Anna Karenina (Literature Classics Series). Leo Tolstoy

please. Only you have no business to talk to her. She’s a street girl, and you are a gentleman,’ he muttered jerking his neck. ‘You I see, have examined and weighed everything here, and regard my errors with compassion,’ he continued, again raising his voice.

      ‘Nicholas Dmitrich, Nicholas Dmitrich,’ whispered Mary Nikolavna, again approaching him.

      ‘Well, all right, all right! … and how about supper? Ah, here it is,’ he said noticing a waiter who was bringing in a tray. ‘Here, here, put it down here,’ he said crossly, and at once poured out a wineglass full of vodka and drank it greedily. ‘Have a drink, will you?’ he said to his brother, brightening up at once. ‘Well, we’ve had enough of Sergius Ivanich. I am glad to see you, anyhow. Whatever one may say, after all, we are not strangers. Come, have a drink. Tell me what you are doing,’ he continued, greedily chewing a crust of bread and filling himself another glass. ‘How are you getting on?’

      ‘I am living alone in the country, as I did before, and I look after the farming,’ answered Constantine, observing with horror how greedily his brother ate and drank, and trying not to let it be seen that he noticed it.

      ‘Why don’t you get married?’

      ‘I had not the chance,’ replied Constantine blushing.

      ‘Why not? For me all that is over. I have spoilt my life. I have said, and still say that if I had been given my share of the property when I wanted it, everything would have been different.’

      Constantine hastened to change the subject. ‘Do you know that your Vanyusha is now a clerk in my office at Pokrovsk?’ he said.

      Nicholas jerked his head and grew thoughtful.

      ‘Yes, tell me what is happening in Pokrovsk. Is the house still standing, and the birch trees, and our schoolroom? And is Philip the gardener really still living? How well I remember the garden-house and the sofa! … Mind, don’t change anything in the house, but get married soon and set things going again as they used to be. Then I will come to you if you have a good wife.’

      ‘Come to me at once,’ said Levin. ‘How well we might settle down there!’

      ‘I would come if I were sure I should not find Sergius Ivanich there.’

      ‘You won’t find him there. I live quite apart from him.’

      ‘Still, say what you will, you must choose between him and me,’ said Nicholas with a timid look at his brother.

      His timidity touched Constantine.

      ‘If you want my full confession about it, I will tell you that I take no side in your quarrel with Sergius Ivanich. You are both to blame. You more in external matters and he more in essential ones.’

      ‘Ah, ah! Then you have grasped it, you have grasped it!’ joyfully exclaimed Nicholas.

      ‘But personally if you care to know it, I value your friendship more because …’

      ‘Why, why?’

      Constantine could not tell him that it was because Nicholas was unfortunate and needed friendship. But Nicholas understood that he meant just that, and frowning, again took hold of the vodka bottle.

      ‘Enough, Nicholas Dmitrich!’ said Mary Nikolavna, stretching out her plump arm with its bare wrist to take the bottle.

      ‘Let go! Leave me alone! I’ll thrash you!’ shouted he.

      Mary Nikolavna gave a mild, kindly smile, which evoked one from Nicholas, and she took away the bottle.

      ‘Do you think she doesn’t understand?’ said Nicholas. ‘She understands it all better than any of us. There really is something good and sweet about her.’

      ‘You were never in Moscow before?’ Constantine asked very politely, just in order to say something.

      ‘Don’t speak to her in that way. It frightens her. No one but the magistrate, when she was tried for an attempt to escape from the house of ill-fame, ever spoke to her so politely… . Oh heavens, how senseless everything is in this world!’ he suddenly exclaimed. ‘All these new institutions, these magistrates, these Zemstvos… . What a confusion it all is!’

      And he began to relate all his encounters with these new institutions.

      Constantine Levin listened to him, and the condemnation of the social institutions, which he shared with him and had often expressed, was unpleasant to him when he heard it from his brother’s lips.

      ‘We shall understand it better in the next world,’ he said playfully.

      ‘In the next world? Ah, I do dislike that next world,’ said Nicholas, fixing his wild, frightened eyes on his brother’s face. ‘One would think that to leave all these abominations, these muddles (one’s own and other people’s), would be good, yet I fear death — I fear it terribly.’ He shuddered. ‘Do drink something. Would you like some champagne? Or let us go out somewhere or other. Let us go to the Gipsies! Do you know I have become fond of the gipsies and the Russian folk-songs?’

      His speech began to grow confused and he jumped from one subject to another. With Masha’s help Constantine succeeded in persuading him not to go out anywhere, and got him into bed quite tipsy.

      Masha promised to write to Constantine in case of need, and to try to persuade Nicholas to go and live with him.

      Chapter 26

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      NEXT morning Constantine Levin left Moscow and toward evening he reached home. On his way back in the train he talked with his fellow-passengers about politics and the new railways, and felt oppressed, just as in Moscow, by the confusion of the views expressed, by discontent with himself and a vague sense of shame. But when he got out of the train at his station and by the dim light from the station windows saw his one-eyed coachman, Ignat, with his coat-collar turned up, and his sledge with its carpet-lined back, his horses with their tied-up tails, and the harness with its rings and tassels, and when Ignat, while still putting the luggage into the sledge, began telling him the village news: how the contractor had come, and Pava had calved, — Levin felt that the confusion was beginning to clear away and his shame and self-dissatisfaction to pass. He felt this at the mere sight of Ignat and the horses; but when he had put on the sheepskin coat that had been brought for him and, well wrapped up, had seated himself in the sledge and started homeward, turning over in his mind the orders he would give about the work on the estate, and as he watched the side horse (once a saddle-horse that had been overridden, a spirited animal from the Don), he saw what had befallen him in quite a different light. He felt that he was himself and did not wish to be anyone else. He only wished now to be better than he had been formerly. First of all he decided that he would no longer hope for the exceptional happiness which marriage was to have given him, and consequently he would not underrate the present as he had done. Secondly, he would never again allow himself to be carried away by passion, the repulsive memory of which had so tormented him when he was making up his mind to propose. Then, remembering his brother Nicholas, he determined that he would never allow himself to forget him again, but would watch over him, keep him in sight, and be ready to help when things went hard with him. And he felt that that would be soon. Then his brother’s talk about communism, which he had taken lightly at the time, now made him think. He considered an entire change of economic conditions nonsense; but he had always felt the injustice of his superfluities compared with the peasant’s poverty, and now decided, in order to feel himself quite justified, that though he had always worked hard and lived simply, he would in future work still more and allow himself still less luxury. And it all seemed to him so easy to carry out that he was in a pleasant reverie the whole way home, and it was with cheerful hopes for a new and better life that he reached his house toward nine o’clock in the evening.

      A light fell on the snow-covered space in front of the house from the windows of the room of his old nurse, Agatha Mikhaylovna,