Anna Karenina (Dole)/Part One/Chapter 9
CHAPTER IX
About four o'clock Levin dismissed his izvoshchik at the entrance of the Zoölogical Garden, and with beating heart followed the path that led to the ice-mountains and the skating-pond, for he knew that he should find Kitty there, having seen the Shcherbatskys' carriage at the gate.
It was a clear frosty day. At the entrance of the garden were drawn up rows of carriages and sleighs; hired drivers and policemen stood on the watch. Hosts of fashionable people, with their hats gayly glancing in the bright sunlight, were gathered around the doors and on the paths cleared of snow, among the pretty Russian cottages with their carved balconies. The ancient birch trees of the garden, their thick branches all laden with snow, seemed clothed in new and solemn chasubles.
Levin followed the foot-path, saying to himself:—
"Be calm! there is no reason for being agitated! What do you desire? what ails you? Be quiet, you fool!"
Thus Levin addressed his heart. And the more he endeavored to calm his agitation, the more he was overcome by it, till at last he could hardly breathe. An acquaintance spoke to him as he passed, but Levin did not even notice who it was. He drew near the ice-mountains, on which creaked the ropes that let down the sledges and drew them up again. The sleds flew with a rush down the slopes, and there was a tumult of happy voices.
He went a few steps farther, and before him spread the skating-ground; and among the skaters he soon discovered her. He knew that he was near her from the joy and terror that seized his heart. She was standing at the opposite end of the pond engaged in conversation with a lady; and nothing either in her toilet or in her position was remarkable, but for Levin she stood out from the rest like a rose-bush among nettles. Everything was made radiant by her. She was the smile that lightened the whole place.
"Do I dare to go and meet her on the ice?" he asked himself. The place where she was seemed like an unapproachable sanctuary, and for a moment he almost turned to go away again, so full of awe it was. He had to master himself by a supreme effort to think that, as she was surrounded by people of every sort, he had as much right as the rest to go on there and skate. So he went down on the ice, not letting himself look long at her, as if she were the sun; but he saw her, as he saw the sun, even though he did not look at her.
On this day and at this hour, the ice formed a common meeting-ground for people of one clique, all of whom were well acquainted. There were also masters in the art of skating, who came to show off their skill; others were learning to skate by holding on chairs, and making awkward and distressing gestures; there were young lads and old men, who skated as a gymnastic exercise: all seemed to Levin to be the happy children of fortune because they were near Kitty.
And all these skaters, with apparently perfect unconcern, glided around her, came close to her, even spoke to her, and with absolute indifference to her enjoyed themselves, making the most of the good skating and splendid weather.
Nikolaï Shcherbatsky, Kitty's cousin, in short jacket and knickerbockers, was seated on a bench with his skates on, and seeing Levin, he cried:—
"Ah! the best skater in Russia! Have you been here long? The ice is first-rate! Put on your skates quick!"
"I have not my skates with me," replied Levin, surprised at this freedom and audacity in her presence, and not losing her out of his sight a single instant, although he did not look at her. He felt that the sun was shining nearer to him. She was at one corner and came gliding toward him, putting together her slender feet in high boots, and evidently feeling a little timid. A boy in Russian costume was clumsily trying to get ahead of her, desperately waving his arms and bending far forward. Kitty herself did not skate with much confidence. She had taken her hands out of her little muff, suspended by a ribbon, and held them ready to grasp the first object that came in her way. Looking at Levin, whom she had recognized, she smiled at him and at her own timidity. As soon as this evolution was finished, she struck out with her elastic little foot, and skated up to Shcherbatsky, seized him by the arm, and gave Levin a friendly welcome. She was more charming even than he had imagined her to be.
