Anna Karenina (Penguin) - Leo Tolstoy [157]
When half the children were clothed again, some dressed-up peasant women, who had gone gathering angelica and milkwort, approached the bathing house and stopped timidly. Matryona Filimonovna called to one of them to give her a towel and a shirt that had dropped into the water so that she could wring them out, and Darya Alexandrovna struck up a conversation with the women. The women laughed behind their hands at first, but then became bolder and began to talk, winning Darya Alexandrovna over at once by the sincere admiration they showed for her children.
‘See what a beauty, white as sugar,’ said one, admiring Tanechka and wagging her head. ‘But thin ...’
‘Yes, she was ill.’
‘You see, he must have been bathing, too,’ another said about the baby.
‘No, he’s only three months old,’ Darya Alexandrovna replied proudly.
‘Just look at that!’
‘And do you have children?’
‘I’ve had four, there’s two left, a boy and a girl. I weaned her before this past Lent.’
‘And how old is she?’
‘Over a year.’
‘Why did you nurse her so long?’
‘That’s how we do it: three fasts ...’9
And the conversation came to what interested Darya Alexandrovna most: how was the birth? what illnesses have they had? where is the husband? does he visit often?10
Darya Alexandrovna did not want to part from the women, so interesting was it for her to talk with them, so completely identical were their interests. What pleased Darya Alexandrovna most was that she could see clearly that all these women particularly admired how many children she had and how good they were. The women made Darya Alexandrovna laugh and offended the governess, who was the cause of this - for her incomprehensible - laughter. One of the young women was watching the governess, who got dressed last of all, and as she put on her third petticoat, could not help observing: ‘See, she wraps and wraps and can’t get done wrapping!’ - and they all burst into laughter.
IX
Surrounded by all her bathed, wet-headed children, Darya Alexandrovna, a kerchief on her head, was driving up to her house when the coachman said:
‘Some gentleman’s coming, looks like the one from Pokrovskoe.’
Darya Alexandrovna peered ahead and rejoiced, seeing the familiar figure of Levin in a grey hat and grey coat coming to meet them. She was always glad to see him, but she was especially glad now that he would see her in all her glory. No one could understand her grandeur better than Levin.
Seeing her, he found himself before one of the pictures of his imaginary future family life.
‘You’re just like a mother hen, Darya Alexandrovna.’
‘Ah, I’m so glad!’ she said, giving him her hand.
‘Glad, but you didn’t even let me know. My brother’s staying with me. I got a note from Stiva saying that you were here.’
‘From Stiva?’ Darya Alexandrovna asked in surprise.
‘Yes. He wrote that you’d moved, and he thought you might allow me to help you in some way,’ Levin said and, having said it, suddenly became embarrassed, fell silent and went on walking beside the break, plucking linden shoots and biting them in two. He was embarrassed by the realization that it might be unpleasant for Darya Alexandrovna to be helped by an outsider in something that should have been done by her husband. Darya Alexandrovna indeed disliked this way Stepan Arkadyich had of foisting his family affairs on others. And she knew at once that Levin understood it. It was for this subtle understanding, for this delicacy, that Darya Alexandrovna loved him.
‘I understood, of course,’ said Levin, ‘that it only meant you wanted to see me, and I’m very glad of it. Of course, I can imagine that you, the mistress of a town