But what is it all about? What do you want of me?


This is what I meant to say to you, and I beg you to listen to it. I consider jealousy, as you know, a humiliating and degrading feeling, and I shall never allow myself to be influenced by it; but there are certain rules of decorum which cannot be disregarded with impunity. This evening it was not I observed it, but judging by the impression made on the company, everyone observed that your conduct and deportment were not altogether what could be desired. Sire,


I positively don’t understand. He doesn’t care. But other people noticed it, and that’s what upsets him. You’re not well, Alexey Alexandrovitch. Well, I’m listening to what’s to come, and indeed I listen with interest, for I should like to understand what’s the matter.


To enter into all the details of your feelings I have no right, and besides, I regard that as useless and even harmful. Ferreting in one’s soul, one often ferrets out something that might have lain there unnoticed. Your feelings are an affair of your own conscience; but I am in duty bound to you, to myself, and to God, to point out to you your duties. Our life has been joined, not by man, but by God. That union can only be severed by a crime, and a crime of that nature brings its own chastisement.


I don’t understand a word. And, oh dear! how sleepy I am, unluckily,


Anna, for God’s sake don’t speak like that! Perhaps I am mistaken, but believe me, what I say, I say as much for myself as for you. I am your husband, and I love you.


Love? Can he love? If he hadn’t heard there was such a thing as love, he would never have used the word. He doesn’t even know what love is. Alexey Alexandrovitch, really I don’t understand. Define what it is you find....


Pardon, let me say all I have to say. I love you. But I am not speaking of myself; the most important persons in this matter are our son and yourself. It may very well be, I repeat, that my words seem to you utterly unnecessary and out of place; it may be that they are called forth by my mistaken impression. In that case, I beg you to forgive me. But if you are conscious yourself of even the smallest foundation for them, then I beg you to think a little, and if your heart prompts you, to speak out to me....


I have nothing to say. And besides, it’s really time to be in bed.


It’s late, it’s late,


Anna! Anna! Anna, for pity’s sake!...


My God! Forgive me!


All is over. I have nothing but you. Remember that.


I can never forget what is my whole life. For one instant of this happiness....


Happiness! For pity’s sake, not a word, not a word more. Not a word more,


No, just now I can’t think of it, later on, when I am calmer. Later, later, when I am calmer.


Well, Nikolay! I mean to get married,


And high time too, Konstantin Dmitrievitch.


Why isn’t the carpenter at the thrashing machine?


Oh, I meant to tell you yesterday, the harrows want repairing. Here it’s time they got to work in the fields.


But what were they doing in the winter, then?


But what did you want the carpenter for?


Where are the hurdles for the calves’ paddock?


I ordered them to be got ready. What would you have with those peasants!


It’s not those peasants but this bailiff! Why, what do I keep you for? Well, what do you say? Can sowing begin?


Behind Turkin tomorrow or the next day they might begin.


And the clover?


I’ve sent Vassily and Mishka; they’re sowing. Only I don’t know if they’ll manage to get through; it’s so slushy.


How many acres?


About fifteen.


Why not sow all?


There’s no one to send. What would you have with such a set of peasants? Three haven’t turned up. And there’s Semyon....


Well, you should have taken some men from the thatching.


And so I have, as it is.


Where are the peasants, then?


Five are making compôte four are shifting the oats for fear of a touch of mildew, Konstantin Dmitrievitch.


Why, but I told you during Lent to put in pipes,


Don’t put yourself out; we shall get it all done in time.


Ignat! saddle me....


Which, sir?


Well, let it be Kolpik.


Yes, sir.


If we can manage it, Konstantin Dmitrievitch,


Why ever shouldn’t you manage it?


We positively must have another fifteen laborers. And they don’t turn up. There were some here today asking seventy roubles for the summer.


Send to Sury, to Tchefirovka; if they don’t come we must look for them.


Oh, I’ll send, to be sure. But there are the horses, too, they’re not good for much.


We’ll get some more. I know, of course, you always want to do with as little and as poor quality as possible; but this year I’m not going to let you have things your own way. I’ll see to everything myself.


Why, I don’t think you take much rest as it is. It cheers us up to work under the master’s eye....


So they’re sowing clover behind the Birch Dale? I’ll go and have a look at them,


You can’t get across the streams, Konstantin Dmitrievitch,


All right, I’ll go by the forest.


Well, Ipat, shall we soon be sowing?


We must get the ploughing done first, Konstantin Dmitrievitch,


It’s all right, sir, it’ll spring up again,


Please don’t argue, but do as you’re told.


Yes, sir. What a sowing, Konstantin Dmitrievitch, first rate. Only it’s a work to get about! You drag a ton of earth on your shoes.


Why is it you have earth that’s not sifted?


Well, we crumble it up,


Where did you stop?


Well, master, when summer’s here, mind you don’t scold me for these rows,


Eh?


Why, you’ll see in the summer time. It’ll look different. Look you where I sowed last spring. How I did work at it! I do my best, Konstantin Dmitrievitch, d’ye see, as I would for my own father. I don’t like bad work myself, nor would I let another man do it. What’s good for the master’s good for us too. To look out yonder now, it does one’s heart good.


It’s a lovely spring, Vassily.


Why, it’s a spring such as the old men don’t remember the like of. I was up home; an old man up there has sown wheat too, about an acre of it. He was saying you wouldn’t know it from rye.


Have you been sowing wheat long?


Why, sir, it was you taught us the year before last. You gave me two measures. We sold about eight bushels and sowed a rood.


Well, mind you crumble up the clods, and keep an eye on Mishka. And if there’s a good crop you shall have half a rouble for every acre.


Humbly thankful. We are very well content, sir, as it is.


There must be snipe too. Yes, that’s someone from the railway station, just the time to be here from the Moscow train ... Who could it be? What if it’s brother Nikolay? He did say: ‘Maybe I’ll go to the waters, or maybe I’ll come down to you.’


Oh, if it were only some nice person one could talk to a little! Ah. Here’s a delightful visitor! Ah, how glad I am to see you! I shall find out for certain whether she’s married, or when she’s going to be married,


Well, you didn’t expect me, eh? I’ve come to see you in the first place, to have some stand-shooting second, and to sell the forest at Ergushovo third.


Delightful! What a spring we’re having! How ever did you get along in a sledge?


In a cart it would have been worse still, Konstantin Dmitrievitch,


Well, I’m very, very glad to see you. Do just as you like, only let it be as soon as possible,


Well, I am glad I managed to get away to you! Now I shall understand what the mysterious business is that you are always absorbed in here. No, really, I envy you. What a house, how nice it all is! So bright, so cheerful! And your nurse is simply charming! A pretty maid in an apron might be even more agreeable, perhaps; but for your severe monastic style it does very well.


Splendid, splendid! I feel as if, coming to you, I had landed on a peaceful shore after the noise and jolting of a steamer. And so you maintain that the laborer himself is an element to be studied and to regulate the choice of methods in agriculture. Of course, I’m an ignorant outsider; but I should fancy theory and its application will have its influence on the laborer too.


Yes, but wait a bit. I’m not talking of political economy, I’m talking of the science of agriculture. It ought to be like the natural sciences, and to observe given phenomena and the laborer in his economic, ethnographical....


Oh, Agafea Mihalovna, what salt goose, what herb brandy!... What do you think, isn’t it time to start, Kostya?


Yes, it’s time. Kouzma, get ready the trap,


Kostya, give orders that if the merchant Ryabinin comes ... I told him to come today, he’s to be brought in and to wait for me....


Why, do you mean to say you’re selling the forest to Ryabinin?


Yes. Do you know him?


To be sure I do. I have had to do business with him, ‘positively and conclusively.’


Yes, it’s wonderfully funny the way he talks. She knows where her master’s going!


I told them to bring the trap round; or would you rather walk?


No, we’d better drive. How is it you don’t smoke? A cigar is a sort of thing, not exactly a pleasure, but the crown and outward sign of pleasure. Come, this is life! How splendid it is! This is how I should like to live!


Why, who prevents you?


No, you’re a lucky man! You’ve got everything you like. You like horses—and you have them; dogs—you have them; shooting—you have it; farming—you have it.


Perhaps because I rejoice in what I have, and don’t fret for what I haven’t. Come, tell me how things are going with you,


You don’t admit, I know, that one can be fond of new rolls when one has had one’s rations of bread—to your mind it’s a crime; but I don’t count life as life without love. What am I to do? I’m made that way. And really, one does so little harm to anyone, and gives oneself so much pleasure....


What! is there something new, then?


Yes, my boy, there is! There, do you see, you know the type of Ossian’s women.... Women, such as one sees in dreams.... Well, these women are sometimes to be met in reality ... and these women are terrible. Woman, don’t you know, is such a subject that however much you study it, it’s always perfectly new.


Well, then, it would be better not to study it.


No. Some mathematician has said that enjoyment lies in the search for truth, not in the finding it.


Imagine! One can hear and see the grass growing!


Imagine! the cuckoo already!


Yes, I hear it. Now it’s coming!


What’s that cry?


Oh, don’t you know it? That’s the hare. But enough talking! Listen, it’s flying!


Can I have missed it?


Here it is! Well, I’m glad you were successful,


It was a bad shot from the right barrel. Sh... it’s flying!


Isn’t it time to go home?


Let’s stay a little while,


As you like.


Stiva! how is it you don’t tell me whether your sister-in-law’s married yet, or when she’s going to be?


She’s never thought of being married, and isn’t thinking of it; but she’s very ill, and the doctors have sent her abroad. They’re positively afraid she may not live.


What! Very ill? What is wrong with her? How has she...?


They have chosen a time to talk. It’s on the wing.... Here it is, yes, it is. They’ll miss it,


Splendid! Together! Oh, yes, what was it that was unpleasant? Yes, Kitty’s ill.... Well, it can’t be helped; I’m very sorry. She’s found it! Isn’t she a clever thing? I’ve got it, Stiva! I have no right whatever to know family matters, and, to tell the truth, no interest in them either. Have you quite settled about the forest with Ryabinin?


Yes, it’s settled. The price is magnificent; thirty-eight thousand. Eight straight away, and the rest in six years. I’ve been bothering about it for ever so long. No one would give more.


Then you’ve as good as given away your forest for nothing,


How do you mean for nothing?


Because the forest is worth at least a hundred and fifty roubles the acre,


Oh, these farmers! Your tone of contempt for us poor townsfolk!... But when it comes to business, we do it better than anyone. I assure you I have reckoned it all out, and the forest is fetching a very good price—so much so that I’m afraid of this fellow’s crying off, in fact. You know it’s not ‘timber,’ And it won’t run to more than twenty-five yards of fagots per acre, and he’s giving me at the rate of seventy roubles the acre.


