Anna Karenina (Dole)/Part Four/Chapter 9

by Leo Tolstoy

CHAPTER IX

It was already six o'clock and several guests had come when the master of the house entered, meeting Sergyeï Ivanovitch Koznuishef and Pestsof at the door.

These were the two chief representatives of Moscow intellect, as Oblonsky had called them, and were men of distinction both by wit and character. They valued each other, but on almost every topic were absolutely and hopelessly at odds, not because they belonged to opposing parties but precisely because they were of the same camp,—their enemies confounded them in one,—but in this camp they each had their shades of opinion. Now there is nothing more conducive to disagreement than dissent in small particulars, and so they not only never agreed in their opinions, but never failed to laugh at each other good-naturedly for their incorrigible mistakes.

They reached the door, talking about the weather, just as Stepan Arkadyevitch overtook them.

The old Prince Aleksandr Dmitrievitch Shcherbatsky, young Shcherbatsky, Turovtsuin, Kitty, and Karenin were already in the drawing-room.

Stepan Arkadyevitch instantly perceived that matters in the drawing-room were going badly without him. Darya Aleksandrovna, in her best gray silk gown, especially preoccupied with the children, who should have been eating their supper in the nursery by themselves, and anxious because her husband was late, did not succeed very well in entertaining her guests. All were sitting "like a pope's daughters making a call," as the old prince expressed it, evidently perplexed to know why they had come and with difficulty finding a few words so that the silence might not be absolute. The good-natured Turovtsuin apparently felt out of his sphere and the smile on his thick lips when he greeted Stepan Arkadyevitch spoke louder than words: "Well, my dear fellow, you have got me here with clever people! We are making merry here. It is a regular château des fleurs! .... I am doing my part."

The old prince was sitting in silence looking out of the corner of his bright eyes at Stepan Arkadyevitch, and Stepan Arkadyevitch perceived that he was trying to think up something worth saying to make an impression on this great statesman who was being served up like a sterlet for the benefit of the guests. Kitty kept glancing at the door, trying with all her might not to be caught blushing when Konstantin Levin should appear. Young Shcherbatsky, who had not been presented to Karenin, was trying to show that this did not cause him any constraint.

Karenin himself was in black coat and white necktie, according to the Petersburg custom, and Stepan Arkadyevitch perceived by his face that he had come only to keep his promise and by mingling in this society was performing a burdensome task. He more than any one else was the cause of the chill which froze all the guests into silence until Stepan Arkadyevitch made his appearance.

As soon as Stepan Arkadyevitch entered the drawing-room, he made his excuses and explained that he had been detained by a certain prince who was always his scapegoat for all his delays and absences. In a twinkling he presented his guests to one another, furnished Koznuishef and Karenin a subject of conversation,—the Russification of Poland, which they instantly grappled with, also enlisting Pestsof in the discussion. Then, tapping Turovtsuin on the shoulder, he whispered some jest into his ear and sat him down between his wife and Prince Shcherbatsky, Then he complimented Kitty on her beauty and introduced young Shcherbatsky to Karenin. In a twinkling he had so worked on all this mass of social dough that it began to seem like a salon and the voices intermingled in gay confusion.

Konstantin Levin was the only guest not on hand.

But even this was a fortunate circumstance, because when Stepan Arkadyevitch went into the dining-room he discovered to his dismay that the port and sherry had come from Des Prés and not from Lévy, and he seized the opportunity to send the coachman in all haste to Lévy's, and then he returned to the drawing-room.

Levin met him at the door of the dining-room.

"I am not late, am I?"

"How could you be?" replied Stepan Arkadyevitch, taking him by the arm.

"Are there many people here? Who are they?" asked Levin, blushing involuntarily, and with his glove brushing away the snow from his hat.

"No one but relatives. Kitty is here. Come and let me present you to Karenin."

