# Anna Karenina (Dole)/Part One/Chapter 34

CHAPTER XXXIV
On leaving Petersburg, Vronsky had installed his beloved friend and comrade, Petritsky, in his ample quarters on the Morskaya.
Petritsky was a young lieutenant, not particularly distinguished, and not only not rich, but over ears in debt. Every evening he came home tipsy, and he spent much of his time at the police courts, in search of strange ​or amusing or scandalous stories; but in spite of all he was a favorite with his comrades and his chiefs.
About eleven o'clock in the morning, when Vronsky reached his rooms after his journey, he saw at the entrance an izvoshchik's carriage, which he knew very well. From the door, when he rang, he heard men's laughter and the lisping of a woman's voice, and Petritsky shouting:—
"If it's any of those villains, don't let 'em in."
Vronsky, not allowing his denshchik to announce his presence, quietly entered the anteroom. The Baroness Shilton, a friend of Petritsky's, shining in a lilac satin robe, and with her little pink face, was making coffee before a round table, and, like a canary-bird, was filling the room with her Parisian slang. Petritsky in his overcoat, and Captain Kamerovsky in full uniform, apparently just from duty, were sitting near her.
"Bravo, Vronsky!" cried Petritsky, leaping up and overturning the chair. "The master himself. Baroness, coffee for him from the new coffee-pot! We did not expect you. I hope that you are pleased with the new ornament in your library," he said, pointing to the baroness. "You are acquainted, are n't you?"
"I should think so!" said Vronsky, smiling gayly, and squeezing the baroness's dainty little hand. "We're old friends."
"Are you back from a journey?" asked the baroness. "Then I'm off. Akh! I am going this minute if I am in the way."
"You are at home wherever you are, baroness," said Vronsky. "How are you, Kamerovsky?" coolly shaking hands with the captain.
"There now! you would never think of saying such lovely things as that," said the baroness to Petritsky.
"No? Why not? After dinner I could say better things!"
"Yes, after dinner there's no more merit in them. Well! I will make your coffee while you go and wash your hands and brush off the dust," said the baroness, again sitting down, and industriously turning the screw ​of the new coffee-pot. "Pierre, bring some more coffee," said she to Petritsky, whom she called Pierre, after his family name, making no concealment of her intimacy with him. "I will add it."
"You will spoil it."
"No! I won't spoil it. Well! and your wife?" said the baroness, suddenly interrupting Vronsky's remarks to his companions. "We have been marrying you off. Did you bring your wife?"
"No, baroness. I was born a Bohemian, and I shall die a Bohemian."
"So much the better, so much the better; give us your hand!"
And the baroness, without letting him go, began to talk with him, developing her various plans of life, and asking his advice with many jests.
"He will never be willing to let me have a divorce. Well! what am I to do? [He was her husband.] I now mean to institute a lawsuit. What should you think of it? .... Kamerovsky, just watch the coffee! It's boiling over. .... You see how well I understand business! I mean to begin a lawsuit to get control of my fortune. Do you understand this nonsense? Under the pretext that I have been unfaithful," said she, in a scornful tone, "he means to get possession of my estate."
Vronsky listened with amusement to this gay prattle of the pretty woman, approved of what she said, gave her half-jesting advice, and assumed the tone he usually affected with women of her character. In his Petersburg world, humanity was divided into two absolutely distinct categories,—the one of a low order, trivial, stupid, and above all ridiculous people, who declared that one husband ought to live with one wedded wife, that girls should be virtuous, women chaste, men brave, temperate, and upright, occupied in bringing up their children decently, in earning their bread, and paying their debts, and other such absurdities. People of this kind were old-fashioned and ridiculous.
But there was another and vastly superior class, to which he and his friends belonged, and in this the chief ​requirement was that its members should be elegant, generous, bold, gay, unblushingly given over to every passion, and scornful of all the rest.
Only for the first moment was Vronsky bewildered under the impressions which he had brought back from Moscow, of an entirely different world. But soon, and as naturally as one puts on old slippers, he got into the spirit of his former gay and jovial life.
The coffee was never served; it boiled over, spattered them all, and wet a costly table-cloth and the baroness's dress; but it served the end that was desired, for it gave rise to many jests and merry peals of laughter.
"Well, now, good-by, for you will never get dressed, and I shall have on my conscience the worst crime that a decent man can commit,—that of not taking a bath. .... So you advise me to put the knife to his throat?"
"By all means, and in such a way that your little hand will come near his lips. He will kiss your little hand, and all will end to everybody's satisfaction," said Vronsky.
"This evening at the Théâtre Français," and she took her departure with her rustling train.
Kamerovsky likewise arose, but Vronsky, without waiting for him to go, shook hands with him, and went to his dressing-room. While he was taking his bath, Petritsky sketched for him in a few lines his situation, and how it had changed during Vronsky's absence,—no money at all; his father declaring that he would not give him any more, or pay a single debt. One tailor determined to have him arrested, and a second no less determined. His colonel insisted that, if these scandals continued, he should leave the regiment. The baroness was as annoying to him as a bitter radish, principally because she was always wanting to squander money; "but she is a daisy, a charmer," he assured Vronsky, "in the strict Oriental style,—your servant Rebecca kind, you know." He had been having a quarrel with Berkoshef, and he wanted to send him his seconds, but he imagined nothing would come of it. As for the rest, everything was getting along particularly jolly.
​And then, without leaving Vronsky time to realize the minutiæ of his situation, Petritsky began to retail the news of the day. As he listened to Petritsky's well-known gossip, in the familiar environment of his quarters where he had lived for three years, Vronsky experienced the pleasant sensation of his return to his gay and idle Petersburg life.
"It cannot be!" he cried, as he turned the faucet of his wash-stand and let the water stream over his red, healthy neck; "it cannot be!" he cried, referring to the report that Laura had taken up with Mileef and thrown Fertinghof over. "And is he as stupid and as conceited as ever? .... Well, and how about Buzulukof?"
"Akh! Buzulukof! here's a good story, fascinating!" said Petritsky. "You know his passion,—balls; and he never misses one at court. At the last one he went in a new helmet. Have you seen the new helmets? Very handsome, .... light. Well, he was standing .... No; but listen."
"Yes, I am listening," replied Vronsky, rubbing his face with a towel.
"The grand duchess was just going by on the arm of some foreign ambassador or other, and unfortunately for him their conversation turned on the new helmets. The grand duchess wanted to point out one of the new helmets, and, seeing our galubchik standing there,"—here Petritsky showed how he stood in his helmet,—"she begged him to show her his helmet. He did not budge. What does it mean? The fellows wink at him, make signs, scowl at him. 'Give it to her.' .... He does not stir. He is like a dead man. You can imagine the scene! .... Now .... as he .... then they attempt to take it off. .... He won't let it go! .... At last he himself takes it off, and hands it to the grand duchess.
"'Here, this is the new kind,' said the grand duchess. But, as she turned it over,—you can imagine it—out came, bukh! pears, bonbons, .... two pounds of bonbons! .... He had been to market, galubchik!"
Vronsky burst out laughing; and long afterwards, ​even when speaking of other things, the memory of the unfortunate helmet caused him to break out into a good-natured laugh which showed his handsome, regular teeth.
Having learned all the news, Vronsky donned his uniform with the aid of his valet, and went out to report himself. After he had reported, he determined to go to his brother's, to Betsy's, and to make a few calls, so as to secure an entry into the society where he should be likely to see Madame Karenina; and in accordance with the usual custom at Petersburg, he left his rooms, expecting to return only when it was very late at night.