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    After the Dance

    by Leo Tolstoy
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    "--AND you say that a man cannot, of himself, understand what is good
    and evil; that it is all environment, that the environment swamps the
    man. But I believe it is all chance. Take my own case . . ."

    Thus spoke our excellent friend, Ivan Vasilievich, after a conversation
    between us on the impossibility of improving individual character
    without a change of the conditions under which men live. Nobody had
    actually said that one could not of oneself understand good and evil;
    but it was a habit of Ivan Vasilievich to answer in this way the
    thoughts aroused in his own mind by conversation, and to illustrate
    those thoughts by relating incidents in his own life. He often quite
    forgot the reason for his story in telling it; but he always told it
    with great sincerity and feeling.

    He did so now.

    "Take my own case. My whole life was moulded, not by environment, but by
    something quite different."

    "By what, then?" we asked.

    "Oh, that is a long story. I should have to tell you about a great many
    things to make you understand."

    "Well, tell us then."

    Ivan Vasilievich thought a little, and shook his head.

    "My whole life," he said, "was changed in one night, or, rather,
    morning."

    "Why, what happened?" one of us asked.

    "What happened was that I was very much in love. I have been in love
    many times, but this was the most serious of all. It is a thing of
    the past; she has married daughters now. It was Varinka B----." Ivan
    Vasilievich mentioned her surname. "Even at fifty she is remarkably
    handsome; but in her youth, at eighteen, she was exquisite--tall,
    slender, graceful, and stately. Yes, stately is the word; she held
    herself very erect, by instinct as it were; and carried her head high,
    and that together with her beauty and height gave her a queenly air in
    spite of being thin, even bony one might say. It might indeed have
    been deterring had it not been for her smile, which was always gay and
    cordial, and for the charming light in her eyes and for her youthful
    sweetness."

    "What an entrancing description you give, Ivan Vasilievich!"

    "Description, indeed! I could not possibly describe her so that you
    could appreciate her. But that does not matter; what I am going to
    tell you happened in the forties. I was at that time a student in a
    provincial university. I don't know whether it was a good thing or no,
    but we had no political clubs, no theories in our universities then.
    We were simply young and spent our time as young men do, studying and
    amusing ourselves. I was a very gay, lively, careless fellow, and had
    plenty of money too. I had a fine horse, and used to go tobogganing
    with the young ladies. Skating had not yet come into fashion. I went to
    drinking parties with my comrades--in those days we drank nothing but
    champagne--if we had no champagne we drank nothing at all. We never
    drank vodka, as they do now. Evening parties and balls were my favourite
    amusements. I danced well, and was not an ugly fellow."

    "Come, there is no need to be modest," interrupted a lady near him.
    "We have seen your photograph. Not ugly, indeed! You were a handsome
    fellow."

    "Handsome, if you like. That does not matter. When my love for her was
    at its strongest, on the last day of the carnival, I was at a ball at
    the provincial marshal's, a good-natured old man, rich and hospitable,
    and a court chamberlain. The guests were welcomed by his wife, who was
    as good-natured as himself. She was dressed in puce-coloured velvet, and
    had a diamond diadem on her forehead, and her plump, old white shoulders
    and bosom were bare like the portraits of Empress Elizabeth, the
    daughter of Peter the Great.

    "It was a delightful ball. It was a splendid room, with a gallery for
    the orchestra, which was famous at the time, and consisted of serfs
    belonging to a musical landowner. The refreshments were magnificent, and
    the champagne flowed in rivers. Though I was fond of champagne I did not
    drink that night, because without it I was drunk with love. But I made
    up for it by dancing waltzes and polkas till I was ready to drop--of
    course, whenever possible, with Varinka. She wore a white dress with a
    pink sash, white shoes, and white kid gloves, which did not quite reach
    to her thin pointed elbows. A disgusting engineer named Anisimov robbed
    me of the mazurka with her--to this day I cannot forgive him. He asked
    her for the dance the minute she arrived, while I had driven to the
    hair-dresser's to get a pair of gloves, and was late. So I did not dance
    the mazurka with her, but with a German girl to whom I had previously
    paid a little attention; but I am afraid I did not behave very politely
    to her that evening. I hardly spoke or looked at her, and saw nothing
    but the tall, slender figure in a white dress, with a pink sash, a
    flushed, beaming, dimpled face, and sweet, kind eyes. I was not alone;
    they were all looking at her with admiration, the men and women alike,
    although she outshone all of them. They could not help admiring her.

