Part Three: Chapter 17

by Leo Tolstoy

　　The croquet party to which the Princess Tverskaya had invitedAnna was to consist of two ladies and their adorers. These twoladies were the chief representatives of a select new Petersburgcircle, nicknamed, in imitation of some imitation, les septmerveilles du monde. These ladies belonged to a circle which,though of the highest society, was utterly hostile to that inwhich Anna moved. Moreover, Stremov, one of the most influentialpeople in Petersburg, and the elderly admirer of Liza Merkalova,was Alexey Alexandrovitch's enemy in the political world. Fromall these considerations Anna had not meant to go, and the hintsin Princess Tverskaya's note referred to her refusal. But nowAnna was eager to go, in the hope of seeing Vronsky.

　　Anna arrived at Princess Tverskaya's earlier than the otherguests.

　　At the same moment as she entered, Vronsky's footman, with side-whiskers combed out like a Kammerjunker, went in too. He stoppedat the door, and, taking off his cap, let her pass. Annarecognized him, and only then recalled that Vronsky had told herthe day before that he would not come. Most likely he wassending a note to say so.

　　As she took off her outer garment in the hall, she heard thefootman, pronouncing his "r's" even like a Kammerjunker, say,"From the count for the princess," and hand the note.

　　She longed to question him as to where his master was. Shelonged to turn back and send him a letter to come and see her, orto go herself to see him. But neither the first nor the secondnor the third course was possible. Already she heard bellsringing to announce her arrival ahead of her, and PrincessTverskaya's footman was standing at the open door waiting for herto go forward into the inner rooms.

　　"The princess is in the garden; they will inform her immediately.Would you be pleased to walk into the garden?" announced anotherfootman in another room.

　　The position of uncertainty, of indecision, was still the same asat home--worse, in fact, since it was impossible to take anystep, impossible to see Vronsky, and she had to remain here amongoutsiders, in company so uncongenial to her present mood. Butshe was wearing a dress that she knew suited her. She was notalone; all around was that luxurious setting of idleness that shewas used to, and she felt less wretched than at home. She wasnot forced to think what she was to do. Everything would be doneof itself. On meeting Betsy coming towards her in a white gownthat struck her by its elegance, Anna smiled at her just as shealways did. Princess Tverskaya was walking with Tushkevitch anda young lady, a relation, who, to the great joy of her parents inthe provinces, was spending the summer with the fashionableprincess.

　　There was probably something unusual about Anna, for Betsynoticed it at once.

　　"I slept badly," answered Anna, looking intently at the footmanwho came to meet them, and, as she supposed, brought Vronsky'snote.

　　"How glad I am you've come!" said Betsy. "I'm tired, and wasjust longing to have some tea before they come. You might go"--she turned to Tushkevitch--"with Masha, and try the croquetground over there where they've been cutting it. We shall havetime to talk a little over tea; we'll have a cozy chat, eh?" shesaid in English to Anna, with a smile, pressing the hand withwhich she held a parasol.

　　"Yes, especially as I can't stay very long with you. I'm forcedto go on to old Madame Vrede. I've been promising to go for acentury," said Anna, to whom lying, alien as it was to hernature, had become not merely simple and natural in society, buta positive source of satisfaction. Why she said this, which shehad not thought of a second before, she could not have explained.She had said it simply from the reflection that as Vronsky wouldnot be here, she had better secure her own freedom, and try tosee him somehow. But why she had spoken of old Madame Vrede,whom she had to go and see, as she had to see many other people,she could not have explained; and yet, as it afterwards turnedout, had she contrived the most cunning devices to meet Vronsky,she could have thought of nothing better.

　　"No. I'm not going to let you go for anything," answered Betsy,looking intently into Anna's face. "Really, if I were not fondof you, I should feel offended. One would think you were afraidmy society would compromise you. Tea in the little dining room,please," she said, half closing her eyes, as she always did whenaddressing the footman.

　　Taking the note from him, she read it.

　　"Alexey's playing us false," she said in French; "he writes thathe can't come," she added in a tone as simple and natural asthough it could never enter her head that Vronsky could meananything more to Anna than a game of croquet. Anna knew thatBetsy knew everything, but, hearing how she spoke of Vronskybefore her, she almost felt persuaded for a minute that she knewnothing.

　　"Ah!" said Anna indifferently, as though not greatly interestedin the matter, and she went on smiling: "How can you or yourfriends compromise anyone?"

　　This playing with words, this hiding of a secret, had a greatfascination for Anna, as, indeed, it has for all women. And itwas not the necessity of concealment, not the aim with which theconcealment was contrived, but the process of concealment itselfwhich attracted her.

