Chapter 7
Vronsky and Anna had been traveling for three months together in
Europe. They had visited Venice, Rome, and Naples, and had just arrived at
a small Italian town where they meant to stay some time. A handsome head
waiter, with thick pomaded hair parted from the neck upwards, an evening
coat, a broad white cambric shirt front, and a bunch of trinkets hanging
above his rounded stomach, stood with his hands in the full curve of his
pockets, looking contemptuously from under his eyelids while he gave
some frigid reply to a gentleman who had stopped him. Catching the sound
of footsteps coming from the other side of the entry towards the staircase,
the head waiter turned round, and seeing the Russian count, who had taken
their best rooms, he took his hands out of his pockets deferentially, and with
a bow informed him that a courier had been, and that the business about the
palazzo had been arranged. The steward was prepared to sign the
agreement.
“Ah! I’m glad to hear it,” said Vronsky. “Is madame at home or not?”
“Madame has been out for a walk but has returned now,” answered the
waiter.
Vronsky took off his soft, wide-brimmed hat and passed his handkerchief
over his heated brow and hair, which had grown half over his ears, and was
brushed back covering the bald patch on his head. And glancing casually at
the gentleman, who still stood there gazing intently at him, he would have
gone on.
“This gentleman is a Russian, and was inquiring after you,” said the head
waiter.
With mingled feelings of annoyance at never being able to get away from
acquaintances anywhere, and longing to find some sort of diversion from
the monotony of his life, Vronsky looked once more at the gentleman, who
had retreated and stood still again, and at the same moment a light came
into the eyes of both.
“Golenishtchev!”
“Vronsky!”
It really was Golenishtchev, a comrade of Vronsky’s in the Corps of
Pages. In the corps Golenishtchev had belonged to the liberal party; he left
the corps without entering the army, and had never taken office under the
government. Vronsky and he had gone completely different ways on leaving
the corps, and had only met once since.
At that meeting Vronsky perceived that Golenishtchev had taken up a
sort of lofty, intellectually liberal line, and was consequently disposed to
look down upon Vronsky’s interests and calling in life. Hence Vronsky had
met him with the chilling and haughty manner he so well knew how to
assume, the meaning of which was: “You may like or dislike my way of
life, that’s a matter of the most perfect indifference to me; you will have to
treat me with respect if you want to know me.” Golenishtchev had been
contemptuously indifferent to the tone taken by Vronsky. This second
meeting might have been expected, one would have supposed, to estrange
them still more. But now they beamed and exclaimed with delight on
recognizing one another. Vronsky would never have expected to be so
pleased to see Golenishtchev, but probably he was not himself aware how
bored he was. He forgot the disagreeable impression of their last meeting,
and with a face of frank delight held out his hand to his old comrade. The
same expression of delight replaced the look of uneasiness on
Golenishtchev’s face.
“How glad I am to meet you!” said Vronsky, showing his strong white
teeth in a friendly smile.
“I heard the name Vronsky, but I didn’t know which one. I’m very, very
glad!”
“Let’s go in. Come, tell me what you’re doing.”
“I’ve been living here for two years. I’m working.”
“Ah!” said Vronsky, with sympathy; “let’s go in.” And with the habit
common with Russians, instead of saying in Russian what he wanted to
keep from the servants, he began to speak in French.
“Do you know Madame Karenina? We are traveling together. I am going
to see her now,” he said in French, carefully scrutinizing Golenishtchev’s
face.
“Ah! I did not know” (though he did know), Golenishtchev answered
carelessly. “Have you been here long?” he added.
“Four days,” Vronsky answered, once more scrutinizing his friend’s face
intently.
“Yes, he’s a decent fellow, and will look at the thing properly,” Vronsky
said to himself, catching the significance of Golenishtchev’s face and the
change of subject. “I can introduce him to Anna, he looks at it properly.”
During those three months that Vronsky had spent abroad with Anna, he
had always on meeting new people asked himself how the new person
would look at his relations with Anna, and for the most part, in men, he had
met with the “proper” way of looking at it. But if he had been asked, and
those who looked at it “properly” had been asked, exactly how they did
look at it, both he and they would have been greatly puzzled to answer.
In reality, those who in Vronsky’s opinion had the “proper” view had no
sort of view at all, but behaved in general as well-bred persons do behave in
regard to all the complex and insoluble problems with which life is
encompassed on all sides; they behaved with propriety, avoiding allusions
and unpleasant questions. They assumed an air of fully comprehending the
import and force of the situation, of accepting and even approving of it, but
of considering it superfluous and uncalled for to put all this into words.
Vronsky at once divined that Golenishtchev was of this class, and
therefore was doubly pleased to see him. And in fact, Golenishtchev’s
manner to Madame Karenina, when he was taken to call on her, was all that
Vronsky could have desired. Obviously without the slightest effort he
steered clear of all subjects which might lead to embarrassment.
