’t be able to come to see me. I want to talk to you.


What about?


What should it be, but your trouble?


I have no trouble.


Nonsense, Kitty. Do you suppose I could help knowing? I know all about it. And believe me, it’s of so little consequence.... We’ve all been through it. He’s not worth your grieving over him,


No, because he has treated me with contempt. Don’t talk of it! Please, don’t talk of it!


But who can have told you so? No one has said that. I’m certain he was in love with you, and would still be in love with you, if it hadn’t....


Oh, the most awful thing of all for me is this sympathizing! What, what is it you want to make me feel, eh? That I’ve been in love with a man who didn’t care a straw for me, and that I’m dying of love for him? And this is said to me by my own sister, who imagines that ... that ... that she’s sympathizing with me!... I don’t want these condolences and humbug!


Kitty, you’re unjust.


Why are you tormenting me?


But I ... quite the contrary ... I see you’re unhappy....


I’ve nothing to grieve over and be comforted about. I am too proud ever to allow myself to care for a man who does not love me.


Yes, I don’t say so either.... Only one thing. Tell me the truth, tell me, did Levin speak to you?...


Why bring Levin in too? I can’t understand what you want to torment me for. I’ve told you, and I say it again, that I have some pride, and never, never would I do as you’re doing—go back to a man who’s deceived you, who has cared for another woman. I can’t understand it! You may, but I can’t!


Dolinka, I am so, so wretched!


I have nothing to make me miserable, but can you understand that everything has become hateful, loathsome, coarse to me, and I myself most of all? You can’t imagine what loathsome thoughts I have about everything.


Why, whatever loathsome thoughts can you have?


The most utterly loathsome and coarse: I can’t tell you. It’s not unhappiness, or low spirits, but much worse. As though everything that was good in me was all hidden away, and nothing was left but the most loathsome. Come, how am I to tell you? Father began saying something to me just now.... It seems to me he thinks all I want is to be married. Mother takes me to a ball: it seems to me she only takes me to get me married off as soon as may be, and be rid of me. I know it’s not the truth, but I can’t drive away such thoughts. Eligible suitors, as they call them—I can’t bear to see them. It seems to me they’re taking stock of me and summing me up. In old days to go anywhere in a ball dress was a simple joy to me, I admired myself; now I feel ashamed and awkward. And then! The doctor.... Then.... Oh, well, everything presents itself to me, in the coarsest, most loathsome light. That’s my illness. Perhaps it will pass off.


But you mustn’t think about it.


I can’t help it. I’m never happy except with the children at your house.


What a pity you can’t be with me!


Oh, yes, I’m coming. I’ve had scarlatina, and I’ll persuade mamma to let me.


When I’m old and ugly I’ll be the same, but for a pretty young woman like you it’s early days for that house of charity.


Why didn’t you come to dinner? I marvel at the second sight of lovers, she wasn’t there. But come after the opera. But how I remember your jeers! What’s become of all that? You’re caught, my dear boy.


That’s my one desire, to be caught. If I complain of anything it’s only that I’m not caught enough, to tell the truth. I begin to lose hope.


Why, whatever hope can you have?


None whatever. Excuse me. I’m afraid I’m becoming ridiculous.


But why was it you didn’t come to dinner?


I must tell you about that. I was busily employed, and doing what, do you suppose? I’ll give you a hundred guesses, a thousand ... you’d never guess. I’ve been reconciling a husband with a man who’d insulted his wife. Yes, really!


Well, did you succeed?


Almost.


You really must tell me about it. Come to me in the next entr’acte.


I can’t; I’m going to the French theater.


From Nilsson?


Can’t help it. I’ve an appointment there, all to do with my mission of peace.


Blessed are the peacemakers; theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Very well, then, sit down, and tell me what it’s all about.


This is rather indiscreet, but it’s so good it’s an awful temptation to tell the story. I’m not going to mention any names.


But I shall guess, so much the better.


Well, listen: two festive young men were driving—


Officers of your regiment, of course?


I didn’t say they were officers,—two young men who had been lunching.


In other words, drinking.


