Chapter 10
When Levin went into the restaurant with Oblonsky,
he could not help noticing a certain peculiarity of
expression, as it were, a restrained radiance, about the face
and whole figure of Stepan Arkadyevitch. Oblonsky took
off his overcoat, and with his hat over one ear walked into
the dining room, giving directions to the Tatar waiters,
who were clustered about him in evening coats, bearing
napkins. Bowing to right and left to the people he met,
and here as everywhere joyously greeting acquaintances,
he went up to the sideboard for a preliminary appetizer of
fish and vodka, and said to the painted Frenchwoman
decked in ribbons, lace, and ringlets, behind the counter,
something so amusing that even that Frenchwoman was
moved to genuine laughter. Levin for his part refrained
from taking any vodka simply because he felt such a
loathing of that Frenchwoman, all made up, it seemed, of
false hair, poudre de riz, and vinaigre de toilette. He made
haste to move away from her, as from a dirty place. His
whole soul was filled with memories of Kitty, and there
was a smile of triumph and happiness shining in his eyes.
‘This way, your excellency, please. Your excellency
won’t be disturbed here,’ said a particularly pertinacious,
white-headed old Tatar with immense hips and coattails
gaping widely behind. ‘Walk in, your excellency,’ he said
to Levin; by way of showing his respect to Stepan
Arkadyevitch, being attentive to his guest as well.
Instantly flinging a fresh cloth over the round table
under the bronze chandelier, though it already had a table
cloth on it, he pushed up velvet chairs, and came to a
standstill before Stepan Arkadyevitch with a napkin and a
bill of fare in his hands, awaiting his commands.
‘If you prefer it, your excellency, a private room will be
free directly; Prince Golistin with a lady. Fresh oysters
have come in.’
‘Ah! oysters.’
Stepan Arkadyevitch became thoughtful.
‘How if we were to change our program, Levin?’ he
said keeping his finger on the bill of fare. And his face
expressed serious hesitation. ‘Are the oysters good? Mind
now.’
‘They’re Flensburg, your excellency. We’ve no
Ostend.’
‘Flensburg will do, but are they fresh?’
‘Only arrived yesterday.’
‘Well, then, how if we were to begin with oysters, and
so change the whole program? Eh?’
‘It’s all the same to me. I should like cabbage soup and
porridge better than anything; but of course there’s
nothing like that here.’
‘Porridge a la Russe, your honor would like?’ said the
Tatar, bending down to Levin, like a nurse speaking to a
child.
‘No, joking apart, whatever you choose is sure to be
good. I’ve been skating, and I’m hungry. And don’t
imagine,’ he added, detecting a look of dissatisfaction on
Oblonsky’s face, ‘that I shan’t appreciate your choice. I am
fond of good things.’
‘I should hope so! After all, it’s one of the pleasures of
life,’ said Stepan Arkadyevitch. ‘Well, then, my friend,
you give us two—or better say three—dozen oysters, clear
soup with vegetables..’
‘Printaniere,’ prompted the Tatar. But Stepan
Arkadyevitch apparently did not care to allow him the
satisfaction of giving the French names of the dishes.
‘With vegetables in it, you know. Then turbot with
thick sauce, then...roast beef; and mind it’s good. Yes, and
capons, perhaps, and then sweets.’
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The Tatar, recollecting that it was Stepan
Arkadyevitch’s way not to call the dishes by the names in
the French bill of fare, did not repeat them after him, but
could not resist rehearsing the whole menus to himself
according to the bill:—‘Soupe printaniere, turbot, sauce
Beaumarchais, poulard a l’estragon, macedoine de
fruits...etc.,’ and then instantly, as though worked by
springs, laying down one bound bill of fare, he took up
another, the list of wines, and submitted it to Stepan
Arkadyevitch.
‘What shall we drink?’
‘What you like, only not too much. Champagne,’ said
Levin.
‘What! to start with? You’re right though, I dare say.
Do you like the white seal?’
‘Cachet blanc,’ prompted the Tatar.
‘Very well, then, give us that brand with the oysters,
and then we’ll see.’
‘Yes, sir. And what table wine?’
‘You can give us Nuits. Oh, no, better the classic
Chablis.’
‘Yes, sir. And YOUR cheese, your excellency?’
‘Oh, yes, Parmesan. Or would you like another?’
‘No, it’s all the same to me,’ said Levin, unable to
suppress a smile.
And the Tatar ran off with flying coattails, and in five
minutes darted in with a dish of opened oysters on
mother-of-pearl shells, and a bottle between his fingers.
