Part Two: Chapter 21

by Leo Tolstoy

　　The temporary stable, a wooden shed, had been put up close to therace course, and there his mare was to have been taken theprevious day. He had not yet seen her there.

　　During the last few days he had not ridden her out for exercisehimself, but had put her in the charge of the trainer, and so nowhe positively did not know in what condition his mare had arrivedyesterday and was today. He had scarcely got out of his carriagewhen his groom, the so-called "stable boy," recognizing thecarriage some way off, called the trainer. A dry-lookingEnglishman, in high boots and a short jacket, clean-shaven,except for a tuft below his chin, came to meet him, walking withthe uncouth gait of jockey, turning his elbows out and swayingfrom side to side.

　　"Well, how's Frou-Frou?" Vronsky asked in English.

　　"All right, sir," the Englishman's voice responded somewhere inthe inside of his throat. "Better not go in," he added, touchinghis hat. "I've put a muzzle on her, and the mare's fidgety.Better not go in, it'll excite the mare."

　　"No, I'm going in. I want to look at her."

　　"Come along, then," said the Englishman, frowning, and speakingwith his mouth shut, and with swinging elbows, he went on infront with his disjointed gait.

　　They went into the little yard in front of the shed. A stableboy, spruce and smart in his holiday attire, met them with abroom in his hand, and followed them. In the shed there werefive horses in their separate stalls, and Vronsky knew that hischief rival, Gladiator, a very tall chestnut horse, had beenbrought there, and must be standing among them. Even more thanhis mare, Vronsky longed to see Gladiator, whom he had neverseen. But he knew that by the etiquette of the race course itwas not merely impossible for him to see the horse, but impropereven to ask questions about him. Just as he was passing alongthe passage, the boy opened the door into the second horse-box onthe left, and Vronsky caught a glimpse of a big chestnut horsewith white legs. He knew that this was Gladiator, but, with thefeeling of a man turning away from the sight of another man'sopen letter, he turned round and went into Frou-Frou's stall.

　　"The horse is here belonging to Mak...Mak...I never can say thename," said the Englishman, over his shoulder, pointing his bigfinger and dirty nail towards Gladiator's stall.

　　"Mahotin? Yes, he's my most serious rival," said Vronsky.

　　"If you were riding him," said the Englishman, "I'd bet on you."

　　"Frou-Frou's more nervous; he's stronger," said Vronsky, smilingat the compliment to his riding.

　　"In a steeplechase it all depends on riding and on pluck," saidthe Englishman.

　　Of pluck--that is, energy and courage--Vronsky did not merelyfeel that he had enough; what was of far more importance, he wasfirmly convinced that no one in the world could have more of this"pluck" than he had.

　　"Don't you think I want more thinning down?"

　　"Oh, no," answered the Englishman. "Please, don't speak loud.The mare's fidgety," he added, nodding towards the horse-box,before which they were standing, and from which came the sound ofrestless stamping in the straw.

　　He opened the door, and Vronsky went into the horse-box, dimlylighted by one little window. In the horse-box stood a dark baymare, with a muzzle on, picking at the fresh straw with herhoofs. Looking round him in the twilight of the horse-box,Vronsky unconsciously took in once more in a comprehensive glanceall the points of his favorite mare. Frou-Frou was a beast ofmedium size, not altogether free from reproach, from abreeder's point of view. She was small-boned all over; thoughher chest was extremely prominent in front, it was narrow. Herhind-quarters were a little drooping, and in her fore-legs, andstill more in her hind-legs, there was a noticeable curvature.The muscles of both hind- and fore-legs were not very thick; butacross her shoulders the mare was exceptionally broad, apeculiarity specially striking now that she was lean fromtraining. The bones of her legs below the knees looked nothicker than a finger from in front, but were extraordinarilythick seen from the side. She looked altogether, except acrossthe shoulders, as it were, pinched in at the sides and pressedout in depth. But she had in the highest degree the quality thatmakes all defects forgotten: that quality was blood, the bloodthat tells, as the English expression has it. The muscles stoodup sharply under the network of sinews, covered with thisdelicate, mobile skin, soft as satin, and they were hard a bone.Her clean-cut head with prominent, bright, spirited eyes,broadened out at the open nostrils, that showed the red blood inthe cartilage within. About all her figure, and especially herhead, there was a certain expression of energy, and, at the sametime, of softness. She was one of those creatures which seemonly not to speak because the mechanism of their mouth does notallow them to.

　　To Vronsky, at any rate, it seemed that she understood all hefelt at that moment, looking at her.

　　Directly Vronsky went towards her, she drew in a deep breath,and, turning back her prominent eye till the white lookedbloodshot, she started at the approaching figures from theopposite side, shaking her muzzle, and shifting lightly from oneleg to the other.

