【有声英语文学名著】安娜卡列宁娜（64）

 SIXTY-FOUR

 

 

Chapter 7

 

 

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LEVIN did not return until they called him to supper. On the stairs stood Kitty and Agatha Mikhaylovna, deliberating what wines to serve.

 

‘But why all this fuss? Serve the same as usual.’

 

‘No, Stiva does not drink it . . . Kostya! Wait a moment — what’s the matter with you?’ said Kitty, hurrying after him, but, without waiting for her, he went away pitilessly with big strides to the dining-room, where he immediately joined in the general animated conversation which was kept going by Vasenka Veslovsky and Oblonsky.

 

‘Well then, shall we go shooting to-morrow?’ Oblonsky inquired.

 

‘Yes! Do let’s go!’ cried Veslovsky, changing from one chair to another and sitting sideways with one of his fat legs doubled under him.

 

‘I shall be very pleased! Let’s go. And have you had any shooting this year?’ Levin asked, gazing intently at his leg but with that pretended politeness of his which Kitty knew so well, and which suited him so ill. ‘I don’t know whether we shall get any snipe, but there are plenty of woodcock, only one must go early. Will it tire you? Aren’t you tired, Stiva?’

 

‘I! Tired? I’ve never been tired yet. Let’s not go to bed at all! Let’s go for a walk.’

 

‘Yes, really! Don’t let us go to bed! Delightful!’ chimed in Veslovsky.

 

‘Oh, we are quite convinced that you can do without sleep and deprive others of theirs,’ said Dolly with that scarcely perceptible irony with which she now generally addressed her husband. ‘I think it’s already time . . . I’m going: I don’t take supper.’

 

‘Oh no, stay here, Dolly dear!’ said Oblonsky, stepping across to her side of the long supper-table. ‘I have much more to tell you.’

 

‘I don’t expect you have any news.’

 

‘Do you know, Veslovsky has been to see Anna? And he is going there again. You know it’s only some seventy versts off. I shall certainly go over. Veslovsky, come here!’

 

Vasenka came over to the ladies, and took a seat beside Kitty.

 

‘Oh, do tell me! You have been to see her? How is she?’ asked Dolly.

 

Levin remained at the other end of the table, and while not ceasing to talk with the Princess and Varenka, saw that Oblonsky, Dolly, Kitty, and Veslovsky were carrying on an animated and mysterious conversation. Moreover, he saw his wife had an expression of serious feeling as she gazed attentively at Vasenka’s handsome face while he was vivaciously narrating something.

 

‘It’s very nice at their place,’ Vasenka was saying, talking of Vronsky and Anna. ‘Of course I do not take it upon myself to judge, but in their house one feels oneself to be in a family.’

 

‘What do they mean to do?’

 

‘I believe they mean to go to Moscow for the winter.’

 

‘How nice it would be for us to meet there! When are you going, Stephen Arkadyevich?’ asked Vasenka.

 

‘I shall spend July with them.’

 

‘And will you go?’ Oblonsky asked his wife.

 

‘I have long wanted to go and certainly shall go,’ replied Dolly. ‘I know her, and am sorry for her. She is a splendid woman. I shall go alone when you are away, and won’t inconvenience anyone. It will even be better without you.’

 

‘That’s all right,’ replied he; ‘and you, Kitty?’

 

‘I? Why should I go?’ said Kitty, flushing deeply and glancing round at her husband.

 

‘Are you acquainted with Anna Arkadyevna?’ Veslovsky asked her. ‘She is very attractive.’

 

‘Yes,’ said Kitty, with a still deeper blush, and she rose and went to her husband.

 

‘So you are off shooting to-morrow?’ she asked.

 

Levin’s jealousy during those few minutes had gone far, especially after the blush that had suffused her face when speaking to Veslovsky. Now as he listened to her question he interpreted it in his own way. Strange as it seemed to him when he remembered it later, it now appeared clear to him that she asked whether he was going shooting, only because she wanted to know whether he would give that pleasure to Vasenka Veslovsky, with whom he fancied she was already in love.

