Part Five: Chapter 33

by Leo Tolstoy

　　Vronsky for the first time experienced a feeling of anger againstAnna, almost a hatred for her willfully refusing to understandher own position. This feeling was aggravated by his beingunable to tell her plainly the cause of his anger. If he hadtold her directly what he was thinking, he would have said:

　　"In that dress, with a princess only too well known to everyone,to show yourself at the theater is equivalent not merely toacknowledging your position as a fallen woman, but is flingingdown a challenge to society, that is to say, cutting yourself offfrom it forever."

　　He could not say that to her. "But how can she fail to see it,and what is going on in her?" he said to himself. He felt at thesame time that his respect for her was diminished while his senseof her beauty was intensified.

　　He went back scowling to his rooms, and sitting down besideYashvin, who, with his long legs stretched out on a chair, wasdrinking brandy and seltzer water, he ordered a glass of the samefor himself.

　　"You were talking of Lankovsky's Powerful. That's a fine horse,and I would advise you to buy him," said Yashvin, glancing athis comrade's gloomy face. "His hind-quarters aren't quitefirst-rate, but the legs and head--one couldn't wish for anythingbetter."

　　"I think I will take him," answered Vronsky.

　　Their conversation about horses interested him, but he did notfor an instant forget Anna, and could not help listening to thesound of steps in the corridor and looking at the clock on thechimney piece.

　　"Anna Arkadyevna gave orders to announce that she has gone to thetheater."

　　Yashvin, tipping another glass of brandy into the bubbling water,drank it and got up, buttoning his coat.

　　"Well, let's go," he said, faintly smiling under his mustache,and showing by this smile that he knew the cause of Vronsky'sgloominess, and did not attach any significance to it.

　　"I'm not going," Vronsky answered gloomily.

　　"Well, I must, I promised to. Good-bye, then. If you do, cometo the stalls; you can take Kruzin's stall," added Yashvin as hewent out.

　　"No, I'm busy."

　　"A wife is a care, but it's worse when she's not a wife," thoughtYashvin, as he walked out of the hotel.

　　Vronsky, left alone, got up from his chair and began pacing upand down the room.

　　"And what's today? The fourth night.... Yegor and his wife arethere, and my mother, most likely. Of course all Petersburg'sthere. Now she's gone in, taken off her cloak and come into thelight. Tushkevitch, Yashvin, Princess Varvara," he pictured themto himself.... "What about me? Either that I'm frightened orhave given up to Tushkevitch the right to protect her? Fromevery point of view--stupid, stupid!... And why is she puttingme in such a position?" he said with a gesture of despair.

　　With that gesture he knocked against the table, on which therewas standing the seltzer water and the decanter of brandy, andalmost upset it. He tried to catch it, let it slip, and angrilykicked the table over and rang.

　　"If you care to be in my service," he said to the valet who camein, "you had better remember your duties. This shouldn't behere. You ought to have cleared away."

　　The valet, conscious of his own innocence, would have defendedhimself, but glancing at his master, he saw from his face thatthe only thing to do was to be silent, and hurriedly threadinghis way in and out, dropped down on the carpet and begangathering up the whole and broken glasses and bottles.

　　"That's not your duty; send the waiter to clear away, and get mydress coat out."

　　Vronsky went into the theater at half-past eight. Theperformance was in full swing. The little old box-keeper,recognizing Vronsky as he helped him off with his fur coat,called him "Your Excellency," and suggested he should not take anumber but should simply call Fyodor. In the brightly lightedcorridor there was no one but the box-opener and two attendantswith fur cloaks on their arms listening at the doors. Throughthe closed doors came the sounds of the discreet staccatoaccompaniment of the orchestra, and a single female voicerendering distinctly a musical phrase. The door opened to letthe box-opener slip through, and the phrase drawing to the endreached Vronsky's hearing clearly. But the doors were closedagain at once, and Vronsky did not hear the end of the phrase andthe cadence of the accompaniment, though he knew from the thunderof applause that it was over. When he entered the hall,brilliantly lighted with chandeliers and gas jets, the noise wasstill going on. On the stage the singer, bowing and smiling,with bare shoulders flashing with diamonds, was, with the help ofthe tenor who had given her his arm, gathering up the bouquetsthat were flying awkwardly over the footlights. Then she went upto a gentleman with glossy pomaded hair parted down the center,who was stretching across the footlights holding out something toher, and all the public in the stalls as well as in the boxes wasin excitement, craning forward, shouting and clapping. Theconductor in his high chair assisted in passing the offering, andstraightened his white tie. Vronsky walked into the middle ofthe stalls, and, standing still, began looking about him. Thatday less than ever was his attention turned upon the familiar,habitual surroundings, the stage, the noise, all the familiar,uninteresting, particolored herd of spectators in the packedtheater.

