Anna Karenina - Part 5

Anna, in that first period of her emancipation and rapid return

to health, felt herself unpardonably happy and full of the joy

of life. The thought of her husband's unhappiness did not poison

her happiness. On one side that memory was too awful to be

thought of. On the other side her husband's unhappiness had

given her too much happiness to be regretted. The memory of all

that had happened after her illness: her reconciliation with her

husband, its breakdown, the news of Vronsky's wound, his visit,

the preparations for divorce, the departure from her husband's

house, the parting from her son--all that seemed to her like a

delirious dream, from which she had waked up alone with Vronsky

abroad. The thought of the harm caused to her husband aroused in

her a feeling like repulsion, and akin to what a drowning man

might feel who has shaken off another man clinging to him. That

man did drown. It was an evil action, of course, but it was the

sole means of escape, and better not to brood over these fearful

facts.

One consolatory reflection upon her conduct had occurred to her

at the first moment of the final rupture, and when now she

recalled all the past, she remembered that one reflection. "I

have inevitably made that man wretched," she thought; "but I

don't want to profit by his misery. I too am suffering, and

shall suffer; I am losing what I prized above everything--I am

losing my good name and my son. I have done wrong, and so I

don't want happiness, I don't want a divorce, and shall suffer

from my shame and the separation from my child." But, however

sincerely Anna had meant to suffer, she was not suffering. Shame

there was not. With the tact of which both had such a large

share, they had succeeded in avoiding Russian ladies abroad, and

so had never placed themselves in a false position, and

everywhere they had met people who pretended that they perfectly

understood their position, far better indeed than they did

themselves. Separation from the son she loved--even that did not

cause her anguish in these early days. The baby girl--_his_

child--was so sweet, and had so won Anna's heart, since she was

all that was left her, that Anna rarely thought of her son.

The desire for life, waxing stronger with recovered health, was

so intense, and the conditions of life were so new and pleasant,

that Anna felt unpardonably happy. The more she got to know

Vronsky, the more she loved him. She loved him for himself, and

for his love for her. Her complete ownership of him was a

continual joy to her. His presence was always sweet to her. All

the traits of his character, which she learned to know better and

better, were unutterably dear to her. His appearance, changed by

his civilian dress, was as fascinating to her as though she were

some young girl in love. In everything he said, thought, and

did, she saw something particularly noble and elevated. Her

adoration of him alarmed her indeed; she sought and could not

find in him anything not fine. She dared not show him her sense

of her own insignificance beside him. It seemed to her that,

knowing this, he might sooner cease to love her; and she dreaded

nothing now so much as losing his love, though she had no grounds

for fearing it. But she could not help being grateful to him for

his attitude to her, and showing that she appreciated it. He,

who had in her opinion such a marked aptitude for a political

career, in which he would have been certain to play a leading

part--he had sacrificed his ambition for her sake, and never

betrayed the slightest regret. He was more lovingly respectful

to her than ever, and the constant care that she should not feel

the awkwardness of her position never deserted him for a single

instant. He, so manly a man, never opposed her, had indeed, with

her, no will of his own, and was anxious, it seemed, for nothing

but to anticipate her wishes. And she could not but appreciate

this, even though the very intensity of his solicitude for her,

the atmosphere of care with which he surrounded her, sometimes

weighed upon her.