Leo Tolstoy

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

‘You are, as I have heard, about to enter into matrimony with the daughter of my parishioner and spiritual son, Prince Shcherbatsky?’ he added with a smile. ‘A wonderful girl!’

  ‘Yes,’ Levin answered, blushing for the priest. ‘Why does he need to ask about it at confession?’ he thought.

  And the priest, as if answering his thought, said to him:

  ‘You are about to enter into matrimony, and it may be that God will reward you with offspring, is it not so? Well, then, what sort of upbringing can you give your little ones, if you don’t overcome in yourself the temptation of the devil who is drawing you into unbelief?’ he said in mild reproach. ‘If you love your child, then, being a good father, you will not desire only wealth, luxury and honour for him; you will desire his salvation, his spiritual enlightenment with the light of Truth. Is it not so? What answer will you give when an innocent child asks you: "Papa! Who created everything that delights me in this world – the earth, the waters, the sun, the flowers, the grass?" Will you really say to him, "I don’t know"? You cannot not know, since the Lord God in His great mercy has revealed it to you. Or else your little one will ask you: "What awaits me in the life beyond the grave?" What will you tell him, if you don’t know anything? How will you answer him? Will you leave him to the temptation of the world and the devil? That’s not good!’ he said and stopped, inclining his head to one side and looking at Levin with meek, kindly eyes.

  Levin made no reply, now not because he did not want to get into an argument with a priest, but because no one had ever asked him such questions; and before his little ones asked him such questions, there was still time to think how to answer.

  ‘You are entering upon a time of life,’ the priest went on, ‘when one must choose a path and keep to it. Pray to God that in His goodness He may help you and have mercy on you,’ he concluded. ‘May our Lord and God Jesus Christ, through the grace and bounties of His love for mankind, forgive you, child…’ and, having finished the prayer of absolution, the priest blessed and dismissed him.

  On returning home that day, Levin experienced the joyful feeling of having ended his awkward situation and ended it in such a way that he had not needed to lie. Apart from that, he was left with the vague recollection that what this kindly and nice old man had said was not at all as stupid as it had seemed to him at first, and that there was something in it that needed to be grasped.

  ‘Not now, of course,’ Levin thought, ‘but some time later on.’ Levin felt more than ever that there was something unclear and impure in his soul, and that with regard to religion he was in the same position that he so clearly saw and disliked in others and for which he reproached his friend Sviyazhsky.

  Levin was especially happy that evening, which he spent with his fiancée at Dolly’s, and, explaining his excited state to Stepan Arkadyich, said that he was as happy as a dog that has been taught to jump through a hoop and, having finally understood and done what was demanded of it, squeals, wags its tail, and leaps in rapture on to the tables and windowsills.

  II

  On the day of the wedding Levin, according to custom (the princess and Darya Alexandrovna strictly insisted on fulfilling all customs), did not see his fiancée and dined in his hotel with a chance gathering of three bachelors: Sergei Ivanovich, Katavasov, his university friend, now a professor of natural science, whom Levin had met in the street and dragged home with him, and Chirikov, one of his groomsmen, a Moscow justice of the peace, Levin’s bear–hunting comrade. The dinner was very merry. Sergei Ivanovich was in the best of spirits and enjoyed Katavasov’s originality. Katavasov, feeling that his originality was appreciated and understood, flaunted it. Chirikov gaily and good–naturedly supported all the conversations.

  ‘See, now,’ Katavasov said, drawing out his words, from a habit acquired at the lectern, ‘what an able fellow our friend Konstantin Dmitrich used to be. I’m speaking of him as an absent man because he is no more. He loved science then, on leaving the university, and had human interests; but now half of his abilities are aimed at deceiving himself and the other half at justifying this deceit.’

  ‘A more resolute enemy of marriage than you I’ve never yet seen,’ said Sergei Ivanovich.

  ‘No, not an enemy. I’m a friend of the division of labour. People who can’t do anything should make people, and the rest should contribute to their enlightenment and happiness. That’s how I understand it. The mixing of these trades is done by hosts of fanciers, of whom I am not one.’[3]

  ‘How happy I’ll be when I find out you’ve fallen in love!’ said Levin. ‘Kindly invite me to your wedding.’

  ‘I’m already in love.’

  ‘Yes, with the cuttlefish. You know,’ Levin turned to his brother, ‘Mikhail Semyonych is writing a work on the feeding and …’

  ‘Well, don’t go muddling things! It makes no difference what it’s about. The point is that I really do love the cuttlefish.’

  ‘But that won’t prevent you loving a wife!’

  ‘That won’t prevent me, but the wife will.’

  ‘Why so?’

  ‘You’ll find out. You, for instance, love farming and hunting – well, wait and see!’

  ‘Arkhip came today and said there’s no end of elk in Prudnoye, and two bears,’ said Chirikov.

  ‘Well, you’ll have to bag them without me.’

