‘Excuse me, countess, but I really know nothing about
it, and can’t tell you anything,’ he said, and looked round at
the officer who came in behind the lady.
‘That must be Vronsky,’ thought Levin, and, to be sure
of it, glanced at Kitty. She had already had time to look at
Vronsky, and looked round at Levin. And simply from the
look in her eyes, that grew unconsciously brighter, Levin
knew that she loved that man, knew it as surely as if she had
told him so in words. But what sort of a man was he? Now,
whether for good or for ill, Levin could not choose but re88
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main; he must find out what the man was like whom she
loved.
There are people who, on meeting a successful rival, no
matter in what, are at once disposed to turn their backs on
everything good in him, and to see only what is bad. There
are people, on the other hand, who desire above all to find
in that lucky rival the qualities by which he has outstripped
them, and seek with a throbbing ache at heart only what is
good. Levin belonged to the second class. But he had no difficulty in finding what was good and attractive in Vronsky.
It was apparent at the first glance. Vronsky was a squarely
built, dark man, not very tall, with a good-humored, handsome, and exceedingly calm and resolute face. Everything
about his face and figure, from his short-cropped black hair
and freshly shaven chin down to his loosely fitting, brandnew uniform, was simple and at the same time elegant.
Making way for the lady who had come in, Vronsky went
up to the princess and then to Kitty.
As he approached her, his beautiful eyes shone with a
specially tender light, and with a faint, happy, and modestly
triumphant smile (so it seemed to Levin), bowing carefully
and respectfully over her, he held out his small broad hand
to her.
Greeting and saying a few words to everyone, he sat
down without once glancing at Levin, who had never taken
his eyes off him.
‘Let me introduce you,’ said the princess, indicating Levin. ‘Konstantin Dmitrievitch Levin, Count Alexey
Kirillovitch Vronsky.’
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Vronsky got up and, looking cordially at Levin, shook
hands with him.
‘I believe I was to have dined with you this winter,’ he
said, smiling his simple and open smile; ‘but you had unexpectedly left for the country.’
‘Konstantin Dmitrievitch despises and hates town and
us townspeople,’ said Countess Nordston.
‘My words must make a deep impression on you, since
you remember them so well,’ said Levin, and, suddenly
conscious that he had said just the same thing before, he
reddened.
Vronsky looked at Levin and Countess Nordston, and
smiled.
‘Are you always in the country?’ he inquired. ‘I should
think it must be dull in the winter.’
‘It’s not dull if one has work to do; besides, one’s not dull
by oneself,’ Levin replied abruptly.
‘I am fond of the country,’ said Vronsky, noticing, and affecting not to notice, Levin’s tone.
‘But I hope, count, you would not consent to live in the
country always,’ said Countess Nordston.
‘I don’t know; I have never tried for long. I experienced
a queer feeling once,’ he went on. ‘I never longed so for the
country, Russian country, with bast shoes and peasants,
as when I was spending a winter with my mother in Nice.
Nice itself is dull enough, you know. And indeed, Naples
and Sorrento are only pleasant for a short time. And it’s just
there that Russia comes back to me most vividly, and especially the country. It’s as though…’
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He talked on, addressing both Kitty and Levin, turning
his serene, friendly eyes from one to the other, and saying
obviously just what came into his head.
Noticing that Countess Nordston wanted to say something, he stopped short without finishing what he had
begun, and listened attentively to her.
The conversation did not flag for an instant, so that
the princess, who always kept in reserve, in case a subject
should be lacking, two heavy guns—the relative advantages
of classical and of modern education, and universal military
service—had not to move out either of them, while Countess Nordston had not a chance of chaffing Levin.
Levin wanted to, and could not, take part in the general
conversation; saying to himself every instant, ‘Now go,’ he
still did not go, as though waiting for something.
The conversation fell upon table-turning and spirits, and
Countess Nordston, who believed in spiritualism, began to
describe the marvels she had seen.
‘Ah, countess, you really must take me, for pity’s sake do
take me to see them! I have never seen anything extraordinary, though I am always on the lookout for it everywhere,’
said Vronsky, smiling.
‘Very well, next Saturday,’ answered Countess Nordston.
‘But you, Konstantin Dmitrievitch, do you believe in it?’ she
asked Levin.
‘Why do you ask me? You know what I shall say.’
‘But I want to hear your opinion.’
‘My opinion,’ answered Levin, ‘is only that this tableturning simply proves that educated society—so called—is
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no higher than the peasants. They believe in the evil eye,
and in witchcraft and omens, while we…’
‘Oh, then you don’t believe in it?’
‘I can’t believe in it, countess.’
