第160章 第三章
第三章
吉娣特别高兴能有机会跟丈夫单独在一起，因为她注意到，当他走上平台问他们在谈什么而没有得到回答时，他脸上掠过一丝屈辱的阴影——他那张脸一向善于迅速反映各种感情。
当他们俩走在大家前头，走出宅子，踏上被车轮压得坑坑洼洼、撒着谷粒的灰土大路时，她搂住他的胳膊搂得更紧了。莱温已经完全忘记刚才那个令人不愉快的瞬间，只有他们两个人在一起，再加上他又无时无刻不在想着她即将做母亲这件事，因此虽说只是同他所爱的女人在一起，他却体会到一种从未有过的、完全摆脱肉欲的、心旷神怡的幸福。他们不需要说话，但他希望听到她的声音。她的声音也同她的眼神一样，怀孕后也变了，变得温柔而庄重，就像一个人经常全神贯注地想着自己心爱的工作那样。
“那么你不累吗？靠在我身上吧。”莱温说。
“不，我很快乐，能有机会跟你单独在一起，而且我也得承认，虽然我跟他们在一起也很快乐，可是我很怀念冬天我们两个人在一起的那些黄昏。”
“那样好，现在更好。两个都好。”他说着，紧紧握住她的手。
“你知道我们刚才在谈什么吗？你进来的时候……”
“谈果酱吗？”
“哦，是的，也谈了果酱，但后来谈的是求婚的事。”
“啊！”莱温说。他与其说在听她说话，不如说在听她说话的声音。他始终注意着那条穿过林中的道路，以免她走错地方。
“还有谢尔盖·伊凡诺维奇和华仑加的事。你注意到了没有？……我很希望这样。”吉娣继续说。“你觉得怎么样？”她说着，向他的脸瞥了一眼。
“我不知道该怎么想，”莱温笑着回答，“对我来说，塞尔盖在这方面是很古怪的。我告诉过你……”
“是的，他曾经爱过那个死去的姑娘……”
“那是他小时候的事。我只听别人传说过。我了解他当时的情况。他那时很可爱。可是后来我看见他同女人们交往：他对她们很亲切，有些他也喜欢，但总觉得对他来说她们只是一般的人，并不是女人。”
“是的，可是现在他对华仑加……我看他们之间好像有点什么……”
“也许有吧……不过，对他得了解……他这个人特别古怪，他过的完全是精神生活。他为人太纯洁，境界太高了。”
“怎么，结婚以后他就降低境界了吗？”
“不，但他惯于过精神生活，因此无法面对现实。可是华仑加毕竟是现实的人。”
莱温已经养成习惯，有话就直说，用不着字斟句酌。他知道，妻子在这样充满柔情蜜意的时刻，只要他说出一点意思，她就能明白。果然她明白他的意思了。
“是的，不过她身上的现实性没有我那么明显。我看他是永远不会喜欢我的。她身上完全是精神方面的。”
“不，他很喜欢你，我总希望我家里人也喜欢你……”
“是的，他对我很好。不过……”
“不过不像对已故的尼古拉那样……你们俩真是互相关心的，”莱温替她说完了这句话。“为什么不说说他呢？”他补充说，“有时我责备自己，因为说到他往往就算了，结果就会把他忘记。哦，他又可爱又叫人伤心啊！……是啊，我们刚才在谈什么？”莱温定了定神说。
“你以为他不会恋爱了。”吉娣用自己的话来说。
“他不是不会恋爱，”莱温笑着说，“但他缺少恋爱的弱点……我一直羡慕他，如今我虽然很幸福，我还是羡慕他。”
“你是羡慕他不会恋爱吗？”
“我羡慕他比我好，”莱温回答，“他活着不是为了自己。他的全部生活都服从于责任。因此他内心平静，感到满足。”
“你呢？”吉娣问，露出调皮而亲热的笑容。
她是什么思路使她这样笑，自己也说不出来，但最后的结论是：丈夫赞扬他的哥哥而贬低自己，却有点不真诚。吉娣知道，他的这种不真诚是由于他对哥哥的爱，是由于他因为自己太幸福而感到惭愧，更主要的是由于他有一种永不满足的求上进的心——她在他身上最爱他这一点，因此她笑了。
“那么你呢？你还有什么可不满意的？”她带着同样的笑容说。
她不相信他对自己不满意，这使他开心，他不知不觉地想引她说出她为什么不信的理由。
“我很快乐，但对自己不满意……”他说。
“那么你既然快乐，为什么对自己不满意呢？”
“嗯，这怎么说呢？……其实我什么也不在意，只要你别跌跤，你看！哦，你实在不应该这样跳，”他叫道，打断谈话，责备她跳过横在路上的树枝时动作太轻捷。“但是，我一想到自己，同别人比较，特别是同哥哥比较，我就觉得我糟透了。”
“糟在哪儿呢？”吉娣还是带着那样的笑容追问，“难道你不是也替别人做事吗？你的田地、你的农场、你的书呢？……”
“啊，我觉得，而且现在特别觉得——这要怪你，”他握了握她的手说，“这一切都不重要。我是三心二意在做这些事。我要是能像爱你那样爱这一切就好了……可近来我索性把这些事当作繁重的事来应付了。”
“喂，那么你说爸爸怎么样？”吉娣问，“他也算糟吗，什么事也不为大家做？”
“他？不！但一个人得有你父亲的质朴、坦率和善良，但是我没有。我什么事也没做，总觉得不安。这都是你的影响。在认识你以前，还有——这个，”他朝她的肚子望了一眼，她懂得他的意思，“我总把全部精力用在事业上。如今我不能了，我有点惭愧，我假装在做，其实不过是敷衍罢了……”
“那么你现在愿意同谢尔盖·伊凡诺维奇交换一下吗？”吉娣说，“愿意像他那样为公共事业做事，爱自己所担任的工作，此外什么也不计较吗？”
“当然不，”莱温说，“不过，我太幸福了，什么也不懂。那么你以为他今天会向她求婚吗？”他沉默了一会儿说。
“我想会，又有点想不会，只是我非常希望他会。你等一下。”她弯下腰，在大路旁边摘了一朵野菊花。“来，数数看：他会求婚，他不会求婚，”她把花递给他说。
莱温接过花，一面走一面念道：“会，不会，”他撕着白花瓣说。
“不，不！”吉娣抓住他的手，不让他再撕。她一直很有兴趣地注视着他的手指。“你一次撕了两瓣。”
“哦，那么这小花瓣不算，让它补上，”莱温说着，撕下一片半枯的花瓣。“瞧，我们的马车赶来了。”
“吉娣，你累不累？”公爵夫人叫道。
“一点也不累。”
“你要累了可以上车，马都很驯顺，它们正在走呢。”
但上车其实没有必要，她们已经快到地方了，于是大家一块儿走。
Kitty was particularly glad of a chance of being alone with her
husband, for she had noticed the shade of mortification that had passed
over his face—always so quick to reflect every feeling—at the moment
when he had come onto the terrace and asked what they were talking of,
and had got no answer.