Whenever he thought of her, he could easily recall her whole appearance, but especially the charm of her small blond head, set so gracefully on her pretty shoulders, and her expression of childlike frankness and goodness. The combination of childlike grace and delicate beauty of form was her special charm, and Levin thoroughly appreciated it. But what struck him like something always new and unexpected was the look in her sweet eyes, her calm and sincere face, and her smile, which transported him to a world of enchantment, where he felt at peace and at rest, as he remembered occasionally feeling in the days of his early childhood.
"Have you been here long?" she asked, giving him her hand.
"Thank you," she added, as he picked up her handkerchief, which had dropped out of her muff.
"I? No, not long; I came yesterday .... that is, to-day," answered Levin, so agitated that at first he did not get the drift of her question. "I wanted to call upon you," said he; and when he remembered what his errand was, he grew red, and was more distressed than ever. "I did not know that you skated, and so well."
She looked at him closely, as if trying to divine the reason of his embarrassment.
"Your praise is precious. A tradition that you are the best of skaters is still floating about," said she, brushing off with her little hand, in its black glove, the pine needles that had fallen on her muff.
"Yes, I used to be passionately fond of skating. I had the ambition to reach perfection."
"It seems to me that you do all things passionately," said she, with a smile. "I should like to see you skate. Put on your skates, and we will skate together."
"Skate together?" he thought, as he looked at her. "Is it possible?"
"I will go and put them right on," he said; and he hastened to find a pair of skates.
"It is a long time, sir, since you have been with us," said the katalshchik, as he lifted his foot to fit the heel to it. "Since your day, we have not had any one who deserved to be called a master in the art. Are they going to suit you?" he asked, as he tightened the strap.
"Excellent, excellent; only please make haste," said Levin, unable to hide the smile of joy which, in spite of him, irradiated his face. "Yes," said he to himself, "this is life, this is happiness. 'We will skate together,' she said. Shall I speak to her now? But I am afraid to speak, because I am happy, happy only in the hope.... Yet when?.... But it must be, it must, it must. Down with weakness!"
Levin stood up, took off his cloak, and, after making his way across the rough ice around the little house, he skated out on the glare surface without effort, hastening, shortening, and directing his pace as if by the mere effort of his will. He felt timid about coming up to her, but again her smile assured him.
She gave him her hand, and they skated side by side, gradually increasing speed; and the faster they went, the closer she held his hand.
"I should learn very quickly with you," she said. "I somehow feel confidence in you."
"I am confident in myself when you cling to my hand," he answered, and immediately he was startled at what he had said, and grew red in the face. In fact, he had scarcely uttered the words, when, just as the sun goes under a cloud, her face lost all its kindliness, and Levin became aware of the well-remembered play of her face indicating the force of her thoughts; a slight frown wrinkled her smooth brow!
"Has anything disagreeable happened to you? but I have no right to ask," he added quickly.
"Why so? No, nothing disagreeable has happened to me," she said coolly, and immediately continued, "Have you seen Mlle. Linon yet?"
"Not yet."
"Go to see her; she is so fond of you."
"What does this mean? I have offended her! Lord! have pity upon me!" thought Levin, and skated swiftly toward the old French governess, with little gray curls, who was watching them from a bench. She received him like an old friend, smiling, and showing her false teeth.
"Yes, but how we have grown up," she said, indicating Kitty with her eyes; "and how demure we are! Tiny bear has grown large," continued the old governess, still smiling; and she recalled his jest about the three young ladies whom he had named after the three bears in the English story. .... "Do you remember that you used to call them so?"
He had entirely forgotten it, but she had laughed at this pleasantry for ten years, and still enjoyed it.
"Now go, go and skate. Does n't our Kitty take to it beautifully?"
When Levin rejoined Kitty, her face was no longer severe; her eyes had regained their frank and kindly expression; but it seemed to him that her very kindliness had a peculiar premeditated tone of serenity, and he felt troubled. After speaking of the old governess and her eccentricities, she asked him about his own life. "Is n't it a bore living in the country in the winter?" she asked.