Stepan Arkadyevitch, notwithstanding his liberal views, knew that a presentation to Karenin could not fail to be flattering, and therefore he regaled his best friends with this pleasure. But at this moment Konstantin Levin was not in a condition to appreciate all the satisfaction which this acquaintance would afford.

He had not seen Kitty since that well-remembered evening when he met Vronsky, except for that glimpse of her which he had as she sat in her carriage. In the depth of his heart he knew that he was to see her this evening. But in his attempt to preserve all the freedom of his thoughts, he had tried to persuade himself that he did not know it. And now as he learned that she was there, he suddenly felt such timidity and at the same time such terror that he could hardly breathe, and he found it impossible to say what he wanted to say.

"How will she seem? Just as she used to? Suppose Darya Aleksandrovna was right! Why wasn't she right?" he thought.

"Oh! present me to Karenin, I beg of you," he succeeded in stammering, as he entered the drawing-room with the courage of despair and saw her.

She was neither as she had been in old time nor as she had been in the carriage: she was altogether different; she was nervous, timid, modest, and therefore even more charming than ever.

She saw him the moment he entered the drawing-room. She had been watching for him, and she felt so glad and so confused by reason of her gladness that at one moment especially when, after greeting Dolly, he looked at her, she was afraid of bursting into tears. Levin and Dolly both noticed it. She blushed and turned pale and blushed again; she was so agitated that her lips trembled.

Levin approached her, and bowed and silently offered his hand. Had it not been for the slight trembling of her lips and the moisture that suffused her eyes and increased their brilliancy, her smile would have been almost serene as she said:—

"How long it is since we have met!" And at the same time with a sort of desperate resolution put her cold hand into his.

"You have not seen me; but I saw you one day," said Levin, with a smile of radiant happiness. "I saw you when you were going from the railway station to Yergushovo."

"When was it?" asked she, in surprise.

"You were on your way to Yergushovo," said Levin, feeling that the joy which flooded his soul was suffocating him. "How," thought he, "could I have dared to associate anything but innocence with this fascinating creature? Yes, Darya Aleksandrovna was right."

Stepan Arkadyevitch came to conduct him to Karenin.

"Allow me to make you acquainted," said he, calling each by name.

"It is very pleasant to meet you again," said Alekseï Aleksandrovitch, coolly, as he took Levin's hand.

"What! do you already know each other?" asked Oblonsky, with surprise.

"We traveled together for three hours," said Levin, smiling, "but we parted as from a masked ball, very much mystified; at least, it was the case with me."

"Really? .... Will you pass into the dining-room?" said Stepan Arkadyevitch pointing toward the door.

The gentlemen walked into the dining-room, and went to a table laden with the zakuska, which was composed of six kinds of vodka, as many varieties of cheese with silver shovels and without, caviare, herring, preserves of different kinds, and platefuls of French bread sliced thin.

The men stood around the table; and, while waiting for the dinner, the conversation between Sergyeï Ivanovitch Koznuishef, Karenin, and Pestsof, about the Russification of Poland, began to languish. Sergyeï Ivanovitch, who had a faculty peculiar to himself for ending even the most absorbing and serious dispute, by an unexpected infusion of Attic salt and so putting the disputants into a better frame of mind, did this now. Alekseï Aleksandrovitch was trying to prove that the Russification of Poland could be accomplished only by means of the highest principles, and that these ought to be introduced by the Russian administration. Pestsof maintained that one nation could only assimilate another by surpassing it in density of population.

Koznuishef, with certain restrictions, shared the opinions of both; and to close this serious conversation with a joke, he added as they left the drawing-room, smiling:—

"The most logical way, then, for us to assimilate foreigners, it seems to me, is to have as many children as possible. It is there where my brother and I are in fault; while you married gentlemen and especially you, Stepan Arkadyevitch, are acting the part of good patriots. How many have you?" he asked of the host, handing him a very diminutive glass.