Possibly. They were driving on their way to dinner with a friend in the most festive state of mind. And they beheld a pretty woman in a hired sledge; she overtakes them, looks round at them, and, so they fancy anyway, nods to them and laughs. They, of course, follow her. They gallop at full speed. To their amazement, the fair one alights at the entrance of the very house to which they were going. The fair one darts upstairs to the top story. They get a glimpse of red lips under a short veil, and exquisite little feet.


You describe it with such feeling that I fancy you must be one of the two.


And after what you said, just now! Well, the young men go in to their comrade’s; he was giving a farewell dinner. There they certainly did drink a little too much, as one always does at farewell dinners. And at dinner they inquire who lives at the top in that house. No one knows; only their host’s valet, in answer to their inquiry whether any ‘young ladies’ are living on the top floor, answered that there were a great many of them about there. After dinner the two young men go into their host’s study, and write a letter to the unknown fair one. They compose an ardent epistle, a declaration in fact, and they carry the letter upstairs themselves, so as to elucidate whatever might appear not perfectly intelligible in the letter.


Why are you telling me these horrible stories? Well?


They ring. A maid-servant opens the door, they hand her the letter, and assure the maid that they’re both so in love that they’ll die on the spot at the door. The maid, stupefied, carries in their messages. All at once a gentleman appears with whiskers like sausages, as red as a lobster, announces that there is no one living in the flat except his wife, and sends them both about their business.


How do you know he had whiskers like sausages, as you say?


Ah, you shall hear. I’ve just been to make peace between them.


Well, and what then?


That’s the most interesting part of the story. It appears that it’s a happy couple, a government clerk and his lady. The government clerk lodges a complaint, and I became a mediator, and such a mediator!... I assure you Talleyrand couldn’t hold a candle to me.


Why, where was the difficulty?


Ah, you shall hear.... We apologize in due form: we are in despair, we entreat forgiveness for the unfortunate misunderstanding. The government clerk with the sausages begins to melt, but he, too, desires to express his sentiments, and as soon as ever he begins to express them, he begins to get hot and say nasty things, and again I’m obliged to trot out all my diplomatic talents. I allowed that their conduct was bad, but I urged him to take into consideration their heedlessness, their youth; then, too, the young men had only just been lunching together. ‘You understand. They regret it deeply, and beg you to overlook their misbehavior.’ The government clerk was softened once more. ‘I consent, count, and am ready to overlook it; but you perceive that my wife—my wife’s a respectable woman—has been exposed to the persecution, and insults, and effrontery of young upstarts, scoundrels....’ And you must understand, the young upstarts are present all the while, and I have to keep the peace between them. Again I call out all my diplomacy, and again as soon as the thing was about at an end, our friend the government clerk gets hot and red, and his sausages stand on end with wrath, and once more I launch out into diplomatic wiles.


Ah, he must tell you this story! He has been making me laugh so. Well, bonne chance!


Yes, it’s all very well,


Petritsky’s becoming impossible. Not a week goes by without some scandal. This government clerk won’t let it drop, he’ll go on with the thing.


It’s a disgraceful story, but killing. Kedrov really can’t fight the gentleman! Was he so awfully hot? But what do you say to Claire today? She’s marvelous. However often you see her, every day she’s different. It’s only the French who can do that.


She’s exceptionally good as an actress; one can see she’s studied Kaulbach. Did you notice how she fell down?... Oh, please, don’t let us talk about Nilsson! No one can possibly say anything new about her. Three people have used that very phrase about Kaulbach to me today already, just as though they had made a compact about it. And I can’t see why they liked that remark so.


Do tell me something amusing but not spiteful,


They say that that’s a difficult task, that nothing’s amusing that isn’t spiteful. But I’ll try. Get me a subject. It all lies in the subject. If a subject’s given me, it’s easy to spin something round it. I often think that the celebrated talkers of the last century would have found it difficult to talk cleverly now. Everything clever is so stale....


That has been said long ago,


Don’t you think there’s something Louis Quinze about Tushkevitch?


Oh, yes! He’s in the same style as the drawing-room and that’s why it is he’s so often here.


Have you heard the Maltishtcheva woman—the mother, not the daughter—has ordered a costume in diable rose color?


