Anna Karenina
years’ task, toiled at with such love and labor, had gone, leaving no
trace.
Sergey Ivanovitch’s position was still more difficult from the fact
that, since he had finished his book, he had had no more literary work
to do, such as had hitherto occupied the greater part of his time.
Sergey Ivanovitch was clever, cultivated, healthy, and energetic, and
he did not know what use to make of his energy. Conversations in
drawing-rooms, in meetings, assemblies, and committees—everywhere where
talk was possible—took up part of his time. But being used for years to
town life, he did not waste all his energies in talk, as his less
experienced younger brother did, when he was in Moscow. He had a great
deal of leisure and intellectual energy still to dispose of.
Fortunately for him, at this period so difficult for him from the
failure of his book, the various public questions of the dissenting
sects, of the American alliance, of the Samara famine, of exhibitions,
and of spiritualism, were definitely replaced in public interest by the
Slavonic question, which had hitherto rather languidly interested
society, and Sergey Ivanovitch, who had been one of the first to raise
this subject, threw himself into it heart and soul.
In the circle to which Sergey Ivanovitch belonged, nothing was talked
of or written about just now but the Servian War. Everything that the
idle crowd usually does to kill time was done now for the benefit of
the Slavonic States. Balls, concerts, dinners, matchboxes, ladies’
dresses, beer, restaurants—everything testified to sympathy with the
Slavonic peoples.
From much of what was spoken and written on the subject, Sergey
Ivanovitch differed on various points. He saw that the Slavonic
question had become one of those fashionable distractions which succeed
one another in providing society with an object and an occupation. He
saw, too, that a great many people were taking up the subject from
motives of self-interest and self-advertisement. He recognized that the
newspapers published a great deal that was superfluous and exaggerated,
with the sole aim of attracting attention and outbidding one another.
He saw that in this general movement those who thrust themselves most
forward and shouted the loudest were men who had failed and were
smarting under a sense of injury—generals without armies, ministers not
in the ministry, journalists not on any paper, party leaders without
followers. He saw that there was a great deal in it that was frivolous
and absurd. But he saw and recognized an unmistakable growing
enthusiasm, uniting all classes, with which it was impossible not to
sympathize. The massacre of men who were fellow Christians, and of the
same Slavonic race, excited sympathy for the sufferers and indignation
against the oppressors. And the heroism of the Servians and
Montenegrins struggling for a great cause begot in the whole people a
longing to help their brothers not in word but in deed.
But in this there was another aspect that rejoiced Sergey Ivanovitch.
That was the manifestation of public opinion. The public had definitely
expressed its desire. The soul of the people had, as Sergey Ivanovitch
said, found expression. And the more he worked in this cause, the more
incontestable it seemed to him that it was a cause destined to assume
vast dimensions, to create an epoch.
He threw himself heart and soul into the service of this great cause,
and forgot to think about his book. His whole time now was engrossed by
it, so that he could scarcely manage to answer all the letters and
appeals addressed to him. He worked the whole spring and part of the
summer, and it was only in July that he prepared to go away to his
brother’s in the country.
He was going both to rest for a fortnight, and in the very heart of the
people, in the farthest wilds of the country, to enjoy the sight of
that uplifting of the spirit of the people, of which, like all
residents in the capital and big towns, he was fully persuaded.
Katavasov had long been meaning to carry out his promise to stay with
Levin, and so he was going with him.
Chapter 2
Sergey Ivanovitch and Katavasov had only just reached the station of
the Kursk line, which was particularly busy and full of people that
day, when, looking round for the groom who was following with their
things, they saw a party of volunteers driving up in four cabs. Ladies
met them with bouquets of flowers, and followed by the rushing crowd
they went into the station.
One of the ladies, who had met the volunteers, came out of the hall and
addressed Sergey Ivanovitch.
“You too come to see them off?” she asked in French.
“No, I’m going away myself, princess. To my brother’s for a holiday. Do
you always see them off?” said Sergey Ivanovitch with a hardly
perceptible smile.
“Oh, that would be impossible!” answered the princess. “Is it true that
eight hundred have been sent from us already? Malvinsky wouldn’t
believe me.”
“More than eight hundred. If you reckon those who have been sent not
directly from Moscow, over a thousand,” answered Sergey Ivanovitch.
“There! That’s just what I said!” exclaimed the lady. “And it’s true
too, I suppose, that more than a million has been subscribed?”
“Yes, princess.”
“What do you say to today’s telegram? Beaten the Turks again.”
“Yes, so I saw,” answered Sergey Ivanovitch. They were speaking of the
last telegram stating that the Turks had been for three days in
succession beaten at all points and put to flight, and that tomorrow a
decisive engagement was expected.
“Ah, by the way, a splendid young fellow has asked leave to go, and
they’ve made some difficulty, I don’t know why. I meant to ask you; I
know him; please write a note about his case. He’s being sent by
Countess Lidia Ivanovna.”
Sergey Ivanovitch asked for all the details the princess knew about the
young man, and going into the first-class waiting-room, wrote a note to
the person on whom the granting of leave of absence depended, and
handed it to the princess.
“You know Count Vronsky, the notorious one ... is going by this train?”
said the princess with a smile full of triumph and meaning, when he
found her again and gave her the letter.
“I had heard he was going, but I did not know when. By this train?”
