by Anna Karenina (tr Richard Pevear, Larissa Volokhonsky) (Penguin Classics) (epub)
‘Me? Yes, I’m preoccupied. But, besides, I feel constrained by all this,’ he said. ‘You can’t imagine how wild all this is for a countryman like me – or take the nails of that gentleman I saw in your office …’
‘Yes, I could see poor Grinevich’s nails interested you greatly,’ Stepan Arkadyich said, laughing.
‘I can’t help it,’ replied Levin. ‘Try getting inside me, look at it from a countryman’s point of view. In the country we try to keep our hands in a condition that makes them convenient to work with; for that we cut our nails and sometimes roll up our sleeves. While here people purposely let their nails grow as long as they can, and stick on saucers instead of cuff–links, so that it would be impossible for them to do anything with their hands.’
Stepan Arkadyich smiled gaily.
‘Yes, it’s a sign that he has no need of crude labour. His mind works…’
‘Maybe. But all the same it seems wild to me, just as it seems wild to me that while we countrymen try to eat our fill quickly, so that we can get on with what we have to do, you and I are trying our best not to get full for as long as possible, and for that we eat oysters …’
‘Well, of course,’ Stepan Arkadyich picked up. ‘But that’s the aim of civilization: to make everything an enjoyment.’
‘Well, if that’s its aim, I’d rather be wild.’
‘You’re wild as it is. All you Levins are wild.[18]
Levin sighed. He remembered his brother Nikolai, and felt ashamed and pained. He frowned, but Oblonsky began talking about a subject that distracted him at once.
‘So you’re going to see our people tonight – the Shcherbatskys, I mean?’ he said, pushing aside the empty scabrous shells and drawing the cheese towards him, his eyes shining significantly.
‘Yes, I’ll certainly go,’ replied Levin. ‘Though it seemed to me the princess invited me reluctantly.’
‘Come, now! What nonsense! That’s her manner … Well, my good man, serve the soup! … That’s her manner, the grande dame,’ said Stepan Arkadyich. ‘I’ll come, too, only I have to go to a choir rehearsal at Countess Banin’s first. Well, what are you if not wild? How else explain the way you suddenly disappeared from Moscow? The Shcherbatskys kept asking me about you, as if I should know. I know only one thing: you always do what nobody else does.’
‘Yes,’ Levin said slowly and with agitation. ‘You’re right, I am wild. Only my wildness isn’t in my leaving, but in my coming now. I’ve come now…’
‘Oh, what a lucky man you are!’ Stepan Arkadyich picked up, looking into Levin’s eyes.
‘Why?’
‘Bold steeds I can tell by their something–or–other thighs, and young men in love by the look in their eyes,[19] declaimed Stepan Arkadyich. ‘You’ve got everything before you.’ ‘And with you it’s already behind?’
‘No, not behind, but you have the future and I the present – a bit of this, a bit of that’
‘And?’
‘Not so good. Well, but I don’t want to talk about myself, and besides it’s impossible to explain everything,’ said Stepan Arkadyich. ‘So what have you come to Moscow for? … Hey, clear away!’ he called to the Tartar.
‘Can’t you guess?’ replied Levin, gazing steadily at Stepan Arkadyich, his eyes lit from within.
‘I can, but I can’t be the first to speak of it. By that alone you can see whether I’ve guessed right or not,’ said Stepan Arkadyich, glancing at Levin with a subtle smile.
‘Well, what do you say?’ Levin said in a trembling voice and feeling all the muscles in his face trembling. ‘How do you look at it?’
Stepan Arkadyich slowly drank his glass of Chablis, not taking his eyes off Levin.
‘I?’ said Stepan Arkadyich. ‘I’d like nothing better than that – nothing. It’s the best thing that could happen.’
‘But you’re not mistaken? You do know what we’re talking about?’ Levin said, fastening his eyes on his interlocutor. ‘You think it’s possible?’
‘I think it’s possible. Why should it be impossible?’
‘No, you really think it’s possible? No, tell me all you think! Well, and what if… what if I should be refused?… And I’m even certain …’
‘Why do you think so?’ Stepan Arkadyich said, smiling at his friend’s excitement.
‘It sometimes seems so to me. But that would be terrible both for me and for her.’
‘Well, in any case, for a girl there’s nothing terrible in it. Every girl is proud of being proposed to.’
‘Yes, every girl, but not she.’
Stepan Arkadyich smiled. He knew so well this feeling of Levin’s, knew that for him all the girls in the world were divided into two sorts: one sort was all the girls in the world except her, and these girls had all human weaknesses and were very ordinary girls; the other sort was her alone, with no weaknesses and higher than everything human.
‘Wait, have some sauce,’ he said, stopping Levin’s hand, which was Pushing the sauce away.
