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Anna Karenina

Leo Tolstoy

Translated by Constance Garnett

This eBook is designed and published by Planet PDF. For more free

eBooks visit our Web site at http://www.planetpdf.com/.

Anna Karenina

2 of 1759

PART ONE

Anna Karenina

3 of 1759

Chapter 1

Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is

unhappy in its own way.

Everything was in confusion in the Oblonskys’ house.

The wife had discovered that the husband was carrying on

an intrigue with a French girl, who had been a governess

in their family, and she had announced to her husband

that she could not go on living in the same house with

him. This position of affairs had now lasted three days, and

not only the husband and wife themselves, but all the

members of their family and household, were painfully

conscious of it. Every person in the house felt that there

was so sense in their living together, and that the stray

people brought together by chance in any inn had more in

common with one another than they, the members of the

family and household of the Oblonskys. The wife did not

leave her own room, the husband had not been at home

for three days. The children ran wild all over the house;

the English governess quarreled with the housekeeper, and

wrote to a friend asking her to look out for a new

situation for her; the man-cook had walked off the day

before just at dinner time; the kitchen-maid, and the

coachman had given warning.

Anna Karenina

4 of 1759

Three days after the quarrel, Prince Stepan

Arkadyevitch Oblonsky—Stiva, as he was called in the

fashionable world— woke up at his usual hour, that is, at

eight o’clock in the morning, not in his wife’s bedroom,

but on the leather-covered sofa in his study. He turned

over his stout, well-cared-for person on the springy sofa,

as though he would sink into a long sleep again; he

vigorously embraced the pillow on the other side and

buried his face in it; but all at once he jumped up, sat up

on the sofa, and opened his eyes.

‘Yes, yes, how was it now?’ he thought, going over his

dream. ‘Now, how was it? To be sure! Alabin was giving a

dinner at Darmstadt; no, not Darmstadt, but something

American. Yes, but then, Darmstadt was in America. Yes,

Alabin was giving a dinner on glass tables, and the tables

sang, Il mio tesoro—not Il mio tesoro though, but

something better, and there were some sort of little

decanters on the table, and they were women, too,’ he

remembered.

Stepan Arkadyevitch’s eyes twinkled gaily, and he

pondered with a smile. ‘Yes, it was nice, very nice. There

was a great deal more that was delightful, only there’s no

putting it into words, or even expressing it in one’s

thoughts awake.’ And noticing a gleam of light peeping in

Anna Karenina

5 of 1759

beside one of the serge curtains, he cheerfully dropped his

feet over the edge of the sofa, and felt about with them for

his slippers, a present on his last birthday, worked for him

by his wife on gold-colored morocco. And, as he had

done every day for the last nine years, he stretched out his

hand, without getting up, towards the place where his

dressing-gown always hung in his bedroom. And

thereupon he suddenly remembered that he was not

sleeping in his wife’s room, but in his study, and why: the

smile vanished from his face, he knitted his brows.

‘Ah, ah, ah! Oo!...’ he muttered, recalling everything

that had happened. And again every detail of his quarrel

with his wife was present to his imagination, all the

hopelessness of his position, and worst of all, his own fault.

‘Yes, she won’t forgive me, and she can’t forgive me.

And the most awful thing about it is that it’s all my fault—

all my fault, though I’m not to blame. That’s the point of

the whole situation,’ he reflected. ‘Oh, oh, oh!’ he kept

repeating in despair, as he remembered the acutely painful

sensations caused him by this quarrel.

Most unpleasant of all was the first minute when, on

coming, happy and good-humored, from the theater, with

a huge pear in his hand for his wife, he had not found his

wife in the drawing-room, to his surprise had not found

Anna Karenina

6 of 1759

her in the study either, and saw her at last in her bedroom

with the unlucky letter that revealed everything in her

hand.

She, his Dolly, forever fussing and worrying over

household details, and limited in her ideas, as he

considered, was sitting perfectly still with the letter in her

hand, looking at him with an expression of horror,

despair, and indignation.

‘What’s this? this?’ she asked, pointing to the letter.

And at this recollection, Stepan Arkadyevitch, as is so

often the case, was not so much annoyed at the fact itself

as at the way in which he had met his wife’s words.

