“It’s too violent a transition,” he said, “to go from such company to old
Madame Vrede. And besides, you will only give her a chance for talking
scandal, while here you arouse none but such different feelings of the
highest and most opposite kind,” he said to her.
Anna pondered for an instant in uncertainty. This shrewd man’s flattering
words, the naïve, childlike affection shown her by Liza Merkalova, and all
the social atmosphere she was used to,—it was all so easy, and what was in
store for her was so difficult, that she was for a minute in uncertainty
whether to remain, whether to put off a little longer the painful moment of
explanation. But remembering what was in store for her alone at home, if
she did not come to some decision, remembering that gesture—terrible even
in memory—when she had clutched her hair in both hands—she said good-
bye and went away.
Chapter 19
In spite of Vronsky’s apparently frivolous life in society, he was a man
who hated irregularity. In early youth in the Corps of Pages, he had
experienced the humiliation of a refusal, when he had tried, being in
difficulties, to borrow money, and since then he had never once put himself
in the same position again.
In order to keep his affairs in some sort of order, he used about five times
a year (more or less frequently, according to circumstances) to shut himself
up alone and put all his affairs into definite shape. This he used to call his
day of reckoning or faire la lessive.
On waking up the day after the races, Vronsky put on a white linen coat,
and without shaving or taking his bath, he distributed about the table
moneys, bills, and letters, and set to work. Petritsky, who knew he was ill-
tempered on such occasions, on waking up and seeing his comrade at the
writing-table, quietly dressed and went out without getting in his way.
Every man who knows to the minutest details all the complexity of the
conditions surrounding him, cannot help imagining that the complexity of
these conditions, and the difficulty of making them clear, is something
exceptional and personal, peculiar to himself, and never supposes that
others are surrounded by just as complicated an array of personal affairs as
he is. So indeed it seemed to Vronsky. And not without inward pride, and
not without reason, he thought that any other man would long ago have
been in difficulties, would have been forced to some dishonorable course, if
he had found himself in such a difficult position. But Vronsky felt that now
especially it was essential for him to clear up and define his position if he
were to avoid getting into difficulties.
What Vronsky attacked first as being the easiest was his pecuniary
position. Writing out on note paper in his minute hand all that he owed, he
added up the amount and found that his debts amounted to seventeen
thousand and some odd hundreds, which he left out for the sake of
clearness. Reckoning up his money and his bank book, he found that he had
left one thousand eight hundred roubles, and nothing coming in before the
New Year. Reckoning over again his list of debts, Vronsky copied it,
dividing it into three classes. In the first class he put the debts which he
would have to pay at once, or for which he must in any case have the
money ready so that on demand for payment there could not be a moment’s
delay in paying. Such debts amounted to about four thousand: one thousand
five hundred for a horse, and two thousand five hundred as surety for a
young comrade, Venovsky, who had lost that sum to a cardsharper in
Vronsky’s presence. Vronsky had wanted to pay the money at the time (he
had that amount then), but Venovsky and Yashvin had insisted that they
would pay and not Vronsky, who had not played. That was so far well, but
Vronsky knew that in this dirty business, though his only share in it was
undertaking by word of mouth to be surety for Venovsky, it was absolutely
necessary for him to have the two thousand five hundred roubles so as to be
able to fling it at the swindler, and have no more words with him. And so
for this first and most important division he must have four thousand
roubles. The second class—eight thousand roubles—consisted of less
important debts. These were principally accounts owing in connection with
his race horses, to the purveyor of oats and hay, the English saddler, and so
on. He would have to pay some two thousand roubles on these debts too, in
order to be quite free from anxiety. The last class of debts—to shops, to
hotels, to his tailor—were such as need not be considered. So that he
needed at least six thousand roubles for current expenses, and he only had
one thousand eight hundred. For a man with one hundred thousand roubles
of revenue, which was what everyone fixed as Vronsky’s income, such
debts, one would suppose, could hardly be embarrassing; but the fact was
that he was far from having one hundred thousand. His father’s immense
property, which alone yielded a yearly income of two hundred thousand,
was left undivided between the brothers. At the time when the elder brother,
with a mass of debts, married Princess Varya Tchirkova, the daughter of a
Decembrist without any fortune whatever, Alexey had given up to his elder
brother almost the whole income from his father’s estate, reserving for
himself only twenty-five thousand a year from it. Alexey had said at the
time to his brother that that sum would be sufficient for him until he
married, which he probably never would do. And his brother, who was in
command of one of the most expensive regiments, and was only just
married, could not decline the gift. His mother, who had her own separate
property, had allowed Alexey every year twenty thousand in addition to the
twenty-five thousand he had reserved, and Alexey had spent it all. Of late
his mother, incensed with him on account of his love affair and his leaving
Moscow, had given up sending him the money. And in consequence of this,
Vronsky, who had been in the habit of living on the scale of forty-five
thousand a year, having only received twenty thousand that year, found
himself now in difficulties. To get out of these difficulties, he could not
apply to his mother for money. Her last letter, which he had received the
day before, had particularly exasperated him by the hints in it that she was
quite ready to help him to succeed in the world and in the army, but not to
lead a life which was a scandal to all good society. His mother’s attempt to
buy him stung him to the quick and made him feel colder than ever to her.
But he could not draw back from the generous word when it was once
uttered, even though he felt now, vaguely foreseeing certain eventualities in
his intrigue with Madame Karenina, that this generous word had been
spoken thoughtlessly, and that even though he were not married he might
need all the hundred thousand of income. But it was impossible to draw
back. He had only to recall his brother’s wife, to remember how that sweet,
delightful Varya sought, at every convenient opportunity, to remind him that
she remembered his generosity and appreciated it, to grasp the impossibility
of taking back his gift. It was as impossible as beating a woman, stealing, or
lying. One thing only could and ought to be done, and Vronsky determined
upon it without an instant’s hesitation: to borrow money from a money-
lender, ten thousand roubles, a proceeding which presented no difficulty, to
cut down his expenses generally, and to sell his race horses. Resolving on
