Anna Karenina

During the stop in the provincial capital Sergei Ivanovich did not go to the buffet but started pacing up and down the platform.

The first time he walked past Vronsky’s compartment, he noticed that the window was curtained. But, walking past it a second time, he saw the old countess at the window. She called him over to her.

‘You see, I’m accompanying him as far as Kursk,’ she said.

‘Yes, I heard,’ said Sergei Ivanovich, pausing by her window and looking inside. ‘What a handsome gesture on his part!’ he added, noticing that Vronsky was not in the compartment.

‘But after his misfortune what was he to do?’

‘Such a terrible occurrence!’ said Sergei Ivanovich.

‘Ah, what I’ve lived through! But do come in ... Ah, what I’ve lived through!’ she repeated, when Sergei Ivanovich came in and sat down beside her on the seat. ‘You can’t imagine! For six weeks he didn’t speak to anyone and ate only when I begged him to. And he couldn’t be left alone for a single moment. We took away everything he might have used to kill himself; we lived on the ground floor, but we couldn’t predict anything. You know, he already tried to shoot himself because of her,’ she said, and the old lady’s brows knitted at the memory of it. ‘Yes, she ended as such a woman should have ended. Even the death she chose was mean and low.’

‘It’s not for us to judge, Countess,’ Sergei Ivanovich said with a sigh, ‘but I understand how hard it was for you.’

‘Ah, don’t even say it! I was living on my estate and he was with me. A note was brought to him. He wrote a reply and sent it back. We had no idea that she was right there at the station. In the evening I had just gone to my room when my Mary told me that some lady at the station had thrown herself under a train. It was as if something hit me! I knew it was she. The first thing I said was: “Don’t tell him.” But he had already been told. His coachman was there and saw it all. When I came running into his room, he was no longer himself - it was terrible to look at him. He galloped off to the station without saying a word. I don’t know what happened there, but he was brought back like a dead man. I wouldn’t have recognized him. Prostration complète, the doctor said. Then came near frenzy.

‘Ah, what is there to say!’ the countess went on, waving her hand. ‘A terrible time! No, whatever you say, she was a bad woman. Well, what are these desperate passions! It’s all to prove something special. So she proved it. Ruined herself and two fine men - her husband and my unfortunate son.’

‘And what about her husband?’ asked Sergei Ivanovich.

‘He took her daughter. At first Alyosha agreed to everything. But now he suffers terribly for having given his daughter to a stranger. But he can’t go back on his word. Karenin came to the funeral. But we tried to make it so that he wouldn’t meet Alyosha. For him, for the husband, it’s easier after all. She set him free. But my poor son gave her all of himself. He abandoned everything - career, me - and even so she took no pity on him but deliberately destroyed him completely. No, whatever you say, her death was itself the death of a vile, irreligious woman. God forgive me, but I can’t help hating her memory, looking at the ruin of my son.’

‘But how is he now?’

‘This is God’s help to us, this Serbian war. I’m an old woman, I don’t understand anything about it, but it’s been sent him by God. Of course, as a mother I’m afraid, and above all they say ce n’est as très bien vu à Pétersbourg.^dv But what can be done! It’s the only thing that could have lifted him up again. Yashvin - his friend - lost everything at cards and decided to go to Serbia. He came to see him and talked him into it. Now he’s taken up with it. Talk to him, please, I want him to be distracted. He’s so sad. And, as ill luck would have it, he’s got a toothache. He’ll be very glad to see you. Please talk to him, he’s walking on that side.’

Sergei Ivanovich said he would be very glad to, and went over to the other side of the train.

V

In the slanted evening shadow of the sacks piled on the platform, Vronsky, in his long coat, his hat pulled down over his eyes, his hands in his pockets, was pacing like a caged animal, turning abruptly every twenty steps. As Sergei Ivanovich approached, it seemed to him that Vronsky saw him but pretended to be unseeing. That made no difference to Sergei Ivanovich. He was above keeping any personal accounts with Vronsky.

In Sergei Ivanovich’s eyes, Vronsky was at that moment an important actor in a great cause, and he considered it his duty to encourage him and show his approval. He went up to him.

Vronsky stopped, peered, recognized him and, taking a few steps towards him, gave him a very firm handshake.

‘Perhaps you didn’t wish to see me,’ said Sergei Ivanovich, ‘but may I not be of some use to you?’

‘There is no one it would be less unpleasant for me to see than you,’ said Vronsky. ‘Forgive me. Nothing in life is pleasant for me.’