________________________________________________
_ "Vronsky's carriage!" the porter shouted in an angry bass. The
carriage drove up and both got in. It was only for the first few
moments, while the carriage was driving out of the clubhouse
gates, that Levin was still under the influence of the club
atmosphere of repose, comfort, and unimpeachable good form. But
as soon as the carriage drove out into the street, and he felt it
jolting over the uneven road, heard the angry shout of a
sledge-driver coming towards them, saw in the uncertain light the
red blind of a tavern and the shops, this impression was
dissipated, and he began to think over his actions, and to wonder
whether he was doing right in going to see Anna. What would Kitty
say? But Stepan Arkadyevitch gave him no time for reflection,
and, as though divining his doubts, he scattered them.
"How glad I am," he said, "that you should know her! You know
Dolly has long wished for it. And Lvov's been to see her, and
often goes. Though she is my sister," Stepan Arkadyevitch
pursued, "I don't hesitate to say that she's a remarkable woman.
But you will see. Her position is very painful, especially now."
"Why especially now?"
"We are carrying on negotiations with her husband about a
divorce. And he's agreed; but there are difficulties in regard to
the son, and the business, which ought to have been arranged long
ago, has been dragging on for three months past. As soon as the
divorce is over, she will marry Vronsky. How stupid these old
ceremonies are, that no one believes in, and which only prevent
people being comfortable!" Stepan Arkadyevitch put in. "Well,
then their position will be as regular as mine, as yours."
"What is the difficulty?" said Levin.
"Oh, it's a long and tedious story! The whole business is in such
an anomalous position with us. But the point is she has been for
three months in Moscow, where every one knows her, waiting for
the divorce; she goes out nowhere, sees no woman except Dolly,
because, do you understand, she doesn't care to have people come
as a favor. That fool Princess Varvara, even she has left her,
considering this a breach of pro" priety. Well, you see, in such
a position any other woman would not have found resources in
herself. But you'll see how she has arranged her life--how calm,
how dignified she is. To the left, in the crescent opposite the
church!" shouted Stepan Arkadyevitch, leaning out of the window.
"Phew! how hot it is!" he said, in spite of twelve degrees of
frost, flinging his open overcoat still wider open.
"But she has a daughter: no doubt she's busy looking after her?"
said Levin.
"I believe you picture every woman simply as a female, une
couveuse," said Stepan Arkadyevitch. "If she's occupied, it must
be with her children. No, she brings her up capitally, I believe,
but one doesn't hear about her. She's busy, in the first place,
with what she writes. I see you're smiling ironically, but you're
wrong. She's writing a children's book, and doesn't talk about it
to any one, but she read it to me and I gave the manuscript to
Vorknev ...you know the publisher ...and he's an author
himself too, I fancy. He understands those things, and he says
it's a remarkable piece of work. But are you fancying she's an
authoress? --not a bit of it. She's a woman with a heart, before
everything, but you'll see. Now she has a little English girl
with her, and a whole family she's looking after."
"Oh, something in a philanthropic way?"
"Why, you will look at everything in the worst light. It's not
from philanthropy, it's from the heart. They--that is, Vronsky--
had a trainer, an Englishman, first-rate in his own line, but a
drunkard. He's completely given up to drink--delirium tremens--
and the family were cast on the world. She saw them, helped them,
got more and more interested in them, and now the whole family is
on her hands. But not by way of patronage, you know, helping with
money; she's herself preparing the boys in Russian for the high
school, and she's taken the little girl to live with her. But
you'll see her for yourself."
The carriage drove into the courtyard, and Stepan Arkadyevitch
rang loudly at the entrance where sledges were standing.
And without asking the servant who opened the door whether the
lady were at home, Stepan Arkadyevitch walked into the hall.
Levin followed him, more and more doubtful whether he was doing
right or wrong.
Looking at himself in the glass, Levin noticed that he was red in
the face, but he felt certain he was not drunk, and he followed
Stepan Arkadyevitch up the carpeted stairs. At the top Stepan
Arkadyevitch inquired of the footman, who bowed to him as to an
intimate friend, who was with Anna Arkadyevna, and received the
answer that it was M. Vorknev.
"Where are they?"
"In the study."
Passing through the dining-room, a room not very large, with
dark, paneled walls, Stepan Arkadyevitch and Levin walked over
the soft carpet to the half-dark study, lighted up by a single
lamp with a big, dark shade" Another lamp with a reflector was
hanging on the wall, lighting up a-big full-length portrait of a
woman, which Levin could not help looking at. It was the portrait
of Anna, painted in Italy by Mihailov. While Stepan Arkadyevitch
went behind the treillage, and the man's voice which had been
speaking paused, Levin gazed at the portrait, which stood out
from the frame in the brilliant light thrown on it, and he could
not tear himself away from it. He positively forgot where he was,
and not even hearing what was said, he could not take his eyes
off the marvelous portrait. It was not a picture, but a living,
charming woman, with black curling hair, with bare arms and
shoulders, with a pensive smile on-the lips, covered with soft
down; triumphantly and softly she looked at him with eyes that
baffled him. She was not living only because she was more
beautiful than a living woman can be.
"I am delighted!" He heard suddenly near him a voice,
unmistakably addressing him, the voice of the very woman he had
been admiring in the portrait. Anna had come from behind the
treillage to meet him, and Levin saw in the dim light of the
study the very woman of the portrait, in a dark blue shot gown,
not in the same position nor with the same expression, but with
the same perfection of beauty which the artist had caught in the
portrait. She was less dazzling in reality, but, on the other
hand, there was something fresh and seductive in the living woman
which was not in the portrait. _
Read next: Part Seven: Chapter 10
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