 

‘Yes, I am going,’ he answered in an unnatural voice that was disagreeable to himself.

 

‘No — wait a day, because Dolly has seen nothing of her husband. You could go the day after to-morrow,’ said she.

 

Levin now interpreted her words thus: ‘Do not part me from him. Your going does not matter to me, but do let me enjoy the society of this charming young man!’

 

‘Oh, if you wish it we will stay at home to-morrow,’ replied Levin with particular amiability.

 

Meanwhile Vasenka, without the least suspicion of the sufferings his presence was causing, rose from the table after Kitty and followed her, smiling pleasantly.

 

Levin saw that smile. He grew pale and for a moment could hardly breathe. ‘How dare he look like that at my wife!’ he thought, boiling with rage.

 

‘To-morrow then? Please let’s go!’ said Vasenka, sitting down and once more doubling his leg under him, as his habit was.

 

Levin’s jealousy rose still higher. Already he fancied himself a deceived husband, necessary to his wife and her lover only to provide them with the comforts of life and with pleasures. . . . But nevertheless he asked Vasenka in an amiable and hospitable manner about his shooting, his gun, his boots — and agreed to go shooting next day.

 

Happily for Levin the old Princess put a stop to his sufferings by herself getting up and advising Kitty to go to bed. But he did not escape a fresh pang. Taking leave of his hostess, Vasenka again wanted to kiss her hand; but Kitty, blushing, drew away her hand, and said with naïve rudeness, for which she was afterwards reprimanded by her mother:

 

‘That’s not customary in our house.’

 

In Levin’s eyes Kitty was to blame for having laid herself open to such behaviour, and still more to blame for so awkwardly showing that it displeased her.

 

‘What’s the good of going to sleep, eh?’ said Oblonsky, who after the few glasses he had drunk at supper was in his pleasantest and most poetic mood. ‘Look, Kitty!’ he went on, pointing to the moon rising behind the lime-trees. ‘How lovely! Veslovsky, now’s the time for a serenade? Do you know he has a fine voice? We have been rehearsing on the way. He has brought some beautiful songs — two new ones. He ought to sing them with Mlle Varenka.’

 

After the rest had separated for the night Oblonsky long walked in the avenue with Veslovsky, and their voices could be heard practising a new song.

 

Levin sat listening to them and frowning, in an easy-chair in his wife’s bedroom, meeting her inquiries as to what was the matter with stubborn silence. But when at length she asked with a timid smile: ‘Aren’t you displeased about something connected with Veslovsky?’ he gave vent to his feelings and told her everything. He himself was offended by what he was saying, and this still further irritated him.

 

He stood before her, his eyes glittering terribly under his frowning brows, and pressed his powerful arms to his breast, as if trying with all his might to restrain himself. The expression of his face would have been hard and even cruel, but for a look of suffering which touched her. His jaw trembled and his voice faltered.

 

‘Understand that I am not jealous: that is a vile word! I cannot be jealous nor believe that . . . I cannot say what I feel, but it is dreadful. . . . I am not jealous, but I am offended and humiliated that anyone dares imagine — dares look at you with such eyes . . .’

 

‘What eyes?’ said Kitty, trying to remember as honestly as she could all the words and gestures of the evening and all their shades of meaning.

 

In the depth of her soul she was conscious that there had been something just at the moment when Veslovsky had followed her to the other end of the table, but she dared not own this even to herself, much less make up her mind to tell him and so increase his pain.

 

‘And what attraction can there be about me as I am . . .’

 

‘Ah!’ he exclaimed, seizing his head in his hands. ‘You had better not say anything! . . . So, if you were attractive . . .’

 

‘Oh no, Kostya! Wait — listen!’ she implored with a look of pained commiseration. ‘What can you be thinking of, since men do not exist for me? They don’t! They don’t. . . . Well then, would you like me not to see anybody?’

 

For the first moment his jealousy had offended her: she was annoyed that the least relaxation, even the most innocent, was forbidden her; but now she would gladly have sacrificed not merely trifles like that, but anything, to free him from the torments he was suffering.

