Читать книгу Anna Karenina - 2 Classic Unabridged Translations in one eBook (Garnett and Maude translations) - Leo Tolstoy - Страница 70

WHEN Karenin appeared at the racecourse Anna was already sitting beside Betsy in the Grand Stand: the stand where all the highest Society was assembled. She saw her husband from afar. Two men — her husband and her lover — were the two centres of her life, and without the aid of her senses she was aware of the presence of either. From afar she already felt the approach of her husband, and involuntarily watched him amid the surging crowd through which he was moving. She saw how he approached the Grand Stand, now condescendingly replying to obsequious bows, now amiably and absent-mindedly greeting his equals, now watchfully waiting to catch the eye of the great ones of this world and raising his large round hat, which pressed on the tips of his ears. She knew all these ways of his and they were all repulsive to her. ‘Nothing but ambition, nothing but a wish to get on — that is all he has in his soul,’ she thought; ‘and lofty views, love of enlightenment, and religion, are all only means toward getting on.’

She knew by the way he looked at the Ladies’ Stand that he was trying to find her (he looked straight at her, without recognizing her amid the sea of muslin, ribbons, feathers, sunshades, and flowers), but she purposely disregarded him.

‘Alexis Alexandrovich!’ the Princess Betsy called to him, ‘I am sure you don’t see your wife; here she is!’

He smiled his usual cold smile.

‘There is so much splendour here that my eyes are dazzled,’ he replied, and approached the stand. He smiled at Anna as a husband should smile when meeting his wife whom he has seen shortly before, and greeted the Princess and other acquaintances, giving to each what was due — that is to say, joking with ladies and exchanging greetings with the men. At the foot of the stand stood a General Aide-de-Camp respected by Karenin, and noted for his intelligence and education. With him Karenin entered into conversation.

There was an interval between two races, so that nothing hindered the conversation. The General A.-de-C. disapproved of the races. Karenin replied, defending them. Anna heard his high measured voice and did not miss a single word. Each word seemed to her false and grated painfully on her ear.

When the four-verst steeplechase was beginning she leaned forward, and did not take her eyes off Vronsky while he went up to his horse and mounted it, and at the same time she heard her husband’s repulsive, unceasing voice. She was tormented by anxiety for Vronsky, but suffered even more from what seemed to her the incessant flow of her husband’s shrill voice with its familiar intonations.

‘I am a bad woman, a ruined woman,’ she thought, ‘but I dislike lies. I cannot stand falsehood, but his food is falsehood. He knows everything, sees everything — what then does he feel, if he can talk so calmly? If he were to kill me, and if he were to kill Vronsky, I should respect him. But no, lies and propriety is all he cares about,’ said Anna to herself without considering what she really wanted of her husband or what she would have liked him to be. Nor did she understand that Karenin’s peculiar volubility, which so irritated her, was only an expression of the anxiety and unrest within him. As a child that has been hurt skips about, making its muscles move in order to dull its pain, so Karenin needed mental activity to smother those thoughts about his wife which in her presence and in the presence of Vronsky, and amid the continual mention of his name, forced themselves upon him. And as it is natural for the child to skip about, so it was natural for him to speak cleverly and well. He said: ‘The danger in military, that is, cavalry, steeplechases is an unavoidable element of the racing. If England can point to the most brilliant cavalry charges in military history, it is entirely due to the fact that she has historically developed this capacity in her men and horses. Sport in my opinion has great value, but we, as usual, see only what is most external.’

‘Not external at all,’ said the Princess Tverskaya. ‘They say one of the officers has broken two ribs.’

Karenin smiled his usual smile, which showed his teeth but expressed nothing.

‘Granted, Princess,’ said he, ‘that that is not external, but internal. But that is not the point,’ and he again turned to the General with whom he was talking seriously; ‘Do not forget that it is military men who are racing, men who have chosen that career, and one must admit that every calling has a reverse side to its medal. It is directly involved in their military duty. The monstrous sports of prize-fighting, or the Spanish bull-fights, are indications of barbarism, but specialized sport is a sign of progress.’

‘No, I shan’t come again; it excites me too much,’ said the Princess Betsy, ‘Don’t you think so, Anna?’

‘It is exciting, but one cannot tear oneself away,’ said another lady. ‘If I had been a Roman, I should never have missed a gladiatorial show.’

Anna said nothing, but without putting down her glasses looked steadily at one point.

At that moment a highly-placed General made his way through the stand. Interrupting his speech, Karenin rose hurriedly, but with dignity, and bowed low to this general.

‘You are not racing,’ said the latter to him jokingly.

‘My race is a harder one,’ replied Karenin respectfully.

And though the answer did not mean anything, the General made as though he had heard a clever reply from a clever man, and quite appreciated la pointe de la sauce [the flavour of the sauce].

‘There are two sides to it,’ continued Karenin, ‘that of the performers and that of the spectators. The love of such spectacles is the surest proof of low development in the onlookers, I admit, but …’

‘Princess, a bet!’ came the voice of Oblonsky from below, addressing Betsy. ‘Whom are you backing?’

‘Anna and I are betting on Kuzovlev,’ replied Betsy.

‘And I on Vronsky. A pair of gloves?’

‘All right.’

‘What a fine scene, is it not?’

Karenin was silent while others were speaking near him, but began again immediately.

‘I agree that unmanly sports …’ he was continuing. But at that moment the race began and all conversation ceased, Karenin was silent too, as everybody rose and turned their eyes toward the stream. Karenin was not interested in races and therefore did not watch the riders, but began absent-mindedly looking at the spectators with his weary eyes. His gaze rested on Anna.

Her face was pale and stern. She evidently saw nothing and nobody, with one exception. Her hand convulsively grasped her fan, and she did not breathe. He looked at her and hurriedly turned away, scrutinizing other faces.

‘Yes, that lady — and those others — are very excited too; it is quite natural,’ he said to himself. He did not wish to look at her, but his eyes were involuntarily drawn toward her. He again watched her face, trying not to read what was so plainly written on it, but against his will he read in it with horror that which he did not want to know.

The first fall — Kuzovlev’s at the stream — excited every one, but Karenin saw clearly by Anna’s pale, triumphant face that he whom she was watching had not fallen. When after Makhotin and Vronsky had jumped the big barrier the officer following them fell on his head and swooned, a murmur of horror passed through the whole crowd; but Karenin saw that Anna did not even notice the fall and with difficulty understood what those around her were talking about. He looked at her more and more often, and more intently. Anna, though fully engrossed by the sight of the galloping Vronsky, became aware of the cold eyes of her husband bent upon her from one side.

She glanced for an instant at him with a look of inquiry, and, slightly frowning, turned away again.

‘Oh, I don’t care,’ she seemed to say to him, and then did not once look at him again.

The steeplechase was unlucky: more than half of the seventeen officers were thrown and hurt. By the end of the race every one was disturbed, and this disturbance was increased by the fact that the Emperor was displeased.