I know, that fashion not only in him, but in all city people, who, after being twice in ten years in the country, pick up two or three phrases and use them in season and out of season, firmly persuaded that they know all about it. ‘Timber, run to so many yards the acre.’ He says those words without understanding them himself. I wouldn’t attempt to teach you what you write about in your office, and if need arose, I should come to you to ask about it. But you’re so positive you know all the lore of the forest. It’s difficult. Have you counted the trees?


How count the trees? Count the sands of the sea, number the stars. Some higher power might do it.


Oh, well, the higher power of Ryabinin can. Not a single merchant ever buys a forest without counting the trees, unless they get it given them for nothing, as you’re doing now. I know your forest. I go there every year shooting, and your forest’s worth a hundred and fifty roubles an acre paid down, while he’s giving you sixty by installments. So that in fact you’re making him a present of thirty thousand.


Come, don’t let your imagination run away with you. Why was it none would give it, then?


Why, because he has an understanding with the merchants; he’s bought them off. I’ve had to do with all of them; I know them. They’re not merchants, you know: they’re speculators. He wouldn’t look at a bargain that gave him ten, fifteen per cent. profit, but holds back to buy a rouble’s worth for twenty kopecks.


Well, enough of it! You’re out of temper.


Not the least,


So here you are. That’s capital.


I did not venture to disregard your excellency’s commands, though the road was extremely bad. I positively walked the whole way, but I am here at my time. Konstantin Dmitrievitch, my respects Your honors have been diverting yourselves with the chase? What kind of bird may it be, pray? a great delicacy, I suppose.


Would you like to go into my study? Go into my study; you can talk there.


Quite so, where you please,


Well, have you brought the money? Sit down.


Oh, don’t trouble about the money. I’ve come to see you to talk it over.


What is there to talk over? But do sit down.


I don’t mind if I do. You must knock it down a bit, prince. It would be too bad. The money is ready conclusively to the last farthing. As to paying the money down, there’ll be no hitch there.


Why, you’ve got the forest for nothing as it is. He came to me too late, or I’d have fixed the price for him.


Very close about money is Konstantin Dmitrievitch, there’s positively no dealing with him. I was bargaining for some wheat of him, and a pretty price I offered too.


Why should I give you my goods for nothing? I didn’t pick it up on the ground, nor steal it either.


Mercy on us! nowadays there’s no chance at all of stealing. With the open courts and everything done in style, nowadays there’s no question of stealing. We are just talking things over like gentlemen. His excellency’s asking too much for the forest. I can’t make both ends meet over it. I must ask for a little concession.


But is the thing settled between you or not? If it’s settled, it’s useless haggling; but if it’s not. I’ll buy the forest.


Here you are, the forest is mine. Take the money; it’s my forest. That’s Ryabinin’s way of doing business; he doesn’t haggle over every half-penny,


I wouldn’t be in a hurry if I were you,


I’ve given my word, you know.


It’s all youthfulness—positively nothing but boyishness. Why, I’m buying it, upon my honor, simply, believe me, for the glory of it, that Ryabinin, and no one else, should have bought the copse of Oblonsky. And as to the profits, why, I must make what God gives. In God’s name. If you would kindly sign the title-deed.... Ugh, these gentlefolks! They—they’re a nice lot!


That’s so. But I can congratulate you on the purchase, Mihail Ignatitch?


Well, well....


Well, I wouldn’t say no to it. What an appetite I get in the country! Wonderful! Why didn’t you offer Ryabinin something?


Oh, damn him!


Still, how you do treat him! You didn’t even shake hands with him. Why not shake hands with him?


Because I don’t shake hands with a waiter, and a waiter’s a hundred times better than he is.


What a reactionist you are, really! What about the amalgamation of classes?


Anyone who likes amalgamating is welcome to it, but it sickens me.


You’re a regular reactionist, I see.


Really, I have never considered what I am. I am Konstantin Levin, and nothing else.


And Konstantin Levin very much out of temper,


Yes, I am out of temper, and do you know why? Because—excuse me—of your stupid sale....


Come, enough about it! When did anybody ever sell anything without being told immediately after the sale, ‘It was worth much more’? But when one wants to sell, no one will give anything.... No, I see you’ve a grudge against that unlucky Ryabinin.


Maybe I have. And do you know why? You’ll say again that I’m a reactionist, or some other terrible word; but all the same it does annoy and anger me to see on all sides the impoverishing of the nobility to which I belong, and, in spite of the amalgamation of classes, I’m glad to belong. And their impoverishment is not due to extravagance—that would be nothing; living in good style—that’s the proper thing for noblemen; it’s only the nobles who know how to do it. Now the peasants about us buy land, and I don’t mind that. The gentleman does nothing, while the peasant works and supplants the idle man. That’s as it ought to be. And I’m very glad for the peasant. But I do mind seeing the process of impoverishment from a sort of—I don’t know what to call it—innocence. Here a Polish speculator bought for half its value a magnificent estate from a young lady who lives in Nice. And there a merchant will get three acres of land, worth ten roubles, as security for the loan of one rouble. Here, for no kind of reason, you’ve made that rascal a present of thirty thousand roubles.


Well, what should I have done? Counted every tree?


Of course, they must be counted. You didn’t count them, but Ryabinin did. Ryabinin’s children will have means of livelihood and education, while yours maybe will not!


Well, you must excuse me, but there’s something mean in this counting. We have our business and they have theirs, and they must make their profit. Anyway, the thing’s done, and there’s an end of it. And here come some poached eggs, my favorite dish. And Agafea Mihalovna will give us that marvelous herb-brandy....


Well, you do praise it, anyway, but Konstantin Dmitrievitch, give him what you will—a crust of bread—he’ll eat it and walk away.


How wonderfully they make this soap. Only look; why, it’s a work of art.


Yes, everything’s brought to such a pitch of perfection nowadays. The theater, for instance, and the entertainments ... a—a—a! The electric light everywhere ... a—a—a!


Yes, the electric light. Yes. Oh, and where’s Vronsky now?


Vronsky? he’s in Petersburg. He left soon after you did, and he’s not once been in Moscow since. And do you know, Kostya, I’ll tell you the truth. It’s your own fault. You took fright at the sight of your rival. But, as I told you at the time, I couldn’t say which had the better chance. Why didn’t you fight it out? I told you at the time that....


Does he know, or doesn’t he, that I did make an offer?


If there was anything on her side at the time, it was nothing but a superficial attraction. His being such a perfect aristocrat, don’t you know, and his future position in society, had an influence not with her, but with her mother.


Stay, stay. You talk of his being an aristocrat. But allow me to ask what it consists in, that aristocracy of Vronsky or of anybody else, beside which I can be looked down upon? You consider Vronsky an aristocrat, but I don’t. A man whose father crawled up from nothing at all by intrigue, and whose mother—God knows whom she wasn’t mixed up with.... No, excuse me, but I consider myself aristocratic, and people like me, who can point back in the past to three or four honorable generations of their family, of the highest degree of breeding (talent and intellect, of course that’s another matter), and have never curried favor with anyone, never depended on anyone for anything, like my father and my grandfather. And I know many such. You think it mean of me to count the trees in my forest, while you make Ryabinin a present of thirty thousand; but you get rents from your lands and I don’t know what, while I don’t and so I prize what’s come to me from my ancestors or been won by hard work.... We are aristocrats, and not those who can only exist by favor of the powerful of this world, and who can be bought for twopence halfpenny.


Well, but whom are you attacking? I agree with you. Whom are you attacking? Though a good deal is not true that you say about Vronsky, but I won’t talk about that. I tell you straight out, if I were you, I should go back with me to Moscow, and....


No; I don’t know whether you know it or not, but I don’t care. And I tell you—I did make an offer and was rejected, and Katerina Alexandrovna is nothing now to me but a painful and humiliating reminiscence.


What ever for? What nonsense!


But we won’t talk about it. Please forgive me, if I’ve been nasty. You’re not angry with me, Stiva? Please don’t be angry,


Of course not; not a bit, and no reason to be. I’m glad we’ve spoken openly. And do you know, stand-shooting in the morning is unusually good—why not go? I couldn’t sleep the night anyway, but I might go straight from shooting to the station.


Capital.


Of course I shall say Betsy has sent me to ask whether she’s coming to the races. Of course, I’ll go. Send to my house, and tell them to have out the carriage and three horses as quick as they can,


What? Fortifying yourself for your work?


As you see,


So you’re not afraid of getting fat?


What?


You’re not afraid of getting fat?


Waiter, sherry!


You choose what we’re to drink,


Rhine wine, please. Let’s go into the billiard room,


Ah! here he is! That’s it, Alexey. You must just eat a mouthful, now, and drink only one tiny glass.


Oh, I’m not hungry.


There go the inseparables. Why didn’t you turn up at the Red Theater yesterday? Numerova wasn’t at all bad. Where were you?


I was late at the Tverskoys’,


Ah!


Ah! yes. Well, and what did you do yesterday? Win anything?


Eight thousand. But three don’t count; he won’t pay up.


Oh, then you can afford to lose over me,


No chance of my losing. Mahotin’s the only one that’s risky.


Come along, I’ve finished,


It’s too early for me to dine, but I must have a drink. I’ll come along directly. Hi, wine! No, all right. You’re going home, so I’ll go with you. Get up, don’t go on sleeping,


Your brother’s been here. He waked me up, damn him, and said he’d look in again. Oh, do shut up, Yashvin! Shut up! You’d better tell me what to drink; such a nasty taste in my mouth, that....


Brandy’s better than anything. Tereshtchenko! brandy for your master and cucumbers,


Brandy, do you think? Eh? And you’ll drink something? All right then, we’ll have a drink together! Vronsky, have a drink? There was a king in Thule. Vronsky, will you have a drink?


Go along,


Where are you off to? Oh, here are your three horses,


To the stables, and I’ve got to see Bryansky, too, about the horses,


Oh, yes, we know your Bryansky.


Mind you’re not late! How’s my roan? is he doing all right?


Stop! Your brother left a letter and a note for you. Wait a bit; where are they?


Well, where are they?


Where are they? That’s just the question!


Come, tell me; this is silly!


I have not lighted the fire. Here somewhere about.


Come, enough fooling! Where is the letter?


No, I’ve forgotten really. Or was it a dream? Wait a bit, wait a bit! But what’s the use of getting in a rage. If you’d drunk four bottles yesterday as I did you’d forget where you were lying. Wait a bit, I’ll remember! Wait a bit! This was how I was lying, and this was how he was standing. Yes—yes—yes.... Here it is!


Where are you off to? I must go to Peterhof.


Has the mare come from Tsarskoe?


Yes, but I’ve not seen her yet.


They say Mahotin’s Gladiator’s lame. Nonsense! But however are you going to race in this mud?


