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Anna Karenina: Kitty

Konstantin Levin was also of the old Muscovite nobility and had known Kitty all her life. As his mother had died in his babyhood, the family life of the Scherbatskys had appealed to him strongly. He was now thirty-two, and, although feeling unworthy of Kitty, was determined to offer himself to her. He was really a splendid match. He had a magnificent country estate of eighty-one hundred acres, plenty of money, and his share of masculine attractions. He was a thinker, always immersed in the deepest problems concerning the world, everything in it, on it, and beyond it. He had been brought up in the orthodox faith, but, since attaining manhood, had been assailed with all kinds of doubts, until now he was practically an unbeliever. "He could not believe; he was also equally unable to disbelieve." After completing his university course he spent most of his time on his great estate, wrestling with his problems of agriculture and peasant labor. He came into Moscow on occasions and dipped into its social life, but his own life was so clean and simple that he had little patience with the dissipations of his town friends. Kitty's parents had many quarrels over her prospects. Her mother favored the brilliant Vronsky; her father said "Levin was worth a thousand men." Kitty herself had set her heart on Vronsky although fond of Levin. In due time she experienced the pleasing pain of refusing Levin, but, to her chagrin and deep humiliation, the proposal from Vronsky did not materialize. The latter did not dream that his attentions to her were regarded seriously. Poor Kitty met her crushing disappointment at a large ball, when, instead of choosing her as his mazurka partner, Vronsky led out--Madame Karenina!

In spite of their endeavors to hide the magic glow which enveloped them, it was obvious to Kitty, as to others, that Anna and Vronsky had both been touched by the same flaming torch.

Anna Karenina had met her man. She knew it. She was afraid. Her customary serenity deserted her so completely that she left for Petersburg the next day, cutting short her visit. The calm routine of her daily life took on a new and attractive aspect; she longed to see her son--even her husband. But--Vronsky took the same train to Petersburg.

They met constantly in society. Anna called all the forces of reason, prudence, pride, to her aid, but she could not conceal the rapture she felt in Vronsky's presence. Her intimates became extremely interested. This was, indeed, an affair after their own hearts. According to their code, anything was proper so long as outward conventions were observed. Karenin coolly pointed out the danger of her course. He assured her he looked upon jealousy "as a humiliating and wounding sentiment." (Anna would have respected some truculent conversation.) His spineless attitude enraged her, and by the end of a year she and Vronsky had become all in all to each other. They had but one object in life--to be together.

Karenin waited for the blow to fall. It was finally accomplished by Anna's public exhibition of emotion when Vronsky met with a racing accident. Upon being upbraided by her husband, she confessed her love for Vronsky. Mingled with the pain Karenin felt a sense of relief. He immediately began to plan on getting out of the mud without being splashed. He considered dueling, divorce, separation. Being afraid of a pistol, he concluded that his services to the government were too valuable for him to risk his life. The scandal of a divorce might react against himself and a separation would throw Anna into Vronsky's arms. The latter was the last thing he wanted. It would not punish Anna. His decision was to allow her to remain in his home--perhaps resume their old relations. He knew this would make her most unhappy. His justification for this attitude was its religious significance. In the mean time Levin was trying to forget Kitty by devoting himself to work. He became much interested in uplifting his peasants, who did not appreciate his efforts. He reached the conclusion that he had found the way to happiness, but one glimpse of Kitty showed him his error and stirred up his old feeling for her. Kitty's health had so failed after her disappointment in Vronsky, that she had been sent abroad to take a cure. Now, having been restored to health and having a new outlook on life, she realized that it was Levin whom she really loved, and when he again asked her for her hand she gladly consented.

According to Karenin's decision, Anna still had her place as mistress of his household. Karenin was aware that she and Vronsky still maintained their relations, but could do nothing about it. In time, Anna gave birth to a daughter and was thought to be dying. Karenin's conduct was magnanimous, even toward Vronsky's baby. Vronsky attempted suicide through sheer humiliation. But Anna recovered, which Karenin had not counted on, and with her returning health came the conviction that Vronsky was the light of life to her. She became so unhappy that, in a moment of weakness, Karenin was prevailed upon to consent to divorce, even to take the blame and give her the boy. This generosity she could not accept, and with Vronsky and her baby left her husband's home and her son, on that inevitably fatal journey of love without the law.

They went abroad and at first were radiantly happy. Then Vronsky tired of the aimless life. They returned to Russia and settled in the country. Anna's position became so unbearable to Vronsky, who adored her, that he finally urged her to appeal to Karenin for a divorce. When Karenin refused, owing to various circumstances, matters grew worse than ever. Anna could not go into society, so became introspective. Without cause, she grew very jealous of Vronsky. She took to morphine as a sleeping-potion.

Suicide--under the rushing wheels of a railroad train--was Anna Karenina's way out.

Vronsky's grief was overwhelming. After many weeks of illness he organized a squadron of cavalry and entered the Serbian war.

Konstantin Levin found his happiness with his wife and small son, and found that his old faith had lived in his heart, although hidden, when an old peasant explained why a certain man was good in the words "he lives for his soul, he remembers God."