Anna Karenina (Dole)/Part Eight/Chapter 5
CHAPTER V
In the oblique evening shadow cast by a heap of baggage piled on the platform, Vronsky, in his long paletot and slouch hat, with his hands in his pockets, was walking, like a wild beast in a cage, up and down a narrow space where he could not take more than a score of steps. It seemed to Sergyeï Ivanovitch, as he drew near, that Vronsky saw him, but pretended not to recognize him. But to Sergyeï Ivanovitch this was all the same. He was above any petty susceptibility.
At this moment, Vronsky, in his eyes, was an important actor in a grand event, and deserved to be sustained and encouraged. He approached the count.
Vronsky stopped, looked at him, recognized him, and, taking a few steps to meet him, cordially held out his hand.
"Perhaps you would prefer not to see me," said Sergyeï Ivanovitch; "but can I be of any service to you?"
"No one could be less unpleasant for me to meet than you," answered Vronsky. "Pardon me. There is nothing pleasant for me in life."
"I understand, and I want to offer you my services," said Koznuishef, struck by the deep suffering that was apparent in the count's face. "Might not a letter to Ristitch or Milan be of some use to you?"
"Oh, no!" answered Vronsky, making an effort to understand. "If it is all the same to you, we will walk a little. It is so stifling in the train! A letter? No, thank you. One needs no letter of introduction to get killed. In this case, one to the Turks, perhaps," added he, with a smile at the corners of his mouth. His eyes kept the same expression of bitter sadness.
"Well! It would make it easier for you to come into relations with men prepared for action. Still, as you please; but I was very glad to learn of your decision. The very fact that a man of your standing has joined the volunteers will raise them above all cavil in the public estimation.""My sole merit," replied Vronsky, "is that life is of no value to me. As to physical energy, I know it will not be wanting for any purpose; and I am glad enough to give my life, which is not only useless to me, but disgusting, to be useful to somebody;" and he made an impatient motion with his jaw, caused by his unceasing toothache, which prevented him from talking with the expression he desired.
"You will be regenerated, is my prediction," said Sergyeï Ivanovitch, feeling touched. "The deliverance of one's oppressed brethren is an aim for which one might as well live as die. May God grant you full success, and fill your soul with peace!" he added, and held out his hand.
Vronsky pressed his hand cordially.
"As a field-piece, I may be of use. .... But as a man, .... I am only a ruin," murmured the count, with intervals between the phrases. The throbbing pain in his tooth, which filled his mouth with saliva, made it an effort for him to speak. He stopped, and fixed his eyes mechanically on the engine-wheels, which advanced, revolving slowly and smoothly on the rails.
And suddenly a sense of intense spiritual anguish caused him for a moment to forget his toothache. At the sight of the engine and the rails, through the influence of his talk with an acquaintance whom he had not seen since his misfortune, she suddenly appeared to him, or, at least, that which remained of her, as, when he rushed like a madman into the barracks near the station, where they had carried her, he saw, lying on a table, shamelessly exposed to the sight of all, her bleeding body, which had so lately been full of life. Her head, uninjured, with its heavy braids, and its light curls clustering about the temples, was leaning back, with the eyes half closed; and in the lovely face hovered still a strange, wild expression, while her rosy lips, slightly opened, seemed prepared to utter once again that terrible menace, and predict to him, as she had in their dispute, that he "would repent."
And he tried to remember how she looked when he first met her, also at a railroad station, with that mysterious, poetic, charming beauty, overflowing with life and gayety, demanding and bestowing happiness, and not bitterly revengeful as he remembered her at their last interview. He tried to remember the happy moments he had spent with her, but these moments were forever spoiled for him. He remembered only her face, haughtily expressing her threat of unnecessary, but implacable, vengeance. He ceased to be conscious of his toothache, and sobs convulsed his face.
After walking up and down by the baggage once or twice, the count controlled himself, and spoke calmly with Sergyeï Ivanovitch.
"Have you seen the latest telegrams? Yes; they have fought three times, and another battle is expected tomorrow."
And, after a few words about King Milan's proclamation, and the immense effect which it might have, the two men separated at the ringing of the second bell and went to their respective compartments.