Family Happiness, Leo Nikoleyevich Tolstoy [best books for students to read TXT] 📗

were, they

together made up the atmosphere which I found so pleasant. But there was

one, an Italian marquis, who stood out from the rest by reason of the

boldness with which he expressed his admiration. He seized every opportunity

of being with me — danced with me, rode with me, and met me at the casino;

and everywhere he spoke to me of my charms. Several times I saw him from my

windows loitering round our hotel, and the fixed gaze of his bright eyes

often troubled me, and made me blush and turn away. He was young, handsome,

and well-mannered; and above all, by his smile and the expression of his

brow, he resembled my husband, though much handsomer than he. He struck me

by this likeness, though in general, in his lips, eyes, and long chin, there

was something coarse and animal which contrasted with my husband’s charming

expression of kindness and noble serenity. I supposed him to be passionately

in love with me, and thought of him sometimes with proud commiseration. When

I tried at times to soothe him and change his tone to one of easy,

half-friendly confidence, he resented the suggestion with vehemence, and

continued to disquiet me by a smoldering passion which was ready at any

moment to burst forth. Though I would not own it even to myself, I feared

him and often thought of him against my sill. My husband knew him, and

greeted him — even more than other acquaintances of ours who regarded him

only as my husband — with coldness and disdain.

 

Towards the end of the season I fell ill and stayed indoors for a fortnight.

The first evening that I went out again to hear the band, I learnt that Lady

S., an Englishwoman famous for her beauty, who had long been expected, had

arrived in my absence. My return was welcomed, and a group gathered round

me; but a more distinguished group attended the beautiful stranger. She and

her beauty were the one subject of conversation around me. When I saw her,

she was really beautiful, but her self-satisfied expression struck me as

disagreeable, and I said so. That day everything that had formerly seemed

amusing, seemed dull. Lady S. arranged an expedition to ruined castle for

the next day; but I declined to be of the party. Almost everyone else went;

and my opinion of Baden underwent a complete change. Everything and

everybody seemed to me stupid and tiresome; I wanted to cry, to break off my

cure, to return to Russia. There was some evil feeling in my soul, but I did

not yet acknowledge it to myself. Pretending that I was not strong, I ceased

to appear at crowded parties; if I went out, it was only in the morning by

myself, to drink the waters; and my only companion was Mme M., a Russian

lady, with whom I sometimes took drives in the surrounding country. My

husband was absent: he had gone to Heidelberg for a time, intending to

return to Russia when my cure was over, and only paid me occasional visits

at Baden.

 

One day when Lady S. had carried off all the company on a hunting

expedition, Mme M. and I drove in the afternoon to the castle. While our

carriage moved slowly along the winding road, bordered by ancient

chestnut-trees and commanding a vista of the pretty and pleasant country

round Baden, with the setting sun lighting it up, our conversation took a

more serious turn than had ever happened to us before. I had known my

companion for a long time; but she appeared to me now in a new light, as a

well-principled and intelligent woman, to whom it was possible to speak

without reserve, and whose friendship was worth having. We spoke of our

private concerns, of our children, of the emptiness of life at Baden, till

we felt a longing for Russia and the Russian countryside. When we entered

the castle we were still under the impression of this serious feeling.

Within the walls there was shade and coolness; the sunlight played from

above upon the ruins. Steps and voices were audible. The landscape, charming

enough but cold to a Russian eye, lay before us in the frame made by a

doorway. We sat down to rest and watched the sunset in silence. The voices

now sounded louder, and I thought I heard my own name. I listened and could

not help overhearing every word. I recognized the voices: the speakers were

the Italian marquis and a French friend of his whom I knew also. They were

talking of me and of Lady S., and the Frenchman was comparing us as rival

beauties. Though he said nothing insulting, his words made my pulse quicken.

He explained in detail the good points of us both. I was already a mother,

while Lady S. was only nineteen; though I had the advantage in hair, my

rival had a better figure. “Besides,” he added, “Lady S. is a real grande

dame, and the other is nothing in particular, only one of those obscure

Russian princesses who turn up here nowadays in such numbers.” He ended by

saying that I was wise in not attempting to compete with Lady S., and that I

was completely buried as far as Baden was concerned.

 

“I am sorry for her — unless indeed she takes a fancy to console herself

with you,” he added with a hard ringing laugh.

 

“If she goes away, I follow her” — the words were blurted out in an Italian

accent.

 

“Happy man! he is still capable of a passion!” laughed the Frenchman.