Levin obediently took some sauce, but would not let Stepan Arkadyich eat.
‘No, wait, wait!’ he said. ‘Understand that for me it’s a question of life and death. I’ve never talked about it with anyone. And I can’t talk about it with anyone but you. Look, here we are, strangers in everything: different tastes, views, everything; but I know that you love me and understand me, and for that I love you terribly. So, for God’s sake, be completely open.’
‘I’m telling you what I think,’ Stepan Arkadyich said, smiling. ‘But I’ll tell you more: my wife is a most remarkable woman…’ Stepan Arkadyich sighed, remembering his relations with his wife, and after a moment’s silence went on: ‘She has a gift of foresight. She can see through people; but, more than that, she knows what’s going to happen, especially along marital lines. She predicted, for instance, that Shakhovskoy would marry Brenteln. No one wanted to believe it, but it turned out to be so. And she’s on your side.’
‘Meaning what?’
‘Meaning not just that she loves you – she says Kitty will certainly be your wife.’
At these words Levin’s face suddenly lit up with a smile, of the sort that is close to tears of tenderness.
‘She says that!’ Levin cried. ‘I always said she was a delight, your wife. Well, enough, enough talking about it,’ he said, getting up from his seat.
‘All right, only do sit down, the soup’s coming.’
But Levin could not sit down. He paced the little cell of a room twice with his firm strides, blinked his eyes to keep the tears from showing, and only then sat down at the table again.
‘Understand,’ he said, ‘that it isn’t love. I’ve been in love, but this is not the same. This is not my feeling, but some external force taking possession of me. I left because I decided it could not be, you understand, like a happiness that doesn’t exist on earth; but I have struggled with myself and I see that without it there is no life. And I must resolve …’
‘Then why did you go away?’
‘Ah, wait! Ah, so many thoughts! I have so much to ask! Listen. You can’t imagine what you’ve done for me by what you’ve said. I’m so happy that I’ve even become mean; I’ve forgotten everything … I found out today that my brother Nikolai… you know, he’s here … I forgot about him, too. It seems to me that he’s happy, too. It’s like madness. But there’s one terrible thing … You’re married, you know this feeling … The terrible thing is that we older men, who already have a past… not of love, but of sins … suddenly become close with a pure, innocent being; it’s disgusting, and so you can’t help feeling yourself unworthy.’
‘Well, you don’t have so many sins.’
‘Ah, even so,’ said Levin, ‘even so, "with disgust reading over my life, I tremble and curse, and bitterly complain .. .[20] Yes.’
‘No help for it, that’s how the world is made,’ said Stepan Arkadyich.
‘There’s one consolation, as in that prayer I’ve always loved, that I may be forgiven no
t according to my deserts, but out of mercy. That’s also the only way she can forgive me.’
XI
Levin finished his glass, and they were silent for a while.
‘There’s one more thing I must tell you. Do you know Vronsky?’ Stepan Arkadyich asked Levin.
‘No, I don’t. Why do you ask?’
‘Bring us another,’ Stepan Arkadyich addressed the Tartar, who was filling their glasses and fussing around them precisely when he was not needed.
‘Why should I know Vronsky?’
‘You should know Vronsky because he’s one of your rivals.’
‘What is this Vronsky?’ said Levin, and his face, from that expression of childlike rapture which Oblonsky had just been admiring, suddenly turned spiteful and unpleasant.
‘Vronsky is one of the sons of Count Kirill Ivanovich Vronsky and one of the finest examples of the gilded youth of Petersburg. I got to know him in Tver, when I was in government service there and he came for the conscription. Terribly rich, handsome, big connections, an imperial aide–de–camp, and with all that – a very sweet, nice fellow. And more than just a nice fellow. As I’ve come to know him here, he’s both cultivated and very intelligent. He’s a man who will go far.’
Levin frowned and kept silent.
Well, sir, he appeared here soon after you left and, as I understand, is head over heels in love with Kitty, and, you understand, her mother…’
‘Excuse me, but I understand nothing,’ said Levin, scowling gloomily. And he at once remembered his brother Nikolai and how mean he was to have forgotten about him.
‘Wait, wait,’ said Stepan Arkadyich, smiling and touching his hand. ‘I’ve told you what I know, and I repeat that in this subtle and delicate matter, as far as I can surmise, the chances seem to be on your side.’
Levin leaned back in his chair, his face was pale.
‘But I’d advise you to resolve the matter as soon as possible,’ Oblonsky went on, filling Levin’s glass.
‘No thanks, I can’t drink any more,’ said Levin, pushing his glass away. ‘I’ll get drunk . .. Well, how are things with you?’ he went on, obviously wishing to change the subject.