"No, it is not a bore; I am very busy," he replied, conscious that she was bringing him into the atmosphere of serene friendliness from which he could not escape now, any more than he could at the beginning of the winter.
"Shall you stay long?" asked Kitty.
"I do not know," he answered, without regard to what he was saying. The thought that, if he fell back into that tone of calm friendship, he might return home without reaching any decision, occurred to him, and he resolved to rebel against it.
"Why don't you know?"
"I don't know why. It depends on you," he said, and instantly he was horrified at his own words.
She either did not understand his words, or did not want to understand them, for, seeming to stumble once or twice, catching her foot, she hurriedly skated away from him; and, having spoken to Mlle. Linon, she went to the little house, where her skates were removed by the waiting-women.
"My God! what have I done? O Lord God! have pity upon me, and come to my aid!" was Levin's secret prayer; and, feeling the need of taking some violent exercise, he began to describe outer and inner curves on the ice.
At this instant a young man, the best among the recent skaters, came out of the café with his skates on, and a cigarette in his mouth; with one spring he slid down, slipping and leaping from step to step, and, without even changing the easy position of his arms, skated down and out upon the ice.
"Ah, that is a new trick," said Levin to himself, and he climbed up to the top of the bank to try the new trick.
"Don't you kill yourself! it needs practice," shouted Nikolai Shcherbatsky.
Levin went up to the platform, got as good a start as he could, and then flew down the steps preserving his balance with his arms; but at the last step he stumbled, made a violent effort to recover himself, regained his equilibrium, and with a laugh glided out upon the ice.
"Charming, glorious fellow," thought Kitty, at this moment coming out of the little house with Mlle. Linon, and looking at him with a gentle, affectionate smile, as if he were a beloved brother. "Is it my fault? Have I done anything very bad? People say, 'Coquetry.' I know that I don't love him, but it is pleasant to be with him, and he is such a splendid fellow. But what made him say that?"....
Seeing Kitty departing with her mother, who had come for her, Levin, flushed with his violent exercise, stopped and pondered. Then he took off his skates, and joined the mother and daughter at the gate.
"Very glad to see you," said the princess; "we receive on Thursdays, as usual."
"To-day, then?"
"We shall be very glad to see you," she answered coolly.
This coolness troubled Kitty, and she could not restrain her desire to temper her mother's chilling manner. She turned her head, and said, with a smile, "We shall see you, I hope."[1]
At this moment Stepan Arkadyevitch, with hat on one side, with animated face and bright eyes, entered the garden. But as he came up to his wife's mother, he assumed a melancholy and humiliated expression, and replied to the questions which she asked about Dolly's health. When he had finished speaking in a low and broken voice with his mother-in-law, he straightened himself up, and took Levin's arm.
"Now, then, shall we go? I have been thinking of you all the time, and I am very glad that you came," he said, with a significant look into his eyes.
"Come on, come on," replied the happy Levin, who did not cease to hear the sound of a voice saying, "We shall see you soon, I hope," or to recall the smile that accompanied the words.
"At the Anglia, or at the Hermitage?"
"It's all the same to me."
"At the Anglia, then," said Stepan Arkadyevitch, making this choice because he owed more there than at the Hermitage, and it seemed unworthy of him, so to speak, to avoid this restaurant. "You have an izvoshchik? So much the better, for I sent off my carriage."
While they were on the way, the friends did not exchange a word. Levin was pondering on the meaning of the change in the expression of Kitty's face, and at one moment persuaded himself that there was hope, and at the next plunged into despair, and he saw clearly that his hope was unreasonable. Nevertheless, he felt that he was another man since he had heard those words, "We shall see you, I hope," and seen her smile.
Stepan Arkadyevitch was meantime making out the menu for their dinner.
"You like turbot, don't you?" were his first words on entering the restaurant.
"What?" exclaimed Levin. .... "Turbot? Yes, I am excessively fond of turbot."
- ↑ Simply da svidanya, equivalent to au revoir.