window and peeping in. ‘What a noble act on his part!’ he
added, noticing that Vronsky was not in the compartment.
‘Yes, after his misfortune, what was there for him to do?’
‘What a terrible thing it was!’ said Sergey Ivanovitch.
‘Ah, what I have been through! But do get in…. Ah, what
I have been through!’ she repeated, when Sergey Ivanovitch
had got in and sat down beside her. ‘You can’t conceive it!
For six weeks he did not speak to anyone, and would not
touch food except when I implored him. And not for one
minute could we leave him alone. We took away everything
he could have used against himself. We lived on the ground
floor, but there was no reckoning on anything. You know,
of course, that he had shot himself once already on her account,’ she said, and the old lady’s eyelashes twitched at the
recollection. ‘Yes, hers was the fitting end for such a woman.
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Even the death she chose was low and vulgar.’
‘It’s not for us to judge, countess,’ said Sergey Ivanovitch;
‘but I can understand that it has been very hard for you.’
‘Ah, don’t speak of it! I was staying on my estate, and he
was with me. A note was brought him. He wrote an answer
and sent it off. We hadn’t an idea that she was close by at
the station. In the evening I had only just gone to my room,
when my Mary told me a lady had thrown herself under
the train. Something seemed to strike me at once. I knew it
was she. The first thing I said was, he was not to be told. But
they’d told him already. His coachman was there and saw
it all. When I ran into his room, he was beside himself—it
was fearful to see him. He didn’t say a word, but galloped off
there. I don’t know to this day what happened there, but he
was brought back at death’s door. I shouldn’t have known
him. Prostration complete, the doctor said. And that was
followed almost by madness. Oh, why talk of it!’ said the
countess with a wave of her hand. ‘It was an awful time! No,
say what you will, she was a bad woman. Why, what is the
meaning of such desperate passions? It was all to show herself something out of the way. Well, and that she did do. She
brought herself to ruin and two good men—her husband
and my unhappy son.’
‘And what did her husband do?’ asked Sergey Ivanovitch.
‘He has taken her daughter. Alexey was ready to agree to
anything at first. Now it worries him terribly that he should
have given his own child away to another man. But he can’t
take back his word. Karenin came to the funeral. But we
1355
tried to prevent his meeting Alexey. For him, for her husband, it was easier, anyway. She had set him free. But my
poor son was utterly given up to her. He had thrown up everything, his career, me, and even then she had no mercy on
him, but of set purpose she made his ruin complete. No, say
what you will, her very death was the death of a vile woman,
of no religious feeling. God forgive me, but I can’t help hating the memory of her, when I look at my son’s misery!’
‘But how is he now?’
‘It was a blessing from Providence for us—this Servian
war. I’m old, and I don’t understand the rights and wrongs
of it, but it’s come as a providential blessing to him. Of
course for me, as his mother, it’s terrible; and what’s worse,
they say, ce n’est pas tres bien vu a Petersbourg. But it can’t
be helped! It was the one thing that could rouse him. Yashvin—a friend of his—he had lost all he had at cards and he
was going to Servia. He came to see him and persuaded him
to go. Now it’s an interest for him. Do please talk to him a
little. I want to distract his mind. He’s so low-spirited. And
as bad luck would have it, he has toothache too. But he’ll be
delighted to see you. Please do talk to him; he’s walking up
and down on that side.’
Sergey Ivanovitch said he would be very glad to, and
crossed over to the other side of the station.
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Anna Karenina
Chapter 5
In the slanting evening shadows cast by the baggage piled
up on the platform, Vronsky in his long overcoat and slouch
hat, with his hands in his pockets, strode up and down, like
a wild beast in a cage, turning sharply after twenty paces. Sergey Ivanovitch fancied, as he approached him, that
Vronsky saw him but was pretending not to see. This did
not affect Sergey Ivanovitch in the slightest. He was above
all personal considerations with Vronsky.
At that moment Sergey Ivanovitch looked upon Vronsky as a man taking an important part in a great cause, and
Koznishev thought it his duty to encourage him and express
his approval. He went up to him.
Vronsky stood still, looked intently at him, recognized
him, and going a few steps forward to meet him, shook
hands with him very warmly.
‘Possibly you didn’t wish to see me,’ said Sergey Ivanovitch, ‘but couldn’t I be of use to you?’
