EPUB no images. Kindle with images. Kindle no images. Plain Text UTF Tolstoy, Leo, graf, Garnett, Constance, Adultery -- Fiction.
Ja, aber es muss gleichzeitig ein Sog entstehen, und das passiert eben oft durch Wiederholung. Der Roman hat Seiten. Ich hatte von Tolstoi anfangs eine ganz schlechte Meinung. Zuerst hatte er ein vages Schema. Dabei ist es ein kreativer Beruf. Alfred Brendel interpretiert Mozart ja anders als Lang Lang. Ganz genau. Ein perlender Sprachfluss.
Dazu ein Schutzumschlag. Es spricht also nichts dagegen. Kostet derzeit ca. DAS finde ich allerdings nicht so schmeichelhaft. Weniger zum Angucken, mit klarem Schwerpunkt auf den Lesegenuss. Leave a Reply. I have come to look very differently and more charitably on what is called infamous since brother Nikolay has become what he is The first thing to do to set his heart at rest was to accomplish what he had come to Moscow for.
It was a bright, frosty day. Rows of carriages, sledges, drivers, and policemen were standing in the approach. Crowds of well-dressed people, with hats bright in the sun, swarmed about the entrance and along the well-swept little paths between the little houses adorned with carving in the Russian style.
The old curly birches of the gardens, all their twigs laden with snow, looked as though freshly decked in sacred vestments. What do you want? And the more he tried to compose himself, the more breathless he found himself. An acquaintance met him and called him by his name, but Levin did not even recognize him. He went towards the mounds, whence came the clank of the chains of sledges as they slipped down or were dragged up, the rumble of the sliding sledges, and the sounds of merry voices.
He walked on a few steps, and the skating-ground lay open before his eyes, and at once, amidst all the skaters, he knew her. He knew she was there by the rapture and the terror that seized on his heart. She was standing talking to a lady at the opposite end of the ground. There was apparently nothing striking either in her dress or her attitude. But for Levin she was as easy to find in that crowd as a rose among nettles.
Everything was made bright by her. She was the smile that shed light on all round her. The place where she stood seemed to him a holy shrine, unapproachable, and there was one moment when he was almost retreating, so overwhelmed was he with terror.
He had to make an effort to master himself, and to remind himself that people of all sorts were moving about her, and that he too might come there to skate. He walked down, for a long while avoiding looking at her as at the sun, but seeing her, as one does the sun, without looking. On that day of the week and at that time of day people of one set, all acquainted with one another, used to meet on the ice. There were crack skaters there, showing off their skill, and learners clinging to chairs with timid, awkward movements, boys, and elderly people skating with hygienic motives.
They seemed to Levin an elect band of blissful beings because they were here, near her. All the skaters, it seemed, with perfect self-possession, skated towards her, skated by her, even spoke to her, and were happy, quite apart from her, enjoying the capital ice and the fine weather.
Seeing Levin, he shouted to him:. Been here long? First-rate ice—do put your skates on. He felt as though the sun were coming near him. She was in a corner, and turning out her slender feet in their high boots with obvious timidity, she skated towards him.
A boy in Russian dress, desperately waving his arms and bowed down to the ground, overtook her. She skated a little uncertainly; taking her hands out of the little muff that hung on a cord, she held them ready for emergency, and looking towards Levin, whom she had recognized, she smiled at him, and at her own fears.
When she had got round the turn, she gave herself a push off with one foot, and skated straight up to Shtcherbatsky. Clutching at his arm, she nodded smiling to Levin. She was more splendid than he had imagined her. When he thought of her, he could call up a vivid picture of her to himself, especially the charm of that little fair head, so freely set on the shapely girlish shoulders, and so full of childish brightness and good humor.
The childishness of her expression, together with the delicate beauty of her figure, made up her special charm, and that he fully realized. But what always struck him in her as something unlooked for, was the expression of her eyes, soft, serene, and truthful, and above all, her smile, which always transported Levin to an enchanted world, where he felt himself softened and tender, as he remembered himself in some days of his early childhood.
I mean today Put on skates, and let us skate together. Will that be all right? Together, she said; let us skate together! Speak to her now? And then? But I must! I must! Away with weakness! Levin rose to his feet, took off his overcoat, and scurrying over the rough ice round the hut, came out on the smooth ice and skated without effort, as it were, by simple exercise of will, increasing and slackening speed and turning his course.
He approached with timidity, but again her smile reassured him. She gave him her hand, and they set off side by side, going faster and faster, and the more rapidly they moved the more tightly she grasped his hand.
