Anna Karenina (Dole)/Part One/Chapter 10
CHAPTER X
Levin could not help noticing, as they entered the restaurant, how Stepan Arkadyevitch's face and whole person seemed to shine with restrained happiness. Oblonsky took off his overcoat, and, with hat over one ear, marched toward the dining-room, giving, as he went, his orders to the Tatars who in swallow-tails and with napkins came hurrying to meet him. Bowing right and left to his acquaintances, who here as everywhere seemed delighted to see him, he went directly to the bar and took some vodka and a little fish, and said something comical to the barmaid, a pretty, curly-haired French girl, painted, and covered with ribbons and lace, so that she burst into a peal of laughter. But Levin would not drink any vodka simply because the sight of this French creature, all made up, apparently, of false hair, rice-powder, and vinaigre de toilette was revolting to him. He turned away from her quickly, with disgust, as from some horrid place. His whole soul was filled with memories of Kitty, and his eyes shone with triumph and happiness.
"This way, your excellency; come this way, and your excellency will not be disturbed," said a specially obsequious old Tatar, whose monstrous hips made the tails of his coat stick out behind. "Will you come this way, your excellency?" said he to Levin, as a sign of respect for Stepan Arkadyevitch, whose guest he was. In a twinkling he had spread a fresh cloth on the round table, which, already covered, stood under the bronze chandelier; then, bringing two velvet chairs, he stood waiting for Stepan Arkadyevitch's orders, holding in one hand his napkin, and his order-card in the other.
"If your excellency would like to have a private room, one will be at your service in a few moments. .... Prince Galitsuin and a lady. We have just received fresh oysters."
"Ah, oysters!"
Stepan Arkadyevitch reflected. "Supposing we change our plan. Levin," said he, with his finger on the bill of fare. His face showed serious hesitation.
"But are the oysters good? Pay attention!"
"They are from Flensburg, your excellency; there are none from Ostend."
"Flensburg oysters are well enough, but are they fresh?"
"They came yesterday."
"Very good! What do you say?—to begin with oysters, and then to make a complete change in our menu? What say you?"
"It's all the same to me. I'd like best of all some shchi[1] and kasha,[2] but you can't get them here."
"Kasha à la russe, if you would like to order it," said the Tatar, bending over toward Levin as a nurse bends toward a child.
"No. Jesting aside, whatever you wish is good. I have been skating and should like something to eat. Don't imagine," he added, as he saw an expression of disappointment on Oblonsky's face, "that I do not appreciate your selection. I can eat a good dinner with pleasure."
"It should be more than that! You should say that it is one of the pleasures of life," said Stepan Arkadyevitch. "In this case, little brother mine, give us two, or .... no, that's not enough, three dozen oysters, vegetable soup ...."
"Printanière," suggested the Tatar.
But Stepan Arkadyevitch did not allow him the pleasure of enumerating the dishes in French, and continued:—
"Vegetable soup, you understand; then turbot, with thick sauce; then roast beef, but see to it that it's all right. Yes, some capon, and lastly, some preserve."
The Tatar, remembering Stepan Arkadyevitch's caprice of not calling the dishes by their French names, instead of repeating them after him, waited till he had finished; then he gave himself the pleasure of repeating the order according to the bill of fare:—
"Potage Printanière, turbot, sauce Beaumarchais, poularde à l'estragon, macédoine de fruits."
Then instantly, as if moved by a spring, he substituted for the bill of fare the wine-list, which he presented to Stepan Arkadyevitch.
"What shall we drink?"
"Whatever you please, only not much .... champagne," suggested Levin.
"What! at the very beginning? But you may be right; why not? Do you like the white seal?
"Cachet blanc," repeated the Tatar.
"Well, then, give us that brand with the oysters. Then we'll see."
"It shall be done, sir. And what table wine shall I bring you?"
"Some Nuits; no, hold on—give us some classic Chablis."
"It shall be done, sir; and will you order some of your cheese?"
"Yes, some parmesan. Or do you prefer some other kind?"
"No, it's all the same to me," replied Levin, who could not keep from smiling.