 

‘Try and understand the horror and absurdity of my position,’ he continued in a despairing whisper. ‘He is in my house, and strictly speaking he has done nothing improper except by his free and easy manner and doubling up his legs! He considers it to be in the best form, and therefore I have to be polite to him!’

 

‘Come, Kostya, you are exaggerating!’ remonstrated Kitty, at the bottom of her heart pleased by the force of love for her which was now expressing itself in his jealousy.

 

‘The worst of it all is that you — are as you always are, and now when you are my holy of holies and we are so happy — so specially happy — suddenly this good-for-nothing comes along . . . No, not good-for-nothing. . . . Why am I abusing him? He does not concern me. But our happiness, mine and yours . . . why . . . ?’

 

‘Do you know, I see how it happened . . .’ Kitty began.

 

‘How? How?’

 

‘I noticed your look while we were talking at supper.’

 

‘Yes, yes!’ said he in a frightened tone.

 

She told him what they had been talking about, and while she spoke she was breathless with excitement. Levin paused, and then after scrutinizing her pale, frightened features, suddenly clapped his hands to his head.

 

‘Kate, I have been tormenting you! My darling, forgive me! It was madness! Kate, it is all my fault. How could I torture myself like that about such nonsense?’

 

‘Oh no! I am sorry for you.’

 

‘For me? Me? Because I am a madman! But why should I make you wretched? It is dreadful to think that a mere stranger can destroy our bliss!’

 

‘Of course, and that is what offends me . . .’

 

‘Well then, I will keep him here all the summer on purpose. I will lavish attentions on him,’ said Levin, kissing her hands. ‘You’ll see! To-morrow . . . Oh, but we are going out to-morrow.’

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 8

 

 

 

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NEXT day, before the ladies were up, the vehicles — a cart and a small trap — stood at the porch waiting for the sportsmen; and Laska, having long ago made out that they were going shooting, after yelping and jumping about to her heart’s content, was sitting in the cart beside the coachman, regarding the doorway whence the sportsmen had not yet emerged, with excitement and with disapproval of the delay. The first to appear was Vasenka Veslovsky in new boots reaching half-way up his fat thighs, his green blouse girdled with a new cartridge-belt smelling of leather, and on his head the Scotch bonnet with the ribbons. He carried a new English gun without a sling. Laska jumped down to him and greeted him by leaping about. In her own way she asked him how soon the others would come out, but, receiving no reply, she returned to her post of expectancy and again sat motionless with her head turned sideways and one ear pricked up. At length the door opened noisily and out bounded, spinning round and round in the air, Krak, Oblonsky’s yellow spotted pointer, followed by Oblonsky himself with a gun in his hand and a cigar in his mouth.

 

‘Quiet, quiet, Krak!’ he said affectionately to the dog, which was throwing its paws up against his stomach and chest and getting them entangled in his game-bag. Oblonsky was wearing raw hide shoes, bands of linen wound round his feet instead of socks, a pair of tattered trousers and a short coat. On his head were the ruins of some sort of hat; but his gun was of a new type, as neat as a toy, and his game-bag and cartridge-belt, though much worn, were of the best quality.

 

Vasenka had been ignorant that the stylishness of a real sportsman consists in being dressed in rags but having one’s shooting implements of the very best quality. He realized it now that he saw Oblonsky in his rags, yet shining with his elegant, well-nurtured, cheerful and gentlemanly figure, and resolved to follow his example next time.

 

‘Well, and where is our host?’ he inquired.

 

‘He has a young wife,’ answered Oblonsky, with a smile.

 

‘Yes, and such a charming one.’

 

‘He was ready dressed. I expect he has run back to her.’

 

Oblonsky was right in this surmise. Levin had run back to ask his wife once more whether she had forgiven him his foolishness of the previous day, and also to entreat her ‘for heaven’s sake’ to take care of herself; and especially to keep further away from the children who at any moment might collide with her. Then he had to obtain a repeated assurance that she was not angry with him for going away for two days, and also to beg her to be sure next day to send a man on horseback with a note — only a word or two — that he might know that all was well with her.

