by Leo Tolstoy
XX
Vronsky's life was especially fortunate in that he had a code of rules which unquestionably defined everything that ought and ought not to be done. The code embraced a very small circle of conditions, but the rules were unquestionable and, never going outside that circle, Vronsky never hesitated a moment in doing what ought be done. These rules determined unquestionably that a card-sharper must be paid but a tailor need not be, that one should not lie to men but may lie to women, that it is wrong to deceive anyone but one may deceive a husband, that it is wrong to pardon insults but one may give insults, and so on. These rules might not all be very reasonable or very nice, but they were unquestionable, and in fulfilling them Vronsky felt at ease and could hold his head high. Only most recently, in regard to his relations with Anna, had he begun to feel that his code of rules did not fully define all circumstances, and to envisage future difficulties and doubts in which he could no longer find a guiding thread.
His present relations with Anna and her husband were simple and clear. They were clearly and precisely defined in the code of rules by which he was guided.
She was a respectable woman who had given him her love, and he loved her; therefore she was a woman worthy of equal and even greater respect than a lawful wife. He would have let his hand be cut off sooner than allow himself a word or a hint that might insult her or fail to show her that respect which a woman may simply count on.
His relations with society were also clear. Everyone might know or suspect it, but no one should dare to talk. Otherwise he was prepared to silence the talkers and make them respect the non-existent honour of the woman he loved.
His relations with the husband were clearest of all. From the moment of Anna's love for him, he had considered his own right to her unassailable. The husband was merely a superfluous and interfering person. No doubt his position was pathetic, but what could be done? One thing the husband had the right to do was ask for satisfaction, weapon in hand, and for that Vronsky had been prepared from the first moment.
But recently there had appeared new, inner relations between himself and her that frightened Vronsky with their indefiniteness. Just yesterday she had announced to him that she was pregnant. And he felt that this news and what she expected of him called for something not wholly defined by the code of rules that guided him in his life. He had indeed been caught unawares, and in the first moment, when she had announced her condition to him, his heart had prompted him to demand that she leave her husband. He had said it, but now, thinking it over, he saw clearly that it would be better to do without that; and yet, in saying so to himself, he was afraid - might it not be a bad thing?
'If I said she must leave her husband, it means to unite with me. Am I ready for that? How can I take her away now, when I have no money? Suppose I could arrange it... But how can I take her away when I'm in the service? If I say it, then I have to be ready for it, that is, to have money and resign from the service.'
And he fell to thinking. The question of resigning or not resigning led him to another secret interest, known only to himself, all but the chief, though hidden, interest of his whole life.
Ambition was the old dream of his childhood and youth, a dream which he did not confess even to himself, but which was so strong that even now this passion struggled with his love. His first steps in the world and in the service had been successful, but two years ago he had made a blunder. Wishing to show his independence and move ahead, he had refused a post offered to him, hoping that his refusal would endow him with greater value; but it turned out that he had been too bold, and he was passed over. Having willy-nilly created a position for himself as an independent man, he bore with it, behaving quite subtly and intelligently, as if he was not angry with anyone, did not consider himself offended by anyone and wished only to be left in peace, because he liked it that way. But in fact, a year ago, when he went to Moscow, he ceased to like it. He sensed that this independent position of a man who could do anything but wanted nothing was beginning to wear thin, that many were beginning to think he could do nothing but be an honest and good fellow. His liaison with Anna, which had made so much noise and attracted general attention, had lent him new brilliance and pacified for a time the worm of ambition that gnawed at him, but a week ago this worm had awakened with renewed force. His childhood comrade, of the same circle, the same wealth, and a comrade in the corps, Serpukhovskoy, who had graduated in the same year, had been his rival in class, in gymnastics, in pranks, and in ambitious dreams, had come back from Central Asia the other day,[20] having received two promotions there and a decoration rarely given to such young generals.
As soon as he arrived in Petersburg, he began to be talked about as a new rising star of the first magnitude. Of the same age as Vronsky and his classmate, he was a general and expected an appointment that might influence the course of state affairs, while Vronsky, though independent and brilliant and loved by a charming woman, was none the less only a cavalry captain, who was left to be as independent as he liked. 'Naturally, I do not and cannot envy Serpukhovskoy, but his rise shows me that, if one bides one's time, the career of a man like me can be made very quickly. Three years ago he was in the same position I am in now. If I resign, I'll be burning my boats. By remaining in the service, I won't lose anything. She said herself that she didn't want to change her situation. And, with her love, I cannot envy Serpukhovskoy.' Twirling his moustache in a slow movement, he got up from the table and walked around the room. His eyes shone especially brightly, and he felt that firm, calm and joyful state of mind which always came over him after clarifying his situation. As after previous squarings of accounts, everything was clean and clear. He shaved, washed, took a cold bath and went out.
XXI
'I was coming to get you. Your laundry took a long time today,' said Petritsky. 'Well, are you done?'
