Family Happiness - Leo Nikoleyevich Tolstoy (classic books for 10 year olds .txt) 📗

back, Masha, do you think? he asked.

 

“It never was spoilt and never will be,” I said; and I really believed this

then.

 

“God grant that you are right!” he said; “if not, we ought to be going

home.”

 

But he only spoke like this once — in general he seemed as satisfied as I

was, and I was so gay and so happy! I comforted myself too by thinking, “If

he is bored sometimes, I endured the same thing for his sake in the country.

If the relation between us has become a little different, everything will be

the same again in summer, when we shall be alone in our house at Nikolskoye

with Tatyana Semyonovna.”

 

So the winter slipped by, and we stayed on, in spite of our plans, over

Easter in Petersburg. A week later we were preparing to start; our packing

was all done; my husband who had bought things — plants for the garden and

presents for people at Nikolskoye, was in a specially cheerful and

affectionate mood. Just then Princess D. came and begged us to stay till the

Saturday, in order to be present at a reception to be given by Countess R.

The countess was very anxious to secure me, because a foreign prince, who

was visiting Petersburg and had seen me already at a ball, wished to make my

acquaintance; indeed this was his motive for attending the reception, and he

declared that I was the most beautiful woman in Russia. All the world was to

be there; and, in a word, it would really be too bad, if I did not go too.

 

My husband was talking to someone at the other end of the drawing room.

 

“So you will go, won’t you, Mary?” said the Princess.

 

“We meant to start for the country the day after tomorrow,” I answered

undecidedly, glancing at my husband. Our eyes met, and he turned away at

once.

 

“I must persuade him to stay,” she said, “and then we can go on Saturday and

turn all heads. All right?”

 

“It would upset our plans; and we have packed,” I answered, beginning to

give way.

 

“She had better go this evening and make her curtsey to the Prince,” my

husband called out from the other end of the room; and he spoke in a tone of

suppressed irritation which I had never heard from him before.

 

“I declare he’s jealous, for the first time in his life,” said the lady,

laughing. “But it’s not for the sake of the Prince I urge it, Sergey

Mikhaylych, but for all our sakes. The Countess was so anxious to have

her.”

 

“It rests with her entirely,” my husband said coldly, and then left the

room.

 

I saw that he was much disturbed, and this pained me. I gave no positive

promise. As soon as our visitor left, I went to my husband. He was walking

up and down his room, thinking, and neither saw nor heard me when I came in

on tiptoe.

 

Looking at him, I said to myself: “He is dreaming already of his dear

Nikolskoye, our morning coffee in the bright drawing room, the land and the

laborers, our evenings in the music room, and our secret midnight

suppers.” Then I decided in my own heart: “Not for all the balls and all the

flattering princes in the world will I give up his glad confusion and tender

cares.” I was just about to say that I did not wish to go to the ball and

would refuse, when he looked round, saw me, and frowned. His face, which had

been gentle and thoughtful, changed at once to its old expression of

sagacity, penetration, and patronizing composure. He would not show himself

to me as a mere man, but had to be a demigod on a pedestal.

 

“Well, my dear?” he asked, turning towards me with an unconcerned air.

 

I said nothing. I ws provoked, because he was hiding his real self from me,

and would not continue to be the man I loved.

 

“Do you want to go to this reception on Saturday?” he asked.

 

“I did, but you disapprove. Besides, our things are all packed,” I said.

 

Never before had I heard such coldness in his tone to me, and never before

seen such coldness in his eye.

 

“I shall order the things to be unpacked,” he said, “and I shall stay till

Tuesday. So you can go to the party, if you like. I hope you will; but I

shall not go.”

 

Without looking at me, he began to walk about the room jerkily, as his habit

was when perturbed.

 

“I simply can’t understand you,” I said, following him with my eyes from

where I stood. “You say that you never lose self-control” (he had never

really said so); “then why do you talk to me so strangely? I am ready on

your account to sacrifice this pleasure, and then you, in a sarcastic tone

which is new from you to me, insist that I should go.”

 

“So you make a sacrifice!” he threw special emphasis on the last word.

“Well, so do I. What could be better? We compete in generosity — what an

example of family happiness!”

 

Such harsh and contemptuous language I had never heard from his lips before.

I was not abashed, but mortified by his contempt; and his harshness did not

frighten me but made me harsh too. How could he speak thus, he who was

always so frank and simple and dreaded insincerity in our speech to one

another? And what had I done that he should speak so? I really intended to

sacrifice for his sake a pleasure in which I could see no harm; and a moment

ago I loved him and understood his feelings as well as ever. We had changed

parts: now he avoided direct and plain words, and I desired them.

