Anna Karenina полностью

Another circle close to Anna was the one through which Alexei Alexandrovich had made his career. The centre of this circle was Countess Lydia Ivanovna. It was a circle of elderly, unattractive, virtuous and pious women and of intelligent, educated and ambitious men. One of the intelligent men who belonged to this circle called it ‘the conscience of Petersburg society’. Alexei Alexandrovich valued this circle highly, and at the beginning of her Petersburg life, Anna, who was so good at getting along with everyone, also found friends for herself in it. But now, on her return from Moscow, this circle became unbearable to her. It seemed to her that both she and all the others were pretending, and she felt so bored and awkward in this company that she called on Countess Lydia Ivanovna as seldom as possible.

The third circle, finally, in which she had connections, was society proper - the society of balls, dinners, splendid gowns, a monde that held on with one hand to the court, so as not to descend to the demi-monde, which the members of this circle thought they despised, but with which they shared not only similar but the same tastes. Her connection with this circle was maintained through Princess Betsy Tverskoy, her cousin’s wife, who had an income of a hundred and twenty thousand and who, since Anna’s appearance in society, had especially liked her, courted her, and drawn her into her circle, laughing at the circle to which Countess Lydia Ivanovna belonged.

‘When I’m old and ugly, I’ll become like that,’ said Betsy, ‘but for you, for a young, pretty woman, it’s too early for that almshouse.’

At first Anna had avoided this society of Princess Tverskoy’s as much as she could, because it called for expenses beyond her means, and also because at heart she preferred the other; but after her visit to Moscow it turned the other way round. She avoided her virtuous friends and went into the great world. There she met Vronsky and experienced an exciting joy at these meetings. She met Vronsky especially often at Betsy‘s, whose maiden name was Vronsky and who was his cousin. Vronsky went wherever he might meet Anna, and spoke to her whenever he could about his love. She never gave him any cause, but each time she met him, her soul lit up with the same feeling of animation that had come over her that day on the train when she had seen him for the first time. She felt joy shining in her eyes when she saw him and puckered her lips into a smile, and she was unable to extinguish the expression of that joy.

At first Anna sincerely believed that she was displeased with him for allowing himself to pursue her; but soon after her return from Moscow, having gone to a soiree where she thought she would meethim, and finding that he was not there, she clearly understood from the sadness which came over her that she was deceiving herself, that his pursuit not only was not unpleasant for her but constituted the entire interest of her life.

The famous singer was singing for the second time, and all the great world was in the theatre.² Seeing his cousin from his seat in the front row, Vronsky went to her box without waiting for the interval.

‘Why didn’t you come for dinner?’ she said to him. ‘I’m amazed at the clairvoyance of people in love,’ she added with a smile and so that he alone could hear: ‘She wasn’t there. But drop in after the opera.’

Vronsky gave her a questioning glance. She lowered her head. He smiled in thanks and sat down next to her.

‘And how I remember your mockery!’ continued Princess Betsy, who found special pleasure in following the success of this passion. ‘Where has it all gone! You’re caught, my dear.’

‘My only wish is to be caught,’ Vronsky replied with his calm, good-natured smile. ‘If I have any complaint, it is at not being caught enough, if the truth be told. I’m beginning to lose hope.’

‘What hope can you have?’ said Betsy, getting offended for her friend. ‘Entendons nous ...’^h But there was a twinkle in her eye which said that she understood very well, and exactly as he did, what hope he might have.

‘None,’ said Vronsky, laughing and showing a solid row of teeth. ‘Excuse me,’ he added, taking the opera-glasses from her hand and beginning to scan the facing row of boxes over her bared shoulder. ‘I’m afraid I’m becoming ridiculous.’

He knew very well that in the eyes of Betsy and all society people he ran no risk of being ridiculous. He knew very well that for those people the role of the unhappy lover of a young girl, or of a free woman generally, might be ridiculous; but the role of a man who attached himself to a married woman and devoted his life to involving her in adultery at all costs, had something beautiful and grand about it and could never be ridiculous, and therefore, with a proud and gay smile playing under his moustache, he lowered the opera-glasses and looked at his cousin.

‘And why didn’t you come to dinner?’ she added, looking at him with admiration.