　　There were, as always, the same ladies of some sort with officersof some sort in the back of the boxes; the same gaily dressedwomen--God knows who--and uniforms and black coats; the samedirty crowd in the upper gallery; and among the crowd, in theboxes and in the front rows, were some forty of the real people.And to those oases Vronsky at once directed his attention, andwith them he entered at once into relation.

　　The act was over when he went in, and so he did not go straightto his brother's box, but going up to the first row of stallsstopped at the footlights with Serpuhovskoy, who, standing withone knee raised and his heel on the footlights, caught sight ofhim in the distance and beckoned to him, smiling.

　　Vronsky had not yet seen Anna. He purposely avoided looking inher direction. But he knew by the direction of people's eyeswhere she was. He looked round discreetly, but he was notseeking her; expecting the worst, his eyes sought for AlexeyAlexandrovitch. To his relief Alexey Alexandrovitch was not inthe theater that evening.

　　"How little of the military man there is left in you!"Serpuhovskoy was saying to him. "A diplomat, an artist,something of that sort, one would say."

　　"Yes, it was like going back home when I put on a black coat,"answered Vronsky, smiling and slowly taking out his opera glass.

　　"Well, I'll own I envy you there. When I come back from abroadand put on this," he touched his epaulets, "I regret myfreedom."

　　Serpuhovskoy had long given up all hope of Vronsky's career, buthe liked him as before, and was now particularly cordial to him.

　　"What a pity you were not in time for the first act!"

　　Vronsky, listening with one ear, moved his opera glass from thestalls and scanned the boxes. Near a lady in a turban and a baldold man, who seemed to wave angrily in the moving opera glass,Vronsky suddenly caught sight of Anna's head, proud, strikinglybeautiful, and smiling in the frame of lace. She was in thefifth box, twenty paces from him. She was sitting in front, andslightly turning, was saying something to Yashvin. The settingof her head on her handsome, broad shoulders, and the restrainedexcitement and brilliance of her eyes and her whole face remindedhim of her just as he had seen her at the ball in Moscow. But hefelt utterly different towards her beauty now. In his feelingfor her now there was no element of mystery, and so her beauty,though it attracted him even more intensely than before, gave himnow a sense of injury. She was not looking in his direction, butVronsky felt that she had seen him already.

　　When Vronsky turned the opera glass again in that direction, henoticed that Princess Varvara was particularly red, and keptlaughing unnaturally and looking round at the next box. Anna,folding her fan and tapping it on the red velvet, was gazing awayand did not see, and obviously did not wish to see, what wastaking place in the next box. Yashvin's face wore the expressionwhich was common when he was losing at cards. Scowling, hesucked the left end of his mustache further and further into hismouth, and cast sidelong glances at the next box.

　　In that box on the left were the Kartasovs. Vronsky knew them,and knew that Anna was acquainted with them. Madame Kartasova, athin little woman, was standing up in her box, and, her backturned upon Anna, she was putting on a mantle that her husbandwas holding for her. Her face was pale and angry, and she wastalking excitedly. Kartasov, a fat, bald man, was continuallylooking round at Anna, while he attempted to soothe his wife.When the wife had gone out, the husband lingered a long while,and tried to catch Anna's eye, obviously anxious to bow to her.But Anna, with unmistakable intention, avoided noticing him, andtalked to Yashvin, whose cropped head was bent down to her.Kartasov went out without making his salutation, and the box wasleft empty.

　　Vronsky could not understand exactly what had passed between theKartasovs and Anna, but he saw that something humiliating forAnna had happened. He knew this both from what he had seen, andmost of all from the face of Anna, who, he could see, was taxingevery nerve to carry through the part she had taken up. And inmaintaining this attitude of external composure she wascompletely successful. Anyone who did not know her and hercircle, who had not heard all the utterances of the womenexpressive of commiseration, indignation, and amazement, that sheshould show herself in society, and show herself so conspicuouslywith her lace and her beauty, would have admired the serenity andloveliness of this woman without a suspicion that she wasundergoing the sensations of a man in the stocks.

