第一百五十五章 第三十一章
第三十一章
安娜尽管那么渴望见到儿子，那么长久地一直想着这事，并且事先做过种种准备，但她根本没有料到，看见儿子会使她如此激动。她回到旅馆那套孤寂的房间以后，好半天弄不明白她为什么待在这里。“是的，一切都完了，我又剩下孤零零一个人了，”她自言自语，帽子也没脱，就坐到壁炉旁边的一把矮椅上。她眼睛凝视着窗户之间桌上放着的一尊青铜时钟，呆呆地思索着。
那个从国外带来的法国侍女走进来，请她更衣。她惊奇地对侍女望望说：“等一等。”仆人送来咖啡。“等一等，”她说。
那个意大利保姆给孩子打扮得漂漂亮亮，走进来把孩子抱给她看。这个胖胖的、长得很好的孩子，一看见母亲，就像平时一样伸出两只胖乎乎的小手，咧开没牙的嘴，笑容满面地笑着，像鱼鳍似的摆动着她那两只小手，让浆硬的绣花裙子发出 哗啦的声音。看着她，不笑，不吻她，不伸出一个手指让她抓住，让她又是叫又是跳地全身活跃起来；不把嘴唇送给她，让她像接吻似的用小嘴吮吸着，都是不可能的。安娜把这一切都做了，她把孩子抱在怀里，让她跳蹦蹦，吻了吻她那红润的小脸蛋和裸露的小胳膊；但是看见这个孩子，她心里就更清楚了，她对她的感情，比起对谢辽沙的感情来，简直说不上是爱。这个婴孩是可爱的，但不知怎的她的心却并不怎样被她打动。第一个孩子虽然是不爱的丈夫生的，却占去了安娜全部没有满足的感情。小姑娘是在最痛苦的境况下生下来的，她所得到的关心和照顾还比不上她哥哥所受的百分之一。况且，小姑娘刚出世，今后一切都还刚刚开始，而谢辽沙已经几乎是个大人，一个可爱的人了；他的思想和感情已经在他心里展开了斗争；他了解她，爱她，批评她；她—想起他那些充满哲理的言语和眼神，─就含着眼泪这样想，她永远——肉体上和精神上——跟他分离了，而且这事再也无法挽回了。
她把那女孩交还给保姆，让她走了，然后打开一个像盒，里面放着谢辽沙现在差不多和小姑娘同样年纪时的照片。她站起身来，脱下帽子，从一张小桌上拿起一本相册，里面放着她儿子不同年龄的照片。她要比较一番，就把照片全取了出来。只除了一张，是最近拍的也是最好的一张照片。照片上他穿着一件白色绣花衬衫，骑坐在一把椅子上，皱着眉头，嘴角挂着微笑。这是他的最美好、最有特色的表情。她的纤细灵活的手，那一根根白嫩的指头，今天动作起来显得特别紧张，她捏住这张照片的一角，但照片不知怎的在滑动，她总取不出来。桌上没有裁纸刀，她就拿起旁边那张照片（这是弗龙斯基在罗马拍的，戴一顶圆帽，留着长头发），用它把儿子的照片剔出来。“哦，找到他了，”她看了一眼弗龙斯基的照片，忽然想起他就是她今天不幸的根源。整个早晨她一次也没有想到过他。但是，现在，看见这张熟悉而又亲切的英俊刚毅的脸，她突然感到一阵潮水般涌上心头的爱的热浪。
“他现在在哪儿？他怎么丢下我一个人遭受痛苦？”她忽然带着一种责怪的心情想道，忘记了她自己把有关儿子的事情瞒着他。她派人去请他立刻到她这里来。她心里扑通扑通地跳着等他，她一边思考着把一切话告诉他的措词，以及他用来安慰她的那些爱的表情，一边在房间里来回踱步。她等来的却是仆人的回报，说他正在同一位客人谈话，他一会儿就来，并且请问，她能否让亚什温公爵——他刚来到彼得堡——跟他一起进来。“他不是一个人来，而且从昨天午饭起就没有见过我，”她想；“他不是单独来，好让我把一切都说出来，而是同亚什温一起来的。”忽然她脑子里产生了一个古怪的念头：要是他不再爱她了，那怎么办？
她核计着最近几天来的种种事情，觉得每件事都证实了她那个可怕的想法：他昨天没有回家吃午饭；他坚持他们要在彼得堡分开居住；甚至现在他也不是单独来看她，好像要避免和她单独相见似的。
“可是，他应该把这话明确告诉我。我需要知道事实。如果我知道了事实，那我就知道该怎么办了，”她对自己说，她怎么也无法设想，假如她确信他对她无所谓时她将处于怎样的境地。她以为他不再爱她了，她已濒于绝望，因而感到特别紧张。她打铃叫侍女到梳妆间来。她在打扮时，比这几天来更加细心，仿佛要是他对她冷淡了，那么她打扮得更加漂亮，更加入时，他也许又会爱上她。
门铃响了，她还没有梳妆好。她走进客厅时，迎面碰上的不是他，而是亚什温。弗龙斯基正在看她忘在桌上的儿子照片，他并不急着转过身来看她。
“我们已经认识了，”她说，把她那只小手放到亚什温的大手里，亚什温的怕难为情的神情跟他魁梧的身材和粗鲁的面貌显得很不相称。“去年赛马会上我们就认识了。把照片给我，”她说，从弗龙斯基手里迅速地把儿子的照片拿过来，她那双闪烁的眼睛意味深长地瞟了他一眼。“今年赛马会举行得好吗？我倒是在罗马的科尔索大街上看见了赛马。不过，您并不喜欢国外的生活，”她殷勤地微笑着说。“我了解您，也知道您的脾气，虽然我们见面的次数很少。”
“很遗憾，因为我的脾气多半是不好的，”亚什温说着，咬了咬左边的小胡子。
他们随便谈了一会儿，亚什温发现弗龙斯基在看看表，就问安娜，她是否准备在彼得堡再住些时候，他伸开他那魁伟的身子，伸手去取帽子。
“我想，不会久了，”她困惑地望了望弗龙斯基说。
“那么，我们不会再见面啦？”
“您来和我一起吃晚饭吧，”安娜果断地说，她好像气她自己刚才一时发窘，但和平时一样，一遇到生人，她就立刻明确地摆明她的处境。“这里的晚饭不好，不过至少您还可以看见他。在团里，阿列克谢的老朋友中，谁也没有他像您那样受他喜爱的。”
“非常高兴，”亚什温笑着说，弗龙斯基从他的笑容上看出他很喜欢安娜。
亚什温告辞走了；弗龙斯基留了下来。
“你也走吗？”她对他说。
“我已经晚了，”他回答。“走吧！我马上赶上你，”他对亚什温喊道。
她握住他的手，目不转睛地凝视着他，一面搜索枯肠，想说点什么把他留住的话。
“等一等，我有话要跟你说，”她握住他那宽阔的手，把它贴到自己的脖子上。“哦，我请他吃饭，那不得事吧？”
“你做得很好，”他说，露出整齐的牙齿平静地微笑着，吻了吻她的手。
“阿列克谢，你没有变心吧？”她说着，把他的双手紧紧握住。“阿列克谢，我在这里很难受。我们什么时候走？”
“快了，快了。我们的生活这样乱糟糟，你简直不会相信，我也多么难受，”他说道，挣脱了他的手。
“嗯，去吧，去吧！”她委屈地说，很快地离开了他。
As intensely as Anna had longed to see her son, and long as she had
been thinking of it and preparing herself for it, she had not in the
least expected that seeing him would affect her so deeply. On getting
back to her lonely rooms in the hotel she could not for a long while
understand why she was there. “Yes, it’s all over, and I am again
alone,” she said to herself, and without taking off her hat she sat
down in a low chair by the hearth. Fixing her eyes on a bronze clock
standing on a table between the windows, she tried to think.
The French maid brought from abroad came in to suggest she should