The Tatar disappeared on the trot, with his coat tails flying out behind him. Five minutes later he came with a platter of oysters opened and on the shell, and with a bottle in his hand. Stepan Arkadyevitch crumpled up his well-starched napkin, tucked it into his waistcoat, calmly stretched out his hands, and began to attack the oysters.
"Not bad at all," he said, as he lifted the succulent oysters from their shells with a silver fork, and swallowed them one by one. "Not at all bad," he repeated, looking from Levin to the Tatar, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction.
Levin also ate his oysters, although he would have preferred white bread and cheese; but he could not help admiring Oblonsky. Even the Tatar, after uncorking the bottle and pouring the sparkling wine into wide, delicate glass cups, looked at Stepan Arkadyevitch with a noticeable smile of satisfaction while he adjusted his white necktie.
"You are not very fond of oysters, are you?" asked Stepan Arkadyevitch, draining his glass. "Or you are preoccupied? Hey?"
He wanted Levin to be in good spirits, but Levin was anxious, if he was not downcast. His heart being so full, he found himself out of his element in this restaurant, amid the confusion of guests coming and going, surrounded by the private rooms where men and women were dining together; everything was repugnant to his feelings,—the whole outfit of bronzes and mirrors, the gas and the Tatars. He feared that the sentiment that occupied his soul would be defiled.
"I? Yes, I am a little absent-minded; but besides, everything here confuses me. You can't imagine," he said, "how strange all these surroundings seem to a countryman like myself. It 's like the finger-nails of that gentleman whom I met at your office." ....
"Yes, I noticed that poor Grinevitch's finger-nails interested you greatly," said Stepan Arkadyevitch, laughing.
"It is of no use," replied Levin. "Suppose you come to me and try the standpoint of a man accustomed to living in the country. We in the country try to have hands suitable to work with; therefore we cut off our finger-nails, and oftentimes we even turn back our sleeves. But here men let their nails grow as long as possible, and so as to be sure of not being able to do any work with their hands, they fasten their sleeves with plates for buttons."
Stepan Arkadyevitch smiled gayly:—
"That is a sign that he has no need of manual labor; it is brain-work ...."
"Perhaps so. Yet it seems strange to me, no less than this that we are doing here. In the country we make haste to get through our meals so as to be at work again; but here you and I are doing our best to eat as long as possible without getting satisfied, and so we are eating oysters."....
"Well, there's something in that," replied Stepan Arkadyevitch; "but the aim of civilization is to translate everything into enjoyment."
"If that is its aim, I should prefer to be untamed."
"And you are untamed! All you Levins are untamed."
Levin sighed. He thought of his brother Nikolaï, and felt mortified and saddened, and his face grew dark; but Oblonsky introduced a topic which had the immediate effect of diverting him.
"Very well, come this evening to our house. I mean to the Shcherbatskys'," said he, pushing away the empty oyster-shells, drawing the cheese toward him, and flashing his eyes significantly.
"Yes, I will surely come," replied Levin; "though it did not seem that the princess was very cordial in her invitation."
"What rubbish! It was only her manner. .... Come, friend, bring us the soup. .... It was only her grande dame manner," replied Stepan Arkadyevitch. "I shall come there immediately after a rehearsal at the Countess Bonina's. .... How can we help calling you untamed? How can you explain your flight from Moscow? The Shcherbatskys have kept asking me about you, as if I were likely to know! I only know one thing, that you are always likely to do things that no one else did."
"Yes," replied Levin, slowly, and with emotion; "you are right, I am untamed; yet it was not that I went, but that I have come back proves me so! I have come now ...."
"Oh, what a lucky fellow you are!" interrupted Oblonsky, looking into Levin's eyes.
"Why?"
"I know fiery horses by their brand, and I know young people who are in love by their eyes," said Stepan Arkadyevitch, dramatically; "everything is before you!"
"And yourself,—is everything behind you?"
"No, not altogether, but you have the future; and I have the present, and this present is between the devil and the deep sea!"
"What is the matter?"
"Nothing good. But I don't want to talk about myself, especially as I cannot explain the circumstances," replied Stepan Arkadyevitch. "What did you come to Moscow for?.... Here! clear off the things!" he cried to the Tatar.
"Can't you imagine?" answered Levin, not taking his glowing eyes from Oblonsky's face.