'Done,' replied Vronsky, smiling with his eyes alone and twirling the tips of his moustache carefully as if, after the order he had brought to his affairs, any too bold and quick movement might destroy it.
'Afterwards it's always as if you just got out of the bath,' said Petritsky. 'I'm coming from Gritska' (as they called the regimental commander). 'You're expected.'
Vronsky gazed at his comrade without replying, thinking of something else.
'Ah, is that music at his place?' he said, catching the familiar sounds of tubas playing polkas and waltzes. 'What's the celebration?'
'Serpukhovskoy's arrived.'
'Ahh,' said Vronsky, 'and I didn't know!'
The smile in his eyes shone still brighter.
Having once decided to himself that he was happy in his love and was sacrificing his ambition to it, or at least having taken this role upon himself, Vronsky could no longer feel either envy for Serpukhovskoy, or vexation with him for not visiting him first on coming to the regiment. Serpukhovskoy was a good friend, and he was pleased that he had come.
'Ah, I'm very glad.'
Regimental commander Diomin occupied a large landowner's house. The whole party was on the spacious lower balcony. In the yard, the first thing that struck Vronsky's eyes was the singers in uniform blouses standing by a barrel of vodka, and the robust, jovial figure of the regimental commander surrounded by officers; coming out on the top step of the balcony, loudly out-shouting the band, which was playing an Offenbach quadrille, he was giving orders and waving to some soldiers standing to one side. A bunch of soldiers, a sergeant-major and several non-commissioned officers, approached the balcony together with Vronsky. Going back to the table, the regimental commander again came to the porch with a glass in his hand and proposed a toast: 'To the health of our former comrade and brave general, Prince Serpukhovskoy. Hurrah!'
After the regimental commander, Serpukhovskoy also came out, smiling, a glass in his hand.
'You keep getting younger, Bondarenko.' He addressed the dashing, red-cheeked sergeant-major, now serving his second term, who was standing right in front of him.
Vronsky had not s
een Serpukhovskoy for three years. He looked more manly, having let his side-whiskers grow, but he was still as trim, striking not so much by his good looks as by the delicacy and nobility of his face and build. One change that Vronsky noticed in him was the quiet, steady glow that settles on the faces of those who are successful and are certain that their success is recognized by everyone. Vronsky knew that glow and noticed it at once in Serpukhovskoy.
Going down the stairs, Serpukhovskoy saw Vronsky. A smile of joy lit up his face. He tossed his head and raised his glass, greeting Vronsky and showing by this gesture that he could not help going first to the sergeant-major who, drawing himself up, had already puckered his lips for a kiss.
'Well, here he is!' cried the regimental commander. 'And Yashvin told me you were in one of your dark moods.'
Serpukhovskoy kissed the dashing sergeant-major on his moist and fresh lips and, wiping his mouth with a handkerchief, went up to Vronsky.
'Well, I'm so glad!' he said, pressing his hand and leading him aside.
'Take care of him!' the regimental commander cried to Yashvin, pointing at Vronsky, and went down to the soldiers.
'Why weren't you at the races yesterday? I thought I'd see you there,' said Vronsky, looking Serpukhovskoy over.
'I came, but late. Sorry,' he added and turned to his adjutant. 'Please tell them this is to be handed out from me, however much it comes to per man.'
And he hastily took three hundred-rouble notes from his wallet and blushed.
'Vronsky! Want anything to eat or drink?' asked Yashvin. 'Hey, bring the count something to eat! And here's a drink for you.'
The carousing at the regimental commander's went on for a long time.
They drank a lot. They swung and tossed Serpukhovskoy. Then they swung the regimental commander. Then in front of the singers the regimental commander himself danced with Petritsky. Then the regimental commander, grown somewhat slack now, sat down on a bench in the yard and began proving to Yashvin Russia's advantages over Prussia, especially in cavalry attack, and the carousing subsided for a moment. Serpukhovskoy went inside to the dressing room, to wash his hands, and found Vronsky there; Vronsky was dousing himself with water. Taking off his jacket, he put his hairy red neck under the stream from the tap and rubbed it and his head with his hands. When he had finished washing, Vronsky sat down with Serpukhovskoy. The two men sat on a little sofa, and a conversation began between them that was very interesting for them both.
'I knew everything about you through my wife,' said Serpukhovskoy. 'I'm glad you saw her often.'
'She's friends with Varya, and they're the only women in Petersburg I enjoy seeing,' Vronsky replied with a smile. He smiled because he foresaw the subject the conversation would turn to, and it was pleasing to him.
'The only ones?' Serpukhovskoy repeated, smiling.
'Yes, and I knew about you, but not only through your wife,' said Vronsky, forbidding the allusion with a stern look. 'I was very glad of your success, but not surprised in the least. I expected still more.'
Serpukhovskoy smiled. He was obviously pleased by this opinion of him, and found it unnecessary to conceal it.
'I, on the contrary, will sincerely admit that I expected less. But I'm glad, very glad. I'm ambitious, that's my weakness, and I admit it.'
'You might not admit it if you weren't successful,' said Vronsky.
