Anna Karenina by graf Leo Tolstoy
Chapter 208
960 words | Chapter 208
At ten o’clock the old prince, Sergey Ivanovitch, and Stepan
Arkadyevitch were sitting at Levin’s. Having inquired after Kitty, they
had dropped into conversation upon other subjects. Levin heard them,
and unconsciously, as they talked, going over the past, over what had
been up to that morning, he thought of himself as he had been yesterday
till that point. It was as though a hundred years had passed since
then. He felt himself exalted to unattainable heights, from which he
studiously lowered himself so as not to wound the people he was talking
to. He talked, and was all the time thinking of his wife, of her
condition now, of his son, in whose existence he tried to school
himself into believing. The whole world of woman, which had taken for
him since his marriage a new value he had never suspected before, was
now so exalted that he could not take it in in his imagination. He
heard them talk of yesterday’s dinner at the club, and thought: “What
is happening with her now? Is she asleep? How is she? What is she
thinking of? Is he crying, my son Dmitri?” And in the middle of the
conversation, in the middle of a sentence, he jumped up and went out of
the room.
“Send me word if I can see her,” said the prince.
“Very well, in a minute,” answered Levin, and without stopping, he went
to her room.
She was not asleep, she was talking gently with her mother, making
plans about the christening.
Carefully set to rights, with hair well-brushed, in a smart little cap
with some blue in it, her arms out on the quilt, she was lying on her
back. Meeting his eyes, her eyes drew him to her. Her face, bright
before, brightened still more as he drew near her. There was the same
change in it from earthly to unearthly that is seen in the face of the
dead. But then it means farewell, here it meant welcome. Again a rush
of emotion, such as he had felt at the moment of the child’s birth,
flooded his heart. She took his hand and asked him if he had slept. He
could not answer, and turned away, struggling with his weakness.
“I have had a nap, Kostya!” she said to him; “and I am so comfortable
now.”
She looked at him, but suddenly her expression changed.
“Give him to me,” she said, hearing the baby’s cry. “Give him to me,
Lizaveta Petrovna, and he shall look at him.”
“To be sure, his papa shall look at him,” said Lizaveta Petrovna,
getting up and bringing something red, and queer, and wriggling. “Wait
a minute, we’ll make him tidy first,” and Lizaveta Petrovna laid the
red wobbling thing on the bed, began untrussing and trussing up the
baby, lifting it up and turning it over with one finger and powdering
it with something.
Levin, looking at the tiny, pitiful creature, made strenuous efforts to
discover in his heart some traces of fatherly feeling for it. He felt
nothing towards it but disgust. But when it was undressed and he caught
a glimpse of wee, wee, little hands, little feet, saffron-colored, with
little toes, too, and positively with a little big toe different from
the rest, and when he saw Lizaveta Petrovna closing the wide-open
little hands, as though they were soft springs, and putting them into
linen garments, such pity for the little creature came upon him, and
such terror that she would hurt it, that he held her hand back.
Lizaveta Petrovna laughed.
“Don’t be frightened, don’t be frightened!”
When the baby had been put to rights and transformed into a firm doll,
Lizaveta Petrovna dandled it as though proud of her handiwork, and
stood a little away so that Levin might see his son in all his glory.
Kitty looked sideways in the same direction, never taking her eyes off
the baby. “Give him to me! give him to me!” she said, and even made as
though she would sit up.
“What are you thinking of, Katerina Alexandrovna, you mustn’t move like
that! Wait a minute. I’ll give him to you. Here we’re showing papa what
a fine fellow we are!”
And Lizaveta Petrovna, with one hand supporting the wobbling head,
lifted up on the other arm the strange, limp, red creature, whose head
was lost in its swaddling clothes. But it had a nose, too, and slanting
eyes and smacking lips.
“A splendid baby!” said Lizaveta Petrovna.
Levin sighed with mortification. This splendid baby excited in him no
feeling but disgust and compassion. It was not at all the feeling he
had looked forward to.
He turned away while Lizaveta Petrovna put the baby to the unaccustomed
breast.
Suddenly laughter made him look round. The baby had taken the breast.
“Come, that’s enough, that’s enough!” said Lizaveta Petrovna, but Kitty
would not let the baby go. He fell asleep in her arms.
“Look, now,” said Kitty, turning the baby so that he could see it. The
aged-looking little face suddenly puckered up still more and the baby
sneezed.
Smiling, hardly able to restrain his tears, Levin kissed his wife and
went out of the dark room. What he felt towards this little creature
was utterly unlike what he had expected. There was nothing cheerful and
joyous in the feeling; on the contrary, it was a new torture of
apprehension. It was the consciousness of a new sphere of liability to
pain. And this sense was so painful at first, the apprehension lest
this helpless creature should suffer was so intense, that it prevented
him from noticing the strange thrill of senseless joy and even pride
that he had felt when the baby sneezed.
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