‘But it’s not worth anything after dinner! Well, I’ll make you some coffee, but in the meantime you go and wash and tidy up,’ said the Baroness, sitting down again and carefully turning the screw in the new coffee-pot. ‘Pierre, give me the coffee,’ she said, turning to Petritsky, whom she called Pierre because of his surname, making no secret of her relations with him. ‘I’ll put in some more.’
‘You will ruin it.’
‘No, I won’t! Well, what about your wife?’ said the Baroness suddenly, interrupting Vronsky’s conversation with his comrade.
‘Haven’t you brought your wife? We’ve married you off here.’
‘No, Baroness. I was born a gypsy and will die a gypsy.’
‘So much the better, so much the better. Give me your hand.’
And without letting Vronsky go, the Baroness, in between jokes, started telling him the latest plans for her life and asking his advice.
‘He still doesn’t want to grant me a divorce! So what am I to do?’ (He was her husband.) ‘I want to begin proceedings now. How would you advise me? Kamerovsky, keep an eye on the coffee—it’s boiled over; you can see I am occupied with serious business! I want to start proceedings, because I need my assets. You see how ridiculous this is—because I am supposedly unfaithful to him,’ she said contemptuously, ‘he thinks he can have the use of my estate.’
Vronsky enjoyed listening to this pretty woman babble away merrily; he humoured her, gave her advice half in jest, and more or less immediately adopted his usual manner of talking to women of this kind. All people were divided into two completely contrasting categories in his Petersburg world. One was the inferior category: common, stupid, and above all ridiculous people, who believed that one man should live with one wife, to whom he should be married, that girls should be innocent, women modest, and men virile, abstemious, and steadfast, that one should raise children, earn one’s daily bread, pay off debts—and other such nonsense. This was the old-fashioned, ridiculous category of people. But there was another category of real people, to which they all belonged, which required one to be above all elegant, attractive, generous, intrepid, good-humoured, ready to surrender to any passion without a blush and laugh at everything else.
Vronsky was stunned only for the first moment after the impressions of the completely different world he had brought back from Moscow; but just as if he had stuck his feet into a pair of old slippers, he immediately slipped back into his enjoyably comfortable old world.
The coffee never did get brewed, but splattered everybody, boiled over, and did precisely what was required of it, which was to provoke noise and laughter and spill on to the expensive carpet and the Baroness’s dress.
‘Well, I’ll say goodbye now, otherwise you will never have your wash, and I will have slovenliness on my conscience, which is the respectable person’s most heinous crime. So you recommend a knife to the throat?’
‘Definitely, and positioned so your little hand is as close as possible to his lips. He will kiss your hand and all will end well,’ replied Vronsky.
‘See you tonight at the French Theatre!’* And with a rustle of her dress, she disappeared.
Kamerovsky also stood up, and Vronsky shook hands with him and headed for the bathroom without waiting for him to leave. While he was washing, Petritsky gave him a brief account of his situation, insofar as it had changed since Vronsky’s departure. He had no money. His father had said he would not give him any, nor would he pay his debts. One tailor wanted him behind bars, and another was threatening the same thing. The commander of his regiment had declared that if these scandals did not stop, he would have to resign. He was heartily sick of the Baroness, particularly since she always wanted to give him money; but there was this one girl, he would point her out to Vronsky, who was wonderful, entrancing, in that strictly oriental style, the ‘Rebecca-the-slave-girl genre,* you know’. He had also come to blows with Berkoshev the day before, and wanted to send his seconds, but of course nothing would come of it. Generally, everything was marvellous, and exceedingly jolly. And not letting his comrade enquire further about the details of his situation, Petritsky embarked on telling him all the interesting news. As he listened to Petritsky’s so familiar stories in the so familiar surroundings of his apartment of three years, Vronsky experienced the pleasant sensation of returning to his customary, carefree Petersburg life.