　　Knowing that something had happened, but not knowing preciselywhat, Vronsky felt a thrill of agonizing anxiety, and hoping tofind out something, he went towards his brother's box. Purposelychoosing the way round furthest from Anna's box, he jostled as hecame out against the colonel of his old regiment talking to twoacquaintances. Vronsky heard the name of Madame Karenina, andnoticed how the colonel hastened to address Vronsky loudly byname, with a meaning glance at his companions.

　　"Ah, Vronsky! When are you coming to the regiment? We can't letyou off without a supper. You're one of the old set," said thecolonel of his regiment.

　　"I can't stop, awfully sorry, another time," said Vronsky, andhe ran upstairs towards his brother's box.

　　The old countess, Vronsky's mother, with her steel-gray curls,was in his brother's box. Varya with the young Princess Sorokinamet him in the corridor.

　　Leaving the Princess Sorokina with her mother, Varya held out herhand to her brother-in-law, and began immediately to speak ofwhat interested him. She was more excited than he had ever seenher.

　　"I think it's mean and hateful, and Madame Kartasova had noright to do it. Madame Karenina..." she began.

　　"But what is it? I don't know."

　　"What? you've not heard?"

　　"You know I should be the last person to hear of it."

　　"There isn't a more spiteful creature than that MadameKartasova!"

　　"But what did she do?"

　　"My husband told me.... She has insulted Madame Karenina. Herhusband began talking to her across the box, and Madame Kartasovamade a scene. She said something aloud, he says, somethinginsulting, and went away."

　　"Count, your maman is asking for you," said the young PrincessSorokina, peeping out of the door of the box.

　　"I've been expecting you all the while," said his mother, smilingsarcastically. "You were nowhere to be seen."

　　Her son saw that she could not suppress a smile of delight.

　　"Good evening, maman. I have come to you," he said coldly.

　　"Why aren't you going to faire la cour a Madame Karenina?" shewent on, when Princess Sorokina had moved away. "Elle faitsensation. On oublie la Patti pour elle."

　　"Maman, I have asked you not to say anything to me of that," heanswered, scowling.

　　"I'm only saying what everyone's saying."

　　Vronsky made no reply, and saying a few words to PrincessSorokina, he went away. At the door he met his brother.

　　"Ah, Alexey!" said his brother. "How disgusting! Idiot of awoman, nothing else.... I wanted to go straight to her. Let'sgo together."

　　Vronsky did not hear him. With rapid steps he went downstairs;he felt that he must do something, but he did not know what.Anger with her for having put herself and him in such a falseposition, together with pity for her suffering, filled his heart.He went down, and made straight for Anna's box. At her box stoodStremov, talking to her.

　　"There are no more tenors. Le moule en est brise!"

　　Vronsky bowed to her and stopped to greet Stremov.

　　"You came in late, I think, and have missed the best song," Annasaid to Vronsky, glancing ironically, he thought, at him.

　　"I am a poor judge of music," he said, looking sternly at her.

　　"Like Prince Yashvin," she said smiling, "who considers thatPatti sings too loud."

　　"Thank you," she said, her little hand in its long glove takingthe playbill Vronsky picked up, and suddenly at that instant herlovely face quivered. She got up and went into the interior ofthe box.

　　Noticing in the next act that her box was empty, Vronsky, rousingindignant "hushes" in the silent audience, went out in the middleof a solo and drove home.

　　Anna was already at home. When Vronsky went up to her, she wasin the same dress as she had worn at the theater. She wassitting in the first armchair against the wall, looking straightbefore her. She looked at him, and at once resumed her formerposition.

　　"Anna," he said.

　　"You, you are to blame for everything!" she cried, with tears ofdespair and hatred in her voice, getting up.

　　"I begged, I implored you not to go, I knew it would beunpleasant...."

　　"Unpleasant!" she cried--"hideous! As long as I live I shallnever forget it. She said it was a disgrace to sit beside me."

　　"A silly woman's chatter," he said: "but why risk it, whyprovoke?..."

　　"I hate your calm. You ought not to have brought me to this. Ifyou had loved me..."

　　"Anna! How does the question of my love come in?"

　　"Oh, if you loved me, as I love, if you were tortured as Iam!..." she said, looking at him with an expression of terror.

　　He was sorry for her, and angry notwithstanding. He assured herof his love because he saw that this was the only means ofsoothing her, and he did not reproach her in words, but in hisheart he reproached her.

　　And the asseverations of his love, which seemed to him so vulgarthat he was ashamed to utter them, she drank in eagerly, andgradually became calmer. The next day, completely reconciled,they left for the country.