ANNA KARENINA (Collector's Edition). Leo TolstoyЧитать онлайн книгу.
master returned?’ he asked a gardener.
‘No, sir. The mistress is at home. Go in at the front door; the servants are there and will open it,’ replied the man.
‘No, I will go through the garden.’
Having made sure that she was alone, and wishing to take her by surprise (he had not promised to come that day and she would certainly not expect him to come before the races), he went, holding up his sword and stepping carefully along the sand-strewn flower-bordered path to the verandah facing the garden. Vronsky had now forgotten all his thoughts on the way, about the hardness and difficulty of his situation. He only thought that he would see her immediately, not merely in fancy, but alive, all of her — as she was in reality. He was already ascending the shallow steps of the verandah, stepping on the whole of his foot so as not to make a noise, when he suddenly remembered what he was always forgetting, the most painful part of his relations with her, namely her son, with his questioning and, as it seemed to Vronsky, inimical look.
That boy was a more frequent hindrance to their relations than anyone else. When he was present neither Vronsky nor Anna allowed themselves to speak about anything they could not have mentioned to every one or even to hint at things the boy would not have understood. They had not arranged this, but it had come about of itself. They would have considered it unworthy of themselves to deceive that child. In his presence they talked as acquaintances. Yet despite this caution Vronsky often noticed the child’s attentive and perplexed gaze fixed upon him and a strange timidity and unevenness — now caressing, now cold and bashful — in the boy’s manner toward him. It was as if the child felt that between that man and his mother there was some important relation which he could not understand.
And the boy really felt that he could not understand this relation. He tried but could not make out what he ought to feel toward this man. With a child’s sensitiveness to indications of feeling, he clearly saw that his father, his governess, and his nurse all not only disliked Vronsky but regarded him with fear and loathing, though they said nothing about him, while his mother regarded him as her best friend.
‘What does it mean? Who is he? How should I love him? If I don’t understand, it is my fault, I am a silly or a bad boy,’ thought the child, and that was the cause of his testing, questioning, and to some extent hostile expression and of the shyness and fitfulness Vronsky found so irksome. The presence of that child always aroused in Vronsky that strange feeling of unreasoning revulsion which had of late come to him. It evoked both in Vronsky and in Anna a feeling such as a sailor might have who saw by the compass that the direction in which he was swiftly sailing diverged widely from the right course but was quite unable to stop, and felt that every moment was taking him farther and farther astray, and that to acknowledge to himself that he was diverging from the right direction was tantamount to acknowledging that he was lost.
This child with his naïve outlook on life was the compass which showed them their degree of divergence from what they knew, but would not recognize, as the right course.
This time Serezha was not at home, and Anna was quite alone, sitting on the verandah waiting for the return of her son, who had gone for a walk and had been caught in the rain. She had sent a man and a maidservant to look for him and sat waiting. She wore a white dress trimmed with wide embroidery, and as she sat in a corner of the verandah behind some plants, did not hear Vronsky coming. Bowing her curly head she pressed her forehead against a cold watering-can that stood on the balustrade, and both her beautiful hands, with the rings he knew so well, were holding the can. The beauty of her whole figure, her head, her neck, and her arms, always struck Vronsky with new surprise. He stopped, gazing at her with rapture. But just as he was going to step toward her, she felt his nearness, pushed away the can, and turned her hot face toward him.
‘What is the matter? Aren’t you well?’ he said in French as he came up to her. He wished to run toward her, but remembering that there might be others near, turned to look at the verandah door and blushed, as he always did when he felt that he had reason to fear and to be circumspect.
‘No, I am quite well,’ she said, rising and firmly pressing his outstretched hand. ‘I did not expect — you.’
‘Oh, heavens! What cold hands!’ he said.
‘You frightened me,’ she said. ‘I am alone and was expecting Serezha. He went for a walk; they will return this way.’
But though she tried to be calm her lips trembled.
‘Forgive me for coming, but I could not let the day pass without seeing you,’ he continued in French. In Russian the word you sounded cold and it was dangerous to say thou, so he always spoke French to her.
‘Why “forgive”? I am so glad!’
‘But you are ill or in trouble,’ he continued without releasing her hand, but bending over it. ‘What were you thinking about?’
‘Always about the same thing,’ she said with a smile.
She spoke the truth. Whenever, — at whatever moment, — she was asked what she was thinking about she could have answered without fail, ‘Always about my happiness and my unhappiness.’ Just now when he entered she was wondering why, for others, Betsy for instance (of whose secret relations with Tushkevich she knew), it was all easy, while for her it was so tormenting. For certain reasons this thought troubled her more particularly to-day. She inquired about the races. Vronsky answered her, and noticing that she was excited, in order to distract her thoughts began giving her in a very matter-of-fact way particulars of the preparations for the races.
‘Shall I tell him or not?’ she thought, looking at his calm, caressing eyes. ‘He is so happy, so full of his races, that he won’t understand it properly, won’t understand all the importance of the event for us.’
‘But you have not told me what you were thinking about when I came in,’ he said, breaking off his narration.
She did not answer, but, slightly bowing her head, looked at him from under her brows questioningly, her eyes shining from under their long lashes. Her hand, toying with a leaf that she had pulled off, trembled. He noticed this, and his face assumed that submissive, slavishly-devoted expression that had such an effect on Anna.
‘I see that something has happened. How can I be a moment at peace knowing that you have some sorrow which I am not sharing? Tell me, for Heaven’s sake!’ he repeated entreatingly.
‘I cannot forgive him if he does not understand all the importance of it. Better not tell him, — why put him to the proof?’ she thought, continuing to look at him in the same way and feeling that her hand with the leaf was trembling more and more.
‘For heaven’s sake!’ he repeated, taking her hand.
‘Shall I?’
‘Yes, yes, yes …’
‘I am pregnant,’ she said softly and slowly.
The leaf in her hand shook still more violently, but she did not move her eyes from his face, watching to see how he would take it. He grew pale, tried to say something, but stopped, dropped her hand, and bowed his head. ‘Yes, he understands its full significance,’ she thought, and gratefully pressed his hand.
But she was mistaken in thinking that he understood the importance of the news as she, a woman, understood it. It brought on with tenfold force an attack of that strange repulsion to — he knew not whom; but at the same time he felt that the crisis he had hoped for had now come, that concealment from the husband was no longer possible, and that somehow or other the unnatural situation must be quickly ended. But, besides this, her physical agitation communicated itself to him. He gave her a look full of emotion, humbly kissed her hand, rose, and began silently pacing up and down the verandah.
‘Yes,’ he said, resolutely approaching her. ‘Neither you nor I looked on our union as an amusement, and now our fate