Leo Tolstoy: The Complete Novels and Novellas (Active TOC) (A to Z Classics). Leo Tolstoy

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      “And do you regret nothing of the past?” I asked, while my heart grew heavier and heavier.

      Again he thought for a time before replying. I saw that he wished to reply with perfect frankness.

      “Nothing,” he said shortly.

      “Not true! not true!” I said, turning towards him and looking into his eyes. “Do you really not regret the past?”

      “No!” he repeated; “I am grateful for it, but I don’t regret it.”

      “But would you not like to have it back?” I asked.

      “No; I might as well wish to have wings. It is impossible.”

      “And would you not alter the past? do you not reproach yourself or me?”

      “No, never! It was all for the best.”

      “Listen to me!” I said touching his arm to make him look round. “Why did you never tell me that you wished me to live as you really wished me to? Why did you give me a freedom for which I was unfit? Why did you stop teaching me? If you had wished it, if you had guided me differently, none of all this would have happened!” said I in a voice that increasingly expressed cold displeasure and reproach in place of the love of former days.

      “What would not have happened?” he asked, turning to me in surprise. “As it is, there is nothing wrong. things are all right, quite all right,” he added with a smile.

      “does he really not understand?” I thought; “or still worse, does he not wish to understand?”

      Then I suddenly broke out. “Had you acted differently, I should not now be punished, for no fault at all, by your indifference and even contempt, and you would not have taken from me unjustly all that I valued in life!”

      “What do you mean, my dear one?” he asked — he seemed not to understand me.

      “No! don’t interrupt me! You have taken from me your confidence, your love, even your respect; for I cannot believe, when I think of the past, that you still love me. No! don’t speak! I must once for all say out what has long been torturing me. Is it my fault that I knew nothing of life, and that you left me to learn experience for myself? Is it my fault that now, when I have gained the knowledge and have been struggling for nearly a year to come back to you, you push me away and pretend not to understand what I want? And you always do it so that it is impossible to reproach you, while I am guilty and unhappy. Yes, you wish to drive me out again to that life which might rob us both of happiness.”

      “How did I show that!” he asked in evident alarm and surprise.

      “No later than yesterday you said, and you constantly say, that I can never settle down here, and that we must spend this winter too at Petersburg; and I hate Petersburg!” I went on, “Instead of supporting me, you avoid all plain speaking, you never say a single frank affectionate word to me. And then, when I fall utterly, you will reproach me and rejoice in my fall.”

      “Stop!” he said with cold severity. “You have no right to say that. It only proves that you are ill-disposed towards me, that you don’t...”

      “That I don’t love you? Don’t hesitate to say it!” I cried, and the tears began to flow. I sat down on the bench and covered my face with my handkerchief.

      “So that is how he understood me!” I thought, trying to restrain the sobs which choked me. “gone, gone is our former love!” said a voice at my heart. He did not come close or try to comfort me. He was hurt by what I had said. When he spoke, his tone was cool and dry.

      “I don’t know what you reproach me with,” he began. “If you mean that I don’t love you as I once did...”

      “Did love!” I said, with my face buried in the handkerchief, while the bitter tears fell still more abundantly.

      “If so, time is to blame for that, and we ourselves. Each time of life has its own kind of love.” He was silent for a moment. “Shall I tell you the whole truth, if you really wish for frankness? In that summer when I first knew you, I used to lie awake all night, thinking about you, and I made that love myself, and it grew and grew in my heart. So again, in Petersburg and abroad, in the course of horrible sleepless nights, I strove to shatter and destroy that love, which had come to torture me. I did not destroy it, but I destroyed that part of it which gave me pain. Then I grew calm; and I feel love still, but it is a different kind of love.”

      “You call it love, but I call it torture!” I said. “Why did you allow me to go into society, if you thought so badly of it that you ceased to love me on that account?”

      “No, it was not society, my dear,” he said.

      “Why did you not exercise your authority?” I went on: “why did you not lock me up or kill me? That would have been better than the loss of all that formed my happiness. I should have been happy, instead of being ashamed.”

      I began to sob again and hid my face.

      Just then Katya and Sonya, wet and cheerful, came out to the veranda, laughing and talking loudly. They were silent as soon as they saw us, and went in again immediately.

      We remained silent for a long time. I had had my cry out and felt relieved. I glanced at him. He was sitting with his head resting on his hand; he intended to make some reply to my glance, but only sighed deeply and resumed his former position.

      I went up to him and removed his hand. His eyes turned thoughtfully to my face.

      “Yes,” he began, as if continuing his thoughts aloud, “all of us, and especially you women, must have personal experience of all the nonsense of life, in order to get back to life itself; the evidence of other people is no good. At that time you had not got near the end of that charming nonsense which I admired in you. So I let you go through it alone, feeling that I had no right to put pressure on you, though my own time for that sort of thing was long past.”

      “If you loved me,” I said, “how could you stand beside me and suffer me to go through it?”

      “Because it was impossible for you to take my word for it, though you would have tried to. Personal experience was necessary, and now you have had it.”

      “There was much calculation in all that,” I said, “but little love.”

      And again we were silent.

      “What you said just now is severe, but it is true,” he began, rising suddenly and beginning to walk about the veranda. “Yes, it is true. I was to blame,” he added, stopping opposite me; “I ought either to have kept myself from loving you at all, or to have loved you in a simpler way.”

      “Let us forget it all,” I said timidly.

      “No,” he said; “the past can never come back, never;” and his voice softened as he spoke.

      “It is restored already,” I said, laying a hand on his СКАЧАТЬ