had read the book filled with troubles, falsehoods, sorrow,
and evil, flared up more brightly than ever before, lighted
up for her all that had been in darkness, flickered, began to
grow dim, and was quenched forever.
1337
PART 8
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Anna Karenina
Chapter 1
Almost two months had passed. The hot summer was
half over, but Sergey Ivanovitch was only just preparing to
leave Moscow.
Sergey Ivanovitch’s life had not been uneventful during
this time. A year ago he had finished his book, the fruit of
six years’ labor, ‘Sketch of a Survey of the Principles and
Forms of Government in Europe and Russia.’ Several sections of this book and its introduction had appeared in
periodical publications, and other parts had been read by
Sergey Ivanovitch to persons of his circle, so that the leading ideas of the work could not be completely novel to the
public. But still Sergey Ivanovitch had expected that on its
appearance his book would be sure to make a serious impression on society, and if it did not cause a revolution in
social science it would, at any rate, make a great stir in the
scientific world.
After the most conscientious revision the book had last
year been published, and had been distributed among the
booksellers.
Though he asked no one about it, reluctantly and with
feigned indifference answered his friends’ inquiries as to
how the book was going, and did not even inquire of the
booksellers how the book was selling, Sergey Ivanovitch
was all on the alert, with strained attention, watching for
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the first impression his book would make in the world and
in literature.
But a week passed, a second, a third, and in society no
impression whatever could be detected. His friends who
were specialists and savants, occasionally—unmistakably
from politeness—alluded to it. The rest of his acquaintances, not interested in a book on a learned subject, did not
talk of it at all. And society generally—just now especially
absorbed in other things—was absolutely indifferent. In the
press, too, for a whole month there was not a word about
his book.
Sergey Ivanovitch had calculated to a nicety the time
necessary for writing a review, but a month passed, and a
second, and still there was silence.
Only in the Northern Beetle, in a comic article on the
singer Drabanti, who had lost his voice, there was a contemptuous allusion to Koznishev’s book, suggesting that the
book had been long ago seen through by everyone, and was
a subject of general ridicule.
At last in the third month a critical article appeared in
a serious review. Sergey Ivanovitch knew the author of the
article. He had met him once at Golubtsov’s.
The author of the article was a young man, an invalid,
very bold as a writer, but extremely deficient in breeding
and shy in personal relations.
In spite of his absolute contempt for the author, it was
with complete respect that Sergey Ivanovitch set about
reading the article. The article was awful.
The critic had undoubtedly put an interpretation upon
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Anna Karenina
the book which could not possibly be put on it. But he had
selected quotations so adroitly that for people who had not
read the book (and obviously scarcely anyone had read it)
it seemed absolutely clear that the whole book was nothing
but a medley of high-flown phrases, not even—as suggested
by marks of interrogation—used appropriately, and that the
author of the book was a person absolutely without knowledge of the subject. And all this was so wittily done that
Sergey Ivanovitch would not have disowned such wit himself. But that was just what was so awful.
In spite of the scrupulous conscientiousness with which
Sergey Ivanovitch verified the correctness of the critic’s arguments, he did not for a minute stop to ponder over the
faults and mistakes which were ridiculed; but unconsciously he began immediately trying to recall every detail of his
meeting and conversation with the author of the article.
‘Didn’t I offend him in some way?’ Sergey Ivanovitch
wondered.
And remembering that when they met he had corrected
the young man about something he had said that betrayed
ignorance, Sergey Ivanovitch found the clue to explain the
article.
This article was followed by a deadly silence about the
book both in the press and in conversation, and Sergey
Ivanovitch saw that his six years’ task, toiled at with such
love and labor, had gone, leaving no trace.
Sergey Ivanovitch’s position was still more difficult from
the fact that, since he had finished his book, he had had no
more literary work to do, such as had hitherto occupied the
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greater part of his time.
Sergey Ivanovitch was clever, cultivated, healthy, and energetic, and he did not know what use to make of his energy.
Conversations in drawing rooms, in meetings, assemblies,
and committees—everywhere where talk was possible—
took up part of his time. But being used for years to town
life, he did not waste all his energies in talk, as his less experienced younger brother did, when he was in Moscow. He
had a great deal of leisure and intellectual energy still to
dispose of.