‘That’s incredible!’ he shouted, releasing the pedal of the basin, from which he was splashing water on to his healthy red neck. ‘I don’t believe it!’ he shouted at the news that Laura had taken up with Mileyev, and had dropped Fertinhof. ‘And is he just as stupid and smug as before? Well, what about Buzulukov?’
‘Ah, there’s a story about Buzulukov—it’s superb!’ exclaimed Petritsky. ‘You know his passion is balls, and that he never misses a court ball. Well, he set off for some grand ball in a new helmet. Have you seen the new helmets? They are very good, much lighter. He was just standing there … No, listen.’
‘Yes, I am listening,’ answered Vronsky, drying himself with a fluffy towel.
‘The Grand Duchess passes by with some ambassador or other, and unfortunately for him, they start talking about the new helmets. The Grand Duchess naturally wants to show off the new helmet … The next thing they see is our good friend standing there.’ (Petritsky demonstrated how he stood there with his helmet.) ‘The Grand Duchess asks him to give her the helmet and he refuses. Whatever next? Everyone is winking at him, nodding, frowning. Hand it over. He won’t. He’s rooted to the spot. Can you imagine! … It’s then that this … whatever his name is … tries to take the helmet from him … he won’t budge! … The next thing, he rips it off and hands it to the Grand Duchess. “This is the new helmet,” says the Grand Duchess. She turns it over, and can you imagine, out of it plops a pear, some sweets—two pounds of sweets! … Our dear friend had swiped it all!’
Vronsky rocked with laughter. And for a long time afterwards, whenever he remembered the helmet, by which time they were already talking about something else, he started shaking with his hearty laughter, showing his strong, solid teeth.
Having heard all the news, Vronsky put on his uniform with the help of his valet, and went to report for duty. After that, he intended going to see his brother, and Betsy, and paying a few calls so he could begin moving in the circles where he might meet Anna Karenina. As always in Petersburg, he left home expecting not to return until late at night.
PART TWO
1
AT the end of the winter, a consultation took place at the Shcherbatsky home to determine the state of Kitty’s health and the measures needed to restore her diminishing strength. She was ill, and with the approach of spring her health had worsened. The family doctor had given her cod-liver oil, then iron, then silver nitrate, but since neither the first of these, nor the second, nor the third had helped, and since his advice was to go abroad in the spring, a famous doctor was called in. The famous doctor, who was still relatively young, and an extremely handsome man, demanded to examine the patient. He seemed to take a particular pleasure in insisting that a maidenly shamefacedness was merely a remnant of barbarism, and that nothing could be more natural than for a still relatively young man to be prodding a naked young girl all over. He considered this to be natural because he did it every day, did not feel or think anything bad while doing it, or so it seemed to him, and therefore regarded shamefacedness in a girl not only to be a remnant of barbarism, but also a personal insult.
It was necessary to submit, since despite the fact that all doctors studied at the same medical school, from exactly the same books, and had the same scientific knowledge, and despite the fact that some people said that this famous doctor was a bad doctor, it was for some reason accepted in the Princess’s household and in her circle that this famous doctor had some unique special knowledge, and was uniquely capable of saving Kitty. After carefully examining and sounding the bewildered patient, who was dying of embarrassment, the famous doctor diligently washed his hands and stood in the drawing room talking to the Prince. The Prince frowned as he listened to the doctor, coughing every now and then. As someone with some life experience behind him, who was neither stupid nor infirm, he did not believe in medicine, and was secretly infuriated by the whole charade, especially since he was probably the only one who fully understood the cause of Kitty’s illness. ‘What a babbler,’* he thought, mentally applying this term from hunting vocabulary to the famous doctor as he listened to him prattle on about his daughter’s symptoms. The doctor, meanwhile, was finding it difficult to restrain his contempt for this old grandee, and equally difficult to descend to his low level of intelligence. He understood that it was pointless talking to the old man, and that the head of this household was the mother. It was before her that he intended scattering his pearls of wisdom. Just then the Princess came into the drawing room with the family doctor. The Prince withdrew, trying not to show how ludicrous he found this whole charade. The Princess was confused and did not know what to do. She felt guilty about Kitty.