Anna Karenina by graf Leo Tolstoy
Chapter 16
866 words | Chapter 16
At the end of the evening Kitty told her mother of her conversation
with Levin, and in spite of all the pity she felt for Levin, she was
glad at the thought that she had received an _offer_. She had no doubt
that she had acted rightly. But after she had gone to bed, for a long
while she could not sleep. One impression pursued her relentlessly. It
was Levin’s face, with his scowling brows, and his kind eyes looking
out in dark dejection below them, as he stood listening to her father,
and glancing at her and at Vronsky. And she felt so 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 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 dressing-gown round him again. “That
you’ve no pride, no dignity; that you’re disgracing, ruining your
daughter by this vulgar, stupid matchmaking!”
“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, 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 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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