Nonsense! No, that’s too lovely!


I wonder that with her sense—for she’s not a fool, you know—that she doesn’t see how funny she is.


How did you like Nilsson?


Oh, how can you steal upon anyone like that! How you startled me! Please don’t talk to me about the opera; you know nothing about music. I’d better meet you on your own ground, and talk about your majolica and engravings. Come now, what treasure have you been buying lately at the old curiosity shops?


Would you like me to show you? But you don’t understand such things.


Oh, do show me! I’ve been learning about them at those—what’s their names?... the bankers ... they’ve some splendid engravings. They showed them to us.


Why, have you been at the Schützburgs?


Yes, ma chère. They asked my husband and me to dinner, and told us the sauce at that dinner cost a hundred pounds, and very nasty sauce it was, some green mess. We had to ask them, and I made them sauce for eighteen pence, and everybody was very much pleased with it. I can’t run to hundred-pound sauces.


She’s unique!


Marvelous!


Will you really not have tea? You should come over here by us.


No, we’re very happy here,


Anna is quite changed since her stay in Moscow. There’s something strange about her,


The great change is that she brought back with her the shadow of Alexey Vronsky,


Well, what of it? There’s a fable of Grimm’s about a man without a shadow, a man who’s lost his shadow. And that’s his punishment for something. I never could understand how it was a punishment. But a woman must dislike being without a shadow.


Yes, but women with a shadow usually come to a bad end,


Bad luck to your tongue! Madame Karenina’s a splendid woman. I don’t like her husband, but I like her very much.


Why don’t you like her husband? He’s such a remarkable man. My husband says there are few statesmen like him in Europe.


And my husband tells me just the same, but I don’t believe it. If our husbands didn’t talk to us, we should see the facts as they are. Alexey Alexandrovitch, to my thinking, is simply a fool. I say it in a whisper ... but doesn’t it really make everything clear? Before, when I was told to consider him clever, I kept looking for his ability, and thought myself a fool for not seeing it; but directly I said, he’s a fool, though only in a whisper, everything’s explained, isn’t it?


How spiteful you are today!


Not a bit. I’d no other way out of it. One of the two had to be a fool. And, well, you know one can’t say that of oneself.


No one is satisfied with his fortune, and everyone is satisfied with his wit.


That’s just it, just it. But the point is that I won’t abandon Anna to your mercies. She’s so nice, so charming. How can she help it if they’re all in love with her, and follow her about like shadows?


Oh, I had no idea of blaming her for it,


If no one follows us about like a shadow, that’s no proof that we’ve any right to blame her.


What wicked gossip were you talking over there?


About the Karenins. The princess gave us a sketch of Alexey Alexandrovitch,


Pity we didn’t hear it! Ah, here you are at last!


Where do I come from?


Well, there’s no help for it, I must confess. From the opera bouffe. I do believe I’ve seen it a hundred times, and always with fresh enjoyment. It’s exquisite! I know it’s disgraceful, but I go to sleep at the opera, and I sit out the opera bouffe to the last minute, and enjoy it. This evening....


Please don’t tell us about that horror.


All right, I won’t especially as everyone knows those horrors.


And we should all go to see them if it were accepted as the correct thing, like the opera,


I have been at Countess Lidia’s, and meant to have come here earlier, but I stayed on. Sir John was there. He’s very interesting.


Oh, that’s this missionary?


Yes; he told us about the life in India, most interesting things.


Sir John! Yes, Sir John; I’ve seen him. He speaks well. The Vlassieva girl’s quite in love with him.


And is it true the younger Vlassieva girl’s to marry Topov?


Yes, they say it’s quite a settled thing.


I wonder at the parents! They say it’s a marriage for love.


For love? What antediluvian notions you have! Can one talk of love in these days?


What’s to be done? It’s a foolish old fashion that’s kept up still,


So much the worse for those who keep up the fashion. The only happy marriages I know are marriages of prudence.


Yes, but then how often the happiness of these prudent marriages flies away like dust just because that passion turns up that they have refused to recognize,


But by marriages of prudence we mean those in which both parties have sown their wild oats already. That’s like scarlatina—one has to go through it and get it over.


