Читать книгу Anna Karenina - 2 Classic Unabridged Translations in one eBook (Garnett and Maude translations) - Leo Tolstoy - Страница 84

OBLONSKY had gone to Petersburg to fulfil a very necessary duty — which to officials seems most natural and familiar, though to laymen it is incomprehensible — that of reminding the Ministry of his existence, without the performance of which rite continuance in Government service is impossible. Having taken away with him all the money there was in the house, he contrived while attending to duty to pass his time very pleasantly, going to races and visiting at country houses. Meanwhile, to curtail expenses, Dolly and her children moved to the country. She went to Ergushovo, the estate which had formed part of her dowry, about thirty-five miles distant from Levin’s Pokrovsk, and the very place where in spring the forest had been sold.

The old mansion on the estate had been pulled down long ago, but there was a smaller house which had been enlarged and decorated by the Prince. Some twenty years before, when Dolly was still a child, that house had seemed roomy and convenient, though in common with all houses of the kind it stood away from the drive and had not a south aspect. It was old and beginning to decay. In the spring, when Oblonsky went there to sell the forest, Dolly had asked him to look over the house and have all necessary repairs done. Like all guilty husbands Oblonsky was very anxious about his wife’s comfort, so he looked over the house himself and gave orders to have everything done that seemed to him necessary. According to him it was necessary to re-upholster the furniture with new cretonne, to put up curtains, make the garden tidy, plant flowers and build a bridge by the lake; but he forgot many other things which were essential, and thus caused Dolly a great deal of trouble.

Try as he would to be a considerate husband and father, Oblonsky never could remember that he had a wife and children. He had the tastes of a bachelor and understood no others. When he returned to Moscow he informed his wife that all was being prepared, that the house would look like a new toy, and advised her to move thither. Her departure for the country suited Oblonsky in every way: it was good for the children, expenses would be cut down, and he would be freer. His wife, on the other hand, considered going to the country for the summer to be absolutely necessary for the children, especially for the little girl who had not recovered her health after the scarlet fever; and also in order to escape the humiliation of small debts for fuel, fish, boots, and so on, which tormented her. Besides this she liked the idea of going to her house in the country because she intended to get her sister Kitty, who was to return from abroad at midsummer and who had been ordered bathing, to join her there. Kitty wrote from her watering-place that nothing seemed so attractive as spending the summer with Dolly at Ergushovo, which was full of childhood memories for both of them.

The first days in the country were very trying for Dolly. In her girlhood she had lived there and it had left an impression on her mind as a place of refuge from all the unpleasantness of town; life there, though very plain (Dolly was reconciled to that), was cheap and comfortable; everything was cheap there and easy to get, and it would do the children good. But when she came there as mistress of the house she saw that things were quite different from what she had expected.

The day after her arrival it poured with rain and in the night the rain came through into the passage and nursery, so that the children’s beds had to be carried into the drawing-room. There was no scullery-maid. Of the nine cows some, according to the dairymaids, were about to calve, others had calved for the first time, some were too old, and the rest were difficult to milk, so there was no butter and scarcely enough milk even for the children. There were no eggs. It was impossible to get a chicken, and they were obliged to boil and roast tough old purple-coloured roosters. No peasant women could be got to scrub the floors: they were all out planting potatoes. It was impossible to go for a drive because one of the horses was restive and would not run in harness. There was no place for bathing, the river banks being all trampled over by the cattle and exposed to the road; it was not even possible to walk in the garden because the fence was broken and the peasants’ cattle could get in, and the herd included a terrible bull that was given to bellowing and would therefore probably toss. There was nowhere to hang dresses, because what few wardrobes there were would not shut, or else opened of themselves when anyone passed by. There was no mangle in the laundry, not even an ironing board, and no large pots or pans.

Dolly, meeting with these difficulties, so terrible from her point of view, instead of finding peace and rest, was at first driven to despair. She bustled about and did her utmost; but feeling the hopelessness of her position, had to fight with the tears that rose every moment to her eyes.

The steward, formerly a non-commissioned officer, to whom Oblonsky had taken a fancy and whom he had promoted from hall porter to steward because of the man’s handsome and respectful appearance, took no interest in his mistress’s troubles, only saying in a deferential tone, ‘Quite impossible, the people are so abominable’, and did nothing to help her.

The position seemed irremediable; but just as in other households, there was here in the Oblonskys’ house one inconspicuous yet most important and useful person: Matrena Filimonovna. She consoled her mistress, assuring her that everything would ‘shape itself’ (this phrase was her own, and Matthew had learnt it from her), and she went to work deliberately and without excitement.

She at once made friends with the steward’s wife, and on the very day of the removal drank tea with her and with the steward beneath the laburnums, discussing arrangements. A club was soon established beneath the laburnums, consisting of Matrena Filimonovna, the steward’s wife, the village elder, and the office clerk; and by means of this club the troubles began gradually to subside, so that in a week’s time everything had really ‘shaped itself’. The roof was mended, a scullery-maid — a relative of the elder’s — was engaged, hens were bought, the cows gave enough milk, the garden was fenced in, a mangle was made by the carpenter, hooks were put into the wardrobes, which no longer opened at their own sweet will; an ironing board covered with coarse cloth lay across the arm of a chair and a chest of drawers in the maid’s room, and the smell of hot irons soon pervaded the room.

‘There, you see! And you were quite in despair!’ said Matrena Filimonovna, pointing to the board.

Even a bathing-house was constructed out of straw-plaited screens. Lily started bathing, and at least part of Dolly’s expectations were fulfilled, if not that of a quiet, at least that of a comfortable, country life. Dolly could not be quiet with six children, of whom one would fall ill, another be in danger of falling ill, a third be in want of something, a fourth show symptoms of something bad in his disposition, etc., etc. Very, very rare were the short intervals of quiet. But these cares and anxieties were the only kind of happiness possible for Dolly. Had it not been for them she would have been left to her thoughts about the husband who did not love her. Besides, painful as were for a mother the fear of illness, and sorrow at the appearance of evil tendencies in her children, those children were already beginning to repay her care by affording her small joys. These joys were so trifling as to be as imperceptible as grains of gold among the sand, and in moments of depression she saw nothing but the sand; yet there were brighter moments when she felt nothing but joy, saw nothing but the gold.

Now in the country solitude she grew more often aware of these joys. Often when watching her children she made great efforts to convince herself that she was mistaken, that being their mother she was not impartial; and yet she could not help telling herself that they were charming children, all the six, each in his or her own way, all of them such as are rarely to be met with; and she was happy in them and proud of them.