    "Although I was not nominally her partner for the mazurka, I did as a
    matter of fact dance nearly the whole time with her. She always came
    forward boldly the whole length of the room to pick me out. I flew to
    meet her without waiting to be chosen, and she thanked me with a smile
    for my intuition. When I was brought up to her with somebody else, and
    she guessed wrongly, she took the other man's hand with a shrug of her
    slim shoulders, and smiled at me regretfully.

    "Whenever there was a waltz figure in the mazurka, I waltzed with
    her for a long time, and breathing fast and smiling, she would say,
    'Encore'; and I went on waltzing and waltzing, as though unconscious of
    any bodily existence."

    "Come now, how could you be unconscious of it with your arm round her
    waist? You must have been conscious, not only of your own existence, but
    of hers," said one of the party.

    Ivan Vasilievich cried out, almost shouting in anger: "There you are,
    moderns all over! Nowadays you think of nothing but the body. It was
    different in our day. The more I was in love the less corporeal was she
    in my eyes. Nowadays you think of nothing but the body. It was different
    in our day. The more I was in love the less corporeal was she in my
    eyes. Nowadays you set legs, ankles, and I don't know what. You undress
    the women you are in love with. In my eyes, as Alphonse Karr said--and
    he was a good writer--' the one I loved was always draped in robes of
    bronze.' We never thought of doing so; we tried to veil her nakedness,
    like Noah's good-natured son. Oh, well, you can't understand."

    "Don't pay any attention to him. Go on," said one of them.

    "Well, I danced for the most part with her, and did not notice how time
    was passing. The musicians kept playing the same mazurka tunes over and
    over again in desperate exhaustion--you know what it is towards the end
    of a ball. Papas and mammas were already getting up from the card-tables
    in the drawing-room in expectation of supper, the men-servants were
    running to and fro bringing in things. It was nearly three o'clock.
    I had to make the most of the last minutes. I chose her again for the
    mazurka, and for the hundredth time we danced across the room.

    "'The quadrille after supper is mine,' I said, taking her to her place.

    "'Of course, if I am not carried off home,' she said, with a smile.

    "'I won't give you up,' I said.

    "'Give me my fan, anyhow,' she answered.

    "'I am so sorry to part with it,' I said, handing her a cheap white fan.

    "'Well, here's something to console you,' she said, plucking a feather
    out of the fan, and giving it to me.

    "I took the feather, and could only express my rapture and gratitude
    with my eyes. I was not only pleased and gay, I was happy, delighted;
    I was good, I was not myself but some being not of this earth, knowing
    nothing of evil. I hid the feather in my glove, and stood there unable
    to tear myself away from her.

    "'Look, they are urging father to dance,' she said to me, pointing
    to the tall, stately figure of her father, a colonel with silver
    epaulettes, who was standing in the doorway with some ladies.

    "'Varinka, come here!' exclaimed our hostess, the lady with the diamond
    ferronniere and with shoulders like Elizabeth, in a loud voice.

    "'Varinka went to the door, and I followed her.

    "'Persuade your father to dance the mazurka with you, ma chere.--Do,
    please, Peter Valdislavovich,' she said, turning to the colonel.

    "Varinka's father was a very handsome, well-preserved old man. He had
    a good colour, moustaches curled in the style of Nicolas I., and
    white whiskers which met the moustaches. His hair was combed on to his
    forehead, and a bright smile, like his daughter's, was on his lips and
    in his eyes. He was splendidly set up, with a broad military chest, on
    which he wore some decorations, and he had powerful shoulders and long
    slim legs. He was that ultra-military type produced by the discipline of
    Emperor Nicolas I.

    "When we approached the door the colonel was just refusing to dance,
    saying that he had quite forgotten how; but at that instant he smiled,
    swung his arm gracefully around to the left, drew his sword from its
    sheath, handed it to an obliging young man who stood near, and smoothed
    his suede glove on his right hand.

    "'Everything must be done according to rule,' he said with a smile. He
    took the hand of his daughter, and stood one-quarter turned, waiting for
    the music.

    "At the first sound of the mazurka, he stamped one foot smartly, threw
    the other forward, and, at first slowly and smoothly, then buoyantly
    and impetuously, with stamping of feet and clicking of boots, his tall,
    imposing figure moved the length of the room. Varinka swayed gracefully
    beside him, rhythmically and easily, making her steps short or long,
    with her little feet in their white satin slippers.

