Leo Tolstoy

by Anna Karenina (tr Richard Pevear, Larissa Volokhonsky) (Penguin Classics) (epub)

  She glanced at him seriously, then leaned her knitted brow on her hand and began to read. Occasionally she glanced at him, asking with her glance: ‘Is this what I think?’

  ‘I understand,’ she said, blushing.

  ‘What is this word?’ he said, pointing to the n that signified the word never.

  ‘That means the word never,’ she said, ‘but it’s not true!’

  He quickly erased what was written, gave her the chalk and got up. She wrote: t, I, c, g, n, o, a.

  Dolly was completely consoled in her grief, caused by her conversation with Alexei Alexandrovich, when she saw these two figures: Kitty, chalk in hand, looking up at Levin with a timid and happy smile, and his handsome figure bent over the table, his burning eyes directed now at the table, now at her. He suddenly beamed: he had understood. It meant: ‘Then I could give no other answer.’

  He glanced at her questioningly, timidly.

  ‘Only then?’

  ‘Yes,’ her smile replied.

  ‘And n . .. And now?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, here, read this. I’ll tell you what I would wish. Would wish very much!’ She wrote the initial letters: t, y, c, f, a, f, w, h. It meant: ‘that you could forgive and forget what happened’.

  He seized the chalk with his tense, trembling fingers and, breaking it, wrote the initial letters of the following: ‘I have nothing to forgive and forget, I have never stopped loving you.’

  She glanced at him, the smile staying on her lips.

  ‘I understand,’ she said in a whisper.

  He sat down and wrote a long phrase. She understood everything and, without asking him if she was right, took the chalk and replied at once.

  For a long time he could not understand what she had written and kept glancing in her eyes. A darkening came over him from happiness. He simply could not pick out the words she had in mind; but in her lovely eyes shining with happiness he understood everything he needed to know! And he wrote three letters. But she was reading after his hand, and before he finished writing, she finished it herself and wrote the answer: ‘Yes.’

  ‘Playing secrétaire?’ said the old prince, approaching. ‘Well, come along, anyhow, if you want to make it to the theatre.’

  Levin stood up and saw Kitty to the door.

  In their conversation everything had been said – that she loved him, that she would tell her father and mother, that he would come tomorrow in the morning.

  XIV

  When Kitty had gone and Levin was left alone, he felt such anxiety without her and such an impatient desire to live quickly, the more quickly, till tomorrow morning, when he would see her again and be united with her forever, that he became afraid, as of death, of those fourteen hours that he had to spend without her. He absolutely had to be with and talk to someone, so as not to remain alone, so as to cheat time. Stepan Arkadyich would have been the most agreeable company for him, but he was going, as he said, to an evening party, though actually to the ballet. Levin only had time to tell him that he was happy, that he loved him and would never, never forget what he had done for him. Stepan Arkadyich’s eyes and smile showed Levin that he had understood this feeling in the right way.

  ‘So it’s no longer time to die?’ said Stepan Arkadyich, pressing Levin’s hand affectionately.

  ‘No–o–o!’ said Levin.

  Darya Alexandrovna, saying good–bye to him, also said, as if congratulating him:

  ‘How glad I am that you met Kitty again. One must cherish old friendships.’

  But Levin found these words of Darya Alexandrovna unpleasant. She could not understand how lofty and inaccessible to her it all was, and she should not have dared to mention it.

  Levin took leave of them, but, so as not to be left alone, latched on to his brother.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘To a meeting.’

  ‘Well, I’ll go with you. May I?’

  ‘Why not? Come along,’ said Sergei Ivanovich, smiling. ‘What’s got into you tonight?’

  ‘Into me? Happiness has got into me!’ said Levin, letting down the window of the coach they were riding in. ‘You don’t mind? It’s stuffy. Happiness has got into me! Why have you never married?’

  Sergei Ivanovich smiled.

  ‘I’m very glad, she seems to be a nice gi…’ Sergei Ivanovich began.

  ‘Don’t speak, don’t speak, don’t speak!’ Levin cried, seizing him by the collar of his fur coat with both hands and wrapping him up. ‘She’s a nice girl’ was such a simple, such a low phrase, so out of harmony with his feeling.

  Sergei Ivanovich laughed a merry laugh, which happened to him rarely.

  ‘Well, anyhow I can say that I’m very glad of it.’

  ‘Tomorrow, tomorrow you can, and no more of that! Never mind, never mind, silence!’[14] said Levin and, wrapping him in his fur coat once more, added: ‘I love you very much! So, can I be present at the meeting?’

  ‘Of course you can.’ ‘What are you discussing tonight?’ Levin asked, without ceasing to smile.

