Vladimir Nabokov: Lectures on Russian literature
with the smooth ivory knife in her small hands, and forced
herself to go on reading. [Was she a good reader from our
point of view? Does her emotional participation in the life
of the book remind one of another little lady? Of Emma?].
"The hero of the novel was about to reach his English
happiness, a baronetcy and an estate, when she suddenly
felt that he ought to feel somehow ashamed, and that she
was ashamed, too [she identifies the man in the book with
Vronski]. But what had he to be ashamed of? 'What have/
to be ashamed of?' she asked herself in injured surprise.
She laid down the book and sank against the back of her
fauteuil, tightly gripping the knife in both hands. There was
nothing. She went over all her Moscow impressions. All
was good, pleasant. She remembered the ball, remembered
Vronski's face of slavish adoration, remembered all her
conduct with him: there was nothing shameful. And for all
that, at this point in her memories, the feeling of shame
was intensified, as though some inner voice, just at that
point when she thought of Vronski, were saying to her,
'Warm, very warm, hot.' [In a game where you hide an
object and hint at the right direction by these thermal
exclamations — and mark that the warm and the cold are
alternating in the night-coach too.] 'What is it?' she asked
herself, shifting her position in the fauteuil. 'What does it
mean? Can it be that between me and that officer boy
there exist, or can exist, any other relations than those of
ordinary acquaintance?' She gave a little snort of contempt
and took up her book again; but now she was definitely
unable to follow the story. She passed the ivory paper-knife
over the window-pane, then laid its smooth, cool surface
[contrast again of warm and cold] to her cheek, and almost
laughed aloud at the feeling of delight that all at once
without cause came over her [her sensuous nature takes
over]. She felt as though her nerves were violin strings
being strained tighter and tighter on their pegs. She felt
her eyes opening wider and wider, her fingers and toes
twitched, something within her oppressed her, while all
shapes and sounds seemed in the uncertain half-light to
strike her with unaccustomed vividness. Moments of doubt
were continuously coming upon her, when she was
uncertain whether the train was going forwards or
backwards [compare this to an important metaphor in
'Ivan Ilyich'], or was standing still altogether; whether it
was Annushka at her side or a stranger. 'What's that on the
arm of the chair, a fur cloak or some big furry beast? And
what am I myself? Myself or somebody else?' She was
afraid of giving way to this state of oblivion. But something
drew her towards it. She sat up to rouse herself, removed
her lap robe and took off the cape of her woolen dress. For
a moment she regained full consciousness and realized
Pages from Nabokov's teaching copy of Anna Karenin.
102
Vladimir Nabokov: Lectures on Russian literature
that the working man who had come into the car, wearing a long nankeen coat with one button missing from it [another flaw in the pattern of her mood], was the stove-heater, that he was looking at the thermometer, that it was the wind and snow bursting in after him [telltale flaw] at the door of the car; but then everything was blurred again. That working man seemed to be gnawing at something in the wall, the old lady began stretching her legs the whole length of the section and filling it with a black cloud; then there was a fearful creaking and knocking, as though someone were being torn apart
[mark this half-dream]; then there was a blinding dazzle of red fire before her eyes and a wall seemed to rise up and hide everything. Anna felt as though she had fallen through the floor. But it was not terrible, it was delightful. The voice of a man muffled up [note this too] and covered with snow shouted something in her ear. She pulled herself together; she realized that it was a station and that this muffled up man was the conductor. She asked her maid to hand her the cape she had taken off and her warm kerchief, put them on, and moved towards the door.
" 'Do you wish to go out, Ma'am?' asked the maid.
" 'Yes, I want a little air. It's very hot in here.' And she opened the door leading to the open platform of the car. The driving snow and the wind rushed to meet her and struggled with her over the door. But she enjoyed the struggle. [Compare this with the wind struggling with Lyovin at the end of the book.]
"She opened the door and went out. The wind seemed as though lying in wait for her [again the pathetic fallacy about the wind: emotions ascribed to objects by man in distress] ; with a gleeful whistle it tried to snatch her up and bear her off, but she clung to the cold iron post at the car's end, and holding her skirt, got down onto the station platform and stood on the lee side of the car. The wind had been powerful on the open end of the car, but on the station platform, sheltered by the cars, there was a lull. . . .
"But then again the raging tempest rushed whistling between the wheels of the cars, and around the corner of the station along its pillars. The cars, pillars, people, everything that was to be seen was covered with snow on one side and was getting more and more thickly covered there. [Now mark the following ingredient of the later dream.] The bent shadow of a man glided by at her feet, and she heard sounds of a hammer upon iron. 'Hand over that telegram!' came an angry voice out of the stormy darkness on the other side. . . . Muffled figures ran by covered with snow. Two gentlemen with lighted cigarettes passed by her. She drew one more deep breath of the fresh air, and had just put her hand out of her muff to take hold of the car platform post and get back into the car, when another man in a military overcoat, quite close beside her, stepped between her and the flickering light of a station lamp. She turned and immediately recognized Vronski. Putting his hand to the peak of his cap, he bowed to her and asked, Was there anything she wanted? Could he be of any service to her?