第一百五十六章 第三十二章
第三十二章
弗龙斯基回到家时，安娜还没有回来。他走后不久，据仆人禀报，有位太太来访，安娜就和她一起出门了。她出门没有留下口信说她去了哪里，到现在还没有回来，整个早上她出去都没跟他说一声——这一切，加上早上她脸上那种兴奋不安的异样神情，以及她当着亚什温的面，用敌意的口气几乎是夺过他手里的儿子照片的情景，都使他严肃起来。他决定必须跟她开诚布公地谈一谈。于是他在她的客厅里等她。但安娜不是独自回来的，她带来了她的老姑母——奥勃朗斯基公爵夫人。这就是早上来访的那位太太，安娜和她一起去买东西了。安娜仿佛没有注意到弗龙斯基不安而又探询的神色，开始兴致勃勃地讲述她早上购物的经过。他看出她心里有什么事；在她那双闪闪发亮的眼睛偶尔落在他身上时，他看到一种过分留心的神情，而她的言语和动作中却流露出那种神经质的敏捷和优雅，在他们亲密生活的初期，这种神态曾那样令他着迷，可现在却使他感到不安和惊恐。
晚餐是为四个人准备的。大家正要走进小餐厅时，图什克维奇带着贝特西公爵夫人的口信来了。贝特西公爵夫人请安娜原谅她没来辞行；她身体不适，但恳请安娜在六点半到九点之间到她那里去。弗龙斯基听到这个明确的时间限定（暗示她已采取了某种措施，以免安娜遇到什么人），便朝安娜看了一眼；但安娜似乎没有注意到这一点。
“非常抱歉，我无法在六点半到九点之间去，”她淡淡一笑说。
“公爵夫人会非常遗憾的。”
“我也很遗憾。”
“您大概要去听帕蒂①的歌剧吧？”图什克维奇说。
“帕蒂？您这倒提醒了我。要是能弄到包厢，我倒真想去。”
“我可以弄到一个包厢，”图什克维奇自告奋勇地说。
“那真是太感谢您了，”安娜说。“您和我们一起吃饭好吗？”
弗龙斯基微微耸了耸肩。他完全不明白安娜的用意。她为什么要把那位老奥勃朗斯基公爵夫人带回家来？为什么让图什克维奇留下来吃饭？最令人费解的是，她为什么还要支使他去弄包厢？难道她真的会以她目前的处境去听帕蒂的义演，那里她所有的熟人都要去的吗？他用严肃的目光望着她，但她的目光却带着一种挑衅的、半是欢快半是绝望的神情，他无法理解其中的含义。吃饭时，安娜显得特别兴奋——她几乎是在和图什克维奇及亚什温调情。当他们吃完饭站起来时，图什克维奇去歌剧院弄包厢，亚什温去吸烟，弗龙斯基便和他一起下楼到自己房间里去了。他坐了一会儿，又跑上楼来。安娜已经换好了衣服，穿着一件她在巴黎定做的、开口很低的淡色丝绸镶天鹅绒的连衣裙，头上戴着昂贵的白色花边，衬托着她的脸庞，特别好看，愈发显出她那令人目眩的美貌。
“您真的要去剧院吗？”他竭力不去看她，说道。
“您为什么问得这样惊慌？”她因为他没有看她而感到委屈。“我为什么不能去呢？”
她似乎不明白他话里的含义。
“噢，当然没有什么理由，”他皱着眉头说。
“正是这话，”她说道，故意不理会他话中的讽刺意味，泰然自若地翻转着她那只长长的、洒过香水的长手套。
“安娜，看在上帝份上！您这是怎么了？”他用她丈夫对她说话时的那种语气说道。
“我不明白您在问什么。”
“您知道，去那里是不行的。”
“为什么不？我又不是一个人去。瓦尔瓦拉公爵夫人去换衣服了，她和我一起去。”
他带着困惑和绝望的神情耸了耸肩。
“难道您还不知道？……”他开口说。
“但我也不想知道！”她几乎尖叫起来。“我不想知道。难道我后悔做过的事吗？不，不，不！如果一切从头再来，结果还会一样。对我们来说，对您和我来说，只有一件事是重要的，那就是我们是否相爱。其他人我们不必考虑。为什么我们要这样分开居住，不能见面？为什么我不能去？我爱您，别的我什么都不在乎，”她用俄语说，望着他，眼睛里闪着他无法理解的异样光芒。“要是您对我没有变心，为什么您不看着我？”
他看了看她。他看到了她脸庞的全部美丽，以及这身对她总是很合适的盛装。但现在，正是她的美丽和优雅使他感到恼怒。
“我的感情是不会变的，这您知道，但我请求您，我恳求您，”他又用法语说，声音里带着温柔的恳求，但眼神里却透着冷漠。
她没有听见他说的话，但她看见了他眼神里的冷意，于是恼怒地回答说：
“我要求您解释清楚，为什么我不应该去。”
“因为这可能会给您招来……”他迟疑了一下。
“我不明白。亚什温不是那种会惹人闲话的人，而瓦尔瓦拉公爵夫人也不比别的女人差。哦，她来了！”
When Vronsky returned home, Anna was not yet home. Soon after he had
left, some lady, so they told him, had come to see her, and she had
gone out with her. That she had gone out without leaving word where she
was going, that she had not yet come back, and that all the morning she
had been going about somewhere without a word to him—all this, together
with the strange look of excitement in her face in the morning, and the
recollection of the hostile tone with which she had before Yashvin
almost snatched her son’s photographs out of his hands, made him
serious. He decided he absolutely must speak openly with her. And he
waited for her in her drawing-room. But Anna did not return alone, but
brought with her her old unmarried aunt, Princess Oblonskaya. This was
the lady who had come in the morning, and with whom Anna had gone out
shopping. Anna appeared not to notice Vronsky’s worried and inquiring
expression, and began a lively account of her morning’s shopping. He
saw that there was something working within her; in her flashing eyes,
when they rested for a moment on him, there was an intense
concentration, and in her words and movements there was that nervous
rapidity and grace which, during the early period of their intimacy,
had so fascinated him, but which now so disturbed and alarmed him.