    "All the people in the room followed every movement of the couple. As
    for me I not only admired, I regarded them with enraptured sympathy. I
    was particularly impressed with the old gentleman's boots. They were
    not the modern pointed affairs, but were made of cheap leather,
    squared-toed, and evidently built by the regimental cobbler. In order
    that his daughter might dress and go out in society, he did not buy
    fashionable boots, but wore home-made ones, I thought, and his square
    toes seemed to me most touching. It was obvious that in his time he
    had been a good dancer; but now he was too heavy, and his legs had not
    spring enough for all the beautiful steps he tried to take. Still, he
    contrived to go twice round the room. When at the end, standing with
    legs apart, he suddenly clicked his feet together and fell on one
    knee, a bit heavily, and she danced gracefully around him, smiling and
    adjusting her skirt, the whole room applauded.

    "Rising with an effort, he tenderly took his daughter's face between his
    hands. He kissed her on the forehead, and brought her to me, under the
    impression that I was her partner for the mazurka. I said I was not.
    'Well, never mind, just go around the room once with her,' he said,
    smiling kindly, as he replaced his sword in the sheath.

    "As the contents of a bottle flow readily when the first drop has been
    poured, so my love for Varinka seemed to set free the whole force of
    loving within me. In surrounding her it embraced the world. I loved
    the hostess with her diadem and her shoulders like Elizabeth, and her
    husband and her guests and her footmen, and even the engineer Anisimov
    who felt peevish towards me. As for Varinka's father, with his home-made
    boots and his kind smile, so like her own, I felt a sort of tenderness
    for him that was almost rapture.

    "After supper I danced the promised quadrille with her, and though I had
    been infinitely happy before, I grew still happier every moment.

    "We did not speak of love. I neither asked myself nor her whether she
    loved me. It was quite enough to know that I loved her. And I had only
    one fear--that something might come to interfere with my great joy.

    "When I went home, and began to undress for the night, I found it quite
    out of the question. I held the little feather out of her fan in my hand,
    and one of her gloves which she gave me when I helped her into the
    carriage after her mother. Looking at these things, and without closing
    my eyes I could see her before me as she was for an instant when she had
    to choose between two partners. She tried to guess what kind of person
    was represented in me, and I could hear her sweet voice as she said,
    'Pride--am I right?' and merrily gave me her hand. At supper she took
    the first sip from my glass of champagne, looking at me over the rim
    with her caressing glance. But, plainest of all, I could see her as she
    danced with her father, gliding along beside him, and looking at the
    admiring observers with pride and happiness.

    "He and she were united in my mind in one rush of pathetic tenderness.

    "I was living then with my brother, who has since died. He disliked
    going out, and never went to dances; and besides, he was busy preparing
    for his last university examinations, and was leading a very regular
    life. He was asleep. I looked at him, his head buried in the pillow and
    half covered with the quilt; and I affectionately pitied him, pitied him
    for his ignorance of the bliss I was experiencing. Our serf Petrusha
    had met me with a candle, ready to undress me, but I sent him away. His
    sleepy face and tousled hair seemed to me so touching. Trying not to
    make a noise, I went to my room on tiptoe and sat down on my bed. No, I
    was too happy; I could not sleep. Besides, it was too hot in the rooms.
    Without taking off my uniform, I went quietly into the hall, put on my
    overcoat, opened the front door and stepped out into the street.

    "It was after four when I had left the ball; going home and stopping
    there a while had occupied two hours, so by the time I went out it
    was dawn. It was regular carnival weather--foggy, and the road full
    of water-soaked snow just melting, and water dripping from the eaves.
    Varinka's family lived on the edge of town near a large field, one end
    of which was a parade ground: at the other end was a boarding-school for
    young ladies. I passed through our empty little street and came to the
    main thoroughfare, where I met pedestrians and sledges laden with
    wood, the runners grating the road. The horses swung with regular paces
    beneath their shining yokes, their backs covered with straw mats
    and their heads wet with rain; while the drivers, in enormous boots,
    splashed through the mud beside the sledges. All this, the very
    horses themselves, seemed to me stimulating and fascinating, full of
    suggestion.

    "When I approached the field near their house, I saw at one end of it,
    in the direction of the parade ground, something very huge and black,
    and I heard sounds of fife and drum proceeding from it. My heart had
    been full of song, and I had heard in imagination the tune of the
    mazurka, but this was very harsh music. It was not pleasant.

    "'What can that be?' I thought, and went towards the sound by a slippery
    path through the centre of the field. Walking about a hundred paces,
    I began to distinguish many black objects through the mist. They were
    evidently soldiers. 'It is probably a drill,' I thought.

    "So I went along in that direction in company with a blacksmith, who
    wore a dirty coat and an apron, and was carrying something. He walked
    ahead of me as we approached the place. The soldiers in black uniforms
    stood in two rows, facing each other motionless, their guns at rest.
    Behind them stood the fifes and drums, incessantly repeating the same
    unpleasant tune.