Fortunately for him, at this period so difficult for him
from the failure of his book, the various public questions of
the dissenting sects, of the American alliance, of the Samara
famine, of exhibitions, and of spiritualism, were definitely
replaced in public interest by the Slavonic question, which
had hitherto rather languidly interested society, and Sergey
Ivanovitch, who had been one of the first to raise this subject, threw himself into it heart and soul.
In the circle to which Sergey Ivanovitch belonged, nothing was talked of or written about just now but the Servian
War. Everything that the idle crowd usually does to kill
time was done now for the benefit of the Slavonic States.
Balls, concerts, dinners, matchboxes, ladies’ dresses, beer,
restaurants— everything testified to sympathy with the
Slavonic peoples.
From much of what was spoken and written on the subject, Sergey Ivanovitch differed on various points. He saw
that the Slavonic question had become one of those fashionable distractions which succeed one another in providing
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Anna Karenina
society with an object and an occupation. He saw, too,
that a great many people were taking up the subject from
motives of self-interest and self-advertisement. He recognized that the newspapers published a great deal that was
superfluous and exaggerated, with the sole aim of attracting attention and outbidding one another. He saw that in
this general movement those who thrust themselves most
forward and shouted the loudest were men who had failed
and were smarting under a sense of injury—generals without armies, ministers not in the ministry, journalists not
on any paper, party leaders without followers. He saw that
there was a great deal in it that was frivolous and absurd.
But he saw and recognized an unmistakable growing enthusiasm, uniting all classes, with which it was impossible
not to sympathize. The massacre of men who were fellow
Christians, and of the same Slavonic race, excited sympathy for the sufferers and indignation against the oppressors.
And the heroism of the Servians and Montenegrins struggling for a great cause begot in the whole people a longing
to help their brothers not in word but in deed.
But in this there was another aspect that rejoiced Sergey
Ivanovitch. That was the manifestation of public opinion.
The public had definitely expressed its desire. The soul of
the people had, as Sergey Ivanovitch said, found expression.
And the more he worked in this cause, the more incontestable it seemed to him that it was a cause destined to assume
vast dimensions, to create an epoch.
He threw himself heart and soul into the service of this
great cause, and forgot to think about his book. His whole
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time now was engrossed by it, so that he could scarcely
manage to answer all the letters and appeals addressed to
him. He worked the whole spring and part of the summer,
and it was only in July that he prepared to go away to his
brother’s in the country.
He was going both to rest for a fortnight, and in the very
heart of the people, in the farthest wilds of the country, to
enjoy the sight of that uplifting of the spirit of the people,
of which, like all residents in the capital and big towns, he
was fully persuaded. Katavasov had long been meaning to
carry out his promise to stay with Levin, and so he was going with him.
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Anna Karenina
Chapter 2
Sergey Ivanovitch and Katavasov had only just reached
the station of the Kursk line, which was particularly busy
and full of people that day, when, looking round for the
groom who was following with their things, they saw a party of volunteers driving up in four cabs. Ladies met them
with bouquets of flowers, and followed by the rushing crowd
they went into the station.
One of the ladies, who had met the volunteers, came out
of the hall and addressed Sergey Ivanovitch.
‘You too come to see them off?’ she asked in French.
‘No, I’m going away myself, princess. To my brother’s for
a holiday. Do you always see them off?’ said Sergey Ivanovitch with a hardly perceptible smile.
‘Oh, that would be impossible!’ answered the princess. ‘Is
it true that eight hundred have been sent from us already?
Malvinsky wouldn’t believe me.’
‘More than eight hundred. If you reckon those who have
been sent not directly from Moscow, over a thousand,’ answered Sergey Ivanovitch.
‘There! That’s just what I said!’ exclaimed the lady. ‘And
it’s true too, I suppose, that more than a million has been
subscribed?’
‘Yes, princess.’
‘What do you say to today’s telegram? Beaten the Turks
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again.’
‘Yes, so I saw,’ answered Sergey Ivanovitch. They were
speaking of the last telegram stating that the Turks had
been for three days in succession beaten at all points and
put to flight, and that tomorrow a decisive engagement was
expected.
‘Ah, by the way, a splendid young fellow has asked leave
to go, and they’ve made some difficulty, I don’t know why. I
meant to ask you; I know him; please write a note about his
case. He’s being sent by Countess Lidia Ivanovna.’
Sergey Ivanovitch asked for all the details the princess
knew about the young man, and going into the first-class
waiting-room, wrote a note to the person on whom the
granting of leave of absence depended, and handed it to the
princess.
‘You know Count Vronsky, the notorious one…is going
by this