Here are my saviors! Here’s Yashvin ordering me to drink a pick-me-up.


Well, you did give it to us yesterday, you didn’t let us get a wink of sleep all night.


Oh, didn’t we make a pretty finish! Volkov climbed onto the roof and began telling us how sad he was. I said: ‘Let’s have music, the funeral march!’ He fairly dropped asleep on the roof over the funeral march.


Drink it up; you positively must drink the brandy, and then seltzer water and a lot of lemon, and then a little champagne—just a small bottle.


Come, there’s some sense in that. Stop a bit, Vronsky. We’ll all have a drink.


No; good-bye all of you. I’m not going to drink today.


Why, are you gaining weight? All right, then we must have it alone. Give us the seltzer water and lemon.


Vronsky!


Well?


You’d better get your hair cut, it’ll weigh you down, especially at the top.


To the stables! Later!


Well, how’s Frou-Frou?


All right, sir. Better not go in. I’ve put a muzzle on her, and the mare’s fidgety. Better not go in, it’ll excite the mare.


No, I’m going in. I want to look at her.


Come along, then,


The horse is here belonging to Mak... Mak... I never can say the name,


Mahotin? Yes, he’s my most serious rival,


If you were riding him. I’d bet on you.


Frou-Frou’s more nervous; he’s stronger,


In a steeplechase it all depends on riding and on pluck,


Don’t you think I want more thinning down?


Oh, no. Please, don’t speak loud. The mare’s fidgety,


There, you see how fidgety she is,


There, darling! There!


Quiet, darling, quiet! Well, I rely on you, then, half-past six on the ground.


All right. Oh, where are you going, my lord?


I’ve got to go to Bryansky’s; I shall be home within an hour. How often I’m asked that question today!


The great thing’s to keep quiet before a race, don’t get out of temper or upset about anything.


All right. What a pity! It was muddy before, now it will be a perfect swamp. What business is it of theirs? Why does everybody feel called upon to concern himself about me? And why do they worry me so? Just because they see that this is something they can’t understand. If it were a common, vulgar, worldly intrigue, they would have left me alone. They feel that this is something different, that this is not a mere pastime, that this woman is dearer to me than life. And this is incomprehensible, and that’s why it annoys them. Whatever our destiny is or may be, we have made it ourselves, and we do not complain of it. No, they must needs teach us how to live. They haven’t an idea of what happiness is; they don’t know that without our love, for us there is neither happiness nor unhappiness—no life at all,


Yes, she was unhappy before, but proud and at peace; and now she cannot be at peace and feel secure in her dignity, though she does not show it. Yes, we must put an end to it. Throw up everything, she and I, and hide ourselves somewhere alone with our love,


Has your master come?


No, sir. The mistress is at home. But will you please go to the front door; there are servants there. They’ll open the door.


No, I’ll go in from the garden.


What does it mean? Who is he? How ought I to love him? If I don’t know, it’s my fault; either I’m stupid or a naughty boy,


What’s the matter? You are ill?


No, I’m quite well. I did not expect ... thee.


Mercy! what cold hands!


You startled me. I’m alone, and expecting Seryozha; he’s out for a walk; they’ll come in from this side.


Forgive me for coming, but I couldn’t pass the day without seeing you,


Forgive you? I’m so glad!


But you’re ill or worried. What were you thinking of?


Always the same thing,


Tell him or not tell him? He is so happy, so absorbed in his races that he won’t understand as he ought, he won’t understand all the gravity of this fact to us.


But you haven’t told me what you were thinking of when I came in, please tell me! I see something has happened. Do you suppose I can be at peace, knowing you have a trouble I am not sharing? Tell me, for God’s sake,


Yes, I shan’t be able to forgive him if he does not realize all the gravity of it. Better not tell; why put him to the proof?


For God’s sake!


Shall I tell you?


Yes, yes, yes....


I’m with child. Yes, he realizes all the gravity of it,


Yes. Neither you nor I have looked on our relations as a passing amusement, and now our fate is sealed. It is absolutely necessary to put an end to the deception in which we are living.


Put an end? How put an end, Alexey?


Leave your husband and make our life one.


It is one as it is,


Yes, but altogether; altogether.


But how, Alexey, tell me how? Is there any way out of such a position? Am I not the wife of my husband?


There is a way out of every position. We must take our line. Anything’s better than the position in which you’re living. Of course, I see how you torture yourself over everything—the world and your son and your husband.


Oh, not over my husband. I don’t know him, I don’t think of him. He doesn’t exist.


You’re not speaking sincerely. I know you. You worry about him too.


Oh, he doesn’t even know. But we won’t talk of him.


Whether he knows or not, that’s nothing to do with us. We cannot ... you cannot stay like this, especially now.


What’s to be done, according to you?


Tell him everything, and leave him.


Very well, let us suppose I do that. Do you know what the result of that would be? I can tell you it all beforehand. Eh, you love another man, and have entered into criminal intrigues with him? I warned you of the results in the religious, the civil, and the domestic relation. You have not listened to me. Now I cannot let you disgrace my name,— disgrace my name, and and more in the same style. In general terms, he’ll say in his official manner, and with all distinctness and precision, that he cannot let me go, but will take all measures in his power to prevent scandal. And he will calmly and punctually act in accordance with his words. That’s what will happen. He’s not a man, but a machine, and a spiteful machine when he’s angry,


But, Anna, we absolutely must, anyway, tell him, and then be guided by the line he takes.


What, run away?


And why not run away? I don’t see how we can keep on like this. And not for my sake—I see that you suffer.


Yes, run away, and become your mistress,


Anna,


Yes, become your mistress, and complete the ruin of....


I beg you, I entreat you, never speak to me of that!


But, Anna....


Never. Leave it to me. I know all the baseness, all the horror of my position; but it’s not so easy to arrange as you think. And leave it to me, and do what I say. Never speak to me of it. Do you promise me?... No, no, promise!...


I promise everything, but I can’t be at peace, especially after what you have told me. I can’t be at peace, when you can’t be at peace....


I? Yes, I am worried sometimes; but that will pass, if you will never talk about this. When you talk about it—it’s only then it worries me.


I don’t understand,


I know, how hard it is for your truthful nature to lie, and I grieve for you. I often think that you have ruined your whole life for me.


I was just thinking the very same thing, how could you sacrifice everything for my sake? I can’t forgive myself that you’re unhappy!


I unhappy? I am like a hungry man who has been given food. He may be cold, and dressed in rags, and ashamed, but he is not unhappy. I unhappy? No, this is my unhappiness....


When?


Tonight, at one o’clock. Well, au revoir. I must soon be getting ready for the races. Betsy promised to fetch me.


Where’s Cord?


In the stable, putting on the saddle.


I’m not too late?


All right! All right! don’t upset yourself!


Did you get my note? There’s never any finding you.


I got it, and I really can’t make out what you are worrying yourself about,


I’m worrying myself because the remark has just been made to me that you weren’t here, and that you were seen in Peterhof on Monday.


There are matters which only concern those directly interested in them, and the matter you are so worried about is....


Yes, but if so, you may as well cut the service....


I beg you not to meddle, and that’s all I have to say.


I only wanted to give you Mother’s letter. Answer it, and don’t worry about anything just before the race. Bonne chance,


So you won’t recognize your friends! How are you, mon cher? I came up yesterday, and I’m delighted that I shall see your triumph. When shall we meet?


Come tomorrow to the messroom,


Oh, there’s Karenin! He’s looking for his wife, and she’s in the middle of the pavilion. Didn’t you see her?


No,


Get up; you won’t feel so excited.


Don’t be in a hurry, and remember one thing: don’t hold her in at the fences, and don’t urge her on; let her go as she likes.


All right, all right,


If you can, lead the race; but don’t lose heart till the last minute, even if you’re behind.


Away!


They’re off!


They’re starting!


O the darling!


Bravo!


Bravo, Vronsky!


O my sweet! He’s cleared it!


A—a—a! Ah! what have I done! The race lost! And my fault! shameful, unpardonable! And the poor darling, ruined mare! Ah! what have I done!


Aha, young man!


How can people descend to that? how is it they don’t put an end to such a hideous position?


Do this for my sake,


I will do it for the sake of Russia, countess,


A priceless man!


How glad I am you’ve been seeing him! He’s not well, and I fancy.... Well, what do you think of him?


I’ll tell you. It’s just this, if you don’t strain the strings, and then try to break them, you’ll find it a difficult job; but strain a string to its very utmost, and the mere weight of one finger on the strained string will snap it. And with his close assiduity, his conscientious devotion to his work, he’s strained to the utmost; and there’s some outside burden weighing on him, and not a light one. Will you be at the races? Yes, yes, to be sure; it does waste a lot of time,


It’s too early for Betsy. How unlucky! Can he be going to stay the night? Ah, how nice of you! You’re staying the night, I hope? and now we’ll go together. Only it’s a pity I’ve promised Betsy. She’s coming for me.


Oh, I’m not going to separate the inseparables. I’m going with Mihail Vassilievitch. I’m ordered exercise by the doctors too. I’ll walk, and fancy myself at the springs again.


There’s no hurry. Would you like tea? Bring in tea, and tell Seryozha that Alexey Alexandrovitch is here. Well, tell me, how have you been? Mihail Vassilievitch, you’ve not been to see me before. Look how lovely it is out on the terrace. You don’t look quite well,


Yes, the doctor’s been with me today and wasted an hour of my time. I feel that someone of our friends must have sent him: my health’s so precious, it seems.


No; what did he say?


Ah, the young man! He’s grown. Really, he’s getting quite a man. How are you, young man?


It’s time to start, though. I’ve come to bring you some money, too, for nightingales, we know, can’t live on fairy tales. You want it, I expect?


No, I don’t ... yes, I do. But you’ll come back here after the races, I suppose?


Oh, yes! And here’s the glory of Peterhof, Princess Tverskaya. What elegance! Charming! Well, let us be starting too, then.


I’m going; good-bye! It was ever so nice of you to come.


Well, au revoir, then! You’ll come back for some tea; that’s delightful!


Nothing but ambition, nothing but the desire to get on, that’s all there is in his soul, as for these lofty ideals, love of culture, religion, they are only so many tools for getting on.


There’s so much splendor here that one’s eyes are dazzled,


Danger in the races of officers, of cavalry men, is an essential element in the race. If England can point to the most brilliant feats of cavalry in military history, it is simply owing to the fact that she has historically developed this force both in beasts and in men. Sport has, in my opinion, a great value, and as is always the case, we see nothing but what is most superficial.


It’s not superficial. One of the officers, they say, has broken two ribs.


