‘And who are you meeting?’ he asked.
‘Me? A pretty woman,’ said Oblonsky.
‘I see!’
‘Honi soit qui mal y pense!1 My sister Anna.’
‘Karenina, you mean?’ said Vronsky.
‘You know her, I expect?’
‘I think I do. Or maybe not … I really don’t remember,’ Vronsky replied absent-mindedly, the name Karenina dimly conjuring up something stuffy and dull in his mind.
‘But you must surely know Alexey Alexandrovich, my famous brother-in-law. The whole world knows him.’
‘Well, I know him by reputation and by sight. I know he is clever, learned, pious in some way … But you know, that’s not in my … not in my line,’2 said Vronsky.
‘Yes, he is a very remarkable man; a bit conservative, but a very good man,’ observed Stepan Arkadyich, ‘a very good man.’
‘Well, so much the better for him,’ said Vronsky with a smile. ‘Ah, you’re here,’ he said, turning to his mother’s tall, elderly footman standing by the door. ‘Come in here.’
Apart from Stepan Arkadyich’s general appeal, to which everyone was susceptible, Vronsky had also felt attached to him lately because in his imagination he was connected to Kitty.
‘So, shall we hold a dinner for the diva on Sunday?’ he said to him, smiling as he took him by the arm.
‘Absolutely. I will start collecting contributions. Oh, and did you meet my friend Levin last night?’ asked Stepan Arkadyich.
‘Of course. But he left early for some reason.’
‘He’s a good fellow,’ continued Oblonsky.
‘Don’t you think?’
‘What I don’t understand,’ answered Vronsky, ‘is why all Muscovites, present company excepted, of course, have something brusque about them,’ he added jokingly. ‘They always seem to get so prickly and hot under the collar, as if there is something they keep wanting you to feel …’
‘Yes, there is a degree of that, you’re right …’ said Stepan Arkadyich, laughing merrily.
‘Will it be in soon?’ Vronsky asked an attendant.
‘Just left the last station,’ answered the attendant.
The approach of the train was made increasingly apparent by the flurry of preparations at the station, porters bustling about, the appearance of policemen and attendants, and the arrival of people coming to meet it. Through the steam caused by the frost, workmen in sheepskin jackets and soft felt boots could be seen crossing the rails of the curving tracks. The whistle of a locomotive and the shunting of something heavy could be heard down the line.
‘No,’ said Stepan Arkadyich, who was anxious to tell Vronsky about Levin’s intentions towards Kitty. ‘No, you have got the wrong idea about my Levin. It’s true that he is a very tense person and can be disagreeable, but then at other times he can be very amiable. He’s such an honest, trustworthy sort, and he’s got a heart of gold. But yesterday there were particular reasons,’ continued Stepan Arkadyich with a significant smile, completely forgetting the sincere sympathy he had felt the day before for his friend, and now feeling it again, but for Vronsky. ‘Yes, there was a reason why he might have been either extremely happy or extremely unhappy.’
Vronsky stopped and asked directly:
‘What do you mean? Or did he propose to your belle-soeur1 yesterday? …’
‘He may have done,’ said Stepan Arkadyich. ‘There was something like that in the air yesterday. But if he left early, and was also not in good spirits, then it must have been that … He has been in love for so long, and I feel very sorry for him.’
‘I see! … I think she can count on a better match, though,’ said Vronsky, and straightening up, he started walking again. ‘However, I don’t know him,’ he added. ‘Yes, it’s a painful situation! That is why the majority prefer associating with the Claras of this world. Failure with them only demonstrates that you don’t have enough money, but here it is your dignity which is on the line. Anyway, here’s the train.’
Indeed, a locomotive was already whistling in the distance. A few minutes later the platform started to shake and, puffing steam that was being forced downwards by the icy cold, the locomotive rolled past, with the connecting rod of the central wheel drawing back and extending slowly and evenly, and the muffled, hoarfrost-covered driver bent over; and behind the tender, going slower and slower, and making the platform shake more and more, came the wagon with the luggage and a yelping dog, and then finally the passenger carriages, shuddering before they came to a halt.
The smart-looking guard blew a whistle as he jumped down, and following him, the impatient passengers started to get off one by one: a guards officer, holding himself erect and looking round sternly; a twitchy merchant fellow with a bag, who was smiling brightly; a peasant with a sack over his shoulder.
Vronsky was studying the carriages and the people getting off while standing next to Oblonsky, and he completely forgot about his mother. What he had just learned about Kitty excited and gratified him. His chest involuntarily swelled and his eyes shone. He felt like a victor.
‘Countess Vronskaya is in this compartment,’ said the smart-looking guard, coming up to Vronsky.
The conductor’s words roused him and forced him to remember his mother and his imminent encounter with her. In his soul, he did not respect his mother, and, without being conscious of it, did not love her, although in keeping with the convictions of the circle in which he lived and his upbringing, he could not imagine his attitude to his mother being anything other than extremely obedient and deferential, and the more obedient and deferential he was outwardly, the less he respected and loved her in his soul.
1 ‘Shame on him who thinks evil of it!’
2 [English in the original.]
1 ‘sister-in-law’.
18
VRONSKY followed the conductor to the carriage and paused at the door of the compartment to make way for a lady coming out. With the customary tact of a society man, Vronsky ascertained with one glance at this lady’s appearance that she belonged to the highest echelons of society. He apologized and was about to go into the carriage, but felt the need to glance at her again—not because she was very beautiful, and not because of the elegance and unassuming grace evident in her whole figure, but because there was something particularly gentle and tender in the expression of her pretty face when she walked past him. When he looked round, she also turned her head. Her shining grey eyes, made dark by her thick lashes, focused intently on his face for a moment in a friendly fashion, as if she recognized him, then immediately transferred to the approaching crowd, as if looking for someone. In that brief glance Vronsky had time to notice the suppressed animation which sparkled in her face and flitted between her shining eyes and the barely perceptible smile curving her rosy lips. It was as if an abundance of something so overflowed her being that it expressed itself independently of her will, now in the radiance of her glance, now in her smile. She had deliberately extinguished the light in her eyes, but it shone against her will in her barely perceptible smile.
Vronsky went into the carriage. His mother, a dried-up old lady with black eyes and ringlets, narrowed her eyes as she peered at her son, and a faint smile appeared on her thin lips. Getting up from the seat and handing her handbag to the maid, she proffered her small, withered hand to her son then lifted up his head in order to kiss him on the face.
‘You got the telegram? You’re well? Thank heavens.’
‘You had a good journey?’ asked her son, sitting down next to her and involuntarily listening to a woman’s voice outside the door. He knew it was the voice of the lady he had encountered when he was coming in.