.
‘It’s all youthfulness—positively nothing but
boyishness. Why, I’m buying it, upon my honor, simply,
believe me, for the glory of it, that Ryabinin, and no one
else, should have bought the copse of Oblonsky. And as to
the profits, why, I must make what God gives. In God’s
name. If you would kindly sign the title-deed..’
Within an hour the merchant, stroking his big overcoat
neatly down, and hooding up his jacket, with the
agreement in his pocket, seated himself in his tightly
covered trap, and drove homewards.
‘Ugh, these gentlefolks!’ he said to the clerk. ‘They—
they’re a nice lot!’
‘That’s so,’ responded the clerk, handing him the reins
and buttoning the leather apron. ‘But I can congratulate
you on the purchase, Mihail Ignatitch?’
‘Well, well..’
Chapter 17
Stepan Arkadyevitch went upstairs with his pocket
bulging with notes, which the merchant had paid him for
three months in advance. The business of the forest was
over, the money in his pocket; their shooting had been
excellent, and Stepan Arkadyevitch was in the happiest
frame of mind, and so he felt specially anxious to dissipate
the ill-humor that had come upon Levin. He wanted to
finish the day at supper as pleasantly as it had been begun.
Levin certainly was out of humor, and in spite off all
his desire to be affectionate and cordial to his charming
visitor, he could not control his mood. The intoxication
of the news that Kitty was not married had gradually
begun to work upon him.
Kitty was not married, but ill, and ill from love for a
man who had slighted her. This slight, as it were,
rebounded upon him. Vronsky had slighted her, and she
had slighted him, Levin. Consequently Vronsky had the
right to despise Levin, and therefore he was his enemy.
But all this Levin did not think out. He vaguely felt that
there was something in it insulting to him, and he was not
angry now at what had disturbed him, but he fell foul of
everything that presented itself. The stupid sale of the
forest, the fraud practiced upon Oblonsky and concluded
in his house, exasperated him.
‘Well, finished?’ he said, meeting Stepan Arkadyevitch
upstairs. ‘Would you like supper?’
‘Well, I wouldn’t say no to it. What an appetite I get in
the country! Wonderful! Why didn’t you offer Ryabinin
something?’
‘Oh, damn him!’
‘Still, how you do treat him!’ said Oblonsky. ‘You
didn’t even shake hands with him. Why not shake hands
with him?’
‘Because I don’t shake hands with a waiter, and a
waiter’s a hundred times better than he is.’
‘What a reactionist you are, really! What about the
amalgamation of classes?’ said Oblonsky.
‘Anyone who likes amalgamating is welcome to it, but
it sickens me.’
‘You’re a regular reactionist, I see.’
‘Really, I have never considered what I am. I am
Konstantin Levin, and nothing else.’
‘And Konstantin Levin very much out of temper,’ said
Stepan Arkadyevitch, smiling.
‘Yes, I am out of temper, and do you know why?
Because—excuse me—of your stupid sale..’
Stepan Arkadyevitch frowned good-humoredly, like
one who feels himself teased and attacked for no fault of
his own.
‘Come, enough about it!’ he said. ‘When did anybody
ever sell anything without being told immediately after the
sale, ‘It was worth much more’? But when one wants to
sell, no one will give anything.... No, I see you’ve a
grudge against that unlucky Ryabinin.’
‘Maybe I have. And do you know why? You’ll say
again that I’m a reactionist, or some other terrible word;
but all the same it does annoy and anger me to see on all
sides the impoverishing of the nobility to which I belong,
and, in spite of the amalgamation of classes, I’m glad to
belong. And their impoverishment is not due to
extravagance—that would be nothing; living in good style
—that’s the proper thing for noblemen; it’s only the
nobles who know how to do it. Now the peasants about
us buy land, and I don’t mind that. The gentleman does
nothing, while the peasant works and supplants the idle
man. That’s as it ought to be. And I’m very glad for the
peasant. But I do mind seeing the process of
impoverishment from a sort of—I don’t know what to call
it— innocence. Here a Polish speculator bought for half its
value a magnificent estate from a young lady who lives in
Nice. And there a merchant will get three acres of land,
worth ten roubles, as security for the loan of one rouble.
Here, for no kind of reason, you’ve made that rascal a
present of thirty thousand roubles.’
‘Well, what should I have done? Counted every tree?’
‘Of course, they must be counted. You didn’t count
them, but Ryabinin did. Ryabinin’s children will have
means of livelihood and education, while yours maybe
will not!’
‘Well, you must excuse me, but there’s something
mean in this counting. We have our business and they
have theirs, and they must make their profit. Anyway, the
thing’s done, and there’s an end of it. And here come
some poached eggs, my favorite dish. And Agafea
Mihalovna will give us that marvelous herb-brandy..’