Stepan Arkadyevitch crushed the starchy napkin,
tucked it into his waistcoat, and settling his arms
comfortably, started on the oysters.
‘Not bad,’ he said, stripping the oysters from the pearly
shell with a silver fork, and swallowing them one after
another. ‘Not bad,’ he repeated, turning his dewy, brilliant
eyes from Levin to the Tatar.
Levin ate the oysters indeed, though white bread and
cheese would have pleased him better. But he was
admiring Oblonsky. Even the Tatar, uncorking the bottle
and pouring the sparkling wine into the delicate glasses,
glanced at Stepan Arkadyevitch, and settled his white
cravat with a perceptible smile of satisfaction.
‘You don’t care much for oysters, do you?’ said Stepan
Arkadyevitch, emptying his wine glass, ‘or you’re worried
about something. Eh?’
He wanted Levin to be in good spirits. But it was not
that Levin was not in good spirits; he was ill at ease. With
what he had in his soul, he felt sore and uncomfortable in
the restaurant, in the midst of private rooms where men
were dining with ladies, in all this fuss and bustle; the
surroundings of bronzes, looking glasses, gas, and
waiters—all of it was offensive to him. He was afraid of
sullying what his soul was brimful of.
‘I? Yes, I am; but besides, all this bothers me,’ he said.
‘You can’t conceive how queer it all seems to a country
person like me, as queer as that gentleman’s nails I saw at
your place..’
‘Yes, I saw how much interested you were in poor
Grinevitch’s nails,’ said Stepan Arkadyevitch, laughing.
‘It’s too much for me,’ responded Levin. ‘Do try, now,
and put yourself in my place, take the point of view of a
country person. We in the country try to bring our hands
into such a state as will be most convenient for working
with. So we cut our nails; sometimes we turn up our
sleeves. And here people purposely let their nails grow as
long as they will, and link on small saucers by way of
studs, so that they can do nothing with their hands.’
Stepan Arkadyevitch smiled gaily.
‘Oh, yes, that’s just a sign that he has no need to do
coarse work. His work is with the mind..’
‘Maybe. But still it’s queer to me, just as at this
moment it seems queer to me that we country folks try to
get our meals over as soon as we can, so as to be ready for
our work, while here are we trying to drag out our meal
as long as possible, and with that object eating oysters..’
‘Why, of course,’ objected Stepan Arkadyevitch. ‘But
that’s just the aim of civilization—to make everything a
source of enjoyment.’
‘Well, if that’s its aim, I’d rather be a savage.’
‘And so you are a savage. All you Levins are savages.’
Levin sighed. He remembered his brother Nikolay, and
felt ashamed and sore, and he scowled; but Oblonsky
began speaking of a subject which at once drew his
attention.
‘Oh, I say, are you going tonight to our people, the
Shtcherbatskys’, I mean?’ he said, his eyes sparkling
significantly as he pushed away the empty rough shells,
and drew the cheese towards him.
‘Yes, I shall certainly go,’ replied Levin; ‘though I
fancied the princess was not very warm in her invitation.’
‘What nonsense! That’s her manner.... Come, boy, the
soup!.... That’s her manner—grande dame,’ said Stepan
Arkadyevitch. ‘I’m coming, too, but I have to go to the
Countess Bonina’s rehearsal. Come, isn’t it true that
you’re a savage? How do you explain the sudden way in
which you vanished from Moscow? The Shtcherbatskys
were continually asking me about you, as though I ought
to know. The only thing I know is that you always do
what no one else does.’
‘Yes,’ said Levin, slowly and with emotion, ‘you’re
right. I am a savage. Only, my savageness is not in having
gone away, but in coming now. Now I have come..’
‘Oh, what a lucky fellow you are!’ broke in Stepan
Arkadyevitch, looking into Levin’s eyes.
‘Why?’
‘I know a gallant steed by tokens sure, And by his eyes
I know a youth in love,’ declaimed Stepan Arkadyevitch.
‘Everything is before you.’
‘Why, is it over for you already?’
‘No; not over exactly, but the future is yours, and the
present is mine, and the present—well, it’s not all that it
might be.’
‘How so?’
‘Oh, things go wrong. But I don’t want to talk of
myself, and besides I can’t explain it all,’ said Stepan
Arkadyevitch. ‘Well, why have you come to Moscow,
then?.... Hi! take away!’ he called to the Tatar.
‘You guess?’ responded Levin, his eyes like deep wells
of light fixed on Stepan Arkadyevitch.
‘I guess, but I can’t be the first to talk about it. You can
see by that whether I guess right or wrong,’ said Stepan
Arkadyevitch, gazing at Levin with a subtle smile.
