sorry for him that tears came into her eyes. But immediately she thought of the man for whom she had given him
up. She vividly recalled his manly, resolute face, his noble
self-possession, and the good nature conspicuous in everything towards everyone. She remembered the love for her of
the man she loved, and once more all was gladness in her
soul, and she lay on the pillow, smiling with happiness. ‘I’m
sorry, I’m sorry; but what could I do? It’s not my fault,’ she
said to herself; but an inner voice told her something else.
Whether she felt remorse at having won Levin’s love, or at
having refused him, she did not know. But her happiness
was poisoned by doubts. ‘Lord, have pity on us; Lord, have
pity on us; Lord, have pity on us!’ she repeated to herself, till
she fell asleep.
Meanwhile there took place below, in the prince’s little
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library, one of the scenes so often repeated between the parents on account of their favorite daughter.
‘What? I’ll tell you what!’ shouted the prince, waving
his arms, and at once wrapping his squirrel-lined dressinggown round him again. ‘That you’ve no pride, no dignity;
that you’re disgracing, ruining your daughter by this vulgar,
stupid match-making!’
‘But, really, for mercy’s sake, prince, what have I done?’
said the princess, almost crying.
She, pleased and happy after her conversation with her
daughter, had gone to the prince to say good-night as usual,
and though she had no intention of telling him of Levin’s
offer and Kitty’s refusal, still she hinted to her husband that
she fancied things were practically settled with Vronsky,
and that he would declare himself so soon as his mother arrived. And thereupon, at those words, the prince had all at
once flown into a passion, and began to use unseemly language.
‘What have you done? I’ll tell you what. First of all, you’re
trying to catch an eligible gentleman, and all Moscow will
be talking of it, and with good reason. If you have evening
parties, invite everyone, don’t pick out the possible suitors.
Invite all the young bucks. Engage a piano player, and let
them dance, and not as you do things nowadays, hunting
up good matches. It makes me sick, sick to see it, and you’ve
gone on till you’ve turned the poor wench’s head. Levin’s a
thousand times the better man. As for this little Petersburg
swell, they’re turned out by machinery, all on one pattern,
and all precious rubbish. But if he were a prince of the blood,
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my daughter need not run after anyone.’
‘But what have I done?’
‘Why, you’ve…’ The prince was crying wrathfully.
‘I know if one were to listen to you,’ interrupted the princess, ‘we should never marry our daughter. If it’s to be so,
we’d better go into the country.’
‘Well, and we had better.’
‘But do wait a minute. Do I try and catch them? I don’t
try to catch them in the least. A young man, and a very nice
one, has fallen in love with her, and she, I fancy…’
‘Oh, yes, you fancy! And how if she really is in love, and
he’s no more thinking of marriage than I am!… Oh, that
I should live to see it! Ah! spiritualism! Ah! Nice! Ah! the
ball!’ And the prince, imagining that he was mimicking his
wife, made a mincing curtsey at each word. ‘And this is how
we’re preparing wretchedness for Kitty; and she’s really got
the notion into her head…’
‘But what makes you suppose so?’
‘I don’t suppose; I know. We have eyes for such things,
though women-folk haven’t. I see a man who has serious
intentions, that’s Levin: and I see a peacock, like this feather-head, who’s only amusing himself.’
‘Oh, well, when once you get an idea into your head!…’
‘Well, you’ll remember my words, but too late, just as
with Dolly.’
‘Well, well, we won’t talk of it,’ the princess stopped him,
recollecting her unlucky Dolly.
‘By all means, and good night!’
And signing each other with the cross, the husband and
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wife parted with a kiss, feeling that they each remained of
their own opinion.
The princess had at first been quite certain that that evening had settled Kitty’s future, and that there could be no
doubt of Vronsky’s intentions, but her husband’s words had
disturbed her. And returning to her own room, in terror
before the unknown future, she, too, like Kitty, repeated
several times in her heart, ‘Lord, have pity; Lord, have pity;
Lord, have pity.’
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Chapter 16
Vronsky had never had a real home life. His mother had
been in her youth a brilliant society woman, who had had
during her married life, and still more afterwards, many
love affairs notorious in the whole fashionable world. His
father he scarcely remembered, and he had been educated
in the Corps of Pages.
Leaving the school very young as a brilliant officer, he
had at once got into the circle of wealthy Petersburg army
men. Although he did go more or less into Petersburg society, his love affairs had always hitherto been outside it.
