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TWENTY-TWO
Vronsky could not understand how she, with her strong honest nature, could endure this state of deception1 and not wish to escape from it; but he did not guess that the chief cause lay in the one word ‘son’ which she could not bring herself to utter. When she thought about her son and his future relations with the mother who had left his father, she was so terrified at what she had done that she did not reason, but woman-like only tried to comfort herself with false arguments and words in order that everything should remain as before and that she might forget the dreadful question of what would happen to her son.
‘I beg you, I entreat2 you,’ said she suddenly in quite an altered tone, sincerely and tenderly, taking him by the hand, ‘never to speak to me about that!’
‘But, Anna . . .’
‘Never. Leave it to me. I know all the degradation3, all the horror of my position; but it is not so easy to settle the matter as you think. Leave it to me and listen to me. Never speak to me about it. Do you promise? . . . Yes, yes, promise! . . .’
‘I promise everything, but I cannot be at peace, especially after what you have told me. I cannot be at peace when you are not.’
‘I?’ she said. ‘Yes, I do suffer sometimes; but it will pass if you never speak to me about it. It is only when you speak to me about it that I suffer.’
‘I don’t understand . . .’ said he.
‘I know,’ she interrupted him, ‘how hard it is for your honest nature to lie and I pity you. I often think how you have ruined your life because of me.’
‘I was just thinking the same,’ he said; ‘wondering how you could sacrifice everything for my sake. I cannot forgive myself for your unhappiness.’
‘I unhappy?’ she said, drawing near to him and gazing at him with a smile of rapturous love. ‘I am like a hungry man to whom food has been given. He may be cold, his clothes may be ragged4, and he may be ashamed, but he is not unhappy. I unhappy? No, this is my happiness. . . .’
But she heard the voice of her son approaching, and glancing quickly round the verandah she rose hurriedly. Her eyes kindled5 with the light Vronsky knew so well, and with a rapid motion she raised her lovely hands, covered with rings, seized his head, gave him a long look, lifted her face with parted smiling lips, quickly kissed his mouth and both eyes, and then pushed him away. She was about to go but he held her back.
‘When?’ he whispered, gazing rapturously at her.
‘To-night at one,’ she whispered, and with her quick light step went to meet her son.
Serezha had been caught in the rain in the public gardens, and he and his nurse had taken shelter in the pavilion.
‘Well, au revoir,’ she said to Vronsky. ‘It will soon be time to start for the races. Betsy has promised to call for me.’
Vronsky looked at his watch and hurried away.
Chapter 24
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WHEN Vronsky looked at his watch on the Karenins’ verandah he was so agitated and so preoccupied that he saw the hands and face of the watch without realizing the time. He went to the high road, stepping carefully over the mud, and made his way to his calèche. He was so full of his feeling for Anna that he did not consider what o’clock it was or whether he still had time to call on Bryansky. He only retained, as often happens, the external capacity of memory which indicated what he had decided to do next. He approached his coachman, who was dozing on the box, in the already slanting shadow of a large lime tree, looked with pleasure at the swaying swarms of midges that whirled above the perspiring horses, and having roused the coachman jumped into the calèche and told him to drive to Bryansky’s. Only after going some five miles did he recollect himself sufficiently to look at his watch and to realize that it was already half-past five, and that he was late.
There were to be several races that day: a Life-Guards’ race, then an officers’ two-verst race, a four-verst race, and then the one for which he had entered. He could be in time for his own race, but, if he called on Bryansky first, he could only just manage it, and the whole Court would already be at the racecourse. That was not the correct thing to do. But he had promised Bryansky to call and therefore he decided to go on, telling the coachman not to spare the horses.
He saw Bryansky, stayed with him five minutes, and drove back at a gallop. This quick drive soothed him. All that was depressing in his relations with Anna, the indefiniteness that remained after their conversation, escaped from his mind. He now thought with enjoyment and agitation of the race, and that after all he would be there in time, and occasionally the expectation of that night’s meeting flashed brightly in his imagination.
The spirit of the coming races overcame him more and more as he drove further and further into their atmosphere and overtook carriages making their way to the course from Petersburg and from outlying country places.
When he reached his quarters he found no one there — they had all gone to the races and his valet was waiting at the gate. While he was changing his things, the valet told him that the second race had already begun and that many gentlemen had been to inquire for him, and a lad had run over twice from the stables.