‘Well, and what have you to say to me?’ said Levin in a
quivering voice, feeling that all the muscles of his face
were quivering too. ‘How do you look at the question?’
Stepan Arkadyevitch slowly emptied his glass of
Chablis, never taking his eyes off Levin.
‘I?’ said Stepan Arkadyevitch, ‘there’s nothing I desire
so much as that—nothing! It would be the best thing that
could be.’
‘But you’re not making a mistake? You know what
we’re speaking of?’ said Levin, piercing him with his eyes.
‘You think it’s possible?’
‘I think it’s possible. Why not possible?’
‘No! do you really think it’s possible? No, tell me all
you think! Oh, but if...if refusal’s in store for me!... Indeed
I feel sure..’
‘Why should you think that?’ said Stepan Arkadyevitch,
smiling at his excitement.
‘It seems so to me sometimes. That will be awful for
me, and for her too.’
‘Oh, well, anyway there’s nothing awful in it for a girl.
Every girl’s proud of an offer.’
‘Yes, every girl, but not she.’
Stepan Arkadyevitch smiled. He so well knew that
feeling of Levin’s, that for him all the girls in the world
were divided into two classes: one class—all the girls in the
world except her, and those girls with all sorts of human
weaknesses, and very ordinary girls: the other class—she
alone, having no weaknesses of any sort and higher than
all humanity.
‘Stay, take some sauce,’ he said, holding back Levin’s
hand as it pushed away the sauce.
Levin obediently helped himself to sauce, but would
not let Stepan Arkadyevitch go on with his dinner.
‘No, stop a minute, stop a minute,’ he said. ‘You must
understand that it’s a question of life and death for me. I
have never spoken to any one of this. And there’s no one
I could speak of it to, except you. You know we’re utterly
unlike each other, different tastes and views and
everything; but I know you’re fond of me and understand
me, and that’s why I like you awfully. But for God’s sake,
be quite straightforward with me.’
‘I tell you what I think,’ said Stepan Arkadyevitch,
smiling. ‘But I’ll say more: my wife is a wonderful
woman...’ Stepan Arkadyevitch sighed, remembering his
position with his wife, and, after a moment’s silence,
resumed—‘She has a gift of foreseeing things. She sees
right through people; but that’s not all; she knows what
will come to pass, especially in the way of marriages. She
foretold, for instance, that Princess Shahovskaya would
marry Brenteln. No one would believe it, but it came to
pass. And she’s on your side.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘It’s not only that she likes you—she says that Kitty is
certain to be your wife.’
At these words Levin’s face suddenly lighted up with a
smile, a smile not far from tears of emotion.
‘She says that!’ cried Levin. ‘I always said she was
exquisite, your wife. There, that’s enough, enough said
about it,’ he said, getting up from his seat.
‘All right, but do sit down.’
But Levin could not sit down. He walked with his firm
tread twice up and down the little cage of a room, blinked
his eyelids that his tears might not fall, and only then sat
down to the table.
‘You must understand,’ said he, ‘it’s not love. I’ve been
in love, but it’s not that. It’s not my feeling, but a sort of
force outside me has taken possession of me. I went away,
you see, because I made up my mind that it could never
be, you understand, as a happiness that does not come on
earth; but I’ve struggled with myself, I see there’s no living
without it. And it must be settled.’
‘What did you go away for?’
‘Ah, stop a minute! Ah, the thoughts that come
crowding on one! The questions one must ask oneself!
Listen. You can’t imagine what you’ve done for me by
what you said. I’m so happy that I’ve become positively
hateful; I’ve forgotten everything. I heard today that my
brother Nikolay...you know, he’s here...I had even
forgotten him. It seems to me that he’s happy too. It’s a
sort of madness. But one thing’s awful.... Here, you’ve
been married, you know the feeling...it’s awful that we—
old—with a past... not of love, but of sins...are brought all
at once so near to a creature pure and innocent; it’s
loathsome, and that’s why one can’t help feeling oneself
unworthy.’
‘Oh, well, you’ve not many sins on your conscience.’
‘Alas! all the same,’ said Levin, ‘when with loathing I
go over my life, I shudder and curse and bitterly regret
it.... Yes.’
‘What would you have? The world’s made so,’ said
Stepan Arkadyevitch.
‘The one comfort is like that prayer, which I always
liked: ‘Forgive me not according to my unworthiness, but
according to Thy lovingkindness.’ That’s the only way she
can forgive me.’
Chapter 11
Levin emptied his glass, and they were silent for a
while