In Moscow he had for the first time felt, after his luxurious and coarse life at Petersburg, all the charm of intimacy
with a sweet and innocent girl of his own rank, who cared
for him. It never even entered his head that there could be
any harm in his relations with Kitty. At balls he danced principally with her. He was a constant visitor at their house. He
talked to her as people commonly do talk in society—all
sorts of nonsense, but nonsense to which he could not help
attaching a special meaning in her case. Although he said
nothing to her that he could not have said before everybody,
he felt that she was becoming more and more dependent
upon him, and the more he felt this, the better he liked it,
and the tenderer was his feeling for her. He did not know
that his mode of behavior in relation to Kitty had a definite
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character, that it is courting young girls with no intention
of marriage, and that such courting is one of the evil actions common among brilliant young men such as he was.
It seemed to him that he was the first who had discovered
this pleasure, and he was enjoying his discovery.
If he could have heard what her parents were saying that
evening, if he could have put himself at the point ov view
of the family and have heard that Kitty would be unhappy
if he did not marry her, he would have been greatly astonished, and would not have believed it. He could not believe
that what gave such great and delicate pleasure to him, and
above all to her, could be wrong. Still less could he have believed that he ought to marry.
Marriage had never presented itself to him as a possibility. He not only disliked family life, but a family, and
especially a husband was, in accordance with the views general in the bachelor world in which he lived, conceived as
something alien, repellant, and, above all, ridiculous.
But though Vronsky had not the least suspicion what
the parents were saying, he felt on coming away from the
Shtcherbatskys’ that the secret spiritual bond which existed
between him and Kitty had grown so much stronger that
evening that some step must be taken. But what step could
and ought to be taken he could not imagine.
‘What is so exquisite,’ he thought, as he returned from
the Shtcherbatskys’, carrying away with him, as he always
did, a delicious feeling of purity and freshness, arising partly from the fact that he had not been smoking for a whole
evening, and with it a new feeling of tenderness at her love
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for him—‘what is so exquisite is that not a word has been
said by me or by her, but we understand each other so well
in this unseen language of looks and tones, that this evening
more clearly than ever she told me she loves me. And how
secretly, simply, and most of all, how trustfully! I feel myself better, purer. I feel that I have a heart, and that there is
a great deal of good in me. Those sweet, loving eyes! When
she said: Indeed I do…’
‘Well, what then? Oh, nothing. It’s good for me, and good
for her.’ And he began wondering where to finish the evening.
He passed in review of the places he might go to. ‘Club? a
game of bezique, champagne with Ignatov? No, I’m not going. Chateau des Fleurs; there I shall find Oblonsky, songs,
the cancan. No, I’m sick of it. That’s why I like the Shtcherbatskys’, that I’m growing better. I’ll go home.’ He went
straight to his room at Dussot’s Hotel, ordered supper, and
then undressed, and as soon as his head touched the pillow,
fell into a sound sleep.
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Chapter 17
Next day at eleven o’clock in the morning Vronsky drove
to the station of the Petersburg railway to meet his mother, and the first person he came across on the great flight
of steps was Oblonsky, who was expecting his sister by the
same train.
‘Ah! your excellency!’ cried Oblonsky, ‘whom are you
meeting?’
‘My mother,’ Vronsky responded, smiling, as everyone
did who met Oblonsky. He shook hands with him, and
together they ascended the steps. ‘She is to be here from Petersburg today.’
‘I was looking out for you till two o’clock last night.
Where did you go after the Shtcherbatskys’?’
‘Home,’ answered Vronsky. ‘I must own I felt so well content yesterday after the Shtcherbatskys’ that I didn’t care to
go anywhere.’
“I know a gallant steed by tokens sure,
And by his eyes I know a youth in love,’
declaimed Stepan Arkadyevitch, just as he had done before to Levin.
Vronsky smiled with a look that seemed to say that he
did not deny it, but he promptly changed the subject.
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‘And whom are you meeting?’ he asked.
‘I? I’ve come to meet a pretty woman,’ said Oblonsky.
‘You don’t say so!’
‘Honi soit qui mal y pense! My sister Anna.’
‘Ah! that’s Madame Karenina,’ said Vronsky.
‘You know her, no doubt?’
‘I think I do. Or perhaps not…I really am not sure,’
Vronsky answered heedlessly, with a vague recollection