We’ll admit, princess, that that’s not superficial, but internal. But that’s not the point, we mustn’t forget that those who are taking part in the race are military men, who have chosen that career, and one must allow that every calling has its disagreeable side. It forms an integral part of the duties of an officer. Low sports, such as prize-fighting or Spanish bull-fights, are a sign of barbarity. But specialized trials of skill are a sign of development.


No, I shan’t come another time; it’s too upsetting. Isn’t it, Anna?


It is upsetting, but one can’t tear oneself away. If I’d been a Roman woman I should never have missed a single circus.


Princess, bets!


Who’s your favorite?


Anna and I are for Kuzovlev,


I’m for Vronsky. A pair of gloves? Done! But it is a pretty sight, isn’t it?


I admit that manly sports do not....


But here’s this lady too, and others very much moved as well; it’s very natural,


Ah, I don’t care!


Let us go, let us go!


Let us go, if you like,


He’s broken his leg too, so they say. This is beyond everything.


Stiva! Stiva!


Once more I offer you my arm if you want to be going,


No, no, let me be, I’ll stay.


For the third time I offer you my arm,


No, Alexey Alexandrovitch; I brought Anna and I promised to take her home,


Excuse me, princess, but I see that Anna’s not very well, and I wish her to come home with me.


I’ll send to him and find out, and let you know,


Is he killed or not? Is it true? Will he come or not? Shall I see him today?


What an inclination we all have, though, for these cruel spectacles. I observe....


Eh? I don’t understand,


I am obliged to tell you,


So now we are to have it out,


I am obliged to tell you that your behavior has been unbecoming today,


In what way has my behavior been unbecoming?


Mind,


What did you consider unbecoming?


The despair you were unable to conceal at the accident to one of the riders. I have already begged you so to conduct yourself in society that even malicious tongues can find nothing to say against you. There was a time when I spoke of your inward attitude, but I am not speaking of that now. Now I speak only of your external attitude. You have behaved improperly, and I would wish it not to occur again.


She is smiling at my suspicions. Yes, she will tell me directly what she told me before; that there is no foundation for my suspicions, that it’s absurd. Possibly I was mistaken. If so, I beg your pardon.


No, you were not mistaken. You were not mistaken. I was, and I could not help being in despair. I hear you, but I am thinking of him. I love him, I am his mistress; I can’t bear you; I’m afraid of you, and I hate you.... You can do what you like to me.


Very well! But I expect a strict observance of the external forms of propriety till such time as I may take measures to secure my honor and communicate them to you.


I sent to Alexey to find out how he is, and he writes me he is quite well and unhurt, but in despair.


So he will be here. What a good thing I told him all! My God, how light it is! It’s dreadful, but I do love to see his face, and I do love this fantastic light.... My husband! Oh! yes.... Well, thank God! everything’s over with him.


I hope the roses will soon come back to this pretty little face,


Who are you? What are you? Are you really the exquisite creature I imagine you to be? But for goodness’ sake don’t suppose, that I would force my acquaintance on you, I simply admire you and like you.


I like you too, and you’re very, very sweet. And I should like you better still, if I had time,


Mamma, couldn’t I speak to her?


Oh, if you want to so much, I’ll find out about her first and make her acquaintance myself. What do you see in her out of the way? A companion, she must be. If you like, I’ll make acquaintance with Madame Stahl; I used to know her belle-sœur,


How wonderfully sweet she is! Look how natural and sweet it all is.


It’s so funny to see your engouements. No, we’d better go back. What was it?


Scandalous and disgraceful! The one thing to be dreaded is meeting Russians abroad. That tall gentleman was abusing the doctor, flinging all sorts of insults at him because he wasn’t treating him quite as he liked, and he began waving his stick at him. It’s simply a scandal!


Oh, how unpleasant! Well, and how did it end?


Luckily at that point that ... the one in the mushroom hat ... intervened. A Russian lady, I think she is,


Mademoiselle Varenka?


Yes, yes. She came to the rescue before anyone; she took the man by the arm and led him away.


There, mamma, you wonder that I’m enthusiastic about her.


Allow me to make your acquaintance. My daughter has lost her heart to you. Possibly you do not know me. I am.... I am....


That feeling is more than reciprocal, princess,


What a good deed you did yesterday to our poor compatriot!


I don’t remember. I don’t think I did anything,


Why, you saved that Levin from disagreeable consequences.


Yes, sa compagne called me, and I tried to pacify him, he’s very ill, and was dissatisfied with the doctor. I’m used to looking after such invalids.


Yes, I’ve heard you live at Mentone with your aunt—I think—Madame Stahl: I used to know her belle-sœur.


No, she’s not my aunt. I call her mamma, but I am not related to her; I was brought up by her,


Well, and what’s this Levin going to do?


He’s going away,


Well, see, Kitty, your intense desire to make friends with Mademoiselle....


Varenka, that’s what everyone calls me. I have long wished for this too,


But you are so busy.


Oh, no, I’m not at all busy. Varenka, mamma’s calling!


Kitty plays, and we have a piano; not a good one, it’s true, but you will give us so much pleasure,


You have an extraordinary talent,


Look, what an audience has collected to listen to you.


I am very glad it gives you pleasure. Am I to sing again, or is that enough?


If it had been I, how proud I should have been! How delighted I should have been to see that crowd under the windows! But she’s utterly unmoved by it. Her only motive is to avoid refusing and to please mamma. What is there in her? What is it gives her the power to look down on everything, to be calm independently of everything? How I should like to know it and to learn it of her!


Let’s skip that,


Very well, the next one,


No, no, let’s have that one.


Am I right, that you have some reminiscences connected with that song? Don’t tell me, only say if I’m right.


No, why not? I’ll tell you simply. Yes, it brings up memories, once painful ones. I cared for someone once, and I used to sing him that song. I cared for him, and he cared for me; but his mother did not wish it, and he married another girl. He’s living now not far from us, and I see him sometimes. You didn’t think I had a love story too,


I didn’t think so? Why, if I were a man, I could never care for anyone else after knowing you. Only I can’t understand how he could, to please his mother, forget you and make you unhappy; he had no heart.


Oh, no, he’s a very good man, and I’m not unhappy; quite the contrary, I’m very happy. Well, so we shan’t be singing any more now,


How good you are! how good you are! If I could only be even a little like you!


Why should you be like anyone? You’re nice as you are,


No, I’m not nice at all. Come, tell me.... Stop a minute, let’s sit down. Tell me, isn’t it humiliating to think that a man has disdained your love, that he hasn’t cared for it?...


But he didn’t disdain it; I believe he cared for me, but he was a dutiful son....


Yes, but if it hadn’t been on account of his mother, if it had been his own doing?...


In that case he would have done wrong, and I should not have regretted him,


But the humiliation, the humiliation one can never forget, can never forget,


Where is the humiliation? Why, you did nothing wrong?


Worse than wrong—shameful.


Why, what is there shameful? You didn’t tell a man, who didn’t care for you, that you loved him, did you?


Of course not; I never said a word, but he knew it. No, no, there are looks, there are ways; I can’t forget it, if I live a hundred years.


Why so? I don’t understand. The whole point is whether you love him now or not,


I hate him; I can’t forgive myself.


Why, what for?


The shame, the humiliation!


Oh! if everyone were as sensitive as you are! There isn’t a girl who hasn’t been through the same. And it’s all so unimportant.


Why, what is important?


Oh, there’s so much that’s important,


Why, what?


Oh, so much that’s more important,


Kitty, it’s cold! Either get a shawl, or come indoors.


It really is time to go in! I have to go on to Madame Berthe’s; she asked me to.


What is it, what is this of such importance that gives you such tranquillity? You know, tell me!


Allow me to see you home,


Yes, how can you go alone at night like this? Anyway, I’ll send Parasha.


No, I always go about alone and nothing ever happens to me,


in all human sorrows nothing gives comfort but love and faith, and that in the sight of Christ’s compassion for us no sorrow is trifling


Il ne faut jamais rien outrer,


How is it Anna Pavlovna’s not been to see us for so long? I’ve asked her, but she seems put out about something.


No, I’ve not noticed it, maman,


Is it long since you went to see them?


We’re meaning to make an expedition to the mountains tomorrow,


Well, you can go. Kitty, haven’t you had some misunderstanding with the Petrovs? Why has she given up sending the children and coming to see us?


Yes, there was something unnatural about Anna Pavlovna, and utterly unlike her good nature, when she said angrily the day before yesterday: ‘There, he will keep waiting for you; he wouldn’t drink his coffee without you, though he’s grown so dreadfully weak.’ Yes, perhaps, too, she didn’t like it when I gave him the rug. It was all so simple, but he took it so awkwardly, and was so long thanking me, that I felt awkward too. And then that portrait of me he did so well. And most of all that look of confusion and tenderness! Yes, yes, that’s it! No, it can’t be, it oughtn’t to be! He’s so much to be pitied!


Present me to your new friends. I like even your horrid Soden for making you so well again. Only it’s melancholy, very melancholy here. Who’s that?


Well, she’s the second angel, then, she calls Mademoiselle Varenka angel number one.


Oh! Mademoiselle Varenka, she’s a real angel, allez,


Here is papa come,


Of course I know you; I know you very well. Where are you off to in such haste?


Maman’s here. She has not slept all night, and the doctor advised her to go out. I’m taking her her work.


So that’s angel number one? Come, so we shall see all your friends, even Madame Stahl, if she deigns to recognize me.


Why, did you know her, papa?


I used to know her husband, and her too a little, before she’d joined the Pietists.


What is a Pietist, papa?


I don’t quite know myself. I only know that she thanks God for everything, for every misfortune, and thanks God too that her husband died. And that’s rather droll, as they didn’t get on together. Who’s that? What a piteous face!


That’s Petrov, an artist. And that’s his wife,


Poor fellow! and what a nice face he has! Why don’t you go up to him? He wanted to speak to you.


Well, let us go, then. How are you feeling today?


This is my daughter. Let me introduce myself.


We expected you yesterday, princess,


I meant to come, but Varenka said that Anna Pavlovna sent word you were not going.


Not going! Anita! Anita!


Good morning, princess. Very glad to make your acquaintance. You’ve long been expected, prince.


What did you send word to the princess that we weren’t going for?


Oh, mercy on us! I thought we weren’t going,


What, when....


Ah! ah! Oh, poor things!


And you must know they’ve three children, no servant, and scarcely any means. He gets something from the Academy. Oh, here’s Madame Stahl,


I don’t know if you remember me, but I must recall myself to thank you for your kindness to my daughter,


Prince Alexander Shtcherbatsky. Delighted! I have taken a great fancy to your daughter.


You are still in weak health?


Yes; I’m used to it,


It’s ten or eleven years since I had the honor of seeing you.


Yes; God sends the cross and sends the strength to bear it. Often one wonders what is the goal of this life?... The other side!


