The first thing Vronsky attacked, being the easiest, was money matters. Having written out in his small handwriting on a sheet of notepaper everything he owed, he added it all up and discovered that he owed seventeen thousand and some hundreds, which he dismissed for the sake of clarity. Then he counted up his cash and bank book and discovered that he had one thousand eight hundred left, with no prospect of getting more before the New Year. Rereading the list of his debts, Vronsky wrote it out again, dividing it into three categories. To the first category belonged debts that had to be paid at once, or in any case for which he had to have ready cash, to be paid on demand without a moment’s delay. These debts came to about four thousand: one thousand five hundred for the horse, and two thousand five hundred as security for his young comrade Venevsky, who in his presence had lost that amount to a card-sharper. Vronsky had wanted to pay the money right then (he had had it on him), but Venevsky and Yashvin had insisted that they would pay it, not Vronsky, who had not even been playing. That was all very fine, but Vronsky knew that in this dirty business, which he had taken part in if only by giving verbal security for Venevsky, he had to have the two thousand five hundred ready to fling at the swindler and have no further discussions with him. And so, for this first and most important category, he had to have four thousand. In the second category, of eight thousand, there were less important debts. These were mostly debts to the racing stables, to the oats and hay supplier, to the Englishman, the saddler and so on. Of these debts he had to pay off some two thousand in order to be perfectly at ease. The last category of debts - to shops, hotels, the tailor - were of the sort not worth thinking about. Therefore he needed at least six thousand, and had only one thousand eight hundred for current expenses. For a man with an income of a hundred thousand, as everyone evaluated Vronsky’s fortune, such debts, it would seem, could not be burdensome; but the thing was that he was far from having a hundred thousand. His father’s enormous fortune, which alone had brought an annual income of two hundred thousand, had not been divided between the two brothers. At the time when the older brother, having a heap of debts, married Princess Varya Chirkov, the daughter of a Decembrist,18 with no fortune at all, Alexei had given up to his older brother all the income from his father’s estates, reserving for himself only twenty-five thousand a year. Alexei had told his brother then that this money would suffice him until he married, which most likely would never happen. And his brother, commander of one of the most expensive regiments19 and recently married, could not but accept the gift. On top of the reserved twenty-five thousand, his mother, who had her own fortune, gave Alexei some twenty thousand more, and Alexei spent it all. Lately, having quarrelled with him over his liaison and his leaving Moscow, she had stopped sending him the money. As a result, Vronsky, who was used to living on forty-five thousand a year and that year had received only twenty-five, now found himself in difficulties. He could not ask his mother for money in order to get out of these difficulties. Her latest letter, received the day before, had especially vexed him, as there were hints in it that she was ready to help him towards success in society and in the service, but not for a life that scandalized all good society. His mother’s wish to buy him had insulted him to the depths of his soul and cooled him still more towards her. But he could not renounce the generous words he had spoken, though he now felt, vaguely foreseeing some eventualities of his affair with Anna, that those generous words had been spoken light-mindedly, and that, unmarried, he might need the whole hundred thousand of income. But to renounce them was impossible. He had only to recall his brother’s wife, recall how that dear, sweet Varya reminded him at every chance that she remembered his generosity and appreciated it, to understand the impossibility of taking back what had been given. It was as impossible as stealing, lying, or striking a woman. One thing could and had to be done, which Vronsky resolved upon without a moment’s hesitation: to borrow ten thousand from a moneylender, which would be easy enough, to cut down his expenses in general, and to sell his racehorses. Having decided on that, he straight away wrote a note to Rolandaki, who had sent to him more than once with an offer to buy his horses. Then he sent for the Englishman and for the moneylender, and divided the money he had available into payments. After finishing these matters, he wrote a cold and sharp response to his mother’s letter. Then, taking three of Anna’s notes from his wallet, he reread them, burned them, and, recalling his talk with her the evening before, fell to thinking.
XX