Having changed without hurrying (he never hurried or lost his self-control), Vronsky ordered the coachman to drive him to the stables. From there he could see the sea of carriages, pedestrians, and soldiers surrounding the racecourse, and the stands, which were thronged with people. Probably the second race was just taking place, for as he entered the stables he heard the bell ring. On his way he met Makhotin’s white-legged chestnut Gladiator, which in a blue-bordered orange covering, with his ears looking enormous in their blue-trimmed cloth, was being led to the course.
‘Where is Cord?’ he asked the groom.
‘In the stables, saddling.’
In her open box Frou-Frou stood ready saddled. They were just going to lead her out.
‘I am not late?’
‘All right! all right!’ answered the Englishman. ‘Don’t upset yourself.’
Vronsky once again glanced at the beautiful fascinating shape of the mare, whose whole body was trembling, and tearing himself with difficulty from this sight he left the shed. He came toward the pavilions at the very best time to avoid attracting anyone’s attention. The two-verst race was nearly over, and all eyes were fixed on an officer of the horse-guards in front and on a hussar officer behind, who were urging their horses to the last limits of their strength as they neared the winning-post. From within and without the ring every one was crowding toward the winning-post, and a group of horse-guards, — officers and men, — with loud shouts were expressing their joy at the expected triumph of their officer and comrade. Vronsky joined the crowd unnoticed, almost at the moment that the bell rang to announce the end of the race, and the tall officer of the horse-guards all bespattered with mud, who had come in first, was bending down in his saddle, loosening the reins of his grey gelding, which was dark with perspiration and panting heavily.
The gelding, planting its feet with effort, reduced the speed of its enormous body, and the guards’ officer, like one waking from deep sleep, looked round and forced himself to smile. A crowd of friends and strangers surrounded him.
Vronsky purposely avoided the select and fashionable crowd which moved and chatted with restrained freedom in front of the pavilions. He ascertained that Anna, Betsy, and his brother’s wife were there, but in order not to agitate himself, intentionally avoided going near them. But he continually met acquaintances who stopped him, told him about the races that had been run, and asked him why he was so late.
When the winners were called up to the pavilion to receive their prizes and every one was looking that way, Vronsky’s elder brother, Alexander, a colonel with shoulder knots, of medium height, as sturdy as Alexis but handsomer and ruddier, with a red nose and a drunken though open countenance, came up to him.
‘Did you get my note?’ he asked. ‘One can never find you.’
Alexander Vronsky, despite the loose and, in particular, drunken life for which he was noted, was quite a courtier.
While speaking to his brother of a matter very unpleasant to him he, knowing that many eyes might be fixed on them, wore a smiling expression, as if he were joking with him about some unimportant matter.
‘I received it, but really do not understand what you are worrying about,’ replied Alexis.
‘I am worrying because people have just remarked to me that you were not here and that you were seen in Peterhof last Monday.’
‘There are things which should be discussed only by those who are directly interested, and the matter you are concerning yourself about is one . . .’
‘Yes, but then one should not be in the army, or . . .’
‘I beg you not to interfere, that is all.’
Alexis Vronsky’s frowning face turned pale, and his prominent lower jaw twitched, a thing that rarely happened to him. Being a very kind-hearted man he seldom got angry, but when he did, and when his chin twitched, then he was dangerous, as Alexander Vronsky knew. Alexander smiled gaily.
‘I only wanted to deliver mother’s letter. Answer her, and don’t upset yourself before the race. Bonne chance!’ he added smiling and went away.
But just then another friendly greeting stopped Vronsky.
‘Won’t you recognize your friends? How do you do, mon cher?’ said Oblonsky, shining here, amid all this Petersburg brilliancy, no less than he shone in Moscow, with his rosy face and glistening, well-brushed whiskers. ‘I came yesterday and am very glad that I shall witness your triumph. When can we meet?’
‘Come to the mess-room to-morrow,’ said Vronsky, and apologetically pressing the sleeve of Oblonsky’s overcoat, he went to the centre of the racecourse where the horses were already being led out for the steeplechase.
The perspiring, exhausted horses which had raced were being led away by their grooms, and one by one the fresh ones for the next race were appearing, most of them English horses, which in their hooded coverings and with their tightly-girthed stomachs looked like strange gigantic birds. To the right the slender and beautiful Frou-Frou was being led up and down, stepping as on springs with her rather long elastic pasterns. Not far from her they were taking the horsecloth off the big-eared Gladiator. The large, beautiful, perfectly regular shape of the horse with his wonderful hindquarters and his exceptionally short pasterns just above his hoofs, involuntarily arrested Vronsky’s attention. He wished to go up to his own horse, but was again stopped by an acquaintance.