  ‘You see, it’s true,’ said Sergei Ivanovich. ‘And from now on it’s good–bye to bear hunting – your wife won’t allow it!’

  Levin smiled. The idea of his wife not allowing him pleased him so much that he was ready to renounce forever the pleasure of seeing bears.

  ‘Still, it’s a pity those two bears will get bagged without you. Do you remember the last time in Khapilovo? We’d have great hunting,’ said Chirikov.

  Levin did not want to deprive him of the illusion that there could be anything good anywhere without her, and so he said nothing.

  ‘This custom of bidding farewell to bachelor life was not established in vain,’ said Sergei Ivanovich. ‘However happy one may be, one still regrets one’s freedom.’

  ‘Confess, you do have that feeling of wanting to jump out of the window like the suitor in Gogol?’[4]

  ‘Certainly he does, but he won’t confess it!’ Katavasov said and laughed loudly.

  ‘Well, the window’s open … Let’s set off for Tver right now! One is a she–bear, so we can get to the den. Really, let’s take the five o’clock train! And they can do as they like here,’ said Chirikov, smiling.

  ‘I’ll tell you, by God,’ Levin said, smiling, ‘in my heart I can’t find any feeling of regret for my freedom!’

  ‘Ah, there’s such chaos in your heart now that you couldn’t find anything there,’ Katavasov said. ‘Wait till you sort things out, then you’ll find it!’

  ‘No, otherwise I’d have at least some slight sense that, besides my feeling’ (he did not want to say ‘of love’ in front of him) ‘… and happiness, I was still sorry to lose my freedom … On the contrary, I’m glad precisely of this loss of freedom.’

  ‘Bad! A hopeless specimen!’ said Katavasov. ‘Well, let’s drink to his recovery, or else wish him that only a hundredth part of his dreams comes true. And that would already be such happiness as has never been on earth!’

  The guests left soon after dinner so as to have time to change for the wedding.

  Remaining alone and recalling the conversation of these bachelors, Levin once again asked himself: did he really feel in his heart this regret for his freedom that they had spoken of? He smiled at the question. ‘Freedom? Why freedom? Happiness is only in loving and desiring, thinking her desires, her thoughts – that is, no freedom at all – that’s what happiness is!’

  ‘But do I know her thoughts, her desires, her feelings?’ some voice suddenly whispered to him. The smile vanished from his face and he fell to thinking. And suddenly a strange sensation came over him. He was possessed by fear and doubt, doubt of everything.

  ‘What if she doesn’t lo
ve me? What if she’s marrying me only so as to get married? What if she herself doesn’t know what she’s doing?’ he asked himself. ‘She may come to her senses and understand only after marrying that she does not and cannot love me.’ And strange thoughts about her, of the very worst sort, began coming into his head. He was jealous of Vronsky, as he had been a year ago, as if that evening when he had seen her with Vronsky were yesterday. He suspected that she had not told him everything.

  He quickly jumped up. ‘No, it’s impossible like this!’ he said to himself in despair. ‘I’ll go to her, ask her, tell her for the last time: we’re free, hadn’t we better stop? Anything’s better than eternal unhappiness, disgrace, infidelity!!’ With despair in his heart and with anger at all people, at himself, at her, he left the hotel and drove to see her.

  He found her in the back rooms. She was sitting on a trunk, making arrangements about something with a maid, with whom she was sorting out piles of many–coloured dresses laid over the backs of chairs and on the floor.

  ‘Oh!’ she cried when she saw him and lit up with joy. ‘Why? What is it? How unexpected! And I’m here sorting out my girlhood dresses, which goes to whom …’

  ‘Ah! that’s very nice!’ he said, looking gloomily at the maid.

  ‘Run along, Dunyasha, I’ll call you later,’ said Kitty. ‘What’s the matter with you?’ she asked, resolutely addressing him informally, as soon as the maid had left. She noticed his strange face, agitated and gloomy, and fear came over her.

  ‘Kitty, I’m suffering! I can’t suffer alone,’ he said with despair in his voice, standing before her and looking at her imploringly. He already saw by her loving, truthful face that nothing could come of what he intended to say, but all the same he needed her reassurance. ‘I’ve come to say that we still have time. It can all be cancelled and corrected.’

  ‘What? I don’t understand anything. What’s the matter with you?’

  ‘What I’ve told you a thousand times and can’t help thinking … that I’m not worthy of you. You couldn’t have agreed to marry me. Think. You’ve made a mistake. Think well. You can’t love me … If .. . it’s better to say it.’ He talked without looking at her. ‘I’ll be unhappy. They can all say whatever they like – anything’s better than unhappiness .. . Anything’s better now, while there’s time …’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ she replied fearfully. ‘You mean that you want to take back … that we shouldn’t?’

  ‘Yes, if you don’t love me.’

  ‘You’re out of your mind!’ she cried, flushing with vexation.

  But his face was so pathetic that she held back her vexation and, throwing the dresses off a chair, sat closer to him.

  ‘What are you thinking? Tell me everything.’