"I can imagine, but it is not for me to be the first to speak about it. By this you can tell whether I am right in my conjecture," said Stepan Arkadyevitch, looking at Levin with a sly smile.
"Well, what have you to tell me?" asked Levin, with a trembling voice, and feeling all the muscles of his face quiver. "How do you look at this?"
Stepan Arkadyevitch slowly drank his glass of Chablis while he looked steadily at Levin.
"I?" said Stepan Arkadyevitch. "There is nothing that I should like so much—nothing. It is the best thing that could possibly be!"
"But are n't you mistaken? Do you know what we are talking about?" murmured Levin, with his eyes fixed on his companion. "Do you believe that this is possible?"
"I think it is possible. Why should n't it be?"
"No, do you really think that it is possible? No! tell me what you really think. If .... if she should refuse me .... and I am almost certain that ...."
"Why should you be?" asked Stepan Arkadyevitch, smiling at this emotion.
"It is my intuition. It would be terrible for me and for her."
"Oh! in any case, I can't see that it would be very terrible for her; a young girl is always flattered to be asked in marriage."
"Young girls in general, perhaps, not she."
Stepan Arkadyevitch smiled; he perfectly understood Levin's feeling, knew that for him all the young girls in the universe were divided into two categories: in the one, all the young girls in existence except her—and these girls had all the faults common to humanity, in other words, ordinary girls; in the other, she alone, without any faults, and placed above the rest of humanity.
"Hold on! take some gravy," said he, stopping Levin's hand, who was pushing away the gravy.
Levin took the gravy in all humility, but he did not give Oblonsky a chance to eat.
"No, just wait, wait," said he; "you understand this is for me a question of life and death. I have never spoken to any one else about it, and I cannot speak to any one else but you. I know we are very different from each other, have different tastes, views, everything; but I know also that you love me, and that you understand me, and that's the reason I am so fond of you. Now, for God's sake, be perfectly sincere with me."
"I will tell you what I think," said Stepan Arkadyevitch, smiling. "But I will tell you more: my wife—a most extraordinary woman"—and Stepan Arkadyevitch sighed, as he remembered his relations with his wife—then after a moment's silence he proceeded—"she has a gift of second sight, and sees through people, but that is nothing! she knows what is going to happen, especially when there is a question of marriage. Thus, she predicted that Brenteln would marry Shakhovskaya; no one would believe it, and yet it came to pass. Well, my wife is on your side."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that she likes you; she says that Kitty will be your wife."
As he heard these words, Levin's face suddenly lighted up with a smile which was near to tears of emotion.
"She said that!" he cried. "I always said that your wife was charming. But enough, enough of this sort of talk," he added, and rose from the table.
"Good! but sit a little while longer."
But Levin could not sit down. He strode two or three times up and down the little square room, winking his eyes to hide the tears, and then he sat down again at the table.
"Understand me," he said; "this is not love. I have been in love, but this is not the same thing. This is more than a sentiment; it is an inward power that controls me. You see, I went away because I had made up my mind that such happiness could not exist, that such good fortune could not be on earth. But after a struggle with myself, I find that I cannot live without this. This question must be decided ...."
"But why did you go away?"
"Akh! wait! Akh! so many things to think about! so much to ask! Listen, you cannot imagine what your words have done for me! I am so happy that I have already grown detestable! I am forgetting everything; and yet this very day I heard that my brother Nikolaï—you know—he is here, and I had entirely forgotten him. It seems to me that he, too, ought to be happy. But this is like a fit of madness. But one thing seems terrible to me. .... You are married; you ought to know this feeling. It is terrible that we who are already getting old .... with a past behind us .... not of love but of wickedness .... suddenly come into close relations with a pure and innocent being. This is disgusting, and so I cannot help feeling that I am unworthy."
"Well! you have not much wickedness to answer for!"
"Akh!" said Levin; "and yet, 'as I look with disgust on my life, I tremble and curse and mourn bitterly,' .... yes!"
"But what can you do?" the world is thus constituted," said Stepan Arkadyevitch.
"There is only one consolation, and that is in the prayer that I have always loved: 'Pardon me not according to my deserts, but according to Thy loving-kindness.' Thus only can she forgive me."