The dinner was laid for four. All were gathered together and about to
go into the little dining-room when Tushkevitch made his appearance
with a message from Princess Betsy. Princess Betsy begged her to excuse
her not having come to say good-bye; she had been indisposed, but
begged Anna to come to her between half-past six and nine o’clock.
Vronsky glanced at Anna at the precise limit of time, so suggestive of
steps having been taken that she should meet no one; but Anna appeared
not to notice it.
“Very sorry that I can’t come just between half-past six and nine,” she
said with a faint smile.
“The princess will be very sorry.”
“And so am I.”
“You’re going, no doubt, to hear Patti?” said Tushkevitch.
“Patti? You suggest the idea to me. I would go if it were possible to
get a box.”
“I can get one,” Tushkevitch offered his services.
“I should be very, very grateful to you,” said Anna. “But won’t you
dine with us?”
Vronsky gave a hardly perceptible shrug. He was at a complete loss to
understand what Anna was about. What had she brought the old Princess
Oblonskaya home for, what had she made Tushkevitch stay to dinner for,
and, most amazing of all, why was she sending him for a box? Could she
possibly think in her position of going to Patti’s benefit, where all
the circle of her acquaintances would be? He looked at her with serious
eyes, but she responded with that defiant, half-mirthful,
half-desperate look, the meaning of which he could not comprehend. At
dinner Anna was in aggressively high spirits—she almost flirted both
with Tushkevitch and with Yashvin. When they got up from dinner and
Tushkevitch had gone to get a box at the opera, Yashvin went to smoke,
and Vronsky went down with him to his own rooms. After sitting there
for some time he ran upstairs. Anna was already dressed in a low-necked
gown of light silk and velvet that she had had made in Paris, and with
costly white lace on her head, framing her face, and particularly
becoming, showing up her dazzling beauty.
“Are you really going to the theater?” he said, trying not to look at
her.
“Why do you ask with such alarm?” she said, wounded again at his not
looking at her. “Why shouldn’t I go?”
She appeared not to understand the motive of his words.
“Oh, of course, there’s no reason whatever,” he said, frowning.
“That’s just what I say,” she said, willfully refusing to see the irony
of his tone, and quietly turning back her long, perfumed glove.
“Anna, for God’s sake! what is the matter with you?” he said, appealing
to her exactly as once her husband had done.
“I don’t understand what you are asking.”
“You know that it’s out of the question to go.”
“Why so? I’m not going alone. Princess Varvara has gone to dress, she
is going with me.”
He shrugged his shoulders with an air of perplexity and despair.
“But do you mean to say you don’t know?...” he began.
“But I don’t care to know!” she almost shrieked. “I don’t care to. Do I
regret what I have done? No, no, no! If it were all to do again from
the beginning, it would be the same. For us, for you and for me, there
is only one thing that matters, whether we love each other. Other
people we need not consider. Why are we living here apart and not
seeing each other? Why can’t I go? I love you, and I don’t care for
anything,” she said in Russian, glancing at him with a peculiar gleam
in her eyes that he could not understand. “If you have not changed to
me, why don’t you look at me?”
He looked at her. He saw all the beauty of her face and full dress,
always so becoming to her. But now her beauty and elegance were just
what irritated him.
“My feeling cannot change, you know, but I beg you, I entreat you,” he
said again in French, with a note of tender supplication in his voice,
but with coldness in his eyes.
She did not hear his words, but she saw the coldness of his eyes, and
answered with irritation:
“And I beg you to explain why I should not go.”
“Because it might cause you....” he hesitated.
“I don’t understand. Yashvin _n’est pas compromettant_, and Princess
Varvara is no worse than others. Oh, here she is!”