Everybody laughed, and Oblonsky most of all. "Yes, that is certainly the best means!" said he, taking a bite of cheese and pouring some special kind of vodka into the glass that Koznuishef offered him. But the jest really served to bring the discussion to a close.

"This cheese is not bad; what do you say?" remarked the host.

"Do you still practise gymnastics?" said Oblonsky, addressing Levin, and with his left hand feeling his friend's muscles.

Levin smiled and doubled up his arm, and Stepan Arkadyevitch felt how under his fingers the biceps swelled up like a round cheese beneath the smooth cloth of his coat.

"What biceps! a Samson," said he.

"I suppose it is necessary to be endowed with remarkable strength, to hunt bears, is n't it?' said Alekseï Aleksandrovitch, smearing some cheese on a piece of bread as thin as a cobweb. His ideas about hunting were of the vaguest.

Levin smiled.

"No; on the contrary, a child could kill a bear;"—and he drew back, with a slight bow, to make room for the ladies, who with the hostess were coming to the zakuska table.

"I hear that you have just killed a bear," said Kitty, vainly trying to put her fork into a recalcitrant mushroom which kept flying about on the plate, and as she threw back the lace in her sleeve there was a ghmpse of a white arm. "Are there really bears where you live?" she added, half turning her pretty face toward him and smiling. What she said had no especial importance, but what significance inexpressible in words there was for him in the sound of her voice, in every motion of her lips, of her eyes, hands, when she said it! It implied an entreaty for forgiveness and expression of faith in him, a sweet and timid caress, and a promise, and a hope, and love for him, and he could not help believing in it and his heart was filled with happiness.

"Oh, no! we were hunting in the government of Tver; and on my way from there, I met your brother-in-law—Stiva's brother-in-law—in the train," said he, smiling. "The meeting was very funny."

And he gave a lively and amusing description of how, after having been awake all night, he forced his way into Karenin's car in his sheepskin jacket.^[1]

"The conductor, contrary to the proverb, judging by first impressions wanted to put me out, and there I was beginning to express myself in sublime style and.... well, sir, you also—"said he, addressing Karenin and not recollecting his name, "you got your first impression from my polushubok and were for expelling me, but afterward you took my part, for which I felt very grateful to you."

"Travelers' rights to their choice of place are generally too little considered," said Alekseï Aleksandrovitch, wiping the ends of his fingers with his napkin.

"Oh! I noticed that you were dubious about me," replied Levin, smiling good-naturedly; "that was why I hastened to open a serious subject of conversation, to make you forget my sheepskin."

Koznuishef, who was talking with the mistress of the house, and at the same time listening with one ear to what his brother said, glanced at him.

"What is the matter with him to-night? What makes him look so triumphant?" he asked himself.

He did not know Levin felt as if he had wings. Levin knew that she was listening to him, she was taking pleasure in what he said; and this was the only thing that interested him. He was alone with her, not only in this room, but in the whole world. He felt that he was on a dizzy height, and there far below him were all those excellent people,—Oblonsky, Karenin, and the rest of humanity.

Stepan Arkadyevitch seemed entirely to forget Levin and Kitty in placing his guests at table until all but two of the seats were assigned; then he put them side by side.

"Well, you can sit there," said he to Levin.

The dinner was as elegant as the appointments; for Stepan Arkadyevitch was a great connoisseur in such matters. The Marie-Louise soup was perfect, the little pirogi or pasties which melted in the mouth were irreproachable; and Matve, with two waiters in white cravats, skilfully and noiselessly served the roast and the wine.

On the material side the dinner was a success; it was not less so on the non-material side. The conversation was sometimes general, sometimes special, but it never lagged; and toward the end of the dinner it had grown so animated that when they left the table the men could not drop their interesting topics, and even Alekseï Aleksandrovitch was thawed out.

 

1. Polushubok, half shuba; a short coat or cloak made of sheepskin or lined with fur.