Anna Karenina (Dole)/Part Two/Chapter 24
CHAPTER XXIV
When Vronsky looked at his watch on the Karenins' terrace, he was so stirred and preoccupied, that, though he saw the figures on the face, he did not know what time it was. He hurried along the driveway, and, picking his way carefully through the mud, he reached his carriage. He had been so absorbed by his conversation with Anna that he did not notice the hour, or ask if he still had time to go to Briansky's. As it often happens, he had only the external faculty of memory, and it recalled to him only that he had decided to do something. He found his coachman dozing on his box under the already slanting shade of the linden; he noticed the swarms of midgets buzzing around his sweaty horses; then, waking the coachman, he jumped into his carriage, and ordered him to drive to Briansky's; only after he had gone six or seven versts did he remember that he had looked at his watch and realized that it was half-past five, and that he was late.
On that day there were to be several races: first the draught-horses, then the officers' two-verst dash, then a second of four, and last that in which he was to take part. He could be in time for his race, but, if he went to Briansky's, he ran the risk of getting to the grounds after the court had arrived. That was not in good form. But he had promised Briansky to be there, therefore he kept on, commanding the coachman not to spare the troïka. He reached Briansky's, spent five minutes with him, and was off again at full speed. The rapid motion calmed him. All the difficulties that confronted him in his relations with Anna, all the uncertainty that remained after their conversation, vanished from his mind; he thought with delight and excitement of the race, and how he might after all get there in time, and then again he vividly imagined the brilliant society which would gather to-day at the course.
And he got more and more into the atmosphere of the races as he overtook people coming in their carriages from various villas, and even from Petersburg, on their way to the hippodrome.
When he reached his quarters, no one was at home; all had gone to the races, except his valet, who was waiting for him at the entrance. While he was changing his clothes, his valet told him that the second race had already begun that a number of gentlemen had been to inquire for him.
Vronsky dressed without haste,—for he never was hurried and he never lost his self-command,—and directed the coachman to take him to the tables. From there he saw a sea of carriages of all sorts, of pedestrians, soldiers, and of spectators, surrounding the hippodrome, and the seats boiling with people.
Evidently the second course had been run, for just as he reached the stables he heard the sound of a bell. As he reached the stable, he noticed Makhotin's white-footed chestnut Gladiator, covered with a blue and orange caparison, and with huge ear-protectors trimmed with blue. They were leading him out to the hippodrome.
"Where is Cord?" he asked of the groom.
"In the stable; he is putting on the saddle."
Frou Frou was all saddled in her open box-stall. They started to lead her out.
"I am not late, am I?"
"All right, all right," said the Englishman. "Don't get excited."
Vronsky once more gave a quick glance at the excellent, favorable shape of his horse, as she stood trembling in every limb; and, finding it hard to tear himself away from such a beautiful sight, he left her at the stable. He approached the benches at a most favorable moment for doing this without attracting observation. The two-verst dash was just at an end, and all eyes were fixed on a cavalry-guardsman who was in the lead, and a hussar just at his heels, whipping their horses furiously, and approaching the goal. From the center and both ends all crowded in toward the goal, and a group of officers and guardsmen were hailing with shouts the triumph of their fellow-officer and friend.
Vronsky, without being noticed, joined the throng just as the bell announced the end of the race; the victor, a tall cavalry-guardsman, covered with mud, dropped the reins, slipped off from the saddle, and stood by his roan stallion, which was black with sweat, and heavily breathing.
The stallion, with a violent effort thrusting out his legs, had stopped the swift course of his big body; and the officer, like a man awakening from a deep sleep, was looking about him, trying hard to smile. A throng of friends and strangers pressed about him.
Vronsky, with intention, avoided the elegant people who were circulating about, engaged in gay and animated conversation in front of the seats. He had already caught sight of Anna, Betsy, and his brother's wife, but he did not join them, so that he might not be disconcerted; but he kept meeting acquaintances who stopped him, and told him various items about the last race, or asked him why he was late.
While they were distributing the prizes at the pavilion, and every one had gone in this direction, Vronsky was joined by his elder brother. Aleksandr Vronsky was a colonel and wore epaulets, and, like Alekseï, was a man of medium stature, and rather thick-set; but he was handsomer and ruddier. His nose was red, and his frank, open face was flushed with wine.
"Did you get my note?" he asked of his brother. "You are never to be found."
Aleksandr Vronsky, in spite of his life of dissipation and his love for drink, which was notorious, was a thoroughly courtly man. Knowing that many eyes might be fixed on them, he preserved, while he talked on a very painful subject, a smiling face, as if he were jesting with his brother about some trifling matter.
"I got it," said he, "but I really don't understand why you interfere."
"I interfere because I noticed you were not to be found this morning, and because you were seen at Peterhof Monday."
"There are matters which cannot be judged except by those who are directly interested, and the matter in which you concern yourself is such." ....
"Yes; but when one is not in the service, he...,"
"I beg you to mind your own business, and that is all."
Alekseï Vronsky's frowning face grew pale, and his rather prominent lower jaw shook. This happened rarely with him. He was a man of kindly heart, and rarely got angry; but when he grew angry, and when his chin trembled, he became dangerous. Aleksandr Vronsky knew it, and with a gay laugh replied:—
"I only wanted to give you matushka's letter. Answer it, and don't get angry before the race. Bonne chance," he added, with a smile, and left him.