  They arrived at the meeting. Levin listened as the secretary haltingly read the minutes, which he evidently did not understand himself; but Levin could see by the face of this secretary what a sweet, kind and nice man he was. It could be seen from the way he became confused and embarrassed as he read the minutes. Then the speeches began. They argued about allotting certain sums and installing certain pipes, and Sergei Ivanovich needled two members and triumphantly spoke at length about something; and another member, having written something on a piece of paper, at first turned timid, but then responded to him quite venomously and sweetly. And then Sviyazhsky (he, too, was there) also said something ever so beautifully and nobly. Levin listened to them and saw clearly that neither those allotted sums nor the pipes existed, and that none of them was angry, they were all such kind, nice people and things all went so nicely and sweetly among them. They did not bother anyone, and everyone felt pleased. What Levin found remarkable was that he could see through them all that night, and by small tokens, inconspicuous before, could recognize the soul of each and see clearly that they were all kind. In particular it was him, Levin, that they all loved so much that night. It could be seen by the way they spoke to him and looked at him tenderly, lovingly, even all the strangers.

  ‘Well, are you pleased?’ Sergei Ivanovich asked him.

  ‘Very. I never thought it could be so interesting! Fine, splendid!’

  Sviyazhsky came up to Levin and invited him for tea at his place. Levin simply could not understand or recall what had displeased him in Sviyazhsky and what he had been looking for from him. He was an intelligent and remarkably kind man.

  ‘Delighted,’ he said and asked after his wife and sister–in–law. And by a strange filiation of ideas, since in his imagination the thought of Sviyazhsky’s sister–in–law was connected with marriage, he decided that there could be no one better to tell of his happiness than Sviyazhsky’s wife and sister–in–law, and he would be very glad to go and see them.

  Sviyazhsky asked him about his work on the estate, as always, not allowing any possibility of finding anything not yet found in Europe, and now this was not the least bit unpleasant for Levin. On the contrary, he felt that Sviyazhsky was right, that the whole thing was worthless, and noted the surprisingly mild and gentle way in which Sviyazhsky avoided saying how right he was. Sviyazhsky’s ladies were especially sweet. It seemed to Levin that they already knew everything and sympathized with him, and did not say so only out of delicacy. He stayed with them for an hour, two hours, three hours, talking about various subjects, but having in mind the one thing that filled his soul, and not noticing that he was boring them terribly and that it was long since time for them to go to bed. Sviyazhsky, yawning, saw him to the front hall, wondering at the strange state his friend was in. It was past one o’clock. Levin went back to his hotel and became frightened at the thought of how he, alone now with his impatience, was going to spend the remaining ten hours. The lackey on
duty was not asleep, lit candles for him and was about to leave, but Levin stopped him. This lackey, Yegor, whom Levin had never noticed before, turned out to be a very intelligent and good man, and, above all, a kind one.

  ‘So, Yegor, is it hard not sleeping?’

  ‘No help for it. That’s our job. It’s easier in a master’s house, but the reckoning’s bigger here.’

  It turned out that Yegor had a family, three boys and a daughter, a seamstress, whom he wanted to marry to a sales assistant in a saddler’s shop.

  Levin took this occasion to convey to Yegor his thought that the main thing in marriage was love, and that with love one was always happy, because happiness exists only in oneself.

  Yegor heard him out attentively and evidently understood Levin’s thought fully, but to corroborate it he made the observation, unexpected for Levin, that when he had lived with good masters he had always been pleased with them, and he was quite pleased with his master now, though he was a Frenchman.

  ‘A remarkably kind man,’ thought Levin.

  ‘Well, and you, Yegor, when you got married, did you love your wife?’

  ‘Of course I loved her,’ answered Yegor.

  And Levin saw that Yegor was also in a rapturous state and intended to voice all his innermost feelings.

  ‘My life is also remarkable. Ever since I was little, I…’ he began, his eyes shining, obviously infected by Levin’s rapture, just as people get infected by yawning.

  But at that moment the bell rang. Yegor went out, and Levin was left alone. He had eaten almost nothing at dinner, had declined tea and supper at the Sviyazhskys', but could not think of eating. He had not slept last night, but could not even think of sleeping. The room was cool, yet he felt stifled by the heat. He opened both vent-panes and sat on the table facing them. Beyond the snow-covered roof he could see an open-work cross with chains and rising above it the triangular constellation of the Charioteer with the bright yellowish Capella. He gazed first at the cross, then at the star, breathed in the fresh, frosty air that steadily entered the room, and followed, as in a dream, the images and memories that arose in his imagination. Towards four o'clock he heard footsteps in the corridor and looked out of the door. It was the gambler Myaskin, whom he knew, returning from the club. He was walking gloomily, scowling and clearing his throat. 'Poor, unfortunate man!' thought Levin, and tears came to his eyes from love and pity for the man. He wanted to talk to him, to comfort him; but, remembering that he had nothing on but a shirt, he changed his mind and again sat by the vent to bathe in the cold air and gaze at the wondrous form of the cross, silent but full of meaning for him, and at the soaring, bright yellow star. After six o'clock the floor polishers began to make noise, bells rang for some service and Levin felt that he was beginning to be cold. He closed the vent, washed, dressed and went out.