And indeed, no sooner had he uttered these words, when all at once, like the sun going behind a cloud, her face lost all its friendliness, and Levin detected the familiar change in her expression that denoted the working of thought; a crease showed on her smooth brow.
Linon, have you? I have offended her. Lord help me! Smiling and showing her false teeth, she greeted him as an old friend. Tiny bear has grown big now!
He remembered absolutely nothing, but she had been laughing at the joke for ten years now, and was fond of it.
When Levin darted up to Kitty her face was no longer stern; her eyes looked at him with the same sincerity and friendliness, but Levin fancied that in her friendliness there was a certain note of deliberate composure.
And he felt depressed. After talking a little of her old governess and her peculiarities, she questioned him about his life. The thought that if he were held in check by her tone of quiet friendliness he would end by going back again without deciding anything came into his mind, and he resolved to make a struggle against it.
Whether it was that she had heard his words, or that she did not want to hear them, she made a sort of stumble, twice struck out, and hurriedly skated away from him. She skated up to Mlle. Linon, said something to her, and went towards the pavilion where the ladies took off their skates. Merciful God! At that moment one of the young men, the best of the skaters of the day, came out of the coffee-house in his skates, with a cigarette in his mouth.
Taking a run, he dashed down the steps in his skates, crashing and bounding up and down. He flew down, and without even changing the position of his hands, skated away over the ice.
Levin went to the steps, took a run from above as best he could, and dashed down, preserving his balance in this unwonted movement with his hands. On the last step he stumbled, but barely touching the ice with his hand, with a violent effort recovered himself, and skated off, laughing.
Linon, and looked towards him with a smile of quiet affection, as though he were a favorite brother. They talk of flirtation. Only, why did he say that? Catching sight of Kitty going away, and her mother meeting her at the steps, Levin, flushed from his rapid exercise, stood still and pondered a minute.
He took off his skates, and overtook the mother and daughter at the entrance of the gardens. She turned her head, and with a smile said:. At that moment Stepan Arkadyevitch, his hat cocked on one side, with beaming face and eyes, strode into the garden like a conquering hero. The friends hardly spoke all the way. When Levin went into the restaurant with Oblonsky, he could not help noticing a certain peculiarity of expression, as it were, a restrained radiance, about the face and whole figure of Stepan Arkadyevitch.
Oblonsky took off his overcoat, and with his hat over one ear walked into the dining-room, giving directions to the Tatar waiters, who were clustered about him in evening coats, bearing napkins. Bowing to right and left to the people he met, and here as everywhere joyously greeting acquaintances, he went up to the sideboard for a preliminary appetizer of fish and vodka, and said to the painted Frenchwoman decked in ribbons, lace, and ringlets, behind the counter, something so amusing that even that Frenchwoman was moved to genuine laughter.
Levin for his part refrained from taking any vodka simply because he felt such a loathing of that Frenchwoman, all made up, it seemed, of false hair, poudre de riz, and vinaigre de toilette. He made haste to move away from her, as from a dirty place.
His whole soul was filled with memories of Kitty, and there was a smile of triumph and happiness shining in his eyes. Instantly flinging a fresh cloth over the round table under the bronze chandelier, though it already had a table cloth on it, he pushed up velvet chairs, and came to a standstill before Stepan Arkadyevitch with a napkin and a bill of fare in his hands, awaiting his commands.
Fresh oysters have come in. And his face expressed serious hesitation. Mind now. I am fond of good things. But Stepan Arkadyevitch apparently did not care to allow him the satisfaction of giving the French names of the dishes. Then turbot with thick sauce, then Yes, and capons, perhaps, and then sweets.
Do you like the white seal? And the Tatar ran off with flying coat-tails, and in five minutes darted in with a dish of opened oysters on mother-of-pearl shells, and a bottle between his fingers. Stepan Arkadyevitch crushed the starchy napkin, tucked it into his waistcoat, and settling his arms comfortably, started on the oysters. Levin ate the oysters indeed, though white bread and cheese would have pleased him better.
But he was admiring Oblonsky. Even the Tatar, uncorking the bottle and pouring the sparkling wine into the delicate glasses, glanced at Stepan Arkadyevitch, and settled his white cravat with a perceptible smile of satisfaction. He wanted Levin to be in good spirits. But it was not that Levin was not in good spirits; he was ill at ease. With what he had in his soul, he felt sore and uncomfortable in the restaurant, in the midst of private rooms where men were dining with ladies, in all this fuss and bustle; the surroundings of bronzes, looking-glasses, gas, and waiters—all of it was offensive to him.