dress. She gazed at her wonderingly and said, “Presently.” A footman
offered her coffee. “Later on,” she said.
The Italian nurse, after having taken the baby out in her best, came in
with her, and brought her to Anna. The plump, well-fed little baby, on
seeing her mother, as she always did, held out her fat little hands,
and with a smile on her toothless mouth, began, like a fish with a
float, bobbing her fingers up and down the starched folds of her
embroidered skirt, making them rustle. It was impossible not to smile,
not to kiss the baby, impossible not to hold out a finger for her to
clutch, crowing and prancing all over; impossible not to offer her a
lip which she sucked into her little mouth by way of a kiss. And all
this Anna did, and took her in her arms and made her dance, and kissed
her fresh little cheek and bare little elbows; but at the sight of this
child it was plainer than ever to her that the feeling she had for her
could not be called love in comparison with what she felt for Seryozha.
Everything in this baby was charming, but for some reason all this did
not go deep to her heart. On her first child, though the child of an
unloved father, had been concentrated all the love that had never found
satisfaction. Her baby girl had been born in the most painful
circumstances and had not had a hundredth part of the care and thought
which had been concentrated on her first child. Besides, in the little
girl everything was still in the future, while Seryozha was by now
almost a personality, and a personality dearly loved. In him there was
a conflict of thought and feeling; he understood her, he loved her, he
judged her, she thought, recalling his words and his eyes. And she was
forever—not physically only but spiritually—divided from him, and it
was impossible to set this right.
She gave the baby back to the nurse, let her go, and opened the locket
in which there was Seryozha’s portrait when he was almost of the same
age as the girl. She got up, and, taking off her hat, took up from a
little table an album in which there were photographs of her son at
different ages. She wanted to compare them, and began taking them out
of the album. She took them all out except one, the latest and best
photograph. In it he was in a white smock, sitting astride a chair,
with frowning eyes and smiling lips. It was his best, most
characteristic expression. With her little supple hands, her white,
delicate fingers, that moved with a peculiar intensity today, she
pulled at a corner of the photograph, but the photograph had caught
somewhere, and she could not get it out. There was no paper-knife on
the table, and so, pulling out the photograph that was next to her
son’s (it was a photograph of Vronsky taken at Rome in a round hat and
with long hair), she used it to push out her son’s photograph. “Oh,
here is he!” she said, glancing at the portrait of Vronsky, and she
suddenly recalled that he was the cause of her present misery. She had
not once thought of him all the morning. But now, coming all at once
upon that manly, noble face, so familiar and so dear to her, she felt a
sudden rush of love for him.