Then they ought to find out how to vaccinate for love, like smallpox.


I was in love in my young days with a deacon. I don’t know that it did me any good.


No; I imagine, joking apart, that to know love, one must make mistakes and then correct them,


Even after marriage?


It’s never too late to mend.


Just so, one must make mistakes and correct them. What do you think about it?


I think I think ... of so many men, so many minds, certainly so many hearts, so many kinds of love. Oh, I have had a letter from Moscow. They write me that Kitty Shtcherbatskaya’s very ill.


Really?


That doesn’t interest you?


On the contrary, it does, very much. What was it exactly they told you, if I may know?


Give me a cup of tea. I often think men have no understanding of what’s not honorable though they’re always talking of it. I’ve wanted to tell you so a long while,


I don’t quite understand the meaning of your words,


Yes, I have been wanting to tell you. You behaved wrongly, very wrongly.


Do you suppose I don’t know that I’ve acted wrongly? But who was the cause of my doing so?


What do you say that to me for?


You know what for,


That only shows you have no heart. Remember that I have forbidden you to utter that word, that hateful word. I have long meant to tell you this. I’ve come on purpose this evening, knowing I should meet you. I have come to tell you that this must end. I have never blushed before anyone, and you force me to feel to blame for something.


What do you wish of me?


I want you to go to Moscow and ask for Kitty’s forgiveness,


You don’t wish that?


If you love me, as you say, do so that I may be at peace.


Don’t you know that you’re all my life to me? But I know no peace, and I can’t give it to you; all myself—and love ... yes. I can’t think of you and myself apart. You and I are one to me. And I see no chance before us of peace for me or for you. I see a chance of despair, of wretchedness ... or I see a chance of bliss, what bliss!... Can it be there’s no chance of it?


Then do this for me: never say such things to me, and let us be friends,


Friends we shall never be, you know that yourself. Whether we shall be the happiest or the wretchedest of people—that’s in your hands. I ask one thing only: I ask for the right to hope, to suffer as I do. But if even that cannot be, command me to disappear, and I disappear. You shall not see me if my presence is distasteful to you.


I don’t want to drive you away.


Only don’t change anything, leave everything as it is. Your Rambouillet is in full conclave, the graces and the muses.


This is getting indecorous,


What did I tell you?


I’m always amazed at the clearness and precision of your husband’s language. The most transcendental ideas seem to be within my grasp when he’s speaking.


Oh, yes!


You’ve said nothing, of course, and I ask nothing, but you know that friendship’s not what I want: that there’s only one happiness in life for me, that word that you dislike so ... yes, love!...


Love. Why I don’t like the word is that it means too much to me, far more than you can understand,


I must think it over, come to a decision, and put it out of my mind. The question of her feelings, of what has passed and may be passing in her soul, that’s not my affair; that’s the affair of her conscience, and falls under the head of religion. And so, questions as to her feelings, and so on, are questions for her conscience, with which I can have nothing to do. My duty is clearly defined. As the head of the family, I am a person bound in duty to guide her, and consequently, in part the person responsible; I am bound to point out the danger I perceive, to warn her, even to use my authority. I ought to speak plainly to her. I must say and express fully the following points: first, exposition of the value to be attached to public opinion and to decorum; secondly, exposition of religious significance of marriage; thirdly, if need be, reference to the calamity possibly ensuing to our son; fourthly, reference to the unhappiness likely to result to herself.


You’re not in bed? What a wonder! It’s late, Alexey Alexandrovitch,


Anna, it’s necessary for me to have a talk with you.


With me? Why, what is it? What about? Well, let’s talk, if it’s so necessary. But it would be better to get to sleep.


Anna, I must warn you,


Warn me? Of what?


Yes, it’s shut up, and so it must be, and will be in future.


But perhaps the key may yet be found. I want to warn you, that through thoughtlessness and lack of caution you may cause yourself to be talked about in society. Your too animated conversation this evening with Count Vronsky attracted attention.


You’re always like that. One time you don’t like my being dull, and another time you don’t like my being lively. I wasn’t dull. Does that offend you? Oh, please, don’t do that, I do so dislike it,


Anna, is this you?