Anna Karenina (Annotated Maude Translation). Leo Tolstoy

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      ‘Oh, my God! What have I done? Dolly — for heaven’s sake! … You know …’ He could not continue. His throat was choked with sobs.

      She slammed the doors of the wardrobe and looked up at him.

      ‘Dolly, what can I say? … Only forgive me! Think, nine years… . Can’t they atone for a momentary — a momentary …’

      Her eyes drooped and she waited to hear what he would say, as if entreating him to persuade her somehow that she had made a mistake.

      ‘A momentary infatuation, …’ he said, and was going on; but at those words her lips tightened again as if with pain, and again the muscle in her right cheek began to twitch.

      ‘Go away — go away from here!’ she cried in a still shriller voice, ‘and don’t talk to me of your infatuations and all those horrors!’

      She wished to go away, but staggered and held on to the back of a chair to support herself. His face broadened, his lips swelled, and his eyes filled with tears.

      ‘Dolly!’ he said, now actually sobbing, ‘for heaven’s sake think of the children — they have done nothing! Punish me — make me suffer for my sin! Tell me what to do — I am ready for anything. I am the guilty one. I have no words to express my guilt… . But Dolly, forgive me!’

      She sat down and he could hear her loud, heavy breathing. He felt unutterably sorry for her. She tried again and again to speak and could not. He waited.

      ‘You think of our children when you want to play with them, but I am always thinking of them, and know they are ruined now,’ she said, evidently repeating one of the phrases she had used to herself again and again during those three days.

      But she had spoken of ‘our children’, and looking gratefully at her he moved to take her hand; but she stepped aside with a look of repugnance.

      ‘I do think of the children, and would do anything in the world to save them; but I do not know how to save them — whether by taking them away from their father, or by leaving them with a dissolute — yes, a dissolute father… . Tell me, do you think it possible for us to live together after what has happened? Is it possible? Say, is it possible?’ she repeated, raising her voice. ‘When my husband, the father of my children, has love affairs with his children’s governess?’

      ‘But what’s to be done? — what’s to be done?’ said he, in a piteous voice, hardly knowing what he was saying, and sinking his head lower and lower.

      ‘You are horrid and disgusting to me!’ she shouted, getting more and more excited. ‘Your tears are — water! You never loved me; you have no heart, no honour! To me you are detestable, disgusting — a stranger, yes, a perfect stranger!’ She uttered that word stranger, so terrible to herself, with anguish and hatred.

      He looked at her and the hatred he saw in her face frightened and surprised him. He did not understand that his pity exasperated her. She saw in him pity for herself but not love. ‘No, she hates me; she will not forgive me,’ he thought. ‘It is awful, awful!’ he muttered.

      At that moment a child began to cry in another room, probably having tumbled down. Darya Alexandrovna listened, and her face softened suddenly.

      She seemed to be trying to recollect herself, as if she did not know where she was or what she had to do. Then she rose quickly and moved toward the door.

      ‘After all, she loves my child,’ he thought, noticing the change in her face when the baby cried; ‘my child — then how can she hate me?’

      ‘Dolly, just a word!’ he said, following her.

      ‘If you follow me, I shall call the servants and the children! I’ll let everybody know you are a scoundrel! I am going away to-day, and you may live here with your mistress!’

      She went out, slamming the door.

      Oblonsky sighed, wiped his face, and with soft steps left the room. ‘Matthew says “things will shape themselves,” — but how? I don’t even see a possibility… . Oh dear, the horror of it! And her shouting — it was so vulgar,’ he thought, recalling her screams and the words scoundrel and mistress. ‘And the maids may have heard it! It is dreadfully banal, dreadfully!’ For a few seconds Oblonsky stood alone; then he wiped his eyes, sighed, and expanding his chest went out of the room.

      It was a Friday, the day on which a German clockmaker always came to wind up the clocks. Seeing him in the dining-room, Oblonsky recollected a joke he had once made at the expense of this accurate baldheaded clockmaker, and he smiled. ‘The German,’ he had said, ‘has been wound up for life to wind up clocks.’ Oblonsky was fond of a joke. ‘Well, perhaps things will shape themselves — “shape themselves”! That’s a good phrase,’ he thought. ‘I must use that.’

      ‘Matthew!’ he called. ‘Will you and Mary arrange everything for Anna Arkadyevna in the little sitting-room?’ he added when Matthew appeared.

      ‘Yes, sir.’

      Oblonsky put on his fur coat, and went out into the porch.

      ‘Will you be home to dinner, sir?’ said Matthew, as he showed him out.

      ‘I’ll see… . Oh, and here’s some money,’ said he, taking a ten-rouble note out of his pocket-book. ‘Will it be enough?’

      ‘Enough or not, we shall have to manage, that’s clear,’ said Matthew, closing the carriage door and stepping back into the porch.

      Meanwhile Darya Alexandrovna after soothing the child, knowing from the sound of the carriage wheels that her husband had gone, returned to her bedroom. It was her only place of refuge from household cares. Even now, during the few minutes she had spent in the nursery, the English governess and Matrena Filimonovna had found time to ask some questions that could not be put off and which she alone could answer. ‘What should the children wear when they went out? Ought they to have milk? Should not a new cook be sent for?’

      ‘Oh, do leave me alone!’ she cried; and returning to her bedroom she sat down where she had sat when talking with her husband. Locking together her thin fingers, on which her rings hung loosely, she went over in her mind the whole of their conversation.

      ‘Gone! But how did he finish with her?’ she thought. ‘Is it possible that he still sees her? Why didn’t I ask him? No, no! It’s impossible to be reunited… . Even if we go on living in the same house, we are strangers — strangers for ever!’ she repeated, specially emphasizing the word that was so dreadful to her. ‘And how I loved him! Oh God, how I loved him! … How I loved — and don’t I love him now? Don’t I love him more than ever? The most terrible thing …’ She did not finish the thought, because Matrena Filimonovna thrust her head in at the door.

      ‘Hadn’t I better send for my brother?’ she said. ‘After all, he can cook a dinner; — or else the children will go without food till six o’clock, as they did yesterday.’

      ‘All right! I’ll come and see about it in a moment… . Has the milk been sent for?’ and Darya Alexandrovna plunged into her daily cares, and for a time drowned her grief in them.

      Chapter 5

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