________________________________________________
_ When Levin went up-stairs, his wife was sitting near the new
silver samovar behind the new tea-service, and, having settled
old Agafea Mihalovna at a little table with a full cup of tea,
was reading a letter from Dolly, with whom they were in continual
and frequent correspondence.
"You see, your good lady's settled me here, told me to sit a bit
with her," said Agafea Mihalovna, smiling affectionately at
Kitty.
In these words of Agafea Mihalovna, Levin read the final act of
the drama which had been enacted of late between her and Kitty.
He saw that, in spite of Agafea Mihalovna's feelings being hurt
by a new mistress taking the reins of government out of her
hands, Kitty had yet conquered her and made her love her.
"Here, I opened your letter too," said Kitty, handing him an
illiterate letter. "It's from that woman, I think, your brother's
. . ." she said. "I did not read it through. This is from my
people and from Dolly. Fancy! Dolly took Tanya and Grisha to a
children's ball at the Sarmatskys': Tanya was a French marquise."
But Levin did not hear her. Flushing, he took the letter from
Marya Nikolaevna, his brother's former mistress, and began to
read it. This was the second letter he had received from Marya
Nikolaevna. In the first letter, Marya Nikolaevna wrote that his
brother had sent her away for no fault of hers, and, with
touching simplicity, added that though she was in want again, she
asked for nothing, and wished for nothing, but was only tormented
by the thought that Mkolay Dmitrievitch would come to grief
without her, owing to the weak state of his health, and begged
his brother to look after him. Now she wrote quite differently.
She had found Nikolay Dmitrievitch, had again made it up with him
in Moscow, and had moved with him to a provincial town, where he
had received a post in the government service. But that he had
quarreled with the head official, and was on his way back to
Moscow, only he had been taken so ill on the road that it was
doubtful if he would ever leave his bed again, she wrote. "It's
always of you he has talked, and, besides, he has no more money
left."
"Read this; Dolly writes about you," Kitty was beginning, with a
smile; but she stopped suddenly, noticing the changed expression
on her husband's face.
"What is it? What's the matter?"
"She writes to me that Nikolay, my brother, is at death's door. I
shall go to him."
Kitty's face changed at once. Thoughts of Tanya as a marquise, of
Dolly, all had vanished.
"When are you going?" she said.
"To-morrow."
"And I will go with you, can I?" she said.
"Kitty! What are you thinking of?" he said reproachfully.
"How do you mean?" offended that he should seem to take her
suggestion unwillingly and with vexation. "Why shouldn't I go? I
shan't be in your way. I . . ."
"I'm going because my brother is dying," said Levin. "Why should
you . . ."
"Why? For the same reason as you."
"And, at a moment of such gravity for me, she only thinks of her
being
dull by herself," thought Levin. And this lack of candor in a
matter of such gravity infuriated him.
"It's out of the question," he said sternly.
Agafea Mihalovna, seeing that it was coming to a quarrel, gently
put down her cup and withdrew. Kitty did not even notice her. The
tone in which her husband had said the last words wounded her,
especially because he evidently did not believe what she had
said.
"I tell you, that if you go, I shall come with you; I shall
certainly come," she said hastily and wrathfully. "Why out of the
question? Why do you say it's out of the question?"
"Because it'll be going God knows where, by all sorts of roads
and to all sorts of hotels. You would be a hindrance to me," said
Levin, trying to be cool.
"Not at all. I don't want anything. Where you can go, I can. . ."
"Well, for one thing then, because this woman's there whom you
can't meet."
"I don't know and don't care to know who's there and what. I know
that my husband's brother is dying and my husband is going to
him, and I go with my husband too...."
"Kitty! Don't get angry. But just think a little: this is a
matter of such importance that I can't bear to think that you
should bring in a feeling of weakness, of dislike to being left
alone. Come, you'll be dull alone, so go and stay at Moscow a
little."
"There, you always ascribe base, vile motives to me," she said
with tears of wounded pride and fury. "I didn't mean, it wasn't
weakness, it wasn't ...I feel that it's my duty to be with my
husband when he's in trouble, but you try on purpose to hurt me,
you try on purpose not to understand...."
"No; this is awful! To be such a slave!" cried Levin, getting up,
and unable to restrain his anger any longer. But at the same
second he felt that he was beating himself.
"Then why did you marry? You could have been free. Why did you,
if you regret it?" she said, getting up and running away into the
drawing-room.
When he went to her, she was sobbing.
He began to speak, trying to find words not to dissuade but
simply to soothe her. But she did not heed him, and would not
agree to anything. He bent down to her and took her hand, which
resisted him. He kissed her hand, kissed her hair, kissed her
hand again--still she was silent. But when he took her face in
both his hands and said "Kitty!" she suddenly recovered herself,
and began to cry, and they were reconciled.
It was decided that they should go together the next day. Levin
told his wife that he believed she wanted to go simply in order
to be of use, agreed that Marya Nikolaevna's being with his
brother did not make her going improper, but he set off at the
bottom of his heart dissatisfied both with her and with himself.
He was dissatisfied with her for being unable to make up her mind
to let him go when it was necessary (and how strange it was for
him to think that he, so lately hardly daring to believe in such
happiness as that she could love him--now was unhappy because she
loved him too much!), and he was dissatisfied with himself for
not showing more strength of will. Even greater was the feeling
of disagreement at the bottom of his heart as to her not needing
to consider the woman who was with his brother, and he thought
with horror of all the contingencies they might meet with. The
mere idea of his wife, his Kitty, being in the same room with a
common wench, set him shuddering with horror and loathing. _
Read next: Book Five: Chapter 17
Read previous: Book Five: Chapter 15
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