There happened to him at that instant what does

happen to people when they are unexpectedly caught in

something very disgraceful. He did not succeed in

adapting his face to the position in which he was placed

towards his wife by the discovery of his fault. Instead of

being hurt, denying, defending himself, begging

forgiveness, instead of remaining indifferent even—

anything would have been better than what he did do—

his face utterly involuntarily (reflex spinal action, reflected

Stepan Arkadyevitch, who was fond of physiology)—

utterly involuntarily assumed its habitual, good-humored,

and therefore idiotic smile.

Anna Karenina

7 of 1759

This idiotic smile he could not forgive himself.

Catching sight of that smile, Dolly shuddered as though at

physical pain, broke out with her characteristic heat into a

flood of cruel words, and rushed out of the room. Since

then she had refused to see her husband.

‘It’s that idiotic smile that’s to blame for it all,’ thought

Stepan Arkadyevitch.

‘But what’s to be done? What’s to be done?’ he said to

himself in despair, and found no answer.

Anna Karenina

8 of 1759

Chapter 2

Stepan Arkadyevitch was a truthful man in his relations

with himself. He was incapable of deceiving himself and

persuading himself that he repented of his conduct. He

could not at this date repent of the fact that he, a

handsome, susceptible man of thirty-four, was not in love

with his wife, the mother of five living and two dead

children, and only a year younger than himself. All he

repented of was that he had not succeeded better in hiding

it from his wife. But he felt all the difficulty of his position

and was sorry for his wife, his children, and himself.

Possibly he might have managed to conceal his sins better

from his wife if he had anticipated that the knowledge of

them would have had such an effect on her. He had never

clearly thought out the subject, but he had vaguely

conceived that his wife must long ago have suspected him

of being unfaithful to her, and shut her eyes to the fact.

He had even supposed that she, a worn-out woman no

longer young or good-looking, and in no way remarkable

or interesting, merely a good mother, ought from a sense

of fairness to take an indulgent view. It had turned out

quite the other way.

Anna Karenina

9 of 1759

‘Oh, it’s awful! oh dear, oh dear! awful!’ Stepan

Arkadyevitch kept repeating to himself, and he could

think of nothing to be done. ‘And how well things were

going up till now! how well we got on! She was

contented and happy in her children; I never interfered

with her in anything; I let her manage the children and

the house just as she liked. It’s true it’s bad HER having

been a governess in our house. That’s bad! There’s

something common, vulgar, in flirting with one’s

governess. But what a governess!’ (He vividly recalled the

roguish black eyes of Mlle. Roland and her smile.) ‘But

after all, while she was in the house, I kept myself in hand.

And the worst of it all is that she’s already...it seems as if

ill-luck would have it so! Oh, oh! But what, what is to be

done?’

There was no solution, but that universal solution

which life gives to all questions, even the most complex

and insoluble. That answer is: one must live in the needs

of the day—that is, forget oneself. To forget himself in

sleep was impossible now, at least till nighttime; he could

not go back now to the music sung by the decanter-

women; so he must forget himself in the dream of daily

life.

Anna Karenina

10 of 1759

‘Then we shall see,’ Stepan Arkadyevitch said to

himself, and getting up he put on a gray dressing-gown

lined with blue silk, tied the tassels in a knot, and, drawing

a deep breath of air into his broad, bare chest, he walked

to the window with his usual confident step, turning out

his feet that carried his full frame so easily. He pulled up

the blind and rang the bell loudly. It was at once answered

by the appearance of an old friend, his valet, Matvey,

carrying his clothes, his boots, and a telegram. Matvey was

followed by the barber with all the necessaries for shaving.

‘Are there any papers form the office?’ asked Stepan

Arkadyevitch, taking the telegram and seating himself at

the looking-glass.

‘On the table,’ replied Matvey, glancing with inquiring

sympathy at his master; and, after a short pause, he added

with a sly smile, ‘They’ve sent from the carriage-jobbers.’

Stepan Arkadyevitch made no reply, he merely glanced

at Matvey in the looking-glass. In the glance, in which

their eyes met in the looking-glass, it was clear that they

understood one another. Stepan Arkadyevitch’s eyes

asked: ‘Why do you tell me that? don’t you know?’

Matvey put his hands in his jacket pockets, thrust out

one leg, and gazed silently, good-humoredly, with a faint

smile, at his master.

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