The next moment another friendly greeting surprised Vronsky.
"Won't you recognize your friends? How are you, mon cher?" said Stepan Arkadyevitch, with his rosy face and carefully combed and pomaded whiskers; in the midst of the brilliant society of Petersburg, he was no less brilliant than at Moscow. "I came down yesterday, and am very glad to be present at your triumph. When can we meet?"
"Come to the mess, after the race is over," said Vronsky; and with an apology for leaving him, he squeezed the sleeve of his paletot, and went to the middle of the hippodrome, where they were bringing the horses for the handicap-race.
The grooms were leading back the sweaty horses, wearied by the race which they had run; and one by one the fresh horses entered for the next course appeared on the ground. They were, for the most part, English horses, in hoods, and well caparisoned, and looked like enormous strange birds. At the right-hand side they were leading in the lean beauty, Frou Frou, which came out, stepping high as if on springs, with her elastic and slender pasterns. And not far from her they were removing the trappings from the lop-eared Gladiator. The stallion's solid, superb, and perfectly symmetrical form, with his splendid crupper and his extraordinarily short pasterns placed directly over the hoofs, attracted Vronsky's admiration. He was just going up to Frou Frou when another acquaintance stopped him again.
"Ah! there is Karenin," said the friend with whom he was talking; "he is hunting for his wife. She is in the very center of the pavilion. Have you seen her?"
"No, I have not," replied Vronsky; and, without turning his head in the direction where his acquaintance told him that Madame Karenin was, he went to his horse.
He had scarcely time to make some adjustment of the saddle, when those who were to compete in the hurdle-race were called to receive their numbers and directions. With serious, stern, and some with pale faces, seventeen men in all approached the stand and received their numbers. Vronsky's number was seven.
"Mount!" was the cry.
Vronsky, feeling that he, with his companions, was the focus toward which all eyes were turned, went up to his horse with the slow and deliberate motions which were usual to him when he was under the strain of excitement.
Cord, in honor of the races, had put on his gala-day costume: he wore a black coat, buttoned to the chin, and a stiffly starched shirt-collar, which made a support for his cheeks; he had on Hessian boots and a round black cap. He was, as always, calm and full of importance, as he stood by the mare's head, holding both reins in his hand. Frou Frou was still shivering as if she had an attack of fever; her fiery eyes gazed askance at Vronsky as he approached. He passed his finger under the girth of the saddle. The mare looked at him still more askance, showed her teeth, and pricked up her ears. The Englishman puckered up his lips with a grin at the idea that there could be any doubt as to his skill in putting on a saddle. "Mount, and you won't be so nervous," said he.
Vronsky cast a final glance on his rivals; he knew that he should not see them again until the race was over. Two of them had already gone to the starting point. Galtsin, a friend of his, and one of his dangerous rivals, was turning around and around his bay stallion, which was trying to keep him from mounting. A little Leib-hussar in tight cavalry trousers was off on a gallop, bent double over his horse, like a cat on the crupper, in imitation of the English fashion. Prince Kuzovlef, white as a sheet, was mounted on a thoroughbred mare from the Grabovsky stud; an Englishman held it by the bridle. Vronsky and all his comrades knew Kuzovlef's terrible self-conceit, and his peculiarity of "weak nerves." They knew that he was timid at everything, especially timid of riding horseback; but now, notwithstanding the fact that all this was horrible to him, because he knew that people broke their necks, and that at every hurdle stood a surgeon, an ambulance with its cross and sister of charity, still he had made up his mind to ride.
They exchanged glances, and Vronsky gave him an encouraging and approving nod. One only he now failed to see: his most redoubtable rival, Makhotin, on Gladiator, was not there.
"Don't be in haste," said Cord to Vronsky, "and remember one thing: when you come to a hurdle, don't pull back or spur on your horse; let her take it her own way."
"Very good," replied Vronsky, taking the reins.
"If possible, take the lead, but don't be discouraged even to the last if you are behind."
The horse did not have time to stir before Vronsky, with supple and powerful movement, put his foot on the notched steel stirrup, and gracefully, firmly, took his seat in the squeaking leather saddle. Having put his right foot in the stirrup, with his customary care he then arranged the double reins between his fingers, and Cord let go the animal's head. Frou Frou, as if not knowing which foot to put down first, stretched out her neck, and pulled on the reins, and she started off as if on springs, balancing her rider on her supple back. Cord, quickening his pace, followed them. The mare, excited, jumped to right and left, trying to take her master off his guard, and pulled at the reins, and Vronsky vainly endeavored to calm her with his voice and with his hand.
They were approaching the diked bank of the river, where the starting-post was placed. Some of the riders had gone on ahead, others were riding behind, when Vronsky suddenly heard on the muddy track the gallop of a horse; and Makhotin dashed by on his white-footed, lop-eared Gladiator. Makhotin smiled, showing his long teeth, but Vronsky looked at him angrily. He did not like Makhotin any too well, and now he regarded him as his most dangerous rival; and he was exasperated at the way he galloped up behind him, exciting his mare.
Frou Frou kicked up her heels and started off at a gallop, made two bounds, and then, angry at the restraint of the curb, changed her gait into a trot which shook up her rider. Cord was also disgusted, and ran almost as fast as Vronsky.