ANNA KARENINA (Collector's Edition). Leo Tolstoy

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СКАЧАТЬ 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

      SEVENTEEN СКАЧАТЬ