To do good, probably,


That is not for us to judge. So you will send me that book, dear count? I’m very grateful to you,


That’s our aristocracy, prince!


She’s just the same,


Did you know her before her illness, prince—that’s to say before she took to her bed?


Yes. She took to her bed before my eyes,


They say it’s ten years since she has stood on her feet.


She doesn’t stand up because her legs are too short. She’s a very bad figure.


Papa, it’s not possible!


That’s what wicked tongues say, my darling. And your Varenka catches it too. Oh, these invalid ladies!


Oh, no, papa! Varenka worships her. And then she does so much good! Ask anyone! Everyone knows her and Aline Stahl.


Perhaps so, but it’s better when one does good so that you may ask everyone and no one knows.


Well, but what did you buy this mass of things for?


One goes for a walk, one looks in a shop, and they ask you to buy. ‘Erlaucht, Durchlaucht?’ Directly they say ‘Durchlaucht,’ I can’t hold out. I lose ten thalers.


It’s simply from boredom,


Of course it is. Such boredom, my dear, that one doesn’t know what to do with oneself.


How can you be bored, prince? There’s so much that’s interesting now in Germany,


But I know everything that’s interesting: the plum soup I know, and the pea sausages I know. I know everything.


No, you may say what you like, prince, there’s the interest of their institutions,


But what is there interesting about it? They’re all as pleased as brass halfpence. They’ve conquered everybody, and why am I to be pleased at that? I haven’t conquered anyone; and I’m obliged to take off my own boots, yes, and put them away too; in the morning, get up and dress at once, and go to the dining-room to drink bad tea! How different it is at home! You get up in no haste, you get cross, grumble a little, and come round again. You’ve time to think things over, and no hurry.


But time’s money, you forget that,


Time, indeed, that depends! Why, there’s time one would give a month of for sixpence, and time you wouldn’t give half an hour of for any money. Isn’t that so, Katinka? What is it? why are you so depressed?


I’m not depressed.


Where are you off to? Stay a little longer,


I must be going home. Oh, dear! it’s a long while since I’ve laughed so much! How nice he is, your father! When shall I see you again?


Mamma meant to go and see the Petrovs. Won’t you be there?


Yes. They’re getting ready to go away, so I promised to help them pack.


Well, I’ll come too, then.


No, why should you?


Why not? why not? why not? No, wait a minute; why not?


Oh, nothing; your father has come, and besides, they will feel awkward at your helping.


No, tell me why you don’t want me to be often at the Petrovs’. You don’t want me to—why not?


I didn’t say that,


No, please tell me!


Tell you everything?


Everything, everything!


Well, there’s really nothing of any consequence; only that Mihail Alexeyevitch had meant to leave earlier, and now he doesn’t want to go away,


Well, well!


Well, and for some reason Anna Pavlovna told him that he didn’t want to go because you are here. Of course, that was nonsense; but there was a dispute over it—over you. You know how irritable these sick people are. So you’d better not go.... You understand; you won’t be offended?...


And it serves me right!


How does it serve you right? I don’t understand,


It serves me right, because it was all sham; because it was all done on purpose, and not from the heart. What business had I to interfere with outsiders? And so it’s come about that I’m a cause of quarrel, and that I’ve done what nobody asked me to do. Because it was all a sham! a sham! a sham!...


A sham! with what object?


Oh, it’s so idiotic! so hateful! There was no need whatever for me.... Nothing but sham!


But with what object?


To seem better to people, to myself, to God; to deceive everyone. No! now I won’t descend to that. I’ll be bad; but anyway not a liar, a cheat.


But who is a cheat? You speak as if....


I don’t talk about you, not about you at all. You’re perfection. Yes, yes, I know you’re all perfection; but what am I to do if I’m bad? This would never have been if I weren’t bad. So let me be what I am. I won’t be a sham. What have I to do with Anna Pavlovna? Let them go their way, and me go mine. I can’t be different.... And yet it’s not that, it’s not that.


What is not that?


Everything. I can’t act except from the heart, and you act from principle. I liked you simply, but you most likely only wanted to save me, to improve me.


You are unjust,


But I’m not speaking of other people, I’m speaking of myself.


Kitty, come here, show papa your necklace.


What’s the matter? Why are you so red?


Nothing. I’ll be back directly. Varenka, forgive me, do forgive me. I don’t remember what I said. I....


I really didn’t mean to hurt you,


I’ll come when you get married,


I shall never marry.


Well, then, I shall never come.


Well, then, I shall be married simply for that. Mind now, remember your promise,


You wouldn’t believe, what a pleasure this rural laziness is to me. Not an idea in one’s brain, as empty as a drum! Come, you’ve done enough trudging about in the heat,


No, I must just run round to the counting-house for a minute,


What? taken a stray swarm, Fomitch?


No, indeed, Konstantin Dmitrich! All we can do to keep our own! This is the second swarm that has flown away.... Luckily the lads caught them. They were ploughing your field. They unyoked the horses and galloped after them.


Well, what do you say, Fomitch—start mowing or wait a bit?


Eh, well. Our way’s to wait till St. Peter’s Day. But you always mow sooner. Well, to be sure, please God, the hay’s good. There’ll be plenty for the beasts.


What do you think about the weather?


That’s in God’s hands. Maybe it will be fine.


Well, let’s be going,


Why be in such a hurry? Let’s stay a little. But how wet you are! Even though one catches nothing, it’s nice. That’s the best thing about every part of sport, that one has to do with nature. How exquisite this steely water is! These riverside banks always remind me of the riddle—do you know it? ‘The grass says to the water: we quiver and we quiver.’


I don’t know the riddle,


Do you know, I’ve been thinking about you. It’s beyond everything what’s being done in the district, according to what this doctor tells me. He’s a very intelligent fellow. And as I’ve told you before, I tell you again: it’s not right for you not to go to the meetings, and altogether to keep out of the district business. If decent people won’t go into it, of course it’s bound to go all wrong. We pay the money, and it all goes in salaries, and there are no schools, nor district nurses, nor midwives, nor drugstores—nothing.


Well, I did try, you know. I can’t! and so there’s no help for it.


But why can’t you? I must own I can’t make it out. Indifference, incapacity—I won’t admit; surely it’s not simply laziness?


None of those things. I’ve tried, and I see I can do nothing,


Why is it you can do nothing? You made an attempt and didn’t succeed, as you think, and you give in. How can you have so little self-respect?


Self-respect! I don’t understand. If they’d told me at college that other people understood the integral calculus, and I didn’t, then pride would have come in. But in this case one wants first to be convinced that one has certain qualifications for this sort of business, and especially that all this business is of great importance.


What! do you mean to say it’s not of importance?


I don’t think it important; it does not take hold of me, I can’t help it. Can they have finished ploughing?


Come, really though, there’s a limit to everything. It’s very well to be original and genuine, and to dislike everything conventional—I know all about that; but really, what you’re saying either has no meaning, or it has a very wrong meaning. How can you think it a matter of no importance whether the peasant, whom you love as you assert....


I never did assert it,


...dies without help? The ignorant peasant-women starve the children, and the people stagnate in darkness, and are helpless in the hands of every village clerk, while you have at your disposal a means of helping them, and don’t help them because to your mind it’s of no importance.


It’s both. I don’t see that it was possible....


What! was it impossible, if the money were properly laid out, to provide medical aid?


Impossible, as it seems to me.... For the three thousand square miles of our district, what with our thaws, and the storms, and the work in the fields, I don’t see how it is possible to provide medical aid all over. And besides, I don’t believe in medicine.


Oh, well, that’s unfair ... I can quote to you thousands of instances.... But the schools, anyway.


Why have schools?


What do you mean? Can there be two opinions of the advantage of education? If it’s a good thing for you, it’s a good thing for everyone.


Perhaps it may all be very good; but why should I worry myself about establishing dispensaries which I shall never make use of, and schools to which I shall never send my children, to which even the peasants don’t want to send their children, and to which I’ve no very firm faith that they ought to send them?


Come, now.... In the first place, the dispensary is needed. We ourselves sent for the district doctor for Agafea Mihalovna.


Oh, well, but I fancy her wrist will never be straight again.


That remains to be proved.... Next, the peasant who can read and write is as a workman of more use and value to you.


No, you can ask anyone you like, the man that can read and write is much inferior as a workman. And mending the highroads is an impossibility; and as soon as they put up bridges they’re stolen.


Still, that’s not the point. Do you admit that education is a benefit for the people?


Yes, I admit it,


If you admit that it is a benefit, then, as an honest man, you cannot help caring about it and sympathizing with the movement, and so wishing to work for it.


But I still do not admit this movement to be just,


What! But you said just now....


That’s to say, I don’t admit it’s being either good or possible.


That you can’t tell without making the trial.


Well, supposing that’s so, supposing that is so, still I don’t see, all the same, what I’m to worry myself about it for.


How so?


No; since we are talking, explain it to me from the philosophical point of view,


I can’t see where philosophy comes in,


I’ll tell you, then. I imagine the mainspring of all our actions is, after all, self-interest. Now in the local institutions I, as a nobleman, see nothing that could conduce to my prosperity, and the roads are not better and could not be better; my horses carry me well enough over bad ones. Doctors and dispensaries are no use to me. An arbitrator of disputes is no use to me. I never appeal to him, and never shall appeal to him. The schools are no good to me, but positively harmful, as I told you. For me the district institutions simply mean the liability to pay fourpence halfpenny for every three acres, to drive into the town, sleep with bugs, and listen to all sorts of idiocy and loathsomeness, and self-interest offers me no inducement.


Excuse me, self-interest did not induce us to work for the emancipation of the serfs, but we did work for it.


No! the emancipation of the serfs was a different matter. There self-interest did come in. One longed to throw off that yoke that crushed us, all decent people among us. But to be a town councilor and discuss how many dustmen are needed, and how chimneys shall be constructed in the town in which I don’t live—to serve on a jury and try a peasant who’s stolen a flitch of bacon, and listen for six hours at a stretch to all sorts of jabber from the counsel for the defense and the prosecution, and the president cross-examining my old half-witted Alioshka, ‘Do you admit, prisoner in the dock, the fact of the removal of the bacon?’ ‘Eh?’


Well, what do you mean to say, then?


I simply mean to say that those rights that touch me ... my interest, I shall always defend to the best of my ability; that when they made raids on us students, and the police read our letters, I was ready to defend those rights to the utmost, to defend my rights to education and freedom. I can understand compulsory military service, which affects my children, my brothers, and myself, I am ready to deliberate on what concerns me; but deliberating on how to spend forty thousand roubles of district council money, or judging the half-witted Alioshka—I don’t understand, and I can’t do it.


But tomorrow it’ll be your turn to be tried; would it have suited your tastes better to be tried in the old criminal tribunal?