He had never met Anna before, and was struck by her beauty, and still
more by the frankness with which she accepted her position. She blushed
when Vronsky brought in Golenishtchev, and he was extremely charmed by
this childish blush overspreading her candid and handsome face. But what
he liked particularly was the way in which at once, as though on purpose
that there might be no misunderstanding with an outsider, she called
Vronsky simply Alexey, and said they were moving into a house they had
just taken, what was here called a palazzo. Golenishtchev liked this direct
and simple attitude to her own position. Looking at Anna’s manner of
simple-hearted, spirited gaiety, and knowing Alexey Alexandrovitch and
Vronsky, Golenishtchev fancied that he understood her perfectly. He
fancied that he understood what she was utterly unable to understand: how
it was that, having made her husband wretched, having abandoned him and
her son and lost her good name, she yet felt full of spirits, gaiety, and
happiness.
“It’s in the guide-book,” said Golenishtchev, referring to the palazzo
Vronsky had taken. “There’s a first-rate Tintoretto there. One of his latest
period.”
“I tell you what: it’s a lovely day, let’s go and have another look at it,”
said Vronsky, addressing Anna.
“I shall be very glad to; I’ll go and put on my hat. Would you say it’s
hot?” she said, stopping short in the doorway and looking inquiringly at
Vronsky. And again a vivid flush overspread her face.
Vronsky saw from her eyes that she did not know on what terms he cared
to be with Golenishtchev, and so was afraid of not behaving as he would
wish.
He looked a long, tender look at her.
“No, not very,” he said.
And it seemed to her that she understood everything, most of all, that he
was pleased with her; and smiling to him, she walked with her rapid step
out at the door.
The friends glanced at one another, and a look of hesitation came into
both faces, as though Golenishtchev, unmistakably admiring her, would
have liked to say something about her, and could not find the right thing to
say, while Vronsky desired and dreaded his doing so.
“Well then,” Vronsky began to start a conversation of some sort; “so
you’re settled here? You’re still at the same work, then?” he went on,
recalling that he had been told Golenishtchev was writing something.
“Yes, I’m writing the second part of the Two Elements,” said
Golenishtchev, coloring with pleasure at the question—“that is, to be exact,
I am not writing it yet; I am preparing, collecting materials. It will be of far
wider scope, and will touch on almost all questions. We in Russia refuse to
see that we are the heirs of Byzantium,” and he launched into a long and
heated explanation of his views.
Vronsky at the first moment felt embarrassed at not even knowing of the
first part of the Two Elements, of which the author spoke as something well
known. But as Golenishtchev began to lay down his opinions and Vronsky
was able to follow them even without knowing the Two Elements, he
listened to him with some interest, for Golenishtchev spoke well. But
Vronsky was startled and annoyed by the nervous irascibility with which
Golenishtchev talked of the subject that engrossed him. As he went on
talking, his eyes glittered more and more angrily; he was more and more
hurried in his replies to imaginary opponents, and his face grew more and
more excited and worried. Remembering Golenishtchev, a thin, lively,
good-natured and well-bred boy, always at the head of the class, Vronsky
could not make out the reason of his irritability, and he did not like it. What
he particularly disliked was that Golenishtchev, a man belonging to a good
set, should put himself on a level with some scribbling fellows, with whom
he was irritated and angry. Was it worth it? Vronsky disliked it, yet he felt
that Golenishtchev was unhappy, and was sorry for him. Unhappiness,
almost mental derangement, was visible on his mobile, rather handsome
face, while without even noticing Anna’s coming in, he went on hurriedly
and hotly expressing his views.
When Anna came in in her hat and cape, and her lovely hand rapidly
swinging her parasol, and stood beside him, it was with a feeling of relief
that Vronsky broke away from the plaintive eyes of Golenishtchev which
fastened persistently upon him, and with a fresh rush of love looked at his
charming companion, full of life and happiness. Golenishtchev recovered
himself with an effort, and at first was dejected and gloomy, but Anna,
disposed to feel friendly with everyone as she was at that time, soon revived
his spirits by her direct and lively manner. After trying various subjects of
conversation, she got him upon painting, of which he talked very well, and
she listened to him attentively. They walked to the house they had taken,
and looked over it.
“I am very glad of one thing,” said Anna to Golenishtchev when they
were on their way back, “Alexey will have a capital atelier. You must
certainly take that room,” she said to Vronsky in Russian, using the
affectionately familiar form as though she saw that Golenishtchev would
become intimate with them in their isolation, and that there was no need of
reserve before him.
“Do you paint?” said Golenishtchev, turning round quickly to Vronsky.
“Yes, I used to study long ago, and now I have begun to do a little,” said
Vronsky, reddening.
“He has great talent,” said Anna with a delighted smile. “I’m no judge, of
course. But good judges have said the same.”
