Anna Karenina (Dole)/Part Four/Chapter 14

by Leo Tolstoy

CHAPTER XIV

After Kitty had gone and Levin was left alone, he felt such a restlessness and such an unendurable longing for the morning to come when he might see her again and settle his destiny forever, that he dreaded, as he dreaded death, the fourteen hours which he should have to endure without her. He felt it absolutely necessary to be with and to talk with some one so as not to remain alone, so as to cheat the time. Stepan Arkadyevitch, whom he would have liked to keep with him, was going, so he said, to a reception, but in reality to the ballet. Levin could only tell him that he was happy, and should never, never forget what he owed to him. Stepan Arkadyevitch's eyes and smile showed Levin that he suitably appreciated his feelings.

"What! Then you have nothing more to say about dying?" said Oblonsky, pressing his friend's hand affectionately.

"N-n-n-no," replied the latter.

Darya Aleksandrovna, too, almost congratulated him when she bade him good night. She said, "How glad I am that you have made up with Kitty; we ought to prize old friends!" and her words displeased Levin, She could not comprehend how lofty and inaccessible to her all this was for him, and she should not have dared to refer to it. Levin took his departure, but, to avoid being alone, he joined his brother.

"Where are you going?"

"To a meeting."

"Well! I'll go with you. May I?"

"Why not?" said Sergyeï Ivanovitch, smiling. "What has happened to you to-day?"

"What has happened? Good fortune," said Levin, letting down the carriage-window. "Have you any objection? I am suffocating. Good fortune has happened to me! Why have you never been married?"

Sergyeï Ivanovitch smiled.

"I am delighted; she seems like a splendid gi...." he began.

"No, don't say anything about it, don't say anything about it!" cried Levin, clutching the collar of his shuba with both hands, and covering his face with the fur, A splendid girl; what commonplace words! and how feebly they corresponded to his feelings!

Sergyeï Ivanovitch laughed a gay laugh; this was a rare occurrence with him.

"I should think I might say that I am very glad of this!"

"To-morrow, to-morrow you may speak; but not another word now, not another word, not another word! Be silent," said Levin, and pulling his shuba still higher round his face, he added: "I love you very much. But tell me, may I go to your meeting?"

"Of course you may."

"What is your subject for discussion to-night?" asked Levin, still smiling.

They reached their destination. Levin heard the secretary stammer through the report, which evidently he did not understand; but he could see, from this secretary's face, that he was a good, amiable, sympathetic fellow; it was evident from the way that he hesitated and became confused while reading.

Then came the debates. They discussed about the disposal of certain sums of money, and the laying of certain sewer-pipes. Sergyeï Ivanovitch attacked two members of the commission, and made a long, triumphant speech against them; after which another member, reading from a paper, after some timid hesitation, replied briefly in a charming though bitter fashion; and then Sviazhsky,—he too was there,—in his turn, expressed his opinions nobly and eloquently.

Levin listened and clearly saw that neither the money to be expended nor the sewer-pipes were of serious importance; and that they were not really quarreling but were all such pleasant, congenial people, and consequently all was serene among them. They interfered with no one and all seemed happy. Levin noticed with surprise that they all seemed to him to-day transparent, that—from some trifling incidents which once would have entirely escaped his notice—he could read their souls, and see how good they all were. Especially did they seem to like him, Levin. This was shown by the way they talked with him, and even those who did not know him looked at him pleasantly and in a friendly manner.

"Well, how do you like it?" asked Sergyeï Ivanovitch.

"Very much; I never should have believed that it would be so interesting. It is splendid."

Sviazhsky approached Levin and invited him to come and take a cup of tea at his house. Levin could not for the life of him comprehend or remember why he had been prejudiced against Sviazhsky, or what he had seemed to him to lack. He was a clever and wonderfully good fellow,

"I should be delighted," rephed Levin, and he immediately inquired after Madame Sviazhsky and her sister. By a strange association of ideas, as Sviazhsky's sister-in-law suggested marriage, he concluded that nobody would be more interested than she and her sister to hear of his happiness. So he was very much pleased with the idea of going to see them.

Sviazhsky questioned him about his affairs, always refusing to admit that anything could be discovered which had not already been discovered in Europe; but now his theory did not arouse Levin's opposition. On the contrary, he felt that Sviazhsky was right, and Levin admired the gentleness and delicacy with which he avoided the expression of his arguments.

The ladies were especially charming. It seemed to Levin that they knew all, and that they shared his joy, but that they avoided speaking of it from discretion. He remained for three hours, talking on various subjects, and continually alluding to what filled his soul, without noticing that he was mortally tiring his friends, and that they were falling asleep.

At last, Sviazhsky, yawning, accompanied him to the vestibule, very much surprised at the strange state of mind in which his friend seemed to be. It was two o'clock! Levin reached his hotel and was aghast at the thought of passing the next ten hours alone, a prey to his impatience. The watchman who was on duty in the corridor lighted his candles, and was about to withdraw when Levin stopped him. This fellow, who was called Yegor and whom Levin had never before noticed, seemed like a good, intelligent man, and, above all, kind-hearted.

"Tell me, Yegor, don't you find it hard to go without your sleep?"

"What can I do about it? It is our calling. We have an easier time in gentlemen's houses, but here we get larger wages."

It seemed that Yegor was the father of a family of four children,—three boys, and a girl trained as a seamstress, whom he hoped to marry to a harness-maker's clerk.

Levin seized this opportunity to communicate his ideas about love in marriage to Yegor, remarking that people are always happy where there is love, because their happiness is in themselves.

Yegor listened attentively, and evidently understood Levin's meaning; but he confirmed it by an unexpected reflection,—that when he, Yegor, had served good masters, he had always been satisfied with them, and that he was contented with his master now, although he was a Frenchman.

"What a wonderfully good fellow!" thought Levin. "Well, and did you love your wife, Yegor, when you married her?"

"Why shouldn't I have loved her?" replied Yegor,

And Levin noticed Yegor also grew very enthusiastic and was eager to confide to him his inmost thoughts.

"My life, too, has been extraordinary," he began, his eyes shining, overcome by Levin's enthusiasm as one catches a yawning fit. "From my childhood ...."

But the bell rang; Yegor departed, and Levin was left alone.

He had eaten scarcely anything at dinner. He had refused to take any tea or supper at Sviazhsky's, yet even now he could not think of eating. He had not slept the preceding night, yet he did not think of sleeping now. His room was cold, but it seemed so stifling that he could not breathe. He opened both casements, and sat down on a table in front of one. Above the roofs covered with snow rose the carved cross of a church, and higher still were the triangular constellation of the Charioteer and the bright yellow Capella. He breathed in the cold air which filled his room, and looked now at the cross, now at the stars, rising as in a dream among the figures and memories called up by his imagination.

Toward four o'clock in the morning he heard footsteps in the corridor; he opened his door, and saw a gambler named Miaskin, whom he knew, returning from his club. He walked along, coughing, gloomy, and scowling.

"Poor, unfortunate fellow!" thought Levin, and his eyes filled with tears of pity and love for that man. He wanted to stop him, to speak to him, and console him; but, remembering that he was undressed, he thought better of it, went back, and sat down to bathe himself in the icy air, and to look at the silent, foreign-looking cross, so full of meaning to him, and at the brilliant, yellow star poised above it.

Toward seven o'clock the men polishing the floors began to make a noise, the bells rang for early morning service, and Levin began to feel that he was taking cold. He closed the window, made his toilet, and went out.