Anya slips her arm out of Sergei’s but doesn’t stop smiling. Court intrigues and the vicissitudes of government bore her, but above all these political topics. Sergei has no interest, either, but it’s a relief when Anya releases him, and he’s about to ask another question when the young man who rings the bell to announce the end of intermission passes by, recognizing Sergei. “Count Karenin, a pleasure.” His politesse and the twinkle in his eye chill Sergei to the bone. He thinks, Is there anyone here who sees me not as a character, but as a person? Even I think of myself as a character, a character who’s about to lose everything.

It’s no deep thought; it’s the refrain he often repeats to himself, one Claudia knows well. It doesn’t take a letter from the tsar to remind him of the bit about losing everything. He lost everything as a child. If he survived, it’s because, without realizing it, he intuited what his mother said to herself: I renounce everything I adore and care most for in this world, my son and my reputation. If I’ve sinned, I deserve neither happiness nor divorce, and I accept the shame, along with the pain and the separation.

It’s in this same spirit that he breaks away from the gentlemen’s lively debate in search of Anya. He returns to the box with her, where Claudia is waiting for them.

“Things are going badly, Sergei,” his wife says in his ear. “Lots of people left after Anton Rubinstein’s piece because he’s a Jew. How is that possible? What’s wrong with people?”

But Sergei pays no attention to her. He doesn’t hear her. He’s bewildered, deep in his unhappiness. He nods as if she’s said something banal. He just wants to enjoy the concert and forget about everything else. The music begins, and he lets go, completely submerged in the notes, so enraptured that you’d think he’s in a trance.

9. Near the Port

9. Near the Port

Not far from the river, in southwest St. Petersburg, the Karenins’ carriage stops in front of the Putilov factory warehouse, where the strike started. Clementine gets out without a word and disappears from sight in the blink of an eye. Giorgi, the coachman, gets down from his seat and goes over to a small group of strikers and activists gathered around a fire.

“Good evening, Volodin. I’ve got Vladimir’s sister with me, she wants to know if there’s any news about her brother….”

“Quiet! Yes, I’ll talk to her, I know who can fill her in,” Volodin says. Without waiting for a reaction or reply from Giorgi, he walks over to the carriage and says to Aleksandra, “I’m Volodin. I’ll take you to someone who will explain everything. Don’t worry, your brother is fine.”

“Has he returned?”

“No.”