    "'What are they doing?' I asked the blacksmith, who halted at my side.

    "'A Tartar is being beaten through the ranks for his attempt to desert,'
    said the blacksmith in an angry tone, as he looked intently at the far
    end of the line.

    "I looked in the same direction, and saw between the files something
    horrid approaching me. The thing that approached was a man, stripped
    to the waist, fastened with cords to the guns of two soldiers who were
    leading him. At his side an officer in overcoat and cap was walking,
    whose figure had a familiar look. The victim advanced under the blows
    that rained upon him from both sides, his whole body plunging, his
    feet dragging through the snow. Now he threw himself backward, and the
    subalterns who led him thrust him forward. Now he fell forward, and they
    pulled him up short; while ever at his side marched the tall officer,
    with firm and nervous pace. It was Varinka's father, with his rosy face
    and white moustache.

    "At each stroke the man, as if amazed, turned his face, grimacing with
    pain, towards the side whence the blow came, and showing his white teeth
    repeated the same words over and over. But I could only hear what the
    words were when he came quite near. He did not speak them, he sobbed
    them out,--"'Brothers, have mercy on me! Brothers, have mercy on me!'
    But the brothers had, no mercy, and when the procession came close to
    me, I saw how a soldier who stood opposite me took a firm step forward
    and lifting his stick with a whirr, brought it down upon the man's back.
    The man plunged forward, but the subalterns pulled him back, and another
    blow came down from the other side, then from this side and then from
    the other. The colonel marched beside him, and looking now at his feet
    and now at the man, inhaled the air, puffed out his cheeks, and breathed
    it out between his protruded lips. When they passed the place where I
    stood, I caught a glimpse between the two files of the back of the man
    that was being punished. It was something so many-coloured, wet, red,
    unnatural, that I could hardly believe it was a human body.

    "'My God!"' muttered the blacksmith.

    The procession moved farther away. The blows continued to rain upon the
    writhing, falling creature; the fifes shrilled and the drums beat, and
    the tall imposing figure of the colonel moved along-side the man, just
    as before. Then, suddenly, the colonel stopped, and rapidly approached a
    man in the ranks.

    "'I'll teach you to hit him gently,' I heard his furious voice say.
    'Will you pat him like that? Will you?' and I saw how his strong hand
    in the suede glove struck the weak, bloodless, terrified soldier for not
    bringing down his stick with sufficient strength on the red neck of the
    Tartar.

    "'Bring new sticks!' he cried, and looking round, he saw me. Assuming
    an air of not knowing me, and with a ferocious, angry frown, he hastily
    turned away. I felt so utterly ashamed that I didn't know where to look.
    It was as if I had been detected in a disgraceful act. I dropped my
    eyes, and quickly hurried home. All the way I had the drums beating and
    the fifes whistling in my ears. And I heard the words, 'Brothers, have
    mercy on me!' or 'Will you pat him? Will you?' My heart was full of
    physical disgust that was almost sickness. So much so that I halted
    several times on my way, for I had the feeling that I was going to be
    really sick from all the horrors that possessed me at that sight. I do
    not remember how I got home and got to bed. But the moment I was about
    to fall asleep I heard and saw again all that had happened, and I sprang
    up.

    "'Evidently he knows something I do not know,' I thought about
    the colonel. 'If I knew what he knows I should certainly
    grasp--understand--what I have just seen, and it would not cause me such
    suffering.'

    "But however much I thought about it, I could not understand the thing
    that the colonel knew. It was evening before I could get to sleep,
    and then only after calling on a friend and drinking till I; was quite
    drunk.

    "Do you think I had come to the conclusion that the deed I had witnessed
    was wicked? Oh, no. Since it was done with such assurance, and was
    recognised by every one as indispensable, they doubtless knew something
    which I did not know. So I thought, and tried to understand. But no
    matter, I could never understand it, then or afterwards. And not being
    able to grasp it, I could not enter the service as I had intended. I
    don't mean only the military service: I did not enter the Civil Service
    either. And so I have been of no use whatever, as you can see."

    "Yes, we know how useless you've been," said one of us. "Tell us,
    rather, how many people would be of any use at all if it hadn't been for
    you."

    "Oh, that's utter nonsense," said Ivan Vasilievich, with genuine
    annoyance.

    "Well; and what about the love affair?

    "My love? It decreased from that day. When, as often happened, she
    looked dreamy and meditative, I instantly recollected the colonel on the
    parade ground, and I felt so awkward and uncomfortable that I began to
    see her less frequently. So my love came to naught. Yes; such chances
    arise, and they alter and direct a man's whole life," he said in summing
    up. "And you say . . ."
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