  XV

  The streets were still empty. Levin walked to the Shcherbatskys' house. The front door was locked and all was asleep. He walked back, went to his room and asked for coffee. The day lackey, not Yegor now, brought it to him. He wanted to get into conversation with the lackey, but they rang for him and he left. Levin tried to drink some coffee and put the roll in his mouth, but his mouth decidedly did not know what to do with it. He spat out the roll, put on his coat and again went out to walk around. It was past nine when he came to the Shcherbatskys' porch for the second time. In the house they were just getting up, and the cook had gone to buy provisions. He had to live through at least another two hours.

  All that night and morning Levin had lived completely unconsciously and had felt himself completely removed from the conditions of material life. He had not eaten for a whole day, had not slept for two nights, had spent several hours undressed in the freezing cold, yet felt not only fresh and healthy as never before but completely independent of his body. He moved without any muscular effort and felt he could do anything. He was certain that he could fly into the air or lift up the corner of the house if need be. He spent the rest of the time walking the streets, constantly looking at his watch and gazing about him.

  And what he saw then, he afterwards never saw again. He was especially moved by children going to school, the grey-blue pigeons that flew down from the roof to the pavement, and the white rolls sprinkled with flour that some invisible hand had set out. These rolls, the pigeons and the two boys were unearthly beings. All this happened at the same time: a boy ran up to a pigeon and, smiling, looked at Levin; the pigeon flapped its wings and fluttered off, sparkling in the sun amidst the air trembling with snowdust, while the smell of baked bread wafted from the window as the rolls appeared in it. All this together was so extraordinarily good that Levin laughed and wept from joy. Making a big circle along Gazetny Lane and Kislovka, he went back to his hotel again and, placing his watch in front of him, sat down to wait till twelve o'clock. In the next room they were saying something about machines and cheating, and coughing morning coughs. They did not realize that the hand was already approaching twelve. The hand reached twelve. Levin went out to the porch. The cabbies evidently knew everything. They surrounded him with happy faces, vying among themselves and offering their services. Trying not to offend the others and promising to ride with them, too, Levin hired one cabby and told him to go to the Shcherbatskys'. The cabby was charming, with his white shirt collar sticking out from under his caftan and buttoned tightly on his full, strong, red neck. This cabby's sleigh was high, smart, the like of which Levin never drove in again, and the horse was fine and tried to run, but did not move from the spot. The cabby knew the Shcherbatskys' house and, with particular deference to his fare, rounded his arms and shouted 'Whoa!' as he pulled up at the entrance. The Shcherbatskys' hall porter certainly knew everything. That could be seen by the smile of his eyes and the way he said:

  'Well, you haven't been here for a long time, Konstantin Dmitrich!'

  Not only did he know everything, but he was obviously exultant and was making efforts to hide his joy. Looking into his dear old eyes, Levin even understood something new in his happiness.

  'Are they up?' ‘Come in, please! You might leave it here,’ he said, smiling, as Levin was about to go back for his hat. That must have meant something.

  ‘To whom shall I announce you?’ asked the footman.

  The footman, though young and of the new sort, a dandy, was a very kind and good man, and also understood everything.

  ‘The princess … The prince … The young princess .. .’ said Levin.

  The first person he saw was Mlle Linon. She passed through the room, her curls and face beaming. No sooner had he addressed her than the rustle of a dress was suddenly heard behind the door, and Mlle Linon vanished from Levin’s sight, and the joyful terror of the nearness of his happiness communicated itself to him. Mlle Linon hastened away and, leaving him, went to the other door. As soon as she went out, there came the sound of quick, quick, light steps over the parquet, and his happiness, his life, he himself – better than his own self, that which he had sought and desired for so long – was quickly approaching him. She did not walk but by some invisible force rushed towards him.

  He saw only her clear, truthful eyes, frightened by the same joy of love that filled his heart. Those eyes shone nearer and nearer, blinding him by their light of love. She stopped up close to him, touching him. Her arms rose and came down on his shoulders.

  She had done all she could – she had run up to him and given all of herself, timidly and joyfully. He embraced her and pressed his lips to her mouth that sought his kiss.

  She, too, had not slept all night and all morning had been waiting for him. Her mother and father had consented without question and were happy in her happiness. She had been waiting for him. She had wanted to be the first to announce to him her happiness and his. She had been preparing to meet him alone and rejoiced at the thought of it, and felt timid, and bashful, and did not know herself what she would do. She had heard his footsteps and voice and had waited behind the door till Mlle Linon left. Witho
ut thinking, without asking herself how or what, she had gone up to him and done what she had done.