Stepan Arkadyevitch sat down at the table and began
joking with Agafea Mihalovna, assuring her that it was
long since he had tasted such a dinner and such a supper.
‘Well, you do praise it, anyway,’ said Agafea
Mihalovna, ‘but Konstantin Dmitrievitch, give him what
you will—a crust of bread—he’ll eat it and walk away.’
Though Levin tried to control himself, he was gloomy
and silent. He wanted to put one question to Stepan
Arkadyevitch, but he could not bring himself to the point,
and could not find the words or the moment in which to
put it. Stepan Arkadyevitch had gone down to his room,
undressed, again washed, and attired in a nightshirt with
goffered frills, he had got into bed, but Levin still lingered
in his room, talking of various trifling matters, and not
daring to ask what he wanted to know.
‘How wonderfully they make this soap,’ he said gazing
at a piece of soap he was handling, which Agafea
Mihalovna had put ready for the visitor but Oblonsky had
not used. ‘Only look; why, it’s a work of art.’
‘Yes, everything’s brought to such a pitch of perfection
nowadays,’ said Stepan Arkadyevitch, with a moist and
blissful yawn. ‘The theater, for instance, and the
entertainments... a—a—a!’ he yawned. ‘The electric light
everywhere...a—a—a!’
‘Yes, the electric light,’ said Levin. ‘Yes. Oh, and
where’s Vronsky now?’ he asked suddenly, laying down
the soap.
‘Vronsky?’ said Stepan Arkadyevitch, checking his
yawn; ‘he’s in Petersburg. He left soon after you did, and
he’s not once been in Moscow since. And do you know,
Kostya, I’ll tell you the truth,’ he went on, leaning his
elbow on the table, and propping on his hand his
handsome ruddy face, in which his moist, good-natured,
sleepy eyes shone like stars. ‘It’s your own fault. You took
fright at the sight of your rival. But, as I told you at the
time, I couldn’t say which had the better chance. Why
didn’t you fight it out? I told you at the time that....’ He
yawned inwardly, without opening his mouth.
‘Does he know, or doesn’t he, that I did make an
offer?’ Levin wondered, gazing at him. ‘Yes, there’s
something humbugging, diplomatic in his face,’ and
feeling he was blushing, he looked Stepan Arkadyevitch
straight in the face without speaking.
‘If there was anything on her side at the time, it was
nothing but a superficial attraction,’ pursued Oblonsky.
‘His being such a perfect aristocrat, don’t you know, and
his future position in society, had an influence not with
her, but with her mother.’
Levin scowled. The humiliation of his rejection stung
him to the heart, as though it were a fresh wound he had
only just received. But he was at home, and the walls of
home are a support.
‘Stay, stay,’ he began, interrupting Oblonsky. ‘You talk
of his being an aristocrat. But allow me to ask what it
consists in, that aristocracy of Vronsky or of anybody else,
beside which I can be looked down upon? You consider
Vronsky an aristocrat, but I don’t. A man whose father
crawled up from nothing at all by intrigue, and whose
mother—God knows whom she wasn’t mixed up with....
No, excuse me, but I consider myself aristocratic, and
people like me, who can point back in the past to three or
four honorable generations of their family, of the highest
degree of breeding (talent and intellect, of course that’s
another matter), and have never curried favor with
anyone, never depended on anyone for anything, like my
father and my grandfather. And I know many such. You
think it mean of me to count the trees in my forest, while
you may Ryabinin a present of thirty thousand; but you
get rents from your lands and I don’t know what, while I
don’t and so I prize what’s come to me from my ancestors
or been won by hard work.... We are aristocrats, and not
those who can only exist by favor of the powerful of this
world, and who can be bought for twopence halfpenny.’
‘Well, but whom are you attacking? I agree with you,’
said Stepan Arkadyevitch, sincerely and genially; though
he was aware that in the class of those who could be
bought for twopence halfpenny Levin was reckoning him
too. Levin’s warmth gave him genuine pleasure. ‘Whom
are you attacking? Though a good deal is not true that you
say about Vronsky, but I won’t talk about that. I tell you
straight out, if I were you, I should go back with me to
Moscow, and..’
‘No; I don’t know whether you know it or not, but I
don’t care. And I tell you—I did make an offer and was
rejected, and Katerina Alexandrovna is nothing now to me
but a painful and humiliating reminiscence.’
‘What ever for? What nonsense!’
‘But we won’t talk about it. Please forgive me, if I’ve
been nasty,’ said Levin. Now that he had opened his heart,
he became as he had been in the morning. ‘You’re not
angry with me, Stiva? Please don’t be angry,’ he said, and
smiling, he took his hand.
