Anna Karenina (Literature Classics Series). Leo Tolstoy
or …’
‘I beg you not to interfere, that is all.’
Alexis Vronsky’s frowning face turned pale, and his prominent lower jaw twitched, a thing that rarely happened to him. Being a very kind-hearted man he seldom got angry, but when he did, and when his chin twitched, then he was dangerous, as Alexander Vronsky knew. Alexander smiled gaily.
‘I only wanted to deliver mother’s letter. Answer her, and don’t upset yourself before the race. Bonne chance!’ he added smiling and went away.
But just then another friendly greeting stopped Vronsky.
‘Won’t you recognize your friends? How do you do, mon cher?’ said Oblonsky, shining here, amid all this Petersburg brilliancy, no less than he shone in Moscow, with his rosy face and glistening, well-brushed whiskers. ‘I came yesterday and am very glad that I shall witness your triumph. When can we meet?’
‘Come to the mess-room to-morrow,’ said Vronsky, and apologetically pressing the sleeve of Oblonsky’s overcoat, he went to the centre of the racecourse where the horses were already being led out for the steeplechase.
The perspiring, exhausted horses which had raced were being led away by their grooms, and one by one the fresh ones for the next race were appearing, most of them English horses, which in their hooded coverings and with their tightly-girthed stomachs looked like strange gigantic birds. To the right the slender and beautiful Frou-Frou was being led up and down, stepping as on springs with her rather long elastic pasterns. Not far from her they were taking the horsecloth off the big-eared Gladiator. The large, beautiful, perfectly regular shape of the horse with his wonderful hindquarters and his exceptionally short pasterns just above his hoofs, involuntarily arrested Vronsky’s attention. He wished to go up to his own horse, but was again stopped by an acquaintance.
‘Ah, there is Karenin!’ said the acquaintance with whom he was talking. ‘He is looking for his wife, and she is in the centre of the pavilion. Have you not seen her?’
‘No, I have not,’ said Vronsky, and without even glancing at the pavilion where Anna was pointed out to him, he went to his horse.
He had not had time to examine the saddle, about which he wished to give some directions, when the riders were summoned to the pavilion to draw their numbers and places. With serious, stern, and in many cases pale faces, seventeen officers assembled at the pavilion and drew their numbers. Vronsky got number seven. The order was given: ‘Mount!’
Feeling that he and the other riders were the centre toward which all eyes were turned, Vronsky, in the highly-strung state which generally made his movements calm and deliberate, approached his horse. Cord, in honour of the races, was dressed in his best clothes: a black buttoned-up coat, a stiff starched collar that pressed against his cheeks, a bowler hat, and top boots. He was calm and important as usual, and, standing in front of the horse, was himself holding both its reins. Frou-Frou continued to tremble as if in a fever. Her fiery eyes turned on the approaching Vronsky. Vronsky pushed his fingers under the girths. The mare turned her eyes still further back, showed her teeth, and set back an ear. The Englishman puckered his lip, wishing to express a smile at anyone testing his saddling.
‘You’d better mount. You will be less excited.’
Vronsky glanced round at his rivals for the last time. He knew that he would not see them during the race. Two of them were already riding toward the starting-point. Galtsin, one of the formidable competitors and a friend of Vronsky’s, was struggling with a sorrel gelding that would not let him mount. A short hussar in tight riding-breeches was galloping along bunched up like a cat in his desire to imitate an English jockey. Prince Kusovlev sat pale-faced on his thoroughbred mare from the Grabov stud farm, which an Englishman was leading by the bridle. Vronsky and all his set knew Kusovlev and his peculiarities, which were weak nerves and terrible vanity. They knew he was afraid of everything, even of riding an army horse; but now, just because it was dangerous, because necks might be broken and at each obstacle there was a doctor in attendance, an ambulance wagon with a red cross sewn on it, and a nurse, he had determined to ride. Their eyes met and Vronsky winked at him kindly and approvingly. The only one Vronsky did not see was his chief rival Makhotin on his Gladiator.
‘Don’t hurry,’ said Cord to Vronsky, ‘and remember one thing: do not hold back or urge on your horse at an obstacle. Let her have her way.’
‘Very well, very well,’ said Vronsky taking the reins.
‘Lead if you can, but do not despair till the last moment if you are behind.’
The mare had not time to stir before Vronsky with a powerful and agile movement put his foot in the notched steel stirrup and seated himself lightly but firmly on the creaking leather of the saddle. Having got his right foot also in its stirrup he straightened out the double reins between his practised fingers, and Cord removed his hand. As if not knowing which foot to step on first, Frou-Frou stretched the reins with her long neck, and started as if on springs, shaking her rider on her flexible back. Cord, quickening his steps, followed them. The restive horse tugged at the reins, now to one side, now to the other, trying to deceive her rider, and Vronsky vainly sought by voice and hand to soothe her.
They were already approaching the dammed-up stream on their way to the starting-post. Some of the riders were in front, some behind, when Vronsky suddenly heard a horse galloping through the mud behind him, and Makhotin on his white-legged, large-eared Gladiator went past him. Makhotin smiled, showing his long teeth, but Vronsky looked at him angrily. Vronsky always disliked him and now considered him his most dangerous rival, and he was vexed with him for galloping past and so exciting Frou-Frou. She broke into a canter, gave two leaps, and, angry at the tightened rein, changed back into a jerky trot, jolting her rider. Cord also frowned, following Vronsky almost at a run.
Chapter 25
SEVENTEEN officers in all had entered for the steeplechase. It was to take place on the large four-verst elliptical course in front of the pavilion. On that course there were nine obstacles: the brook; a barrier nearly five feet high just in front of the pavilion; a dry ditch; a water-jump; an incline; an Irish bank (one of the most difficult obstacles), consisting of a bank with brushwood on top, beyond which there was another ditch which the horses could not see, so that they had to clear both obstacles or come to grief; then two more water-jumps, and another dry ditch. The winning-post was opposite the pavilion. But the start was not in the ellipse, but about 250 yards to one side of it, and the first obstacle, the dammed-up brook seven feet wide, was there. The riders could either ford or jump it at their discretion.
Three times the riders drew up in line, but each time some one’s horse made a false start and they had to line up again. Colonel Sestrin, an expert starter, was already getting angry, but at last, at the fourth try, he shouted ‘Go!’ and the race began.
All eyes and all glasses were turned on the bright group of riders while they were getting into line.
‘They have started! They are off!’ was heard from every side after the hush of expectation.
Onlookers, in groups or singly, started running from place to place to get a better view. In the first minute the group of riders began to stretch out and could be seen in twos and threes, and one behind another, approaching the brook. It had looked to the public as if they had all started together, but the riders were aware of a difference of seconds which to them were of great importance.
The excited and over-nervous Frou-Frou lost in the first moment, and several horses started ahead of her, but before reaching the brook Vronsky, who with all his strength was holding back the mare that was tugging at the reins, had easily passed three riders, and ahead of him there was only Makhotin’s chestnut Gladiator (whose hindquarters moved regularly and lightly just in front of him), and in front of all, the exquisite Diana, carrying Kusovlev, who was more dead than alive.
In the first moments Vronsky was master neither of himself nor of his mare.