had followed the governor who had opened the meetings, and just as they
had followed Snetkov when he was elected.
Chapter 31
The newly elected marshal and many of the successful party dined that
day with Vronsky.
Vronsky had come to the elections partly because he was bored in the
country and wanted to show Anna his right to independence, and also to
repay Sviazhsky by his support at the election for all the trouble he had
taken for Vronsky at the district council election, but chiefly in order strictly
to perform all those duties of a nobleman and landowner which he had
taken upon himself. But he had not in the least expected that the election
would so interest him, so keenly excite him, and that he would be so good
at this kind of thing. He was quite a new man in the circle of the nobility of
the province, but his success was unmistakable, and he was not wrong in
supposing that he had already obtained a certain influence. This influence
was due to his wealth and reputation, the capital house in the town lent him
by his old friend Shirkov, who had a post in the department of finances and
was director of a flourishing bank in Kashin; the excellent cook Vronsky
had brought from the country, and his friendship with the governor, who
was a schoolfellow of Vronsky’s—a schoolfellow he had patronized and
protected indeed. But what contributed more than all to his success was his
direct, equable manner with everyone, which very quickly made the
majority of the noblemen reverse the current opinion of his supposed
haughtiness. He was himself conscious that, except that whimsical
gentleman married to Kitty Shtcherbatskaya, who had à propos de bottes
poured out a stream of irrelevant absurdities with such spiteful fury, every
nobleman with whom he had made acquaintance had become his adherent.
He saw clearly, and other people recognized it, too, that he had done a great
deal to secure the success of Nevyedovsky. And now at his own table,
celebrating Nevyedovsky’s election, he was experiencing an agreeable
sense of triumph over the success of his candidate. The election itself had so
fascinated him that, if he could succeed in getting married during the next
three years, he began to think of standing himself—much as after winning a
race ridden by a jockey, he had longed to ride a race himself.
Today he was celebrating the success of his jockey. Vronsky sat at the
head of the table, on his right hand sat the young governor, a general of high
rank. To all the rest he was the chief man in the province, who had solemnly
opened the elections with his speech, and aroused a feeling of respect and
even of awe in many people, as Vronsky saw; to Vronsky he was little
Katka Maslov—that had been his nickname in the Pages’ Corps—whom he
felt to be shy and tried to mettre à son aise. On the left hand sat
Nevyedovsky with his youthful, stubborn, and malignant face. With him
Vronsky was simple and deferential.
Sviazhsky took his failure very light-heartedly. It was indeed no failure in
his eyes, as he said himself, turning, glass in hand, to Nevyedovsky; they
could not have found a better representative of the new movement, which
the nobility ought to follow. And so every honest person, as he said, was on
the side of today’s success and was rejoicing over it.
Stepan Arkadyevitch was glad, too, that he was having a good time, and
that everyone was pleased. The episode of the elections served as a good
occasion for a capital dinner. Sviazhsky comically imitated the tearful
discourse of the marshal, and observed, addressing Nevyedovsky, that his
excellency would have to select another more complicated method of
auditing the accounts than tears. Another nobleman jocosely described how
footmen in stockings had been ordered for the marshal’s ball, and how now
they would have to be sent back unless the new marshal would give a ball
with footmen in stockings.
Continually during dinner they said of Nevyedovsky: “our marshal,” and
“your excellency.”
This was said with the same pleasure with which a bride is called
“Madame” and her husband’s name. Nevyedovsky affected to be not merely
indifferent but scornful of this appellation, but it was obvious that he was
highly delighted, and had to keep a curb on himself not to betray the
triumph which was unsuitable to their new liberal tone.
After dinner several telegrams were sent to people interested in the result
of the election. And Stepan Arkadyevitch, who was in high good humor,
sent Darya Alexandrovna a telegram: “Nevyedovsky elected by twenty
votes. Congratulations. Tell people.” He dictated it aloud, saying: “We must
let them share our rejoicing.” Darya Alexandrovna, getting the message,
simply sighed over the rouble wasted on it, and understood that it was an
after-dinner affair. She knew Stiva had a weakness after dining for faire
jouer le télégraphe.
Everything, together with the excellent dinner and the wine, not from
Russian merchants, but imported direct from abroad, was extremely
dignified, simple, and enjoyable. The party—some twenty—had been
selected by Sviazhsky from among the more active new liberals, all of the
same way of thinking, who were at the same time clever and well bred.
They drank, also half in jest, to the health of the new marshal of the
province, of the governor, of the bank director, and of “our amiable host.”
Vronsky was satisfied. He had never expected to find so pleasant a tone
in the provinces.
Towards the end of dinner it was still more lively. The governor asked
Vronsky to come to a concert for the benefit of the Servians which his wife,
who was anxious to make his acquaintance, had been getting up.
“There’ll be a ball, and you’ll see the belle of the province. Worth seeing,
really.”
“Not in my line,” Vronsky answered. He liked that English phrase. But
he smiled, and promised to come.
Before they rose from the table, when all of them were smoking,
Vronsky’s valet went up to him with a letter on a tray.
“From Vozdvizhenskoe by special messenger,” he said with a significant
expression.
“Astonishing! how like he is to the deputy prosecutor Sventitsky,” said
one of the guests in French of the valet, while Vronsky, frowning, read the
letter.
The letter was from Anna. Before he read the letter, he knew its contents.
Expecting the elections to be over in five days, he had promised to be back
on Friday. Today was Saturday, and he knew that the letter contained
reproaches for not being back at the time fixed. The letter he had sent the
previous evening had probably not reached her yet.
The letter was what he had expected, but the form of it was unexpected,
and particularly disagreeable to him. “Annie is very ill, the doctor says it
may be inflammation. I am losing my head all alone. Princess Varvara is no
