'No, not in the least, and there's no reason. I'm glad we've had a talk. And you know, morning shooting can be good. Why don't we go? I won't even sleep, I'll go straight from shooting to the station.'
'Splendid.'
XVIII
Though the whole of Vronsky's inner life was filled with his passion, his external life rolled inalterably and irresistibly along the former, habitual rails of social and regimental connections and interests. Regimental interests occupied an important place in Vronsky's life, because he loved his regiment and still more because he was loved in the regiment. They not only loved him, they also respected him and were proud of him, proud that this enormously wealthy man, with an excellent education and abilities, with an open path to every sort of success, ambition and vanity, disdained it all and of all interests in life took closest to heart the interests of his regiment and his comrades. Vronsky was aware of their view of him and, besides the fact that he liked that life, also felt it his duty to maintain the established view of himself.
It goes without saying that he never spoke with any of his comrades about his love, did not let it slip even during the wildest drinking parties (however, he never got so drunk as to lose control of himself), and stopped the mouths of those of his light-minded comrades who tried to hint at his liaison. But, in spite of that, his love was known to the whole town - everyone had guessed more or less correctly about his relations with Mme Karenina - and the majority of the young men envied him precisely for what was most difficult in his love, for Karenin's high position and the resulting conspicuousness of this liaison in society.
The majority of young women, envious of Anna and long since weary of her being called righteous, were glad of what they surmised and only waited for the turnabout of public opinion to be confirmed before they fell upon her with the full weight of their scorn. They were already preparing the lumps of mud they would fling at her when the time came. The majority of older and more highly placed people were displeased by this impending social scandal.
Vronsky's mother, on learning of his liaison, was pleased at first -both because nothing, to her mind, gave the ultimate finish to a brilliant young man like a liaison in high society, and because Anna, whom she had liked so much, who had talked so much about her son, was after all just like all other beautiful and decent women, to Countess Vronsky's mind. But recently she had learned that her son had refused a post offered to him and important for his career, only in order to stay in the regiment and be able to see Anna, had learned that highly placed people were displeased with him for that, and had changed her opinion. Nor did she like it that, judging by all she had learned of this liaison, it was not a brilliant, graceful society liaison, of which she would have approved, but some sort of desperate Wertherian[25] passion, as she had been told, which might draw him into foolishness. She had not seen him since the time of his unexpected departure from Moscow, and demanded through his older brother that he come to see her.
The elder brother was also displeased with the younger. He did not care what sort of love it was, great or small, passionate or unpassionate, depraved or not depraved (he himself, though he had children, kept a dancer, and was therefore indulgent about such things); but he knew that this love displeased those whose good pleasure was necessary, and he therefore disapproved of his brother's behaviour.
Besides the service and society, Vronsky had one more occupation -horses, of which he was a passionate fancier.
That year an officers' steeplechase was planned. Vronsky signed up for the race, bought an English thoroughbred mare and, in spite of his love, was passionately, though restrainedly, carried away with the forthcoming races ...
These two passions did not interfere with each other. On the contrary, he needed an occupation and an enthusiasm not dependent on his love, in which he could refresh himself and rest from impressions that excited him too much.
XIX
On the day of the Krasnoe Selo [26] races, Vronsky came earlier than usual to eat his beefsteak in the common room of the regimental mess. He did not need to maintain himself too strictly, because his weight was exactly the regulation hundred and sixty pounds; but he also had not to gain any weight, and so he avoided starches and sweets. He was sitting in a jacket unbuttoned over a white waistcoat, both elbows leaning on the table, and, while awaiting the beefsteak he had ordered, was looking into a French novel that lay open on his plate. He looked into the book only to avoid having to talk with the officers going in and out while he was thinking.
He was thinking that Anna had promised to arrange to meet him that day after the races. But he had not seen her for three days, and, since her husband had returned from abroad, he did not know whether it was possible that day or not, and did not know how to find it out. The last time he had seen her was at his cousin Betsy's country house. To the Karenins' country house he went as seldom as possible. Now he wanted to go there and was pondering the question of how to do it.
'Of course, I can say that Betsy sent me to ask if she was coming to the races. Of course I'll go,' he decided to himself, raising his head from the book. And, as he vividly pictured to himself the happiness of seeing her, his face lit up.
'Send to my place and tell them to harness the carriage quickly,' he said to the servant who brought him the beefsteak on a hot silver dish, and, drawing the dish towards him, he began to eat.
From the next room came talk and laughter and the click of billiard balls. At the entrance two officers appeared: one young, with a weak, thin face, who had come to the regiment from the Corps of Pages not long ago; the other a plump old officer with a bracelet on his wrist and puffy little eyes.
Vronsky glanced at them, frowned and, as if not noticing them, looked sideways at the book and began to eat and read at the same time.
'Fortifying yourself before work?' said the plump officer, sitting down near him.
'As you see,' said Vronsky, frowning and wiping his mouth without looking at him.
'Not afraid of gaining weight ?' the first said, offering the young officer a chair.
'What?' Vronsky said angrily, making a grimace of disgust and showing his solid row of teeth.
'Not afraid of gaining weight?'