I’m not going to be tried. I shan’t murder anybody, and I’ve no need of it. Well, I tell you what, our district self-government and all the rest of it—it’s just like the birch branches we stick in the ground on Trinity Day, for instance, to look like a copse which has grown up of itself in Europe, and I can’t gush over these birch branches and believe in them.


Excuse me, but you know one really can’t argue in that way,


I imagine, that no sort of activity is likely to be lasting if it is not founded on self-interest, that’s a universal principle, a philosophical principle,


He too has a philosophy of his own at the service of his natural tendencies. Come, you’d better let philosophy alone. The chief problem of the philosophy of all ages consists just in finding the indispensable connection which exists between individual and social interests. But that’s not to the point; what is to the point is a correction I must make in your comparison. The birches are not simply stuck in, but some are sown and some are planted, and one must deal carefully with them. It’s only those peoples that have an intuitive sense of what’s of importance and significance in their institutions, and know how to value them, that have a future before them—it’s only those peoples that one can truly call historical. As for your dislike of it, excuse my saying so, that’s simply our Russian sloth and old serf-owner’s ways, and I’m convinced that in you it’s a temporary error and will pass.


I must have physical exercise, or my temper’ll certainly be ruined. And send my scythe, please, to Tit, for him to set it, and bring it round tomorrow. I shall maybe do some mowing myself too,


Yes, sir.


I fancy the fine weather will last. Tomorrow I shall start mowing.


I’m so fond of that form of field labor,


I’m awfully fond of it. I sometimes mow myself with the peasants, and tomorrow I want to try mowing the whole day.


How do you mean? Just like one of the peasants, all day long?


Yes, it’s very pleasant,


It’s splendid as exercise, only you’ll hardly be able to stand it,


I’ve tried it. It’s hard work at first, but you get into it. I dare say I shall manage to keep it up....


Really! what an idea! But tell me, how do the peasants look at it? I suppose they laugh in their sleeves at their master’s being such a queer fish?


No, I don’t think so; but it’s so delightful, and at the same time such hard work, that one has no time to think about it.


But how will you do about dining with them? To send you a bottle of Lafitte and roast turkey out there would be a little awkward.


No, I’ll simply come home at the time of their noonday rest.


It’s ready, sir; it’s like a razor, cuts of itself,


Look’ee now, master, once take hold of the rope there’s no letting it go!


I’ll try not to let it go,


Mind’ee,


It’s not set right; handle’s too high; see how he has to stoop to it,


Press more on the heel,


Never mind, he’ll get on all right. He’s made a start.... You swing it too wide, you’ll tire yourself out.... The master, sure, does his best for himself! But see the grass missed out! For such work us fellows would catch it!


What are they talking about, and why doesn’t he go back?


Lunch, sir,


Is it really time? That’s right; lunch, then. The hay will be spoiled,


Not a bit of it, sir; mow in the rain, and you’ll rake in fine weather!


What do you say to my home-brew, eh? Good, eh? Good, eh?


Look’ee, the little emmets crawling! Come, master, dinner time!


Come, master, taste my sop,


Could you cut Mashkin Upland too?—what do you think?


As God wills, the sun’s not high. A little vodka for the lads? Mashkin Upland’s to be cut—there’ll be some vodka.


Why not cut it? Come on, Tit! We’ll look sharp! We can eat at night. Come on!


Come, lads, keep it up!


Get along, get along! I’ll mow you down, look out!


Another present for my old woman


We mowed the whole meadow! Oh, it is nice, delicious! And how have you been getting on?


Mercy! what do you look like! And the door, do shut the door! You must have let in a dozen at least.


Not one, on my honor. But if I have, I’ll catch them. You wouldn’t believe what a pleasure it is! How have you spent the day?


Very well. But have you really been mowing the whole day? I expect you’re as hungry as a wolf. Kouzma has got everything ready for you.


No, I don’t feel hungry even. I had something to eat there. But I’ll go and wash.


Yes, go along, go along, and I’ll come to you directly. Go along, make haste,


Oh, by the way, there’s a letter for you,


Kouzma, bring it down, please. And mind you shut the doors.


I have had a letter from Dolly; she’s at Ergushovo, and everything seems going wrong there. Do ride over and see her, please; help her with advice; you know all about it. She will be so glad to see you. She’s quite alone, poor thing. My mother-in-law and all of them are still abroad. That’s capital! I will certainly ride over to her. Or we’ll go together. She’s such a splendid woman, isn’t she?


They’re not far from here, then?


Twenty-five miles. Or perhaps it is thirty. But a capital road. Capital, we’ll drive over.


I shall be delighted. Well, you have an appetite!


Splendid! You can’t imagine what an effectual remedy it is for every sort of foolishness. I want to enrich medicine with a new word: Arbeitskur.


Well, but you don’t need it, I should fancy.


No, but for all sorts of nervous invalids.


Yes, it ought to be tried. I had meant to come to the mowing to look at you, but it was so unbearably hot that I got no further than the forest. I sat there a little, and went on by the forest to the village, met your old nurse, and sounded her as to the peasants’ view of you. As far as I can make out, they don’t approve of this. She said: ‘It’s not a gentleman’s work.’ Altogether, I fancy that in the people’s ideas there are very clear and definite notions of certain, as they call it, ‘gentlemanly’ lines of action. And they don’t sanction the gentry’s moving outside bounds clearly laid down in their ideas.


Maybe so; but anyway it’s a pleasure such as I have never known in my life. And there’s no harm in it, you know. Is there? I can’t help it if they don’t like it. Though I do believe it’s all right. Eh?


Altogether, you’re satisfied with your day?


Quite satisfied. We cut the whole meadow. And such a splendid old man I made friends with there! You can’t fancy how delightful he was!


Well, so you’re content with your day. And so am I. First, I solved two chess problems, and one a very pretty one—a pawn opening. I’ll show it you. And then—I thought over our conversation yesterday.


Eh! our conversation yesterday?


I think you are partly right. Our difference of opinion amounts to this, that you make the mainspring self-interest, while I suppose that interest in the common weal is bound to exist in every man of a certain degree of advancement. Possibly you are right too, that action founded on material interest would be more desirable. You are altogether, as the French say, too primesautière a nature; you must have intense, energetic action, or nothing. So that’s what I think it is, my dear boy,


Yes, of course. But, do you know? I won’t stand up for my view. Whatever was it I was disputing about? Of course, I’m right, and he’s right, and it’s all first-rate. Only I must go round to the counting house and see to things.


If you want to go out, let’s go together. Come, we’ll go to the counting house, if you have to go there.


Oh, heavens! How’s Agafea Mihalovna’s hand? I’d positively forgotten her even.


It’s much better.


Well, anyway I’ll run down to her. Before you’ve time to get your hat on, I’ll be back.


Just see, now, and you were quite in despair,


Please, some more.


Eat yourself; let’s eat it together ... together.


Mercy! Your new white frock! Tanya! Grisha!


Lily has found a mushroom!


My, what a beauty! as white as sugar,


but thin....


Yes, she has been ill.


And so they’ve been bathing you too,


No; he’s only three months old,


You don’t say so!


And have you any children?


I’ve had four; I’ve two living—a boy and a girl. I weaned her last carnival.


How old is she?


Why, two years old.


Why did you nurse her so long?


It’s our custom; for three fasts....


My, she keeps putting on and putting on, and she’ll never have done!


There’s some gentleman coming: the master of Pokrovskoe, I do believe.


You’re like a hen with your chickens, Darya Alexandrovna.


Ah, how glad I am to see you!


Glad to see me, but you didn’t let me know. My brother’s staying with me. I got a note from Stiva that you were here.


From Stiva?


Yes; he writes that you are here, and that he thinks you might allow me to be of use to you,


I know, of course, that that simply means that you would like to see me, and I’m exceedingly glad. Though I can fancy that, used to town housekeeping as you are, you must feel in the wilds here, and if there’s anything wanted, I’m altogether at your disposal.


Oh, no! At first things were rather uncomfortable, but now we’ve settled everything capitally—thanks to my old nurse,


Won’t you get in, sir, we’ll make room this side!


No, I’ll walk. Children, who’d like to race the horses with me?


Don’t be afraid, don’t be afraid, Darya Alexandrovna! there’s no chance of my hurting or dropping her.


You know, Kitty’s coming here, and is going to spend the summer with me.


Really. Then I’ll send you two cows, shall I? If you insist on a bill you shall pay me five roubles a month; but it’s really too bad of you.


No, thank you. We can manage very well now.


Oh, well, then, I’ll have a look at your cows, and if you’ll allow me, I’ll give directions about their food. Everything depends on their food.


Yes, but still all this has to be looked after, and who is there to look after it?


Kitty writes to me that there’s nothing she longs for so much as quiet and solitude,


And how is she—better?


Thank God, she’s quite well again. I never believed her lungs were affected.


Oh, I’m very glad!


Let me ask you, Konstantin Dmitrievitch, why is it you are angry with Kitty?


I? I’m not angry with her,


Yes, you are angry. Why was it you did not come to see us nor them when you were in Moscow?


Darya Alexandrovna. I wonder really that with your kind heart you don’t feel this. How it is you feel no pity for me, if nothing else, when you know....


What do I know?


You know I made an offer and that I was refused,


What makes you suppose I know?


Because everybody knows it....


That’s just where you are mistaken; I did not know it, though I had guessed it was so.


Well, now you know it.


All I knew was that something had happened that made her dreadfully miserable, and that she begged me never to speak of it. And if she would not tell me, she would certainly not speak of it to anyone else. But what did pass between you? Tell me.


I have told you.


When was it?


When I was at their house the last time.


Do you know that. I am awfully, awfully sorry for her. You suffer only from pride....


Perhaps so, but....


But she, poor girl ... I am awfully, awfully sorry for her. Now I see it all.


Well, Darya Alexandrovna, you must excuse me,


Good-bye, Darya Alexandrovna, till we meet again. No, wait a minute. Wait a minute, sit down.


Please, please, don’t let us talk of this,


If I did not like you, if I did not know you, as I do know you.... Yes, I understand it all now. You can’t understand it; for you men, who are free and make your own choice, it’s always clear whom you love. But a girl’s in a position of suspense, with all a woman’s or maiden’s modesty, a girl who sees you men from afar, who takes everything on trust,—a girl may have, and often has, such a feeling that she cannot tell what to say.


Yes, if the heart does not speak....


No, the heart does speak; but just consider: you men have views about a girl, you come to the house, you make friends, you criticize, you wait to see if you have found what you love, and then, when you are sure you love her, you make an offer....


Well, that’s not quite it.