He was afraid of sullying what his soul was brimful of. We in the country try to bring our hands into such a state as will be most convenient for working with. So we cut our nails; sometimes we turn up our sleeves. And here people purposely let their nails grow as long as they will, and link on small saucers by way of studs, so that they can do nothing with their hands.
His work is with the mind Levin sighed. He remembered his brother Nikolay, and felt ashamed and sore, and he scowled; but Oblonsky began speaking of a subject which at once drew his attention. Come, boy, the soup! How do you explain the sudden way in which you vanished from Moscow?
The Shtcherbatskys were continually asking me about you, as though I ought to know. The only thing I know is that you always do what no one else does. I am a savage. Only, my savageness is not in having gone away, but in coming now. Now I have come It would be the best thing that could be.
No, tell me all you think! Oh, but if Indeed I feel sure Stepan Arkadyevitch smiled. Levin obediently helped himself to sauce, but would not let Stepan Arkadyevitch go on with his dinner.
I have never spoken to anyone of this. She foretold, for instance, that Princess Shahovskaya would marry Brenteln. No one would believe it, but it came to pass. But Levin could not sit down. He walked with his firm tread twice up and down the little cage of a room, blinked his eyelids that his tears might not fall, and only then sat down to the table. And it must be settled. Ah, the thoughts that come crowding on one!
The questions one must ask oneself! I heard today that my brother Nikolay I had even forgotten him. Do you know Vronsky? I made his acquaintance in Tver when I was there on official business, and he came there for the levy of recruits. Fearfully rich, handsome, great connections, an aide-de-camp, and with all that a very nice, good-natured fellow.
And immediately he recollected his brother Nikolay and how hateful he was to have been able to forget him. Come, tell me how are you getting on? Now his whole soul was full of remorse that he had begun this conversation with Stepan Arkadyevitch.
A feeling such as his was profaned by talk of the rivalry of some Petersburg officer, of the suppositions and the counsels of Stepan Arkadyevitch. Things are in a bad way with me, very bad. You know to me all women are divided into two classes Christ would never have said those words if He had known how they would be abused. Of all the Gospel those words are the only ones remembered.
I have a loathing for fallen women. But to deny the facts is no answer. What are you to do? How are you to act? And this is why.
To my mind, love Some men only understand one sort, and some only the other. And those who only know the non-platonic love have no need to talk of tragedy. In such love there can be no sort of tragedy. And in platonic love there can be no tragedy, because in that love all is clear and pure, because At that instant Levin recollected his own sins and the inner conflict he had lived through. And he added unexpectedly:. Very likely All the variety, all the charm, all the beauty of life is made up of light and shadow.
Levin sighed and made no reply. He was thinking of his own affairs, and did not hear Oblonsky. And suddenly both of them felt that though they were friends, though they had been dining and drinking together, which should have drawn them closer, yet each was thinking only of his own affairs, and they had nothing to do with one another.
Oblonsky had more than once experienced this extreme sense of aloofness, instead of intimacy, coming on after dinner, and he knew what to do in such cases. And at once in the conversation with the aide-de-camp Oblonsky had a sense of relaxation and relief after the conversation with Levin, which always put him to too great a mental and spiritual strain. The young Princess Kitty Shtcherbatskaya was eighteen. It was the first winter that she had been out in the world.
Her success in society had been greater than that of either of her elder sisters, and greater even than her mother had anticipated. To say nothing of the young men who danced at the Moscow balls being almost all in love with Kitty, two serious suitors had already this first winter made their appearance: Levin, and immediately after his departure, Count Vronsky.
The princess for her part, going round the question in the manner peculiar to women, maintained that Kitty was too young, that Levin had done nothing to prove that he had serious intentions, that Kitty felt no great attraction to him, and other side issues; but she did not state the principal point, which was that she looked for a better match for her daughter, and that Levin was not to her liking, and she did not understand him.
She disliked in Levin his strange and uncompromising opinions and his shyness in society, founded, as she supposed, on his pride and his queer sort of life, as she considered it, absorbed in cattle and peasants. She did not very much like it that he, who was in love with her daughter, had kept coming to the house for six weeks, as though he were waiting for something, inspecting, as though he were afraid he might be doing them too great an honor by making an offer, and did not realize that a man, who continually visits at a house where there is a young unmarried girl, is bound to make his intentions clear.
And suddenly, without doing so, he disappeared. Very wealthy, clever, of aristocratic family, on the highroad to a brilliant career in the army and at court, and a fascinating man. Nothing better could be wished for. Vronsky openly flirted with Kitty at balls, danced with her, and came continually to the house, consequently there could be no doubt of the seriousness of his intentions.