'Sherry, boy!' Vronsky said without replying, and, moving the book to the other side, he went on reading.
The plump officer took the wine list and turned to the young officer.
'You choose what we'll drink,' he said, handing him the list and looking at him.
'Maybe Rhine wine,' the young officer said, timidly casting a sidelong glance at Vronsky and trying to grasp his barely grown moustache in his fingers. Seeing that Vronsky did not turn, the young officer stood up.
'Let's go to the billiard room,' he said.
The plump officer obediently stood up, and they went to the door.
Just then the tall and well-built cavalry captain Yashvin came into the room and, giving the two officers a scornful toss of the head, went over to Vronsky.
'Ah, here he is!' he cried, slapping him hard on the epaulette with his big hand. Vronsky turned angrily, but his face at once lit up with his own special, calm and firm gentleness.
'That's wise, Alyosha,' the captain said in a loud baritone. 'Eat now and drink a little glass.'
'I don't want to eat.'
'There go the inseparables,' Yashvin added, looking mockingly at the two officers who at that moment were leaving the room. And he sat down beside Vronsky, his thighs and shins, much too long for the height of the chairs, bending at a sharp angle in their tight breeches. 'Why didn't you come to the Krasnoe Theatre last night? Numerova wasn't bad at all. Where were you?'
'I stayed late at the Tverskoys',' replied Vronsky.
'Ah!' responded Yashvin.
Yashvin, a gambler, a carouser, a man not merely without any principles, but with immoral principles - Yashvin was Vronsky's best friend in the regiment. Vronsky loved him for his extraordinary physical strength, which the man usually showed by his ability to dr
ink like a fish, go without sleep and yet remain the same, and for his great force of character, which he showed in his relations with his superiors and comrades, making himself feared and respected, and at cards, where he staked tens of thousands and, despite the wine he drank, was always so subtle and steady that he was regarded as the foremost player in the English Club. Vronsky loved and respected him especially because he felt that Yashvin loved him not for his name or wealth but for himself. And of all people it was with him alone that Vronsky would have liked to talk about his love. He felt that Yashvin alone, though he seemed to scorn all feelings, could understand that strong passion which now filled his whole life. Besides, he was sure that Yashvin took no pleasure in gossip and scandal, but understood his feeling in the right way - that is, knew and believed that this love was not a joke, not an amusement, but something more serious and important.
Vronsky did not speak to him of his love, but he knew that he knew everything and understood everything in the right way, and he was pleased to see it in his eyes.
'Ah, yes!' he said in response to Vronsky's having been at the Tverskoys', and, flashing his black eyes, he took hold of the left side of his moustache and began twirling it into his mouth - a bad habit of his.
'Well, and what happened last night? Did you win?' asked Vronsky.
'Eight thousand. But three are no good, it's unlikely he'll pay.'
'Well, then you can lose on me,' said Vronsky, laughing. (Yashvin had bet a large sum on Vronsky.)
'There's no way I can lose.'
'Makhotin's the only danger.'
And the conversation turned to the expectations of the day's race, which was all Vronsky was able to think about.
'Let's go, I'm finished,' said Vronsky and, getting up, he went to the door. Yashvin also got up, straightening his enormous legs and long back.
'It's too early for me to dine, but I could use a drink. I'll come at once. Hey, wine!' he cried in his deep voice, famous for commanding, which made the windowpanes tremble. 'No, never mind,' he shouted again at once. 'Since you're going home, I'll come with you.'
And he went with Vronsky.
XX
Vronsky stood in the spacious and clean Finnish cottage, which was divided in two. Petritsky shared quarters with him in camp as well. Petritsky was asleep when Vronsky and Yashvin entered the cottage.
'Get up, you've slept enough,' said Yashvin, going behind the partition and giving the dishevelled Petritsky, whose nose was buried in the pillow, a shove on the shoulder.
Petritsky suddenly jumped to his knees and looked around.
'Your brother was here,' he said to Vronsky. 'Woke me up, devil take him, said he'd come back.' And, drawing up his blanket, he threw himself back on to the pillow. 'Leave me alone, Yashvin,' he said, angry at Yashvin, who was pulling the blanket off him. 'Leave me alone!' He turned over and opened his eyes. 'You'd better tell me what to drink -there's such a vile taste in my mouth that...'
'Vodka's best of all,' boomed Yashvin. 'Tereshchenko! Vodka for the master, and pickles,' he shouted, obviously fond of hearing his own voice.
'Vodka, you think? Eh?' Petritsky asked, wincing and rubbing his eyes. 'And will you drink? Together, that's how to drink! Vronsky, will you drink?' Petritsky said, getting up and wrapping himself under the arms in a tiger rug.
He went through the door in the partition, raised his arms and sang in French:' "There was a king in Thu-u-ule."[27] Vronsky, will you drink?'
'Get out,' said Vronsky, who was putting on the jacket his footman held for him.
'Where are you off to?' Yashvin asked him. 'Here's the troika,' he added, seeing the carriage pull up.
'To the stables, and I also have to see Bryansky about the horses,' said Vronsky.
