Part Seven: Chapter 9

by Leo Tolstoy

　　"Oblonsky's carriage!" the porter shouted in an angry bass. Thecarriage drove up and both got in. It was only for the first fewmoments, while the carriage was driving out of the clubhousegates, that Levin was still under the influence of the clubatmosphere of repose, comfort, and unimpeachable good form. Butas soon as the carriage drove out into the street, and he felt itjolting over the uneven road, heard the angry shout of a sledgedriver coming towards them, saw in the uncertain light the redblind of a tavern and the shops, this impression was dissipated,and he began to think over his actions, and to wonder whether hewas doing right in going to see Anna. What would Kitty say? ButStepan Arkadyevitch gave him no time for reflection, and, asthough divining his doubts, he scattered them.

　　"How glad I am," he said, "that you should know her! You knowDolly has long wished for it. And Lvov's been to see her, andoften goes. Though she is my sister," Stepan Arkadyevitchpursued, "I don't hesitate to say that she's a remarkable woman.But you will see. Her position is very painful, especially now."

　　"Why especially now?"

　　"We are carrying on negotiations with her husband about adivorce. And he's agreed; but there are difficulties in regardto the son, and the business, which ought to have been arrangedlong ago, has been dragging on for three months past. As soon asthe divorce is over, she will marry Vronsky. How stupid theseold ceremonies are, that no one believes in, and which onlyprevent people being comfortable!" Stepan Arkadyevitch put in."Well, then their position will be as regular as mine, as yours."

　　"What is the difficulty?" said Levin.

　　"Oh, it's a long and tedious story! The whole business is insuch an anomalous position with us. But the point is she hasbeen for three months in Moscow, where everyone knows her,waiting for the divorce; she goes out nowhere, sees no womanexcept Dolly, because, do you understand, she doesn't care tohave people come as a favor. That fool Princess Varvara, evenshe has left her, considering this a breach of propriety. Well,you see, in such a position any other woman would not have foundresources in herself. But you'll see how she has arranged herlife--how calm, how dignified she is. To the left, in thecrescent opposite the church!" shouted Stepan Arkadyevitch,leaning out of the window. "Phew! how hot it is!" he said, inspite of twelve degrees of frost, flinging his open overcoatstill wider open.

　　"But she has a daughter: no doubt she's busy looking after her?"said Levin.

　　"I believe you picture every woman simply as a female, unecouveuse," said Stepan Arkadyevitch. "If she's occupied, it mustbe with her children. No, she brings her up capitally, Ibelieve, but one doesn't hear about her. She's busy, in thefirst place, with what she writes. I see you're smilingironically, but you're wrong. She's writing a children's book,and doesn't talk about it to anyone, but she read it to me and Igave the manuscript to Vorkuev...you know the publisher...andhe's an author himself too, I fancy. He understands thosethings, and he says it's a remarkable piece of work. But are youfancying she's an authoress?--not a bit of it. She's a womanwith a heart, before everything, but you'll see. Now she has alittle English girl with her, and a whole family she's lookingafter."

　　"Oh, something in a philanthropic way?"

　　"Why, you will look at everything in the worst light. It's notfrom philanthropy, it's from the heart. They--that is, Vronsky--had a trainer, an Englishman, first-rate in his own line, but adrunkard. He's completely given up to drink--delirium tremens--and the family were cast on the world. She saw them, helpedthem, got more and more interested in them, and now the wholefamily is on her hands. But not by way of patronage, you know,helping with money; she's herself preparing the boys in Russianfor the high school, and she's taken the little girl to live withher. But you'll see her for yourself."

　　The carriage drove into the courtyard, and Stepan Arkadyevitchrang loudly at the entrance where sledges were standing.

　　And without asking the servant who opened the door whether thelady were at home, Stepan Arkadyevitch walked into the hall.Levin followed him, more and more doubtful whether he was doingright or wrong.

　　Looking at himself in the glass, Levin noticed that he was red inthe face, but he felt certain he was not drunk, and he followedStepan Arkadyevitch up the carpeted stairs. At the top StepanArkadyevitch inquired of the footman, who bowed to him as to anintimate friend, who was with Anna Arkadyevna, and received theanswer that it was M. Vorkuev.

　　"Where are they?"

　　"In the study."

　　Passing through the dining room, a room not very large, withdark, paneled walls, Stepan Arkadyevitch and Levin walked overthe soft carpet to the half-dark study, lighted up by a singlelamp with a big dark shade. Another lamp with a reflector washanging on the wall, lighting up a big full-length portrait of awoman, which Levin could not help looking at. It was theportrait of Anna, painted in Italy by Mihailov. While StepanArkadyevitch went behind the treillage, and the man's voice whichhad been speaking paused, Levin gazed at the portrait, whichstood out from the frame in the brilliant light thrown on it, andhe could not tear himself away from it. He positively forgotwhere he was, and not even hearing what was said, he could nottake his eyes off the marvelous portrait. It was not a picture,but a living, charming woman, with black curling hair, with barearms and shoulders, with a pensive smile on the lips, coveredwith soft down; triumphantly and softly she looked at him witheyes that baffled him. She was not living only because she wasmore beautiful than a living woman can be.

　　"I am delighted!" He heard suddenly near him a voice,unmistakably addressing him, the voice of the very woman he hadbeen admiring in the portrait. Anna had come from behind thetreillage to meet him, and Levin saw in the dim light of thestudy the very woman of the portrait, in a dark blue shot gown,not in the same position nor with the same expression, but withthe same perfection of beauty which the artist had caught in theportrait. She was less dazzling in reality, but, on the otherhand, there was something fresh and seductive in the living womanwhich was not in the portrait.