 

It was always painful for Kitty to part from her husband for two days; but seeing his animated figure, which seemed particularly large and powerful in high shooting-boots and white blouse, and the radiant exhilaration of the sportsman in him, incomprehensible to her, she forgot her own pain in his gladness and parted from him cheerfully.

 

‘Sorry, gentlemen!’ he said, running out on to the porch. ‘Is the lunch put in? Why is the roan on the right? Well, never mind! Laska, be quiet! Go and lie down!’

 

‘Let them out with the flock,’ he said, turning to the herdsman who was waiting for orders about some young sheep. ‘Sorry! There’s another rascal coming.’

 

Levin jumped down from the cart where he had already seated himself to meet the carpenter who was approaching with a sazhen measure in his hand.

 

‘There, you see! You did not come to the office last night, and now you are detaining me. Well, what is it?’

 

‘Won’t you have one more turning made? Three more steps will be enough, then we’ll get it exact. It will be much more comfortable.’

 

‘You should have obeyed me,’ said Levin with vexation. ‘I told you to set up the string-boards first, and then to make the grooves. You can’t alter it now. Do as I tell you and make a new one.’

 

The facts of the matter were that in the new wing that was being built the carpenter had spoilt the staircase, having made it without calculating the elevation, so that when it was put in position all the steps sloped. Now he wanted to use that staircase, adding three steps to it.

 

‘It will be much better so.’

 

‘But where will it reach to with three additional steps?’

 

‘Excuse me, sir!’ said the carpenter, smiling contemptuously. ‘It will reach to the exact spot. It will just stretch from the bottom, you see,’ he went on with a persuasive gesture, ‘and go up and up till it gets there.’

 

‘Why, but three steps will add to its length as well. . . . Where will it get to?’

 

‘It will go up from the bottom, I mean, and reach to the top,’ the carpenter repeated obstinately and persuasively.

 

‘It will reach up to the wall and half-way to the ceiling!’

 

‘Oh no, excuse me! You see it will start from the bottom and go up and just reach.’

 

Levin pulled out his ramrod and drew the staircase in the dust.

 

‘There! you see?’

 

‘As you please,’ said the carpenter, his eyes suddenly brightening; evidently he had at last understood, ‘It seems we’ll have to make another.’

 

‘Well then, do as I told you,’ Levin shouted as he climbed into the cart. ‘Drive on! Hold the dogs, Philip!’

 

Having left the cares of home and estate behind him, Levin experienced such a strong sense of the joy of life and anticipation, that he felt disinclined to talk. Besides, he experienced that feeling of concentrated excitement which every sportsman knows when approaching the scene of action. If his mind was occupied with anything now, it was only with questions, whether they would find anything in the Kolpensky marsh, how Laska would compare with Krak, and how he would shoot to-day. If only I don’t disgrace myself before that stranger! If only Oblonsky’s shooting does not beat mine!’ was his thought.

 

Oblonsky shared these feelings and was likewise not talkative. Vasenka Veslovsky alone chattered incessantly and merrily. Now, as he listened to him, Levin felt ashamed of his injustice toward him the day before. Vasenka was really a good sort, simple, kind-hearted, and very jolly. Had Levin come across him when still a bachelor, they would have become intimate. Levin did not quite like his holiday outlook on life and a sort of free and easy stylishness about him. He seemed to lay claim to a lofty and unquestionable importance because he had long nails, a Scotch bonnet, and everything else in keeping; but one could forgive him this for the sake of his good-nature and breeding. He attracted Levin by his good education, his splendid accent in French and English, and by the fact that he belonged to Levin’s own class.

 

Vasenka greatly admired the Don Steppe horse attached on the left. [One (and often two) of the three horses is loosely harnessed and runs at the side.] He went into raptures over it. ‘How delightful it must be to gallop across the Steppes on a Steppe horse, eh? Don’t you think so?’ he said. He seemed to picture a gallop on a Steppe horse as something wild and poetical; nothing came of it, but his naïveté, in connection with his good looks, sweet smile, and graceful movements, was very attractive. Whether it was that Veslovsky’s nature was congenial to him, or that, to expiate his sin of yesterday, he tried to see only what was good in him, Levin liked Veslovsky’s company.

