Anna Karenina (Annotated Maude Translation). Leo Tolstoy

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      Chapter 34

      WHEN he went to Moscow, Vronsky had left his large flat on the Morskaya to his friend and favourite comrade, Petritsky.

      Petritsky was a young lieutenant, not of very aristocratic birth, and not only not wealthy but heavily in debt, tipsy every evening, and often under arrest for amusing or improper escapades, but popular both with his comrades and superiors. Arriving home from the station about noon, Vronsky recognized a hired brougham at the front door. When he rang the bell, while still outside, he heard men’s laughter, a woman’s lisping voice, and Petritsky shouting: ‘If it is one of the villains, don’t let him in!’

      Vronsky told the servants not to announce his arrival, and softly entered the first room. Petritsky’s friend, the Baroness Chilton, her lilac satin dress and pink and white face glistening, and like a canary filling the whole room with her Parisian voice, was seated at the round table making coffee. Petritsky in his greatcoat, and Captain Kamerovsky in full uniform probably straight from parade, sat on each side of her.

      ‘Vronsky! Bravo!’ exclaimed Petritsky jumping up and noisily pushing back his chair. ‘The master himself! Baroness, some coffee for him out of the new coffee-pot… . Well, this is unexpected! I hope you are pleased with this ornament to your study,’ he added, pointing to the Baroness. ‘Of course, you know one another?’

      ‘I should think so!’ replied Vronsky with a merry smile, as he pressed the Baroness’s small hand. ‘Of course: quite old friends.’

      ‘You have returned from a journey?’ said the Baroness. ‘Oh, I’ll be off home this very moment if I am in the way.’

      ‘You are at home where you are, Baroness,’ said Vronsky. ‘How do you do, Kamerovsky?’ he added, coldly shaking hands with the Captain.

      ‘There now! You never manage to say such pretty things,’ said the Baroness to Petritsky.

      ‘Oh yes! Why not? After dinner I’ll say things quite as good as that.’

      ‘But after dinner there is no merit in it! Well then, I’ll give you some coffee… . But have a wash and smarten yourself up,’ said the Baroness, again sitting down and carefully turning a small screw of the coffee-pot.

      ‘Pierre, pass me the coffee,’ she said to Petritsky, whom, not concealing their relations, she called Pierre (the French for Peter), because of his surname. ‘I’ll put a little more into the pot.’

      ‘You’ll spoil it!’

      ‘No, I shan’t! And your wife?’ the Baroness said suddenly, interrupting Vronsky’s conversation with his comrade. ‘We here have been marrying you off! Have you brought your wife?’

      ‘No, Baroness. A Bohemian I was born, and a Bohemian I shall die!’

      ‘So much the better! So much the better! Give me your hand.’

      And the Baroness, instead of releasing Vronsky, began telling him her plans for the future, interspersing jokes and asking his advice.

      ‘He won’t agree to a divorce! Whatever am I to do?’ (He was her husband.) ‘I want to begin an action. What would you advise? Kamerovsky, mind the coffee, it’s boiling over! Don’t you see I am occupied? … I want to bring an action because I need my property. You see how absurd it is, that because I am supposed to be unfaithful,’ she said contemptuously, ‘he wishes to have the use of my property.’

      Vronsky listened with pleasure to the merry prattle of the pretty young woman, agreed with what she said, and half in fun gave her advice; in a word he immediately took up his habitual manner with women of her kind. In his Petersburg world people were divided into two quite opposite sorts. One — the inferior sort: the paltry, stupid, and, above all, ridiculous people who believe that a husband should live with the one wife to whom he is married, that a maiden should be pure, a woman modest, and a man, manly, self-controlled and firm; that one should bring up one’s children to earn their living, should pay one’s debts, and other nonsense of that kind. These were the old-fashioned and ridiculous people. But there was another sort of people: the real people to which all his set belonged, who had above all to be well-bred, generous, bold, gay, and to abandon themselves unblushingly to all their passions and laugh at everything else.

      Just for a moment Vronsky was staggered, having brought back from Moscow the impression of a totally different world, but immediately, as though he had put his foot into an old slipper, he re-entered his former gay and pleasant world.

      The coffee never got made, but boiled over and splashed everybody, effecting just what was required: that is, it gave an excuse for much noise and laughter, staining the valuable carpet and the Baroness’s dress.

      ‘Now goodbye, or you’ll never get washed, and on my conscience will lie the greatest crime of a gentleman — want of cleanliness… . So you advise me to put a knife to his throat?’

      ‘Most certainly, and hold it so that your hand will be near his lips. He will kiss the hand and all will end well!’ said Vronsky.

      ‘Then we meet at the French Theatre tonight?’ and, her dress rustling, she vanished.

      Kamerovsky rose also, and, without waiting for him to go, Vronsky shook hands with him and went to his dressing-room. While he was washing, Petritsky in a few words described his own position in so far as it had changed since Vronsky went away. He had no money at all. His father had said he would not give him any and would not pay his debts. His tailor and another creditor were threatening him with arrest. His C.O. had announced to him that if these scandals continued he (Petritsky) would have to resign. He was sick to death of the Baroness, especially because she was always wanting to give him money; but there was another — he would let Vronsky see her — who was charming, wonderful, of severely Oriental type, in the style of ‘ “The Slave Rebecca,” you know!’ He had also had a quarrel with Berkashev, who wished to send his seconds, but of course nothing would come of it. But, in general, everything was first-rate and extremely jolly; and without letting his friend go into details of his position, Petritsky began telling him all the interesting news. Listening to Petritsky’s familiar tales, in the familiar surroundings of the house he had lived in for three years, Vronsky experienced the satisfaction of returning to his customary careless Petersburg life.

      ‘Impossible!’ he cried, releasing the pedal of his washstand, which controlled a jet of water under which he was bathing his healthy, ruddy neck. ‘Impossible!’ he cried, at the news that Laura was under the protection of Mileyev and had thrown up Fertinhof. ‘And he is still as stupid and self-satisfied? And what of Buzulukov?’

      ‘Oh, about Buzulukov there is such a tale — splendid!’ shouted Petritsky. ‘You know his passion for balls? He never misses a single Court ball. He went to a grand ball wearing one of the new helmets — have you seen the new helmets? They’re very good, much lighter. — Well, he stood … But you are not listening.’

      ‘Yes, I am,’ replied Vronsky, rubbing himself with a bath-towel.

      ‘The Grand Duchess СКАЧАТЬ