'I don't think so,' said Serpukhovskoy, smiling again. 'I won't say life wouldn't be worth living without it, but it would be boring. Of course, I may be wrong, but it seems to me that I have some ability for the sphere of action I've chosen, and that power, whatever it might be, if I should get it, would be better in my hands than in the hands of many men I know,' he said, with a glowing awareness of success. 'And therefore, the closer I come to it, the more pleased I am.'
'That may be so for you, but not for everyone. I thought the same thing, but now I live and find that it's not worth living just for that,' said Vronsky.
'There it is! There it is!' Serpukhovskoy said, laughing. 'I began by saying that I'd heard about you, about your refusal ... Naturally, I approved of you. But there's a right and wrong way for everything. And I think that the action was good, but you didn't do it as you should have.'
'What's done is done, and you know I never renounce what I've done. And then, too, I'm quite fine.'
'Quite fine - for the time being. But you won't remain satisfied with that. It's not your brother I'm talking to. He's a sweet child, just like our host - there he goes!' he added, hearing a shout of 'Hurrah!' 'And he has his fun. But for you that's not enough.'
'I'm not saying I'm satisfied.'
'It isn't just that. People like you are needed.'
'By whom?'
'By whom? By society. Russia needs people, needs a party, otherwise everything goes and will go to the dogs.'
'Meaning what? Bertenev's party against the Russian communists?'[21]
'No,' said Serpukhovskoy, wincing with vexation at being suspected of such stupidity. 'Tout ca est une blague.* It always has been and always will be. There aren't any communists. But people given to intrigue always have to invent some harmful, dangerous party. It's an old trick. No, what's needed is a party of independent people like you and me.'
'But why?' Vronsky named several people in power. 'Why aren't they independent people?'
'Only because they don't have or weren't born with an independent fortune, didn't have a name, weren't born as near to the sun as we were. They can be bought either by money or by favours. And in order to hold out they have to invent a trend. And they put forth some idea, some trend which they don't believe in themselves, and which does harm; and this whole trend is only a means of having a government house and a salary of so much. Cela n'est pas plus fin que ca* when you look into their cards. Maybe I'm worse or stupider than they are, though I don't see why I should be worse. But you and I certainly have the one important advantage that we're harder to buy. And such people are needed now more than ever.'
* That is all a joke.
* It's no more subtle than that.
Vronsky listened attentively, but was taken up not so much with the actual content of his words as with Serpukhovskoy's attitude towards things, how he already thought of struggling with the ruling powers and already had his sympathies and antipathies in this world, while for him there was nothing in the service but the interests of his squadron. Vronsky also realized how strong Serpukhovskoy could be in his unquestionable ability to reflect, to comprehend things, in his intelligence and gift for words, which occurred so rarely in the milieu in which he lived. And, much as it shamed him, he was envious.
'All the same I lack the one chief thing for that,' he replied, 'I lack the desire for power. I had it, but it went away.'
'Excuse me, but that's not true,' Serpukhovskoy said, smiling.
'No, it's true, it's true! ... now,' Vronsky added, to be sincere.
'Yes, it's true now, that's another matter; but this now is not forever.'
'Maybe not,' replied Vronsky.
'You say maybe not,' Serpukhovskoy went on, as if guessing his thoughts, 'and I tell you certainly not. And that's why I wanted to see you. You acted as you had to. I understand that, but you should not persevere. I'm only asking you for carte blanche. I'm not patronizing you ... Though why shouldn't I patronize you? You've patronized me so many times! I hope our friendship stands above that. Yes,' he said, smiling at him tenderly, like a woman. 'Give me carte blanche, leave the regiment, and I'll draw you in imperceptibly.'
'But do understand, I don't need anything,' said Vronsky, 'except that everything be the same as it has been.'
Serpukhovskoy got up and stood facing him.
'You say everything should be as it has been. I understand what that means. But listen. We're the same age. You may have known a greater number of women than I have,' Serpukhovskoy's smile and gestures told Vronsky that he need not be afraid, that he would touch the sore spot gently and carefully. 'But I'm married, an
d believe me, knowing the one wife you love (as someone wrote), you know all women better than if you'd known thousands of them.'
'We're coming!' Vronsky shouted to the officer who looked into the room to summon them to the regimental commander.
Now Vronsky wanted to listen to the end and learn what Serpukhovskoy was going to tell him.
'And here is my opinion for you. Women are the main stumbling block in a man's activity. It's hard to love a woman and do anything.
For this there exists one means of loving conveniently, without hindrance - that is marriage. How can I tell you, how can I tell you what I'm thinking,' said Serpukhovskoy, who liked comparisons, 'wait, wait! Yes, it's as if you're carrying a fardeau* and doing something with your hands is only possible if the fardeau is tied to your back - and that is marriage. And I felt it once I got married. I suddenly had my hands free. But dragging this fardeau around without marriage - that will make your hands so full that you won't be able to do anything. Look at Mazankov, at Krupov. They ruined their careers on account of women.'