‘Ah, there is Karenin!’ said the acquaintance with whom he was talking. ‘He is looking for his wife, and she is in the centre of the pavilion. Have you not seen her?’
‘No, I have not,’ said Vronsky, and without even glancing at the pavilion where Anna was pointed out to him, he went to his horse.
He had not had time to examine the saddle, about which he wished to give some directions, when the riders were summoned to the pavilion to draw their numbers and places. With serious, stern, and in many cases pale faces, seventeen officers assembled at the pavilion and drew their numbers. Vronsky got number seven. The order was given: ‘Mount!’
Feeling that he and the other riders were the centre toward which all eyes were turned, Vronsky, in the highly-strung state which generally made his movements calm and deliberate, approached his horse. Cord, in honour of the races, was dressed in his best clothes: a black buttoned-up coat, a stiff starched collar that pressed against his cheeks, a bowler hat, and top boots. He was calm and important as usual, and, standing in front of the horse, was himself holding both its reins. Frou-Frou continued to tremble as if in a fever. Her fiery eyes turned on the approaching Vronsky. Vronsky pushed his fingers under the girths. The mare turned her eyes still further back, showed her teeth, and set back an ear. The Englishman puckered his lip, wishing to express a smile at anyone testing his saddling.
‘You’d better mount. You will be less excited.’
Vronsky glanced round at his rivals for the last time. He knew that he would not see them during the race. Two of them were already riding toward the starting-point. Galtsin, one of the formidable competitors and a friend of Vronsky’s, was struggling with a sorrel gelding that would not let him mount. A short hussar in tight riding-breeches was galloping along bunched up like a cat in his desire to imitate an English jockey. Prince Kusovlev sat pale-faced on his thoroughbred mare from the Grabov stud farm, which an Englishman was leading by the bridle. Vronsky and all his set knew Kusovlev and his peculiarities, which were weak nerves and terrible vanity. They knew he was afraid of everything, even of riding an army horse; but now, just because it was dangerous, because necks might be broken and at each obstacle there was a doctor in attendance, an ambulance wagon with a red cross sewn on it, and a nurse, he had determined to ride. Their eyes met and Vronsky winked at him kindly and approvingly. The only one Vronsky did not see was his chief rival Makhotin on his Gladiator.
‘Don’t hurry,’ said Cord to Vronsky, ‘and remember one thing: do not hold back or urge on your horse at an obstacle. Let her have her way.’
‘Very well, very well,’ said Vronsky taking the reins.
‘Lead if you can, but do not despair till the last moment if you are behind.’
The mare had not time to stir before Vronsky with a powerful and agile movement put his foot in the notched steel stirrup and seated himself lightly but firmly on the creaking leather of the saddle. Having got his right foot also in its stirrup he straightened out the double reins between his practised fingers, and Cord removed his hand. As if not knowing which foot to step on first, Frou-Frou stretched the reins with her long neck, and started as if on springs, shaking her rider on her flexible back. Cord, quickening his steps, followed them. The restive horse tugged at the reins, now to one side, now to the other, trying to deceive her rider, and Vronsky vainly sought by voice and hand to soothe her.
They were already approaching the dammed-up stream on their way to the starting-post. Some of the riders were in front, some behind, when Vronsky suddenly heard a horse galloping through the mud behind him, and Makhotin on his white-legged, large-eared Gladiator went past him. Makhotin smiled, showing his long teeth, but Vronsky looked at him angrily. Vronsky always disliked him and now considered him his most dangerous rival, and he was vexed with him for galloping past and so exciting Frou-Frou. She broke into a canter, gave two leaps, and, angry at the tightened rein, changed back into a jerky trot, jolting her rider. Cord also frowned, following Vronsky almost at a run.
Chapter 25
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SEVENTEEN officers in all had entered for the steeplechase. It was to take place on the large four-verst elliptical course in front of the pavilion. On that course there were nine obstacles: the brook; a barrier nearly five feet high just in front of the pavilion; a dry ditch; a water-jump; an incline; an Irish bank (one of the most difficult obstacles), consisting of a bank with brushwood on top, beyond which there was another ditch which the horses could not see, so that they had to clear both obstacles or come to grief; then two more water-jumps, and another dry ditch. The winning-post was opposite the pavilion. But the start was not in the ellipse, but about 250 yards to one side of it, and the first obstacle, the dammed-up brook seven feet wide, was there. The riders could either ford or jump it at their discretion.