  ‘I think that you cannot love me. What could you love me for?’

  ‘My God! what can I. .. ?’ she said, and burst into tears.

  ‘Ah, what have I done!’ he cried and, kneeling before her, he began kissing her hands.

  When the princess came in five minutes later, she found them perfectly reconciled. Kitty had not only assured him that she loved him, but in answering his question about what she could love him for, had even explained to him what for. She had told him that she loved him because she thoroughly understood him, that she knew what he must love and that all that he loved, all of it, was good. And that seemed perfectly clear to him. When the princess came in, they were sitting side by side on the trunk, sorting out dresses and arguing over Kitty’s wanting to give Dunyasha the brown dress she had been wearing when Levin proposed to her, while he insisted that that dress should not be given to anyone and that Dunyasha should get the light blue one.

  ‘How can you not understand? She’s a brunette and it won’t suit her … I have it all worked out.’

  On learning why he had come, the princess became angry half jokingly, half seriously, and sent him home to get dressed and not interfere with Kitty’s having her hair done, because Charles would be coming presently.

  ‘She’s eaten nothing all these days and doesn’t look well as it is, and here you come and upset her with your silliness,’ she said to him. ‘On your way, on your way, my dear man!’

  Levin, guilty and ashamed, yet comforted, went back to his hotel. His brother, Darya Alexandrovna and Stepan Arkadyich, all fully dressed, were already waiting for him, to bless him with an icon. There was no time to linger. Darya Alexandrovna still had to go home to pick up her pomaded and curled son, who was to carry the icon for the bride.[5] Then one carriage had to be sent for the best man and another had to be sent back to pick up Sergei Ivanovich … Generally, there were a number of quite complicated considerations. One thing was beyond doubt – that they could not dawdle because it was already half–past six.

  The blessing with the icon did not turn out well. Stepan Arkadyich assumed a comically solemn pose standing next to his wife, took the icon and, after telling Levin to bow to the ground, blessed him with a kind and mocking smile and kissed him three times. Darya Alexandrovna did the same, then hastened to leave at once and again became confused about the projected itineraries for the carriages.

  ‘Well, here’s what we’ll do: you go and fetch him in our carriage, and Sergei Ivanovich, if he will be so kind, can go and then send the carriage back.’

  ‘Why, I’ll be very glad to.’

  ‘And we’ll go with him now. Have your things been sent?’ said Stepan Arkadyich.

  ‘Yes,’ replied Levin, and he told Kuzma to prepare his clothes.

  III

  A crowd of people, especially women, surrounded the church which was lit up for the wedding. Those who had not managed to get into the middle crowded around the windows, shoving, arguing and looking through the grilles.

  More than twenty carriages had already been ranged along the street by policemen. A police officer, disdainful of the frost, stood at the entrance in his dazzling uniform. More carriages kept driving up, and ladies in flowers, picking up the trains of their dresses, or men removing their caps or black hats, entered the church. Inside the church itself, both lustres were already lit as well as all the candles by the icons. The golden glow on the red background of the iconostasis,[6] the gilded carvings of the icon cases, the silver of the chandeliers and candle stands, the flagstones of the floor, the rugs, the banners up by the choirs, the steps of the ambo, the blackened old books, the cassocks and surplices –everything was flooded with light. To the right side of the heated church,[7] in the crowd of tailcoats and white ties, of uniforms and brocades, velvet, satin, hair, flowers, bared shoulders and arms and long gloves, there was subdued but lively talk, echoing strangely in the high cupola. Each time the door creaked open, the talking in the crowd hushed and everyone turned, expecting to see the bride and bridegroom enter. But the door had already opened more than ten times, and each time it was either a latecomer who joined the circle of invited guests to the right, or a spectator who had tricked or cajoled the police officer into letting her join the crowd of strangers to the left. The relatives and the strangers had already gone through all the phases of expectation.

  At first it was supposed that the bride and bridegroom would come at any moment and no significance was ascribed to the delay. Then they began glancing more and more often at the door, talking about whether something might not have happened. Then the delay became awkward, and the relatives and guests tried to pretend that they were not thinking about the bridegroom but were taken up with their own conversations.

  The protodeacon, as if to remind people of the value of his time, kept coughing impatiently, making the glass in the windows rattle. From the choir came the sounds now of voices warming up, now of bored singers blowing their noses. The priest was constantly sending the beadle or the deacon to see if the bridegroom had come and, in his purple cassock and embroidered belt, came out of the side door more and more often in expectation of the bridegroom. Finally one of the ladies, looking at her watch, said: ‘It is odd, though!’ and all the g
uests became agitated and began to voice their astonishment and displeasure. One of the groomsmen went to find out what had happened. Kitty, all the while, had long since been quite ready, in a white dress, a long veil and a coronet of orange blossoms, and stood with her sponsor and sister Natalie in the reception room of the Shcherbatsky house, looking out of the window, waiting in vain for word from her best man that the bridegroom had arrived at the church.