　　"I can't be more Catholic than the Pope," she said. "Stremovand Liza Merkalova, why, they're the cream of the cream ofsociety. Besides, they're received everywhere, and _I_"--shelaid special stress on the I--"have never been strict andintolerant. It's simply that I haven't the time."

　　"No; you don't care, perhaps, to meet Stremov? Let him andAlexey Alexandrovitch tilt at each other in the committee--that's no affair of ours. But in the world, he's the mostamiable man I know, and a devoted croquet player. You shall see.And, in spite of his absurd position as Liza's lovesick swain athis age, you ought to see how he carries off the absurd position.He's very nice. Sappho Shtoltz you don't know? Oh, that's a newtype, quite new."

　　Betsy said all this, and, at the same time, from hergood-humored, shrewd glance, Anna felt that she partly guessedher plight, and was hatching something for her benefit. Theywere in the little boudoir.

　　"I must write to Alexey though," and Betsy sat down to thetable, scribbled a few lines, and put the note in an envelope.

　　"I'm telling him to come to dinner. I've one lady extra todinner with me, and no man to take her in. Look what I've said,will that persuade him? Excuse me, I must leave you for aminute. Would you seal it up, please, and send it off?" she saidfrom the door; "I have to give some directions."

　　Without a moment's thought, Anna sat down to the table withBetsy's letter, and, without reading it, wrote below: "It'sessential for me to see you. Come to the Vrede garden. I shallbe there at six o'clock." She sealed it up, and, Betsy comingback, in her presence handed the note to be taken.

　　At tea, which was brought them on a little tea-table in the coollittle drawing room, the cozy chat promised by Princess Tverskayabefore the arrival of her visitors really did come off betweenthe two women. They criticized the people they were expecting,and the conversation fell upon Liza Merkalova.

　　"She's very sweet, and I always liked her," said Anna.

　　"You ought to like her. She raves about you. Yesterday she cameup to me after the races and was in despair at not finding you.She says you're a real heroine of romance, and that if she were aman she would do all sorts of mad things for your sake. Stremovsays she does that as it is."

　　"But do tell me, please, I never could make it out," said Anna,after being silent for some time, speaking in a tone that showedshe was not asking an idle question, but that what she was askingwas of more importance to her than it should have been; "do tellme, please, what are her relations with Prince Kaluzhsky, Mishka,as he's called? I've met them so little. What does it mean?"

　　Betsy smiled with her eyes, and looked intently at Anna.

　　"It's a new manner," she said. "They've all adopted that manner.They've flung their caps over the windmills. But there are waysand ways of flinging them."

　　"Yes, but what are her relations precisely with Kaluzhsky?"

　　Betsy broke into unexpectedly mirthful and irrepressiblelaughter, a thing which rarely happened with her.

　　"You're encroaching on Princess Myakaya's special domain now.That's the question of an enfant terrible," and Betsy obviouslytried to restrain herself, but could not, and went off into pealsof that infectious laughter that people laugh who do not laughoften. "You'd better ask them," she brought out, between tearsof laughter.

　　"No; you laugh," said Anna, laughing too in spite of herself,"but I never could understand it. I can't understand thehusband's role in it."

　　"The husband? Liza Merkalova's husband carries her shawl, and isalways ready to be of use. But anything more than that inreality, no one cares to inquire. You know in decent society onedoesn't talk or think even of certain details of the toilet.That's how it is with this."

　　"Will you be at Madame Rolandak's fete?" asked Anna, to changethe conversation.

　　"I don't think so," answered Betsy, and, without looking at herfriend, she began filling the little transparent cups withfragrant tea. Putting a cup before Anna, she took out acigarette, and, fitting it into a silver holder, she lighted it.

　　"It's like this, you see: I'm in a fortunate position," shebegan, quite serious now, as she took up her cup. "I understandyou, and I understand Liza. Liza now is one of those naivenatures that, like children, don't know what's good and what'sbad. Anyway, she didn't comprehend it when she was very young.And now she's aware that the lack of comprehension suits her.Now, perhaps, she doesn't know on purpose," said Betsy, with asubtle smile. "But, anyway, it suits her. The very same thing,don't you see, may be looked at tragically, and turned into amisery, or it may be looked at simply and even humorously.Possibly you are inclined to look at things too tragically."

　　"How I should like to know other people just as I know myself!"said Anna, seriously and dreamily. "Am I worse than otherpeople, or better? I think I'm worse."

　　"Enfant terrible, enfant terrible!" repeated Betsy. "But herethey are."