‘There’s no one I should less dislike seeing than you,’ said
Vronsky. ‘Excuse me; and there’s nothing in life for me to
like.’
‘I quite understand, and I merely meant to offer you my
services,’ said Sergey Ivanovitch, scanning Vronsky’s face,
full of unmistakable suffering. ‘Wouldn’t it be of use to you
to have a letter to Ristitch—to Milan?’
1357
‘Oh, no!’ Vronsky said, seeming to understand him with
difficulty. ‘If you don’t mind, let’s walk on. It’s so stuffy
among the carriages. A letter? No, thank you; to meet death
one needs no letters of introduction. Nor for the Turks…’ he
said, with a smile that was merely of the lips. His eyes still
kept their look of angry suffering.
‘Yes; but you might find it easier to get into relations,
which are after all essential, with anyone prepared to see
you. But that’s as you like. I was very glad to hear of your
intention. There have been so many attacks made on the
volunteers, and a man like you raises them in public estimation.’
‘My use as a man,’ said Vronsky, ‘is that life’s worth nothing to me. And that I’ve enough bodily energy to cut my way
into their ranks, and to trample on them or fall—I know
that. I’m glad there’s something to give my life for, for it’s
not simply useless but loathsome to me. Anyone’s welcome
to it.’ And his jaw twitched impatiently from the incessant
gnawing toothache, that prevented him from even speaking
with a natural expression.
‘You will become another man, I predict,’ said Sergey
Ivanovitch, feeling touched. ‘To deliver one’s brother-men
from bondage is an aim worth death and life. God grant you
success outwardly—and inwardly peace,’ he added, and he
held out his hand. Vronsky warmly pressed his outstretched
hand.
‘Yes, as a weapon I may be of some use. But as a man, I’m
a wreck,’ he jerked out.
He could hardly speak for the throbbing ache in his
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Anna Karenina
strong teeth, that were like rows of ivory in his mouth. He
was silent, and his eyes rested on the wheels of the tender,
slowly and smoothly rolling along the rails.
And all at once a different pain, not an ache, but an inner
trouble, that set his whole being in anguish, made him for
an instant forget his toothache. As he glanced at the tender
and the rails, under the influence of the conversation with a
friend he had not met since his misfortune, he suddenly recalled her—that is, what was left of her when he had run like
one distraught into the cloak room of the railway station—
on the table, shamelessly sprawling out among strangers,
the bloodstained body so lately full of life; the head unhurt dropping back with its weight of hair, and the curling
tresses about the temples, and the exquisite face, with red,
half-opened mouth, the strange, fixed expression, piteous
on the lips and awful in the still open eyes, that seemed to
utter that fearful phrase—that he would be sorry for it—
that she had said when they were quarreling.
And he tried to think of her as she was when he met her
the first time, at a railway station too, mysterious, exquisite, loving, seeking and giving happiness, and not cruelly
revengeful as he remembered her on that last moment. He
tried to recall his best moments with her, but those moments were poisoned forever. He could only think of her
as triumphant, successful in her menace of a wholly useless remorse never to be effaced. He lost all consciousness of
toothache, and his face worked with sobs.
Passing twice up and down beside the baggage in silence and regaining his self-possession, he addressed Sergey
1359
Ivanovitch calmly:
‘You have had no telegrams since yesterday’s? Yes, driven
back for a third time, but a decisive engagement expected
for tomorrow.’
And after talking a little more of King Milan’s proclamation, and the immense effect it might have, they parted,
going to their carriages on hearing the second bell.
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Anna Karenina
Chapter 6
Sergey Ivanovitch had not telegraphed to his brother to
send to meet him, as he did not know when he should be
able to leave Moscow. Levin was not at home when Katavasov and Sergey Ivanovitch in a fly hired at the station drove
up to the steps of the Pokrovskoe house, as black as Moors
from the dust of the road. Kitty, sitting on the balcony with
her father and sister, recognized her brother-in-law, and ran
down to meet him.
‘What a shame not to have let us know,’ she said, giving
her hand to Sergey Ivanovitch, and putting her forehead up
for him to kiss.
‘We drove here capitally, and have not put you out,’ answered Sergey Ivanovitch. ‘I’m so dirty. I’m afraid to touch
you. I’ve been so busy, I didn’t know when I should be able
to tear myself away. And so you’re still as ever enjoying your
peaceful, quiet happiness,’ he said, smiling, ‘out of the reach
of the current in your peaceful backwater.