 

When they had gone about three versts, Veslovsky suddenly missed his cigars and pocket-book, and did not know whether he had lost them or left them on his table. He had three hundred and seventy roubles in the pocket-book, and therefore the matter could not be ignored.

 

‘Do you know, Levin, I will gallop home on this Don side-horse! That will be grand, eh?’ he said, preparing to get out.

 

‘No, why?’ replied Levin, conjecturing that Veslovsky must weigh not less than fifteen stone. ‘I will send the coachman.’

 

So the coachman rode back on the side-horse and Levin drove the other two himself.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 9

 

 

 

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‘WELL, where are we going? Tell us all about it,’ said Oblonsky.

 

‘The plan is this. We are now going as far as Gvozdevo. On this side of Gvozdevo there is a good marsh for snipe, and beyond it are splendid snipe marshes, and there are some great snipe there too. It’s too hot now, but we shall get there toward evening (it’s twenty versts), and will shoot there in the evening; we’ll spend the night there, and then to-morrow we shall go to the big marshes.’

 

‘And is there nothing by the way?’

 

‘There is, but it would delay us; and besides, it’s hot! There are two nice little places, but we should hardly find anything there.’

 

Levin himself felt inclined to stop at those little places, but, as they were near home, they were always within his reach and they were small, so that there was not room enough for three persons to shoot there. So he stretched a point and said they would hardly find anything there. When they came to a small marsh he wished to drive past it, but Oblonsky, with the practised eye of a sportsman, noticed the marshy place from the road.

 

‘Oughtn’t we to go there?’ he asked, pointing to the marsh.

 

‘Levin, do let us! How delightful!’ begged Vasenka Veslovsky, and Levin could not but agree.

 

Scarcely had they stopped before the dogs flew toward the marsh, racing one another.

 

‘Krak! . . . Laska!’

 

The dogs returned.

 

‘There is not room for three: I’ll wait here,’ said Levin, hoping they would find nothing but the peewits, which the dogs had raised, and which, swaying as they flew, cried plaintively above the marsh.

 

‘No! Come along, Levin, let’s go together,’ said Veslovsky.

 

‘Really, there’s not room! Back, Laska! . . . Laska! . . . You don’t want two dogs?’

 

Levin remained with the trap and looked enviously at the sportsmen. They went over the whole marsh, but there was nothing there except waterfowl and some peewits, one of which Veslovsky killed.

 

‘There, you see I was not grudging you the marsh!’ said Levin. ‘It only meant losing time.’

 

‘No, it was enjoyable all the same. You saw?’ said Vasenka Veslovsky, climbing awkwardly into the cart with his gun and the peewit. ‘How well I got this one! Didn’t I? Well, shall we soon get to the real place?’

 

Suddenly the horses started, Levin knocked his head against the barrel of some one’s gun, and there was a report. Actually the report came first, but to Levin it seemed the other way about. What had happened was, that Vasenka Veslovsky when uncocking his gun had pulled one trigger while uncocking the other side. The charge went into the ground without hurting anyone. Oblonsky shook his head and laughed reproachfully at Veslovsky. But Levin had no heart to admonish him: for one thing because any reproach from him would appear to be provoked by the danger he had escaped and by the bump which had risen on his head; and also because Veslovsky was at first so naïvely grieved, and then laughed so good-naturedly and contagiously at their general perturbation, that Levin could not help joining in the laugh.

 

When they reached the second marsh, which was of considerable size and would take a good deal of time, Levin tried to dissuade them from getting out. But again Veslovsky persuaded him, and again, the marsh being a narrow one, Levin as a hospitable host remained with the vehicles.

 

Krak immediately went toward the hummocks. Vasenka Veslovsky was the first to follow the dog. Before Oblonsky had time to approach, a snipe rose. Veslovsky missed it, and it flew over to an unmown meadow. The bird was left to Veslovsky. Krak found it again and pointed. Veslovsky killed the bird and went back to the vehicles.