‘One word more: in any event, I advise you to resolve the question quickly. I don’t advise you to speak of it tonight,’ said Stepan Arkadyich. ‘Go tomorrow morning, classically, make a proposal, and God bless you…’
‘Haven’t you always wanted to come for some hunting with me? So, come in the spring,’ said Levin.
He now repented with all his heart that he had begun this conversation with Stepan Arkadyich. His special feeling had been defiled by talk of rivalry with some Petersburg officer, by Stepan Arkadyich’s suppositions and advice.
Stepan Arkadyich smiled. He understood what was going on in Levin’s heart.
‘I’ll come sometime,’ he said. ‘Yes, brother, women – that’s the pivot on which everything turns. And with me, too, things are bad, very bad. And all from women. Tell me frankly,’ he went on, taking out a cigar and keeping one hand on his glass, ‘give me your advice.’
‘But what about?’
‘Here’s what. Suppose you’re married, you love your wife, but you become infatuated with another woman . ..’
‘Excuse me, but I decidedly do not understand how I… just as I don’t understand how I could pass by a bakery, as full as I am now, and steal a sweet roll.’
Stepan Arkadyich’s eyes shone more than usual.
‘Why not? Sometimes a sweet roll is so fragrant that you can’t help yourself.
‘Himmlisch ist’s, wenn ich bezwungen Meine irdische Begier; Aber doch wenn’s nicht gelungen, Hatt’ ich auch recht hübsch Plaisir![21]
As he said this, Stepan Arkadyich smiled subtly. Levin also could not help smiling.
‘No, joking aside,’ Oblonsky went on. ‘Understand, there’s this woman, a dear, meek, loving being, poor, lonely, and who has sacrificed everything. Now, when the deed is already done – understand – how can I abandon her? Suppose we part, so as not to destroy my family; but how can I not pity her, not provide for her, not try to soften it?’
‘Well, you must excuse me. You know, for me all women are divided into two sorts … that is, no … rather: there are women and there are … I’ve never seen and never will see any lovely fallen creatures[22] and ones like that painted Frenchwoman at the counter, with all those ringlets – they’re vermin for me, and all the fallen ones are the same.’
‘And the one in the Gospels?’
‘Oh, stop it! Christ would never have said those words, if he’d known how they would be misused[23] Those are the only words people remember from all the Gospels. However, I’m not saying what I think but what I feel. I have a loathing for fallen women. You’re afraid of spiders and I of those vermin. You surely have never studied spiders and don’t know their ways: it’s the same with me.’
‘It’s fine for you to talk like that; it’s the same as that Dickensian gentleman who threw all difficult questions over his right shoulder with his left hand[24] But the denial of a fact is not an answer. What’s to be done, tell me, what’s to be done? The wife is getting old, and you’re full of life. Before you have time to turn round, you already feel that you can’t love your wife as a lover, however much you may respect her. And here suddenly love comes along, and you’re lost, lost!’ Stepan Arkadyich said with glum despair.
Levin grinned.
‘Yes, lost,’ Oblonsky went on. ‘But what to do?’
‘Don’t steal sweet rolls.’
Stepan Arkadyich laughed.
Oh, you moralist! But understand, there are two women: one insists only on her rights, and these rights are your love, which you cannot give her; and the other sacrifices everything for you and demands nothing. What are you to do? How act? There’s a terrible drama here.’ ‘If you want my opinion concerning that, I’ll tell you that I don’t think there is a drama here. And here’s why. To my mind, love … the two loves that Plato, remember, defines in his Symposium[25] these two loves serve as a touchstone for people. Some people understand only the one, others the other. And those who understand only non–platonic love shouldn’t talk about drama. In such love there can be no drama. "Thank you kindly for the pleasure, with my respects" – there’s the whole drama. And for platonic love there can be no drama, because in such love everything is clear and pure, because …’
Just then Levin remembered his own sins and the inner struggle he had gone through. And he added unexpectedly:
‘However, it’s possible you’re right. Very possible … But I don’t know, I really don’t know.’
‘So you see,’ said Stepan Arkadyich, ‘you’re a very wholesome man. That is your virtue and your defect. You have a wholesome character, and you want all of life to be made up of wholesome phenomena, but that doesn’t happen. So you despise the activity of public service because you want things always to correspond to their aim, and that doesn’t happen. You also want the activity of the individual man always to have an aim, that love and family life always be one. And that doesn’t happen. All the variety, all the charm, all the beauty of life are made up of light and shade.’
Levin sighed and gave no answer. He was thinking of his own things and not listening to Oblonsky.
And suddenly they both felt that, though they were friends, though they had dined together and drunk wine that should have brought them still closer, each was thinking only of his own things, and they had nothing to do with each other. Oblonsky had experienced more than once this extreme estrangement instead of closeness that may come after dinner, and knew what had to be done on such occasions.
