He named a French actress, and was about to tell some story about her, but the ambassador’s wife interrupted him in mock outrage:
‘Please don’t tell us about this horror.’
‘All right then, I won’t, especially since everyone is familiar with these horrors.’
‘And everyone would go if it were as acceptable as going to the opera,’ chimed in Princess Myagkaya.
1 [Lit. ‘terrible child’, French term also used to denote an unconventional, outspoken person.]
2 [English in the original.]
7
STEPS could be heard at the door, and Princess Betsy glanced at Vronsky, knowing this was Karenina. He was staring at the door, and his face had acquired a strange new expression. He was looking intently, joyfully, and also shyly at the woman coming in, and slowly getting to his feet. Anna entered the drawing room. Holding herself as always extremely erect, and not changing the direction of her gaze, she took the few steps separating her from her hostess with that brisk, firm, and light step which distinguished her from other society women, pressed her hand, smiled, and looked round at Vronsky with the same smile. Vronsky made a low bow and drew up a chair for her.
She responded with a mere inclination of her head, blushed, and frowned. But she turned straight away to her hostess, nodding quickly to her acquaintances and shaking the hands held out to her as she did so:
‘I was at Countess Lydia’s, and meant to come earlier, but I could not get away. She had Sir John* there. He’s very interesting.’
‘Ah, is he that missionary?’
‘Yes, he was recounting some very interesting things about life in India.’
After being interrupted by her arrival, the conversation started flickering again, like the light of a lamp that is going out.
‘Sir John! Yes, Sir John. I’ve seen him. He speaks well. Vlasieva* is completely in love with him.’
‘And is it true her younger sister is marrying Topov?’
‘Yes, they say it’s quite settled.’
‘I’m surprised at the parents. They say it’s a match based on passion.’
‘Passion? What antediluvian ideas you have! Who talks of passion in this day and age?’ said the ambassador’s wife.
‘What’s to be done? This quaint old fashion has not died out yet,’ said Vronsky.
‘So much the worse for those who follow that fashion. The only happy marriages I know are marriages of convenience.’
‘Yes, but on the other hand, think how often the happiness of marriages of convenience crumbles like dust, precisely because of the emergence of that very passion which had not been acknowledged,’ said Vronsky.
‘But we call them marriages of convenience because both parties have already put their wild period behind them. It’s like scarlet fever—something you have to go through.’
‘Then we need to learn how to inoculate ourselves against love artificially, like with smallpox.’
‘I was in love with a sexton when I was young,’ said the Princess Myagkaya. ‘I don’t know if it did me any good.’
‘No, joking apart, I think that to know what love is, one must make mistakes and learn from them,’ said Princess Betsy.
‘Even after marriage?’ said the ambassador’s wife playfully.
‘It’s never too late to repent,’ said the diplomat, quoting an English saying.
‘Exactly,’ chimed in Betsy, ‘one must make mistakes and learn from them. What do you think about all this?’ she said, turning to Anna, who had been listening silently to the conversation with a faint but definite smile on her lips.
‘I think,’ said Anna, toying with the glove she had just taken off, ‘I think … if there are as many heads as there are minds, then there must be as many kinds of love as there are hearts.’
Vronsky had been looking at Anna, waiting to hear what she would say with bated breath. He sighed as if some danger had passed when she said these words.
Anna suddenly turned to him.
‘Now, I have had a letter from Moscow. They’ve written to tell me that Kitty Shcherbatskaya’s very ill.’
‘Really?’ said Vronsky, frowning.
Anna looked at him sternly.
‘Does that not interest you?’
‘On the contrary, very much. Might I enquire as to exactly what was said in the letter?’ he asked.
Anna got up and went over to Betsy.
‘May I have a cup of tea, please,’ she said, coming to stand behind her chair.
While Betsy was pouring out the tea, Vronsky went up to Anna.
‘What was said in the letter?’ he repeated.
‘I often think men do not understand what’s honourable and what’s dishonourable, although they are always talking about it,’ said Anna, without answering him. ‘I’ve been meaning to tell you this for a long time,’ she added, and moving away a few steps, she sat down at a table in the corner with albums on it.
‘I don’t quite understand the meaning of your words,’ he said, handing her the cup.
She eyed the sofa beside her, and he instantly sat down.
‘Yes, I have been meaning to tell you,’ she said, not looking at him.
‘You behaved badly, very, very badly.’
‘Do you think I don’t know that I behaved badly? But who caused me to behave like that?’
‘Why are you telling me this?’ she said, looking at him severely.
‘You know why,’ he answered boldly and joyously, meeting her gaze and not lowering his eyes.
It was she, not he, who was embarrassed.
‘That only proves that you have no heart,’ she said. But her eyes said that she knew he had a heart, and that was why she was afraid of him.
‘What you were talking about just now was a mistake, and not love.’
‘You will remember that I have forbidden you to pronounce that word, that ghastly word,’ said Anna with a shudder; but she sensed straight away that with just that one word forbidden she was showing that she was claiming certain rights over him, and thus actually encouraging him to speak about love. ‘I have long been meaning to tell you,’ she went on, looking at him straight in the eye, her flushed face burning, ‘and I made a point of coming tonight, knowing I would meet you here. I have come to tell you that this must end. No one has ever made me blush before, but you make me feel guilty about something.’
He looked at her and was struck by a new spiritual beauty in her face.
‘What do you want from me?’ he asked, simply and seriously.
‘I want you to go to Moscow and ask Kitty’s forgiveness,’ she said, and a tiny flame began to flicker in her eyes.
‘You don’t want that,’ he said.
He saw that she was saying what she was forcing herself to say, not what she wanted to say.
‘If you love me, as you say you do,’ she whispered, ‘do it so that I may be at peace.’
His face lit up.
‘You must surely know that you are my whole life; but I don’t know peace, so I can’t give you that. All of me, love … yes. I can’t think about you and me separately. To me, you and I are one. And I cannot foresee any possibility of peace for either me or you. I can see the possibility of despair and unhappiness … or I can see the possibility of happiness, and what happiness! … Is that really not possible?’ he added with just his lips; but she heard him.
She did her utmost to focus her mind in order to say what ought to be said, but in place of that she brought her love-filled gaze to rest on him and did not answer.
‘There it is!’ he thought jubilantly. ‘Just when I was beginning to despair, and thought there was no end in sight—there we are! She loves me! She is admitting it!’
‘So do this for me, never say those words to me, and let us be good friends,’ were the words she spoke; but her eyes said something quite different.