　　"There, you see how fidgety she is," said the Englishman.

　　"There, darling! There!" said Vronsky, going up to the mare andspeaking soothingly to her.

　　But the nearer he came, the more excited she grew. Only when hestood by her head, she was suddenly quieter, while the musclesquivered under her soft, delicate coat. Vronsky patted herstrong neck, straightened over her sharp withers a stray lock ofher mane that had fallen on the other side, and moved his facenear her dilated nostrils, transparent as a bat's wing. She drewa loud breath and snorted out through her tense nostrils,started, pricked up her sharp ear, and put out her strong, blacklip towards Vronsky, as though she would nip hold of his sleeve.But remembering the muzzle, she shook it and again beganrestlessly stamping one after the other her shapely legs.

　　"Quiet, darling, quiet!" he said, patting her again over herhind-quarters; and with a glad sense that his mare was in thebest possible condition, he went out of the horse-box.

　　The mare's excitement had infected Vronsky. He felt that hisheart was throbbing, and that he, too, like the mare, longed tomove, to bite; it was both dreadful and delicious.

　　"Well, I rely on you, then," he said to the Englishman;"half-past six on the ground."

　　"All right," said the Englishman. "Oh, where are you going, mylord?" he asked suddenly, using the title "my lord," which he hadscarcely ever used before.

　　Vronsky in amazement raised his head, and stared, as he knew howto stare, not into the Englishman's eyes, but at his forehead,astounded at the impertinence of his question. But realizingthat in asking this the Englishman had been looking at him not asan employer, but as a jockey, he answered:

　　"I've got to go to Bryansky's; I shall be home within an hour."

　　"How often I'm asked that question today!" he said to himself,and he blushed, a thing which rarely happened to him. TheEnglishman looked gravely at him; and, as though he, too, knewwhere Vronsky was going, he added:

　　"The great thing's to keep quiet before a race," said he; "don'tget out of temper or upset about anything."

　　"All right," answered Vronsky, smiling; and jumping into hiscarriage, he told the man to drive to Peterhof.

　　Before he had driven many paces away, the dark clouds that hadbeen threatening rain all day broke, and there was a heavydownpour of rain.

　　"What a pity!" thought Vronsky, putting up the roof of thecarriage. "It was muddy before, now it will be a perfect swamp."As he sat in solitude in the closed carriage, he took out hismother's letter and his brother's note, and read them through.

　　Yes, it was the same thing over and over again. Everyone, hismother, his brother, everyone thought fit to interfere in theaffairs of his heart. This interference aroused in him a feelingof angry hatred--a feeling he had rarely known before. "Whatbusiness is it of theirs? Why does everybody feel called upon toconcern himself about me? And why do they worry me so? Justbecause they see that this is something they can't understand.If it were a common, vulgar, worldly intrigue, they would haveleft me alone. They feel that this is something different, thatthis is not a mere pastime, that this woman is dearer to me thanlife. And this is incomprehensible, and that's why it annoysthem. Whatever our destiny is or may be, we have made itourselves, and we do not complain of it," he said, in the word welinking himself with Anna. "No, they must needs teach us how tolive. They haven't an idea of what happiness is; they don't knowthat without our love, for us there is neither happiness norunhappiness--no life at all," he thought.

　　He was angry with all of them for their interference just becausehe felt in his soul that they, all these people, were right. Hefelt that the love that bound him to Anna was not a momentaryimpulse, which would pass, as worldly intrigues do pass, leavingno other traces in the life of either but pleasant or unpleasantmemories. He felt all the torture of his own and her position,all the difficulty there was for them, conspicuous as they werein the eye of all the world, in concealing their love, in lyingand deceiving; and in lying, deceiving, feigning, and continuallythinking of others, when the passion that united them was sointense that they were both oblivious of everything else buttheir love.

　　He vividly recalled all the constantly recurring instances ofinevitable necessity for lying and deceit, which were so againsthis natural bent. He recalled particularly vividly the shame hehad more than once detected in her at this necessity for lyingand deceit. And he experienced the strange feeling that hadsometimes come upon him since his secret love for Anna. This wasa feeling of loathing for something--whether for AlexeyAlexandrovitch, or for himself, or for the whole world, he couldnot have said. But he always drove away this strange feeling.Now, too, he shook it off and continued the thread of histhoughts.

　　"Yes, she was unhappy before, but proud and at peace; and now shecannot be at peace and feel secure in her dignity, though shedoes not show it. Yes, we must put an end to it," he decided.

　　And for the first time the idea clearly presented itself that itwas essential to put an end to this false position, and thesooner the better. "Throw up everything, she and I, and hideourselves somewhere alone with our love," he said to himself.