 

“You are much changed,” I said, with a sigh. “How am I guilty before you? It

is not this party — you have something else, some old count against me. Why

this insincerity? You used to be so afraid of it yourself. Tell me plainly

what you complain of.” “What will he say?” thought I, and reflected with

some complacency that I had done nothing all winter which he could find

fault with.

 

I went into the middle of the room, so that he had to pass close to me, and

looked at him. I thought, “He will come and clasp me in his arms, and there

will be an end of it.” I was even sorry that I should not have the chance of

proving him wrong. But he stopped at the far end of the room and looked at

me.

 

“Do you not understand yet?” he asked.

 

“No, I don’t.”

 

“Then I must explain. what I feel, and cannot help feeling, positively

sickens me for the first time in my life.” He stopped, evidently startled by

the harsh sound of his own voice.

 

“What do you mean?” I asked, with tears of indignation in my eyes.

 

“It sickens me that the Prince admired you, and you therefore run to meet

him, forgetting your husband and yourself and womanly dignity; and you

wilfully misunderstand what your want of self-respect makes your husband

feel for you: you actually come to your husband and speak of the

“sacrifice” you are making, by which you mean — “To show myself to His

Highness is a great pleasure to me, but I ‘sacrifice’ it.”

 

The longer he spoke, the more he was excited by the sound of his own voice,

which was hard and rough and cruel. I had never seen him, had never thought

of seeing him, like that. The blood rushed to my heart and I was frightened;

but I felt that I had nothing to be ashamed of, and the excitement of

wounded vanity made me eager to punish him.

 

“I have long been expecting this,” I said. “Go on. Go on!”

 

“What you expected, I don’t know,” he went on; “but I might well expect the

worst, when I saw you day after day sharing the dirtiness and idleness and

luxury of this foolish society, and it has come at last. Never have I felt

such shame and pain as now — pain for myself, when your friend thrusts her

unclean fingers into my heart and speaks of my jealousy! — jealousy of a man

whom neither you nor I know; and you refuse to understand me and offer to

make a sacrifice for me — and what sacrifice? I am ashamed for you, for your

degradation! …Sacrifice!” he repeated again.

 

“Ah, so this is a husband’s power,” thought I: “to insult and humiliate a

perfectly innocent woman. Such may be a husband’s rights, but I will not

submit to them.” I felt the blood leave my face and a strange distension of

my nostrils, as I said, “No! I make no sacrifice on your account. I shall go

to the party on Saturday without fail.”

 

“And I hope you may enjoy it. But all is over between us two!” he cried out

in a fit of unrestrained fury. “But you shall not torture me any longer! I

was a fool, when I …”, but his lips quivered, and he refrained with a

visible effort from ending the sentence.

 

I feared and hated him at that moment. I wished to say a great deal to him

and punish him for all his insults; but if I had opened my mouth, I should

have lost my dignity by bursting into tears. I said nothing and left the

room. But as soon as I ceased to hear his footsteps, I was horrified at what

we had done. I feared that the tie which had made all my happiness might

really be snapped forever; and I thought of going back. But then I wondered:

“Is he calm enough now to understand me, if I mutely stretch out my hand and

look at him? Will he realize my generosity? What if he calls my grief a mere

pretence? Or he may feel sure that he is right and accept my repentance and

forgive me with unruffled pride. And why, oh why, did he whom I loved so

well insult me so cruelly?”

 

I went not to him but to my own room, where I sat for a long time and cried.

I recalled with horror each word of our conversation, and substituted

different words, kind words, for those that we had spoken, and added others;

and then again I remembered the reality with horror and a feeling of injury.

In the evening I went down for tea and met my husband in the presence of a

friend who was staying with us; and it seemed to me that a wide gulf had

opened between us from that day. Our friend asked me when we were to start;

and before I could speak, my husband answered:

 

“On Tuesday,” he said; “we have to stay for Countess R.‘s reception.” He

turned to me: “I believe you intend to go?” he asked.

 

His matter-of-fact tone frightened me, and I looked at him timidly. His eyes

were directed straight at me with an unkind and scornful expression; his

voice was cold and even.

 

“Yes,” I answered.

 

When we were alone that evening, he came up to me and held out his hand.

 

“Please forget what I said to you today,” he began.

 

As I took his hand, a smile quivered on my lips and the tears were ready to

flow; but he took his hand away and sat down on an armchair at