Anyway you make an offer, when your love is ripe or when the balance has completely turned between the two you are choosing from. But a girl is not asked. She is expected to make her choice, and yet she cannot choose, she can only answer ‘yes’ or ‘no.’


Yes, to choose between me and Vronsky,


Darya Alexandrovna, that’s how one chooses a new dress or some purchase or other, not love. The choice has been made, and so much the better.... And there can be no repeating it. Ah, pride, pride! At the time when you made Kitty an offer she was just in a position in which she could not answer. She was in doubt. Doubt between you and Vronsky. Him she was seeing every day, and you she had not seen for a long while. Supposing she had been older ... I, for instance, in her place could have felt no doubt. I always disliked him, and so it has turned out.


No, that cannot be.... Darya Alexandrovna. I appreciate your confidence in me; I believe you are making a mistake. But whether I am right or wrong, that pride you so despise makes any thought of Katerina Alexandrovna out of the question for me,—you understand, utterly out of the question.


I will only say one thing more: you know that I am speaking of my sister, whom I love as I love my own children. I don’t say she cared for you, all I meant to say is that her refusal at that moment proves nothing.


I don’t know! If you only knew how you are hurting me. It’s just as if a child of yours were dead, and they were to say to you: He would have been like this and like that, and he might have lived, and how happy you would have been in him. But he’s dead, dead, dead!...


How absurd you are! Yes, I see it all more and more clearly. So you won’t come to see us, then, when Kitty’s here?


No, I shan’t come. Of course I won’t avoid meeting Katerina Alexandrovna, but as far as I can, I will try to save her the annoyance of my presence.


You are very, very absurd. Very well then, let it be as though we had not spoken of this. What have you come for, Tanya?


Where’s my spade, mamma?


I speak French, and you must too.


But why are you going? Do stay a little.


What weather for haying! What hay it’ll be! It’s tea, not hay! It’s like scattering grain to the ducks, the way they pick it up! Since dinner time they’ve carried a good half of it. The last load, eh?


The last, dad!


Who’s that? Your son?


My baby,


What a fine fellow!


The lad’s all right.


Married already?


Yes, it’s two years last St. Philip’s day.


Any children?


Children indeed! Why, for over a year he was innocent as a babe himself, and bashful too. Well, the hay! It’s as fragrant as tea!


Well, what am I going to do? How am I to set about it?


Have a wife? Have work and the necessity of work? Leave Pokrovskoe? Buy land? Become a member of a peasant community? Marry a peasant girl? How am I to set about it? I haven’t slept all night, though, and I can’t think it out clearly. I’ll work it out later. One thing’s certain, this night has decided my fate. All my old dreams of home life were absurd, not the real thing. It’s all ever so much simpler and better.... How beautiful! How exquisite it all is in this exquisite night! And when was there time for that cloud-shell to form? Just now I looked at the sky, and there was nothing in it—only two white streaks. Yes, and so imperceptibly too my views of life changed! What’s that? Someone coming,


No, however good that life of simplicity and toil may be, I cannot go back to it. I love her.


He will get angry, and will not listen to you,


I can do nothing. Kindly leave the room!


No honor, no heart, no religion; a corrupt woman. I always knew it and always saw it, though I tried to deceive myself to spare her. I made a mistake in linking my life to hers; but there was nothing wrong in my mistake, and so I cannot be unhappy. It’s not I that am to blame, but she. But I have nothing to do with her. She does not exist for me.... I cannot be made unhappy by the fact that a contemptible woman has committed a crime. I have only to find the best way out of the difficult position in which she has placed me. And I shall find it. I’m not the first nor the last. Daryalov, Poltavsky, Prince Karibanov, Count Paskudin, Dram.... Yes, even Dram, such an honest, capable fellow ... Semyonov, Tchagin, Sigonin. Admitting that a certain quite irrational ridicule falls to the lot of these men, yet I never saw anything but a misfortune in it, and always felt sympathy for it. It is a misfortune which may befall anyone. And this misfortune has befallen me. The only thing to be done is to make the best of the position. Daryalov fought a duel....


There’s no doubt our society is still so barbarous (it’s not the same in England) that very many look favorably on the duel; but what result is attained by it? Suppose I call him out, suppose I call him out. Suppose I am taught, to shoot; I press the trigger, and it turns out I have killed him. What sense is there in murdering a man in order to define one’s relation to a guilty wife and son? I should still just as much have to decide what I ought to do with her. But what is more probable and what would doubtless occur—I should be killed or wounded. I, the innocent person, should be the victim—killed or wounded. It’s even more senseless. But apart from that, a challenge to fight would be an act hardly honest on my side. Don’t I know perfectly well that my friends would never allow me to fight a duel—would never allow the life of a statesman, needed by Russia, to be exposed to danger? Knowing perfectly well beforehand that the matter would never come to real danger, it would amount to my simply trying to gain a certain sham reputation by such a challenge. That would be dishonest, that would be false, that would be deceiving myself and others. A duel is quite irrational, and no one expects it of me. My aim is simply to safeguard my reputation, which is essential for the uninterrupted pursuit of my public duties.


Apart from formal divorce, One might still do like Karibanov, Paskudin, and that good fellow Dram—that is, separate from one’s wife. No, it’s out of the question, out of the question! I cannot be unhappy, but neither she nor he ought to be happy.


I must inform her of my conclusion, that thinking over the terrible position in which she has placed her family, all other solutions will be worse for both sides than an external status quo, and that such I agree to retain, on the strict condition of obedience on her part to my wishes, that is to say, cessation of all intercourse with her lover. By such a course only shall I be acting in accordance with the dictates of religion. In adopting this course, I am not casting off a guilty wife, but giving her a chance of amendment; and, indeed, difficult as the task will be to me, I shall devote part of my energies to her reformation and salvation.


Yes, time will pass; time, which arranges all things, and the old relations will be reestablished, so far reestablished, that is, that I shall not be sensible of a break in the continuity of my life. She is bound to be unhappy, but I am not to blame, and so I cannot be unhappy. The horses can be taken out and I will see no one, see no one.


At our last conversation, I notified you of my intention to communicate to you my decision in regard to the subject of that conversation. Having carefully considered everything, I am writing now with the object of fulfilling that promise. My decision is as follows. Whatever your conduct may have been, I do not consider myself justified in breaking the ties in which we are bound by a Higher Power. The family cannot be broken up by a whim, a caprice, or even by the sin of one of the partners in the marriage, and our life must go on as it has done in the past. This is essential for me, for you, and for our son. I am fully persuaded that you have repented and do repent of what has called forth the present letter, and that you will cooperate with me in eradicating the cause of our estrangement, and forgetting the past. In the contrary event, you can conjecture what awaits you and your son. All this I hope to discuss more in detail in a personal interview. As the season is drawing to a close, I would beg you to return to Petersburg as quickly as possible, not later than Tuesday. All necessary preparations shall be made for your arrival here. I beg you to note that I attach particular significance to compliance with this request. P.S.—I enclose the money which may be needed for your expenses. Give this to the courier to be delivered to Anna Arkadyevna tomorrow at the summer villa,


Certainly, your excellency; tea to be served in the study?


I saw Vronsky and did not tell him. At the very instant he was going away I would have turned him back and told him, but I changed my mind, because it was strange that I had not told him the first minute. Why was it I wanted to tell him and did not tell him?


Come, if only as a study in morals. I shall expect you,


Nothing, I need nothing. You can go. I’ll dress at once and come down. I need nothing. My God! my God!


Ah, what am I doing!


The coffee is ready, and mademoiselle and Seryozha are waiting,


Seryozha? What about Seryozha?


He’s been naughty, I think,


In what way?


Some peaches were lying on the table in the corner room. I think he slipped in and ate one of them on the sly.


Ah, mamma!


No, I won’t take her. I’ll go alone with my child. Yes, it’s very wrong. Leave him to me,


Mamma! I ... I ... didn’t....


Seryozha, that was wrong, but you’ll never do it again, will you?... You love me? Can I help loving him? And can he ever join his father in punishing me? Is it possible he will not feel for me? Run along, run along to Mariette. Can it be that they won’t forgive me, won’t understand how it all couldn’t be helped? I mustn’t, mustn’t think. I must get ready. To go where? When? Whom to take with me? Yes, to Moscow by the evening train. Annushka and Seryozha, and only the most necessary things. But first I must write to them both. After what has happened, I cannot remain any longer in your house. I am going away, and taking my son with me. I don’t know the law, and so I don’t know with which of the parents the son should remain; but I take him with me because I cannot live without him. Be generous, leave him to me. Of my fault and my remorse I cannot speak, because.... No, there’s no need of anything. I have told my husband. And what more am I to write to him? No need of anything,


Run and find out what it is,


The courier has orders to wait for an answer,


Very well,


Preparations shall be made for your arrival here ... I attach particular significance to compliance....


He’s right! of course, he’s always right; he’s a Christian, he’s generous! Yes, vile, base creature! And no one understands it except me, and no one ever will; and I can’t explain it. They say he’s so religious, so high-principled, so upright, so clever; but they don’t see what I’ve seen. They don’t know how he has crushed my life for eight years, crushed everything that was living in me—he has not once even thought that I’m a live woman who must have love. They don’t know how at every step he’s humiliated me, and been just as pleased with himself. Haven’t I striven, striven with all my strength, to find something to give meaning to my life? Haven’t I struggled to love him, to love my son when I could not love my husband? But the time came when I knew that I couldn’t cheat myself any longer, that I was alive, that I was not to blame, that God has made me so that I must love and live. And now what does he do? If he’d killed me, if he’d killed him, I could have borne anything, I could have forgiven anything; but, no, he.... How was it I didn’t guess what he would do? He’s doing just what’s characteristic of his mean character. He’ll keep himself in the right, while me, in my ruin, he’ll drive still lower to worse ruin yet....


You can conjecture what awaits you and your son....


That’s a threat to take away my child, and most likely by their stupid law he can. But I know very well why he says it. He doesn’t believe even in my love for my child, or he despises it (just as he always used to ridicule it). He despises that feeling in me, but he knows that I won’t abandon my child, that I can’t abandon my child, that there could be no life for me without my child, even with him whom I love; but that if I abandoned my child and ran away from him, I should be acting like the most infamous, basest of women. He knows that, and knows that I am incapable of doing that.


Our life must go on as it has done in the past....


That life was miserable enough in the old days; it has been awful of late. What will it be now? And he knows all that; he knows that I can’t repent that I breathe, that I love; he knows that it can lead to nothing but lying and deceit; but he wants to go on torturing me. I know him; I know that he’s at home and is happy in deceit, like a fish swimming in the water. No, I won’t give him that happiness. I’ll break through the spiderweb of lies in which he wants to catch me, come what may. Anything’s better than lying and deceit. But how? My God! my God! Was ever a woman so miserable as I am?... No; I will break through it, I will break through it!


