with the betrothal of Levine, love is no longer presented with the spirit of youth and poetry which places certain pages of War and Peace on a level with the most beautiful lyric poetry of all times. It has assumed a different character: bitter, sensual, imperious. The fatality which broods over the romance is no longer, as in War and Peace, a kind of Krishna, murderous and serene, the Destiny of empires, but the madness of love, “Venus herself.” She it is, in the wonderful ball scene, when passion seizes upon Anna and Vronsky unawares, who endows the innocent beauty of Anna, crowned with forget-me-not and clothed in black velvet, with “an almost infernal seductiveness.” She it is who, when Vronsky has just declared his love, throws a light upon Anna’s face; but a light “not of joy; it was the terrible glare of an incendiary fire upon a gloomy night.” She it is who, in the veins of this loyal and reasonable woman, this young, affectionate mother, pours a voluptuous stream as of irresistible ichor, and installs herself in her heart, never to leave it until she has destroyed it. No one can approach Anna without feeling the attraction and the terror of this hidden daemon. Kitty is the first to discover it, with a shock of bewilderment. A mysterious fear mingles with the delight of Vronsky when he goes to see Anna. Levine, in her presence, loses all his will. Anna herself is perfectly well aware that she is no longer her own mistress. As the story develops the implacable passion consumes, little by little, the whole moral structure of this