Three times the riders drew up in line, but each time some one’s horse made a false start and they had to line up again. Colonel Sestrin, an expert starter, was already getting angry, but at last, at the fourth try, he shouted ‘Go!’ and the race began.
All eyes and all glasses were turned on the bright group of riders while they were getting into line.
‘They have started! They are off!’ was heard from every side after the hush of expectation.
Onlookers, in groups or singly, started running from place to place to get a better view. In the first minute the group of riders began to stretch out and could be seen in twos and threes, and one behind another, approaching the brook. It had looked to the public as if they had all started together, but the riders were aware of a difference of seconds which to them were of great importance.
The excited and over-nervous Frou-Frou lost in the first moment, and several horses started ahead of her, but before reaching the brook Vronsky, who with all his strength was holding back the mare that was tugging at the reins, had easily passed three riders, and ahead of him there was only Makhotin’s chestnut Gladiator (whose hindquarters moved regularly and lightly just in front of him), and in front of all, the exquisite Diana, carrying Kusovlev, who was more dead than alive.
In the first moments Vronsky was master neither of himself nor of his mare. Up to the first obstacle, the brook, he could not control her movements.
Gladiator and Diana approached the stream together, and almost at the same moment rose above it and flew across to the other side; lightly as if on wings Frou-Frou rose up behind them; but at the moment when Vronsky felt himself raised in the air he suddenly saw, almost under his horse’s feet, Kusovlev, who was floundering on the other side of the stream with his Diana (Kusovlev had let go of the reins at the jump and the horse fell, throwing him over her head). These particulars Vronsky learned later, now he only saw that Diana’s head or legs might come just where Frou-Frou had to alight. But Frou-Frou, like a falling cat, made an effort with her legs and back while in the air, and clearing the other horse rushed on.
‘Oh, you darling!’ thought Vronsky.
After crossing the brook Vronsky had the mare quite under control, and held her in, intending to cross the big barrier behind Makhotin and then to try and pass him on the flat 300 yards before the next obstacle.
The big barrier was right in front of the Imperial Pavilion. The Emperor, the whole Court, and crowds of people were all looking at them — at him and at Makhotin, who was a full length ahead of him when they approached the Devil (as the solid barrier was called). Vronsky felt eyes directed toward him from all sides, but he saw nothing except the ears and neck of his mare, the ground racing toward him, and Gladiator’s hindquarters and white legs rapidly striding before him, and keeping always the same distance ahead. Gladiator rose without touching anything, swished his short tail, and disappeared from Vronsky’s sight.
‘Bravo!’ shouted a single voice.
Just then the boards of the barrier flashed close before Vronsky’s eyes. Without the least change in her action his mare rose under him; the boards disappeared, only behind him there was a knock. Excited by the fact that Gladiator was in front, the mare had risen at the barrier a little too soon and had struck it with a hind hoof. But her pace did not change, and Vronsky, hit in the face by a lump of mud, realized that he was again at the same distance behind Gladiator. He again saw before him that horse’s hindquarters, short tail and flashing white legs, no farther away.
At the very moment that Vronsky thought it time to pass Makhotin, Frou-Frou, understanding what was in his mind, without any urging, considerably increased her speed and began to draw nearer to Makhotin on the side where it was most advantageous to pass him — the side of the rope. Makhotin would not let her pass that side. Vronsky had just time to think of coming up on the outside, when Frou-Frou changed her legs and started to do so. Frou-Frou’s shoulder, which was already growing dark with sweat, was on a level with Gladiator’s hindquarters. They ran side by side for a few strides, but before the obstacle they were approaching, Vronsky, not to lose ground, gave the mare her head and just on the declivity passed Makhotin. He caught sight of his mud-bespattered face, and even thought he saw him smile. He passed, but felt that Makhotin was close behind him, and continually heard just behind his back the regular beating of hoofs and the short, still fresh breathing of Gladiator’s nostrils.
The next two obstacles, a ditch and a fence, were easily passed, but Vronsky heard Gladiator galloping and snorting closer. He urged on his mare and felt with joy that she easily increased her speed, and he heard the sound of Gladiator’s hoofs again at the former distance behind.
Vronsky now had the lead, as he had wished and as Cord had advised, and he was confident of success. His excitement and joy, and his tenderness for Frou-Frou, grew stronger and stronger. He wished to glance round but dared not do so, and he tried to keep calm and not to urge his mare, but to let her retain a reserve of strength such as he felt that Gladiator still had.