Vronsky had indeed promised to go to Bryansky's, nearly seven miles from Peterhof,[28] and bring him money for the horses; he hoped he would have time to get there as well. But his comrades understood at once that he was not going only there.
Petritsky, continuing to sing, winked and puffed his lips, as if to say: 'We know which Bryansky that is.'
'See that you're not late!' Yashvin merely said and, to change the subject, asked, 'So my roan serves you well?' looking out of the window at the shaft horse he had sold him.
'Wait,' Petritsky shouted to Vronsky, who was already going out. 'Your brother left a letter for you and a note. Hold on, where are they?'
Vronsky stopped.
'Well, where are they?'
'Where are they? That's the question!' Petritsky said solemnly, gesturing upwards from his nose with his index finger.
'Speak up, this is stupid!' Vronsky said, smiling.
'I haven't made a fire. They must be here somewhere.'
'Well, enough babbling! Where's the letter?'
'No, really, I forget. Or did I dream it? Hold on, hold on! What's the use of getting angry? If you'd drunk four bottles each, like I did last night, you'd forget where you flopped down. Hold on, I'll remember in a second!'
Petritsky went behind the partition and lay down on his bed.
'Wait! I was lying like this, he was standing like that. Yes, yes, yes, yes... Here it is!' And Petritsky pulled the letter from under the mattress, where he had hidden it.
Vronsky took the letter and his brother's note. It was just what he expected - a letter from his mother with reproaches for not coming, and a note from his brother saying that they had to have a talk. Vronsky knew it was about the same thing. 'What business is it of theirs!' he thought and, crumpling the letters, tucked them between the buttons of his frock coat, to read attentively on his way. In the front hall of the cottage he met two officers: one theirs, and the other from another regiment.
Vronsky's quarters were always a den for all the officers.
'Where are you off to?'
'I must go to Peterhof.'
'And has the horse come from Tsarskoe?'
'She has, but I haven't seen her yet.'
'They say Makhotin's Gladiator has gone lame.'
'Nonsense! Only how are you going to race in this mud?' said the other.
'Here come my saviours!' cried Petritsky, seeing the men come in. His orderly was standing in front of him holding a tray with vodka and pickles. 'Yashvin here tells me to drink so as to refresh myself.'
'Well, you really gave it to us last evening,' said one of the newcomers. 'Wouldn't let us sleep all night.'
'No, but how we finished!' Petritsky went on. 'Volkov got up on the roof and said he was feeling sad. I said: "Give us music, a funeral march!" He fell asleep on the roof to the funeral march.'
'Drink, drink the vodka without fail, and then seltzer water with a lot of lemon,' Yashvin said, standing over Petritsky like a mother making a child take its medicine, 'and after that a bit of champagne - say, one little bottle.' 'Now that's clever. Wait, Vronsky, let's have a drink.'
'No, goodbye, gentlemen, today I don't drink.'
'Why, so as not to gain weight? Well, then we'll drink alone. Bring on the seltzer water and lemon.'
'Vronsky!' someone shouted when he was already in the front hall.
'What?'
'You should get your hair cut, it's too heavy, especially on the bald spot.'
Vronsky was indeed beginning to lose his hair prematurely on top. He laughed merrily, showing his solid row of teeth, pulled his peaked cap over his bald spot, went out and got into the carriage.
'To the stable!' he said and took out the letters to read them, then changed his mind, so as not to get distracted before examining the horse. 'Later! ...'
XXI
The temporary stable, a shed of wooden planks, had been built just next to the racetrack, and his horse was supposed to have been brought there yesterday. He had not seen her yet. For the last two days he had not ridden her himself, but had entrusted her to the trainer, and had no idea what condition his horse had arrived in or was in now. As soon as he got out of the carriage, his groom, known as 'boy', having recognized his carriage from a dist
ance, called the trainer. The dry Englishman in high boots and a short jacket, with only a tuft of beard left under his chin, came out to meet him with the awkward gait of a jockey, spreading his elbows wide and swaying.
'Well, how's Frou-Frou?' Vronsky asked in English.
'All right, sir,' the Englishman's voice said somewhere inside his throat. 'Better not go in,' he added, raising his hat. 'I've put a muzzle on her, and the horse is agitated. Better not go in, it upsets the horse.'
'No, I'd rather go in. I want to have a look at her.'
'Come along,' the frowning Englishman said, as before, without opening his mouth and, swinging his elbows, he went ahead with his loose gait.
They entered the little yard in front of the shed. The dashing, smartly dressed lad on duty, in a clean jacket, with a broom in his hand, met them as they came in and followed after them. In the shed five horses stood in stalls, and Vronsky knew that his main rival, Makhotin's sixteen-hand chestnut, Gladiator, was to have been brought that day and should be standing there. Even more than his own horse, Vronsky wanted to have a look at Gladiator, whom he had never seen; but Vronsky knew that by the rules of horse-fanciers' etiquette, he not only should not see him, but could not even decently ask questions about him. As he went down the corridor, the lad opened the door to the second stall on the left, and Vronsky saw a big chestnut horse with white legs. He knew it was Gladiator, but, with the feeling of a man turning away from a temptingly open letter, he turned away and went to Frou-Frou's stall.