 

“Passion!” said the other voice and then was still for a moment. “It is a

necessity to me: I cannot live without it. To make life a romance is the one

thing worth doing. And with me romance never breaks off in the middle, and

this affair I shall carry through to the end.”

 

“Bonne chance, mon ami!” said the Frenchman.

 

They now turned a corner, and the voices stopped. Then we heard them coming

down the steps, and a few minutes later they came out upon us by a side

door. They were much surprised to see us.

 

I blushed when the marquis approached me, and felt afraid when we left the

castle and he offered me his arm. I could not refuse, and we set off for the

carriage, walking behind Mme M. and his friend. I was mortified by what the

Frenchman had said of me, though I secretly admitted that he had only put in

words what I felt myself; but the plain speaking of the Italian had

surprised and upset me by its coarseness. I was tormented by the thought

that, though I had overheard him, he showed no fear of me. It was hateful to

have him so close to me; and I walked fast after the other couple, not

looking at him or answering him and trying to hold his arm in such a way as

not to hear him. He spoke of the fine view, of the unexpected pleasure of

our meeting, and so on; but I was not listening. My thoughts were with my

husband, my child, my country; I felt ashamed distressed, anxious; I was in

a hurry to get back to my solitary room in the Hotel de Bade, there to think

at leisure of the storm of feeling that had just risen in my heart. But Mme

M. walked slowly, it was still a long way to the carriage, and my escort

seemed to loiter on purpose as if he wished to detain me. “None of that!” I

thought, and resolutely quickened my pace. But it soon became unmistakable

that he was detaining me and even pressing my arm. Mme M. turned a corner,

and we were quite alone. I was afraid.

 

“Excuse me,” I said coldly and tried to free my arm; but the lace of my

sleeve caught on a button of his coat. Bending towards me, he began to

unfasten it, and his ungloved fingers touched my arm. A feeling new to me,

half horror and half pleasure, sent an icy shiver down my back. I looked at

him, intending by my coldness to convey all the contempt I felt for him; but

my look expressed nothing but fear and excitement. His liquid blazing eyes,

right up against my face, stared strangely at me, at my neck and breast;

both his hands fingered my arm above the wrist; his parted lips were saying

that he loved me, and that I was all the world to him; and those lips were

coming nearer and nearer, and those hands were squeezing mine harder and

harder and burning me. A fever ran through my veins, my sight grew dim, I

trembled, and the words intended to check him died in my throat. Suddenly I

felt a kiss on my cheek. Trembling all over and turning cold, I stood still

and stared at him. Unable to speak or move, I stood there, horrified,

expectant, even desirous. It was over in a moment, but the moment was

horrible! In that short time I saw him exactly as he was — the low straight

forehead (that forehead so like my husband’s!) under the straw hat; the

handsome regular nose and dilated nostrils; the long waxed mustache and

short beard; the close-shaved cheeks and sunburned neck. I hated and feared

him; he was utterly repugnant and alien to me. And yet the excitement and

passion of this hateful strange man raised a powerful echo in my own heart;

I felt an irresistible longing to surrender myself to the kisses of that

coarse handsome mouth, and to the pressure of those white hands with their

delicate veins and jewelled fingers; I was tempted to throw myself headlong

into the abyss of forbidden delights that had suddenly opened up before me.

 

“I am so unhappy already,” I thought; “let more and more storms of

unhappiness burst over my head!”

 

He put one arm round me and bent towards my face. “Better so!” I thought:

“let sin and shame cover me ever deeper and deeper!”

 

“Je vous aime!” he whispered in the voice which was so like my husband’s. At

once I thought of my husband and child, as creatures once precious to me who

had now passed altogether out of my life. At that moment I heard Mme M.‘s

voice; she called to me from round the corner. I came to myself, tore my

hand away without looking at him, and almost ran after her: I only looked at

him after she and I were already seated in the carriage. Then I saw him

raise his hat and ask some commonplace question with a smile. He little knew

the inexpressible aversion I felt for him at that moment.

 

My life seemed so wretched, the future so hopeless, the past so black! When

Mme M. spoke, her words meant nothing to me. I thought that she talked only

our of pity, and to hide the contempt I aroused in her. In every word and

every look I seemed to detect this contempt and insulting pity. The shame of

that kiss burned my cheek, and the thought of my husband and child was more

than I could bear. When I was alone in my own room, I tried to think over my

position; but I was afraid to be alone. Without drinking the tea which was

brought me, and uncertain of my own motives, I got ready with feverish haste

to catch the evening train and join my husband at Heidelberg.

 

I found seats for myself and my maid in an empty carriage. When the train

started and the fresh air blew through the window on my face, I grew more

composed and