In the far corner, leaning against the wall, are the three portraits of Anna Karenina. The one Vronsky started to paint in Italy (a very poor attempt) is face-to-face with Mikhailov’s painting (a masterpiece). The third one, by an unknown portraitist, of a young Anna, is next to them. Claudia directs the servants to carry Mikhailov’s canvas to Sergei’s office. The other two remain propped against the wall, in their corner.

Claudia hugs the blue box, forgetting that the dust will make a mess of her dress.

“I had forgotten all about this box. I wonder what’s in it.”

25. Unexpected Guests at the Karenin Palace

25. Unexpected Guests at the Karenin Palace

The time for taking a turn out of doors is long past, and Anya still hasn’t left her room. Aleksandra’s disorganization has taken over the entire palace. No one has any idea what time it is—it’s after two-thirty in the afternoon, but everyone’s on a different schedule; some of the servants are doing what they would at ten in the morning, others what they would at one in the afternoon—when a group of young men comes through the kitchen door carrying a body wrapped in a dark cloak.

The cook is snoozing in her chair, facing the door. She’s one of those old people who nap all day long instead of sleeping a full night through. Although the young men try to come in without making a sound, it’s too difficult to pass through the small door with an inert body. The cook wakes up.

“Aleksandra?” she asks them, as if it’s perfectly normal for a group of shabbily dressed fugitives to walk into her kitchen. Seeing their faces and the body they’re carrying, she fears the worst.

“We need hot water and bandages.”

“A doctor would be better.”

“No one will come. Bandages! Water!”

“What happened to Aleksandra? Answer me!” the cook insists.

“I saw them. The tsar’s Cossacks came charging at us, their swords drawn, brandishing them left and right. Anyone who could, fled. People were dropping like flies, slashed to pieces by their blades, they were the only things standing between us and them. And still they kept on charging….”

The young man begins to cry.

• • •

Someone will tell this story more calmly, of how the crowd marches toward the Winter Palace square in five contingents, approaching from different parts of the city and its outskirts. They proceed in silence, with a few exceptions (such as the ones who sang with Piotr). Children run up and down the flanks of the tightly packed processions, imitating the composure of the adults but unaffected by the solemnity of the occasion.