The courier asks if there’s an answer,


An answer? Yes. Let him wait. I’ll ring. What can I write? What can I decide upon alone? What do I know? What do I want? What is there I care for? I ought to see Alexey no one but he can tell me what I ought to do. I’ll go to Betsy’s, perhaps I shall see him there. I have received your letter.—A. We are not going,


Not going at all?


No; don’t unpack till tomorrow, and let the carriage wait. I’m going to the princess’s.


Which dress am I to get ready?


From the count for the princess. The princess is in the garden; they will inform her immediately. Would you be pleased to walk into the garden?


I slept badly,


How glad I am you’ve come! I’m tired, and was just longing to have some tea before they come. You might go with Masha, and try the croquet ground over there where they’ve been cutting it. We shall have time to talk a little over tea; we’ll have a cozy chat, eh?


Yes, especially as I can’t stay very long with you. I’m forced to go on to old Madame Vrede. I’ve been promising to go for a century,


No. I’m not going to let you go for anything. Really, if I were not fond of you, I should feel offended. One would think you were afraid my society would compromise you. Tea in the little dining-room, please. Alexey’s playing us false, he writes that he can’t come,


Ah! How can you or your friends compromise anyone?


I can’t be more Catholic than the Pope,


Stremov and Liza Merkalova, why, they’re the cream of the cream of society. Besides, they’re received everywhere, and I


have never been strict and intolerant. It’s simply that I haven’t the time.


No; you don’t care, perhaps, to meet Stremov? Let him and Alexey Alexandrovitch tilt at each other in the committee—that’s no affair of ours. But in the world, he’s the most amiable man I know, and a devoted croquet player. You shall see. And, in spite of his absurd position as Liza’s lovesick swain at his age, you ought to see how he carries off the absurd position. He’s very nice. Sappho Shtoltz you don’t know? Oh, that’s a new type, quite new. I must write to Alexey though. I’m telling him to come to dinner. I’ve one lady extra to dinner with me, and no man to take her in. Look what I’ve said, will that persuade him? Excuse me, I must leave you for a minute. Would you seal it up, please, and send it off? I have to give some directions.


It’s essential for me to see you. Come to the Vrede garden. I shall be there at six o’clock. She’s very sweet, and I always liked her,


You ought to like her. She raves about you. Yesterday she came up to me after the races and was in despair at not finding you. She says you’re a real heroine of romance, and that if she were a man she would do all sorts of mad things for your sake. Stremov says she does that as it is.


But do tell me, please, I never could make it out, do tell me, please, what are her relations with Prince Kaluzhsky, Mishka, as he’s called? I’ve met them so little. What does it mean?


It’s a new manner. They’ve all adopted that manner. They’ve flung their caps over the windmills. But there are ways and ways of flinging them.


Yes, but what are her relations precisely with Kaluzhsky?


You’re encroaching on Princess Myakaya’s special domain now. That’s the question of an enfant terrible. You’d better ask them,


No; you laugh, but I never could understand it. I can’t understand the husband’s rôle in it.


The husband? Liza Merkalova’s husband carries her shawl, and is always ready to be of use. But anything more than that in reality, no one cares to inquire. You know in decent society one doesn’t talk or think even of certain details of the toilet. That’s how it is with this.


Will you be at Madame Rolandak’s fête?


I don’t think so. It’s like this, you see: I’m in a fortunate position. I understand you, and I understand Liza. Liza now is one of those naïve natures that, like children, don’t know what’s good and what’s bad. Anyway, she didn’t comprehend it when she was very young. And now she’s aware that the lack of comprehension suits her. Now, perhaps, she doesn’t know on purpose. But, anyway, it suits her. The very same thing, don’t you see, may be looked at tragically, and turned into a misery, or it may be looked at simply and even humorously. Possibly you are inclined to look at things too tragically.


How I should like to know other people just as I know myself! Am I worse than other people, or better? I think I’m worse.


Enfant terrible, enfant terrible! But here they are.


Only fancy, we all but ran over two soldiers,


I drove here with Vaska.... Ah, to be sure, you don’t know each other.


You’ve lost your bet. We got here first. Pay up,


Not just now,


Oh, all right, I’ll have it later.


Very well, very well. Oh, yes. I am a nice person ... I positively forgot it ... I’ve brought you a visitor. And here he comes.


Ah, how glad I am to see you! Yesterday at the races all I wanted was to get to you, but you’d gone away. I did so want to see you, yesterday especially. Wasn’t it awful?


Yes; I had no idea it would be so thrilling,


I’m not going. You won’t go either, will you? Who wants to play croquet?


Oh, I like it,


There, how do you manage never to be bored by things? It’s delightful to look at you. You’re alive, but I’m bored.


How can you be bored? Why, you live in the liveliest set in Petersburg,


Possibly the people who are not of our set are even more bored; but we—I certainly—are not happy, but awfully, awfully bored.


What, bored! Sappho says they did enjoy themselves tremendously at your house last night.


Ah, how dreary it all was! We all drove back to my place after the races. And always the same people, always the same. Always the same thing. We lounged about on sofas all the evening. What is there to enjoy in that? No; do tell me how you manage never to be bored? One has but to look at you and one sees, here’s a woman who may be happy or unhappy, but isn’t bored. Tell me how you do it?


I do nothing,


That’s the best way, ‘Nothing’, that’s the very best way. I told you long ago, that if you don’t want to be bored, you mustn’t think you’re going to be bored. It’s just as you mustn’t be afraid of not being able to fall asleep, if you’re afraid of sleeplessness. That’s just what Anna Arkadyevna has just said.


I should be very glad if I had said it, for it’s not only clever but true,


No, do tell me why it is one can’t go to sleep, and one can’t help being bored?


To sleep well one ought to work, and to enjoy oneself one ought to work too.


What am I to work for when my work is no use to anybody? And I can’t and won’t knowingly make a pretense about it.


You’re incorrigible,


No, don’t go away, please don’t,


It’s too violent a transition, to go from such company to old Madame Vrede. And besides, you will only give her a chance for talking scandal, while here you arouse none but such different feelings of the highest and most opposite kind,


If I told her to leave her husband, that must mean uniting her life with mine; am I prepared for that? How can I take her away now, when I have no money? Supposing I could arrange.... But how can I take her away while I’m in the service? If I say that—I ought to be prepared to do it, that is, I ought to have the money and to retire from the army.


Of course I don’t envy Serpuhovskoy and never could envy him; but his advancement shows me that one has only to watch one’s opportunity, and the career of a man like me may be very rapidly made. Three years ago he was in just the same position as I am. If I retire, I burn my ships. If I remain in the army, I lose nothing. She said herself she did not wish to change her position. And with her love I cannot feel envious of Serpuhovskoy.


We’ve come to fetch you. Your lessive lasted a good time today. Well, is it over?


It is over,


You’re always just as if you’d come out of a bath after it. I’ve come from Gritsky’s they’re expecting you.


Yes; is that music at his place? What’s the fête?


Serpuhovskoy’s come.


Aha! why, I didn’t know. Ah, I’m very glad!


To the health of our former comrade, the gallant general, Prince Serpuhovskoy. Hurrah!


You always get younger, Bondarenko,


Here he is! Yashvin told me you were in one of your gloomy tempers.


How glad I am!


You look after him,


Why weren’t you at the races yesterday? I expected to see you there,


I did go, but late. I beg your pardon. Please have this divided from me, each man as much as it runs to.


Vronsky! Have anything to eat or drink? Hi, something for the count to eat! Ah, here it is: have a glass!


I’ve always been hearing about you through my wife. I’m glad you’ve been seeing her pretty often.


She’s friendly with Varya, and they’re the only women in Petersburg I care about seeing,


The only ones?


Yes; and I heard news of you, but not only through your wife. I was greatly delighted to hear of your success, but not a bit surprised. I expected even more.


Well, I on the contrary expected less—I’ll own frankly. But I’m glad, very glad. I’m ambitious; that’s my weakness, and I confess to it.


Perhaps you wouldn’t confess to it if you hadn’t been successful,


I don’t suppose so. I won’t say life wouldn’t be worth living without it, but it would be dull. Of course I may be mistaken, but I fancy I have a certain capacity for the line I’ve chosen, and that power of any sort in my hands, if it is to be, will be better than in the hands of a good many people I know, and so the nearer I get to it, the better pleased I am.


Perhaps that is true for you, but not for everyone. I used to think so too, but here I live and think life worth living not only for that.


There it’s out! here it comes! Ever since I heard about you, about your refusal, I began.... Of course, I approved of what you did. But there are ways of doing everything. And I think your action was good in itself, but you didn’t do it quite in the way you ought to have done.


What’s done can’t be undone, and you know I never go back on what I’ve done. And besides, I’m very well off.


Very well off—for the time. But you’re not satisfied with that. I wouldn’t say this to your brother. He’s a nice child, like our host here. There he goes! and he’s happy, but that does not satisfy you.


I didn’t say it did satisfy me.


Yes, but that’s not the only thing. Such men as you are wanted.


By whom?


By whom? By society, by Russia. Russia needs men; she needs a party, or else everything goes and will go to the dogs.


How do you mean? Bertenev’s party against the Russian communists?


No. Tout ça est une blague. That’s always been and always will be. There are no communists. But intriguing people have to invent a noxious, dangerous party. It’s an old trick. No, what’s wanted is a powerful party of independent men like you and me.


But why so? Why aren’t they independent men?


Simply because they have not, or have not had from birth, an independent fortune; they’ve not had a name, they’ve not been close to the sun and center as we have. They can be bought either by money or by favor. And they have to find a support for themselves in inventing a policy. And they bring forward some notion, some policy that they don’t believe in, that does harm; and the whole policy is really only a means to a government house and so much income. Cela n’est pas plus fin que ça, when you get a peep at their cards. I may be inferior to them, stupider perhaps, though I don’t see why I should be inferior to them. But you and I have one important advantage over them for certain, in being more difficult to buy. And such men are more needed than ever.


Still I haven’t the one thing of most importance for that. I haven’t the desire for power. I had it once, but it’s gone.


Excuse me, that’s not true,


Yes, it is true, it is true ... now!


Yes, it’s true now, that’s another thing; but that now won’t last forever.


Perhaps,


You say perhaps, but I say for certain. And that’s what I wanted to see you for. Your action was just what it should have been. I see that, but you ought not to keep it up. I only ask you to give me carte blanche. I’m not going to offer you my protection ... though, indeed, why shouldn’t I protect you?—you’ve protected me often enough! I should hope our friendship rises above all that sort of thing. Yes, give me carte blanche, retire from the regiment, and I’ll draw you upwards imperceptibly.


But you must understand that I want nothing, except that all should be as it is.