Лев Толстой - Katia

Time went on, the snow piled higher and higher against the walls of the house, and we were always alone, still alone, always with each other, while away yonder, – I knew not where, but yonder somewhere, – in stir and motion, in splendor and excitement, was the crowd, feeling, suffering, rejoicing, amusing itself, without one thought of us and our vanished existence. Worst of all to me was the consciousness that day by day the chain of habit was binding and pressing our life closer into its narrow mould, that our love itself would enter into bondage and become subject to the monotonous and dispassionate law of time. To be cheerful in the morning, respectful at dinner, affectionate in the evening! “To do good!” I said to myself, it is all very well and admirable to do good, and to live a worthy life, as he says; but we have yet time enough for that; there are other things for which, to-day, I feel powers within me. This is not what I wanted; what I wanted was combat, struggle; was to feel that love is our guide in life, not that life guides our love. I could have wished to draw near to the abyss with him, to say to him: “One more step, and I dash myself down, one more movement and I perish;” he, while paling on the brink of this abyss, he would have seized me with his powerful hand, held me there suspended above the gulf, my heart faint with fear, – and then he might have borne me whithersoever he would!

This mood of my soul began to tell upon my health, my nerves began to be out of order. One morning I felt even more upset than usual, and Sergius returned home in rather a bad temper, which was an extremely rare occurrence with him; I noticed it at once, and asked him what was the matter, but he would not tell me, only remarking that it was not worth while. As I afterwards learned, the ispravnik, 7 7 Justice of the peace, of the district. from ill-will to my husband, had summoned several peasants, made some illegal exaction of them, and had even uttered menaces against him. My husband had not yet been able to look into the matter and, moreover, as it was but a piece of absurd impertinence he had not cared to tell me of it; but I imagined that his not telling me was because he considered me a child, and that in his eyes I was incapable of understanding what interested him. I turned from him in silence, without saying a word; he went into his study, gravely, and shut his door after him. When I could no longer hear him, I sat down on a divan, almost crying. “Why,” said I to myself, “does he persist in humiliating me by his solemn calmness, by being always in the right? Am I not in the right also, when I am wearied, when everywhere I feel emptiness, when I long to live, to move, not to stay forever in one place and feel time walk over me? I wish to go onward, each day, each hour; I wish for something new, while he, – he wants to stand still in one spot, and keep me standing there with him! And yet how easy it would be for him to satisfy me! He need not take me to the city, it would only be necessary for him to be a little like me, for him to stop trying to constrain and crush himself with his own hands, for him to live naturally. That is what he is always advising me, and it is he who is not natural, that is all.”

I felt my tears getting the mastery of me, and my irritation against him increasing. I was afraid of this irritation, and I went to find him. He was sitting in his study, writing. Hearing my steps, he turned for an instant, looked at me with a calm and indifferent air, and continued writing; this look did not please me, and instead of going up to him, I stopped near the table where he was writing and, opening a book, began to run my eyes over the page. He turned then, a second time, and looked at me again:

“Katia, you are not as bright as usual!”

I only responded by a cold glance, meant to convey: “And why? And why so much amiability?” He shook his head at me, and smiled timidly and tenderly; but, for the first time, my smile would not answer his.

“What was the matter with you this morning?” I asked, “why would you tell me nothing?”

“It was a trifle! a slight worry,” he replied. “I can tell you all about it, now. Two peasants had been summoned to the city…”

But I would not let him finish.

“Why did you not tell me when I asked you?”

“I might have said something foolish, I was angry then.”

“That was just the time to tell me.”

“And why so?”

“What you think, then, is that I never can help you in anything?”

“What I think?” said he, throwing down his pen. “I think that without you I could not live. In all things, in all, not only are you a help to me, but it is by you that everything is done. You are literally to me ‘well-fallen,’” he went on smiling. “It is in you alone that I live; it seems to me nothing is good but because you are there, because you must…”

“Yes, I know it, I am a nice little child who has to be petted and kept quiet,” said I, in such a tone that he looked at me in amazement. “But I do not want this quieting; I have had enough of it!”

“Come, let me tell you about this morning’s trouble,” he said hastily, as if he was afraid to give me time to say more: “let us see what you think of it!”

“I do not wish to hear it now,” I replied.

I really did want to hear it, but it was more agreeable to me, at this moment, to disturb his tranquillity.

“I do not wish to play with the things of life; I wish to live,” I added; “like you.”

His face, which always so clearly and so readily reflected every impression, wore a look of suffering and intense attention.

“I wish to live with you in perfect equality…”

But I could not finish, such profound pain was on his face. He was silent an instant.

“And in what do you not live with me on a footing of equality?” he said: “it is I, not you, that is concerned in this affair of the ispravnik and some drunken peasants.”

“Yes, but it is not only this case,” said I.

“For the love of God, do understand me, my darling,” he continued; “I know how painful a thing care is for us all; I have lived, and I know it. I love you, therefore I would spare you every care. My life is centred in my love for you; so do not prevent my living!”

“You are always right,” said I, without looking at him.

I could not bear to see him once more serene and tranquil, while I was so full of anger and a feeling somewhat resembling repentance.

“Katia! What is the matter with you?” said he. “The question is not in the least which of us two is in the right, what we were talking about is something entirely different! What have you against me? Do not tell me at once; reflect, and then tell me all that is in your thoughts. You are displeased with me, you have, no doubt, a reason, but explain to me in what I am to blame.”

But how could I tell him all that I had in the bottom of my heart? The thought that he had seen through me at once, that again I found myself as a child before him, that I could do nothing that he did not comprehend and foresee, excited me more than ever.

“I have nothing against you,” said I, “but I am tired, and I do not like ennui. You say that this must be so, and, of course, once more you are right!”

As I spoke, I looked in his face. My object was attained; his serenity had disappeared; alarm and pain were stamped upon his face.

“Katia!” he began, in a low, agitated voice, “this is no jesting we are engaged in, at this moment. Our fate is being decided. I ask you to say nothing, only to hear me. Why are you torturing me thus?”

But I broke in.

“Say no more, you are right,” said I, coldly, as if it were not I, but some evil spirit speaking with my lips.