But, in spite of that, the mother had spent the whole of that winter in a state of terrible anxiety and agitation. Princess Shtcherbatskaya had herself been married thirty years ago, her aunt arranging the match. Her husband, about whom everything was well known beforehand, had come, looked at his future bride, and been looked at. The matchmaking aunt had ascertained and communicated their mutual impression. That impression had been favorable. Afterwards, on a day fixed beforehand, the expected offer was made to her parents, and accepted.
All had passed very simply and easily. So it seemed, at least, to the princess. The panics that had been lived through, the thoughts that had been brooded over, the money that had been wasted, and the disputes with her husband over marrying the two elder girls, Darya and Natalia! Now, since the youngest had come out, she was going through the same terrors, the same doubts, and still more violent quarrels with her husband than she had over the elder girls.
The old prince, like all fathers indeed, was exceedingly punctilious on the score of the honor and reputation of his daughters. He was irrationally jealous over his daughters, especially over Kitty, who was his favorite. At every turn he had scenes with the princess for compromising her daughter. But how marriages were made now, the princess could not learn from anyone. The English fashion of the complete independence of girls was also not accepted, and not possible in Russian society.
The Russian fashion of matchmaking by the offices of intermediate persons was for some reason considered unseemly; it was ridiculed by everyone, and by the princess herself. But how girls were to be married, and how parents were to marry them, no one knew. And, however much it was instilled into the princess that in our times young people ought to arrange their lives for themselves, she was unable to believe it, just as she would have been unable to believe that, at any time whatever, the most suitable playthings for children five years old ought to be loaded pistols.
And so the princess was more uneasy over Kitty than she had been over her elder sisters. Now she was afraid that Vronsky might confine himself to simply flirting with her daughter.
She saw that her daughter was in love with him, but tried to comfort herself with the thought that he was an honorable man, and would not do this. The week before, Kitty had told her mother of a conversation she had with Vronsky during a mazurka. This conversation had partly reassured the princess; but perfectly at ease she could not be. Vronsky had told Kitty that both he and his brother were so used to obeying their mother that they never made up their minds to any important undertaking without consulting her.
Kitty had repeated this without attaching any significance to the words. But her mother saw them in a different light. However, she was so anxious for the marriage itself, and still more for relief from her fears, that she believed it was so.
I know, I know all about it. The princess smiled that what was taking place just now in her soul seemed to the poor child so immense and so important. After dinner, and till the beginning of the evening, Kitty was feeling a sensation akin to the sensation of a young man before a battle.
Her heart throbbed violently, and her thoughts would not rest on anything. She felt that this evening, when they would both meet for the first time, would be a turning point in her life. And she was continually picturing them to herself, at one moment each separately, and then both together. When she mused on the past, she dwelt with pleasure, with tenderness, on the memories of her relations with Levin. His love for her, of which she felt certain, was flattering and delightful to her; and it was pleasant for her to think of Levin.
In her memories of Vronsky there always entered a certain element of awkwardness, though he was in the highest degree well-bred and at ease, as though there were some false note—not in Vronsky, he was very simple and nice, but in herself, while with Levin she felt perfectly simple and clear.
But, on the other hand, directly she thought of the future with Vronsky, there arose before her a perspective of brilliant happiness; with Levin the future seemed misty. When she went upstairs to dress, and looked into the looking-glass, she noticed with joy that it was one of her good days, and that she was in complete possession of all her forces,—she needed this so for what lay before her: she was conscious of external composure and free grace in her movements.
She was horrified at her paleness, as she glanced into the looking-glass. At that moment she knew beyond doubt that he had come early on purpose to find her alone and to make her an offer. And only then for the first time the whole thing presented itself in a new, different aspect; only then she realized that the question did not affect her only—with whom she would be happy, and whom she loved—but that she would have that moment to wound a man whom she liked.
And to wound him cruelly. What for? Because he, dear fellow, loved her, was in love with her. But there was no help for it, so it must be, so it would have to be. That will be a lie. What am I to say to him? That I love someone else? She had reached the door, when she heard his step. What have I to be afraid of? I have done nothing wrong.
What is to be, will be! She looked straight into his face, as though imploring him to spare her, and gave her hand. When he saw that his expectations were realized, that there was nothing to prevent him from speaking, his face became gloomy. She talked on, not knowing what her lips were uttering, and not taking her supplicating and caressing eyes off him.
She dropped her head lower and lower, not knowing herself what answer she should make to what was coming. I meant to say I came for this She was breathing heavily, not looking at him. She was feeling ecstasy. Her soul was flooded with happiness. She had never anticipated that the utterance of love would produce such a powerful effect on her.
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