Family Happiness by Leo Nikoleyevich Tolstoy (books to read this summer .TXT) 📖
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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
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