________________________________________________
_ Vronsky's life was particularly happy in that he had a code of
principles, which defined with unfailing certitude what he ought
and what he ought not to do. This code of principles covered only
a very small circle of contingencies, but then the principles
were never doubtful, and Vronsky, as he never went outside that
circle, had never had a moment's hesitation about doing what he
ought to do. These principles laid down as invariable rules: that
one must pay a cardsharper, but need not pay a tailor; that one
must never tell a lie to a man, but one may to a woman; that one
must never cheat any one, but one may a husband; that one must
never pardon an insult, but one may give one and so on. These
principles were possibly not reasonable and not good, but they
were of unfailing certainty, and so long as he adhered to them,
Vronsky felt that his heart was at peace and he could hold his
head up. Only quite lately in regard to his relations with Anna,
Vronsky had begun to feel that his code of principles did not
fully cover all possible contingencies, and to foresee in the
future difficulties and perplexities for which he could find no
guiding clue.
His present relation to Anna and to her husband was to his mind
clear and simple. It was clearly and precisely defined in the
code of principles by which he was guided.
She was an honorable woman who had bestowed her love upon him,
and he loved her, and therefore she was in his eyes a woman who
had a right to the same, or even more, respect than a lawful
wife. He would have had his hand chopped off before he would have
allowed himself by a word, by a hint, to humiliate her, or even
to fall short of the fullest respect a woman could look for.
His attitude to society, too, was clear. Every one might know,
might suspect it, but no one might dare to speak of it. If any
did so, he was ready to force all who might speak to be silent
and to respect the nonexistent honor of the woman he loved.
His attitude to the husband was the clearest of all. From the
moment that Anna loved Vronsky, he had regarded his own right
over her as the one thing unassailable. Her husband was simply a
superfluous and tiresome person. No doubt he was in a pitiable
position, but how could that be helped? The one thing the husband
had a right to was to demand satisfaction with a weapon in his
hand, and Vronsky was prepared for this at any minute.
But of late new inner relations had arisen between him and her,
which frightened Vronsky by their indefiniteness. Only the day
before she had told him that she was with child. And he felt that
this fact and what she expected of him called for something not
fully defined in that code of principles by which he had hitherto
steered his course in life. And he had been indeed caught
unawares, and at the first moment when she spoke to him of her
position, his heart had prompted him to beg her to leave her
husband. He had said that, but now thinking things over he saw
clearly that it would be better to manage to avoid that; and at
the same time, as he told himself so, he was afraid whether it
was not wrong.
"If I told her to leave her husband, that must mean uniting her
life with mine; am I prepared for that? How can I take her away
now, when I have no money? Supposing I could arrange ...But
how can I take her away while I'm in the service? If I say that--
I ought to be prepared to do it, that is, I ought to have the
money and to retire from the army."
And he grew thoughtful. The question whether to retire from the
service or not brought him to the other and perhaps the chief
though hidden interest of his life, of which none knew but he.
Ambition was the old dream of his youth and childhood, a dream
which he did 'not confess even to himself, though it was so
strong that now this passion was even doing battle with his love.
His first steps in the world and in the service had been
successful, but two years before he had made a great mistake.
Anxious to show his independence and to advance, he had refused a
post that had been offered him, hoping that this refusal would
heighten his value; but it turned out that he had been too bold,
and he was passed over. And having, whether he liked or not,
taken up for himself the position of an independent man, he
carried it off with great tact and good sense, behaving as though
he bore no grudge against any one, did not regard himself as
injured in any way, and cared for nothing but to be left alone
since he was enjoying himself. In reality he had ceased to enjoy
himself as long ago as the year before, when he went away to
Moscow. He felt that this independent attitude of a man who might
have done anything, but cared to do nothing was already beginning
to pall, that many people were beginning to fancy that he was not
really capable of anything but being a straightforward,
good-natured fellow. His connection with Madame Karenina, by
creating so much sensation and attracting general attention, had
given him a fresh distinction which soothed his gnawing worm of
ambition for a while, but a week before that worm had been roused
up again with fresh force. The friend of his childhood, a man of
the same set, of the same coterie, his comrade in the Corps of
Pages, Serpuhovskoy, who had left school with him and had been
his rival in class, in gymnastics, in their scrapes and their
dreams of glory, had come back a few days before from Central
Asia, where he had gained two steps up in rank, and an order
rarely bestowed upon generals so young.
As soon as he arrived in Petersburg, people began to talk about
him as a newly risen star of the first magnitude. A schoolfellow
of Vronsky's and of the same age, he was a general and was
expecting a command, which might have influence on the course of
political events; while Vronsky, independent and brilliant and
beloved by a charming woman though he was, was simply a cavalry
captain who was readily allowed to be as independent as ever he
liked. "Of course I don't envy Serpuhovskoy and never could envy
him; but his advancement shows me that one has only to watch
one's opportunity, and the career of a man like me may be very
rapidly made. Three years ago he was in just the same position as
I am. If I retire, I burn my ships. If I remain in the army, I
lose nothing. She said herself she did not wish to change her
position. And with her love I cannot feel envious of
Serpuhovskoy." And slowly twirling his mustaches, he got up from
the table and walked about the room. His eyes shone particularly
brightly, and he felt in that confident, calm, and happy frame of
mind which always came after he had thoroughly faced his
position. Everything was straight and clear, just as after former
days of reckoning. He shaved, took a cold bath, dressed and went
out. _
Read next: Part Three: Chapter 21
Read previous: Part Three: Chapter 19
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