When they had set off on foot ahead of the others, and had come out of
sight of the house onto the beaten dusty road, marked with rusty wheels
and sprinkled with grains of corn, she clung faster to his arm and
pressed it closer to her. He had quite forgotten the momentary
unpleasant impression, and alone with her he felt, now that the thought
of her approaching motherhood was never for a moment absent from his
mind, a new and delicious bliss, quite pure from all alloy of sense, in
the being near to the woman he loved. There was no need of speech, yet
he longed to hear the sound of her voice, which like her eyes had
changed since she had been with child. In her voice, as in her eyes,
there was that softness and gravity which is found in people
continually concentrated on some cherished pursuit.
“So you’re not tired? Lean more on me,” said he.
“No, I’m so glad of a chance of being alone with you, and I must own,
though I’m happy with them, I do regret our winter evenings alone.”
“That was good, but this is even better. Both are better,” he said,
squeezing her hand.
“Do you know what we were talking about when you came in?”
“About jam?”
“Oh, yes, about jam too; but afterwards, about how men make offers.”
“Ah!” said Levin, listening more to the sound of her voice than to the
words she was saying, and all the while paying attention to the road,
which passed now through the forest, and avoiding places where she
might make a false step.
“And about Sergey Ivanovitch and Varenka. You’ve noticed?... I’m very
anxious for it,” she went on. “What do you think about it?” And she
peeped into his face.
“I don’t know what to think,” Levin answered, smiling. “Sergey seems
very strange to me in that way. I told you, you know....”
“Yes, that he was in love with that girl who died....”
“That was when I was a child; I know about it from hearsay and
tradition. I remember him then. He was wonderfully sweet. But I’ve
watched him since with women; he is friendly, some of them he likes,
but one feels that to him they’re simply people, not women.”
“Yes, but now with Varenka ... I fancy there’s something....”
“Perhaps there is.... But one has to know him.... He’s a peculiar,
wonderful person. He lives a spiritual life only. He’s too pure, too
exalted a nature.”
“Why? Would this lower him, then?”
“No, but he’s so used to a spiritual life that he can’t reconcile
himself with actual fact, and Varenka is after all fact.”
Levin had grown used by now to uttering his thought boldly, without
taking the trouble of clothing it in exact language. He knew that his
wife, in such moments of loving tenderness as now, would understand
what he meant to say from a hint, and she did understand him.