‘But if I’ve seen it myself?’
‘The peasant women too tell us they have seen goblins.’
‘Then you think I tell a lie?’
And she laughed a mirthless laugh.
‘Oh, no, Masha, Konstantin Dmitrievitch said he could
not believe in it,’ said Kitty, blushing for Levin, and Levin
saw this, and, still more exasperated, would have answered,
but Vronsky with his bright frank smile rushed to the support of the conversation, which was threatening to become
disagreeable.
‘You do not admit the conceivability at all?’ he queried.
‘But why not? We admit the existence of electricity, of which
we know nothing. Why should there not be some new force,
still unknown to us, which…’
‘When electricity was discovered,’ Levin interrupted
hurriedly, ‘it was only the phenomenon that was discovered, and it was unknown from what it proceeded and what
were its effects, and ages passed before its applications were
conceived. But the spiritualists have begun with tables writing for them, and spirits appearing to them, and have only
later started saying that it is an unknown force.’
Vronsky listened attentively to Levin, as he always did
listen, obviously interested in his words.
‘Yes, but the spiritualists say we don’t know at present
what this force is, but there is a force, and these are the con92
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ditions in which it acts. Let the scientific men find out what
the force consists in. No, I don’t see why there should not be
a new force, if it…’
‘Why, because with electricity,’ Levin interrupted again,
‘every time you rub tar against wool, a recognized phenomenon is manifested, but in this case it does not happen every
time, and so it follows it is not a natural phenomenon.’
Feeling probably that the conversation was taking a tone
too serious for a drawing room, Vronsky made no rejoinder,
but by way of trying to change the conversation, he smiled
brightly, and turned to the ladies.
‘Do let us try at once, countess,’ he said; but Levin would
finish saying what he thought.
‘I think,’ he went on, ‘that this attempt of the spiritualists
to explain their marvels as some sort of new natural force is
most futile. They boldly talk of spiritual force, and then try
to subject it to material experiment.’
Every one was waiting for him to finish, and he felt it.
‘And I think you would be a first-rate medium,’ said
Countess Nordston; ‘there’s something enthusiastic in
you.’
Levin opened his mouth, was about to say something,
reddened, and said nothing.
‘Do let us try table-turning at once, please,’ said Vronsky.
‘Princess, will you allow it?’
And Vronsky stood up, looking for a little table.
Kitty got up to fetch a table, and as she passed, her eyes
met Levin’s. She felt for him with her whole heart, the more
because she was pitying him for suffering of which she was
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herself the cause. ‘If you can forgive me, forgive me,’ said
her eyes, ‘I am so happy.’
‘I hate them all, and you, and myself,’ his eyes responded,
and he took up his hat. But he was not destined to escape.
Just as they were arranging themselves round the table, and
Levin was on the point of retiring, the old prince came in,
and after greeting the ladies, addressed Levin.
‘Ah!’ he began joyously. ‘Been here long, my boy? I didn’t
even know you were in town. Very glad to see you.’ The old
prince embraced Levin, and talking to him did not observe
Vronsky, who had risen, and was serenely waiting till the
prince should turn to him.
Kitty felt how distasteful her father’s warmth was to
Levin after what had happened. She saw, too, how coldly her
father responded at last to Vronsky’s bow, and how Vronsky
looked with amiable perplexity at her father, as though trying and failing to understand how and why anyone could be
hostilely disposed towards him, and she flushed.
‘Prince, let us have Konstantin Dmitrievitch,’ said Countess Nordston; ‘we want to try an experiment.’
‘What experiment? Table-turning? Well, you must excuse
me, ladies and gentlemen, but to my mind it is better fun to
play the ring game,’ said the old prince, looking at Vronsky,
and guessing that it had been his suggestion. ‘There’s some
sense in that, anyway.’
Vronsky looked wonderingly at the prince with his resolute eyes, and, with a faint smile, began immediately talking
to Countess Nordston of the great ball that was to come off
next week.
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Anna Karenina
‘I hope you will be there?’ he said to Kitty. As soon as the
old prince turned away from him, Levin went out unnoticed, and the last impression he carried away with him of
that evening was the smiling, happy face of Kitty answering
Vronsky’s inquiry about the ball.
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Chapter 15
At the end of the evening Kitty told her mother of her conversation with Levin, and in spite of all the pity she felt for
Levin, she was glad at the thought that she had received an
offer. She had no doubt that she had acted rightly. But after
she had gone to bed, for a long while she could not sleep.
One impression pursued her relentlessly. It was Levin’s face,
with his scowling brows, and his kind eyes looking out in
dark dejection below them,