‘Of course not; not a bit, and no reason to be. I’m glad
we’ve spoken openly. And do you know, stand-shooting
in the morning is unusually good—why not go? I couldn’t
sleep the night anyway, but I might go straight from
shooting to the station.’
‘Capital.’
Chapter 18
Although all Vronsky’s inner life was absorbed in his
passion, his external life unalterably and inevitably
followed along the old accustomed lines of his social and
regimental ties and interests. The interests of his regiment
took an important place in Vronsky’s life, both because he
was fond of the regiment, and because the regiment was
fond of him. They were not only fond of Vronsky in his
regiment, they respected him too, and were proud of him;
proud that this man, with his immense wealth, his brilliant
education and abilities, and the path open before him to
every kind of success, distinction, and ambition, had
disregarded all that, and of all the interests of life had the
interests of his regiment and his comrades nearest to his
heart. Vronsky was aware of his comrades’ view of him,
and in addition to his liking for the life, he felt bound to
keep up that reputation.
It need not be said that he did not speak of his love to
any of his comrades, nor did he betray his secret even in
the wildest drinking bouts (though indeed he was never so
drunk as to lose all control of himself). And he shut up any
of his thoughtless comrades who attempted to allude to his
connection. But in spite of that, his love was known to all
the town; everyone guessed with more or less confidence
at his relations with Madame Karenina. The majority of
the younger men envied him for just what was the most
irksome factor in his love—the exalted position of
Karenin, and the consequent publicity of their connection
in society.
The greater number of the young women, who envied
Anna and had long been weary of hearing her called
virtuous, rejoiced at the fulfillment of their predictions,
and were only waiting for a decisive turn in public
opinion to fall upon her with all the weight of their scorn.
They were already making ready their handfuls of mud to
fling at her when the right moment arrived. The greater
number of the middle-aged people and certain great
personages were displeased at the prospect of the
impending scandal in society.
Vronsky’s mother, on hearing of his connection, was at
first pleased at it, because nothing to her mind gave such a
finishing touch to a brilliant young man as a liaison in the
highest society; she was pleased, too, that Madame
Karenina, who had so taken her fancy, and had talked so
much of her son, was, after all, just like all other pretty and
well-bred women,—at least according to the Countess
Vronskaya’s ideas. But she had heard of late that her son
had refused a position offered him of great importance to
his career, simply in order to remain in the regiment,
where he could be constantly seeing Madame Karenina.
She learned that great personages were displeased with him
on this account, and she changed her opinion. She was
vexed, too, that from all she could learn of this connection
it was not that brilliant, graceful, worldly liaison which she
would have welcomed, but a sort of Wertherish, desperate
passion, so she was told, which might well lead him into
imprudence. She had not seen him since his abrupt
departure from Moscow, and she sent her elder son to bid
him come to see her.
This elder son, too, was displeased with his younger
brother. He did not distinguish what sort of love his might
be, big or little, passionate or passionless, lasting or passing
(he kept a ballet girl himself, though he was the father of a
family, so he was lenient in these matters), but he knew
that this love affair was viewed with displeasure by those
whom it was necessary to please, and therefore he did not
approve of his brother’s conduct.
Besides the service and society, Vronsky had another
great interest—horses; he was passionately fond of horses.
That year races and a steeplechase had been arranged
for the officers. Vronsky had put his name down, bought a
thoroughbred English mare, and in spite of his love affair,
he was looking forward to the races with intense, though
reserved, excitement...
These two passions did not interfere with one another.
On the contrary, he needed occupation and distraction
quite apart from his love, so as to recruit and rest himself
from the violent emotions that agitated him.
Chapter 19
On the day of the races at Krasnoe Selo, Vronsky had
come earlier than usual to eat beefsteak in the common
messroom of the regiment. He had no need to be strict
with himself, as he had very quickly been brought down
to the required light weight; but still he had to avoid
gaining flesh, and so he eschewed farinaceous and sweet
dishes. He sat with his coat unbuttoned over a white
waistcoat, resting both elbows on the table, and while
waiting for the steak he had ordered he looked at a French
novel that lay open on his plate. He was only looking at
the book to avoid conversation with the officers coming
in and out; he was thinking.
He was thinking of Anna’s promise to see him that day
after the races. But he had not seen her for three days, and
as her husband had just returned from aborad, he did not
know whether she would be able to meet him today or
not, and he did not know how to find out. He had had his
last interview with her at his cousin Betsy’s summer villa.
He visited the Karenins’ summer villa as rarely as possible.
Now he wanted to go there, and he pondered the
question how to do it.