“I’ve seen him. He’s here: there’s only his mother seeing him off. It’s
the best thing, anyway, that he could do.”
“Oh, yes, of course.”
While they were talking the crowd streamed by them into the
dining-room. They went forward too, and heard a gentleman with a glass
in his hand delivering a loud discourse to the volunteers. “In the
service of religion, humanity, and our brothers,” the gentleman said,
his voice growing louder and louder; “to this great cause mother Moscow
dedicates you with her blessing. _Jivio!_” he concluded, loudly and
tearfully.
Everyone shouted _Jivio!_ and a fresh crowd dashed into the hall,
almost carrying the princess off her legs.
“Ah, princess! that was something like!” said Stepan Arkadyevitch,
suddenly appearing in the middle of the crowd and beaming upon them
with a delighted smile. “Capitally, warmly said, wasn’t it? Bravo! And
Sergey Ivanovitch! Why, you ought to have said something—just a few
words, you know, to encourage them; you do that so well,” he added with
a soft, respectful, and discreet smile, moving Sergey Ivanovitch
forward a little by the arm.
“No, I’m just off.”
“Where to?”
“To the country, to my brother’s,” answered Sergey Ivanovitch.
“Then you’ll see my wife. I’ve written to her, but you’ll see her
first. Please tell her that they’ve seen me and that it’s ‘all right,’
as the English say. She’ll understand. Oh, and be so good as to tell
her I’m appointed secretary of the committee.... But she’ll understand!
You know, _les petites misères de la vie humaine,_” he said, as it were
apologizing to the princess. “And Princess Myakaya—not Liza, but
Bibish—is sending a thousand guns and twelve nurses. Did I tell you?”
“Yes, I heard so,” answered Koznishev indifferently.
“It’s a pity you’re going away,” said Stepan Arkadyevitch. “Tomorrow
we’re giving a dinner to two who’re setting off—Dimer-Bartnyansky from
Petersburg and our Veslovsky, Grisha. They’re both going. Veslovsky’s
only lately married. There’s a fine fellow for you! Eh, princess?” he
turned to the lady.
The princess looked at Koznishev without replying. But the fact that
Sergey Ivanovitch and the princess seemed anxious to get rid of him did
not in the least disconcert Stepan Arkadyevitch. Smiling, he stared at
the feather in the princess’s hat, and then about him as though he were
going to pick something up. Seeing a lady approaching with a collecting
box, he beckoned her up and put in a five-rouble note.
“I can never see these collecting boxes unmoved while I’ve money in my
pocket,” he said. “And how about today’s telegram? Fine chaps those
Montenegrins!”
“You don’t say so!” he cried, when the princess told him that Vronsky
was going by this train. For an instant Stepan Arkadyevitch’s face
looked sad, but a minute later, when, stroking his mustaches and
swinging as he walked, he went into the hall where Vronsky was, he had
completely forgotten his own despairing sobs over his sister’s corpse,
and he saw in Vronsky only a hero and an old friend.
“With all his faults one can’t refuse to do him justice,” said the
princess to Sergey Ivanovitch as soon as Stepan Arkadyevitch had left
them. “What a typically Russian, Slav nature! Only, I’m afraid it won’t
be pleasant for Vronsky to see him. Say what you will, I’m touched by
that man’s fate. Do talk to him a little on the way,” said the
princess.
“Yes, perhaps, if it happens so.”
“I never liked him. But this atones for a great deal. He’s not merely
going himself, he’s taking a squadron at his own expense.”
“Yes, so I heard.”
A bell sounded. Everyone crowded to the doors. “Here he is!” said the
princess, indicating Vronsky, who with his mother on his arm walked by,
wearing a long overcoat and wide-brimmed black hat. Oblonsky was
walking beside him, talking eagerly of something.
Vronsky was frowning and looking straight before him, as though he did
not hear what Stepan Arkadyevitch was saying.
Probably on Oblonsky’s pointing them out, he looked round in the
direction where the princess and Sergey Ivanovitch were standing, and
without speaking lifted his hat. His face, aged and worn by suffering,
looked stony.
Going onto the platform, Vronsky left his mother and disappeared into a
compartment.
On the platform there rang out “God save the Tsar,” then shouts of
“hurrah!” and _“jivio!”_ One of the volunteers, a tall, very young man
with a hollow chest, was particularly conspicuous, bowing and waving
his felt hat and a nosegay over his head. Then two officers emerged,
bowing too, and a stout man with a big beard, wearing a greasy forage
cap.
Chapter 3
Saying good-bye to the princess, Sergey Ivanovitch was joined by
Katavasov; together they got into a carriage full to overflowing, and
the train started.
At Tsaritsino station the train was met by a chorus of young men
singing “Hail to Thee!” Again the volunteers bowed and poked their
heads out, but Sergey Ivanovitch paid no attention to them. He had had
so much to do with the volunteers that the type was familiar to him and
did not interest him. Katavasov, whose scientific work had prevented
his having a chance of observing them hitherto, was very much
interested in them and questioned Sergey Ivanovitch.
Sergey Ivanovitch advised him to go into the second-class and talk to
them himself. At the next station Katavasov acted on this suggestion.
At the first stop he moved into the second-class and made the
acquaintance of the volunteers. They were sitting in a corner of the