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 hubsch 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.
'The bill!' he shouted and went to a neighbouring room, where he at once met an aide-de-camp of his acquaintance and got into conversation with him about some actress and the man who kept her. And at once, in his conversation with the aide-de-camp, Oblonsky felt relieved and rested after talking with Levin, who always caused him too much mental and spiritual strain.
When the Tartar came with a bill for twenty-six roubles and change, plus something for a tip, Levin, who at another time, as a countryman, would have been horrified at his share of fourteen roubles, now took notice, paid and went home, in order to change and go to the Shcherbatskys', where his fate was to be decided.
XII
Princess Kitty Shcherbatsky was eighteen years old. She had come out for the first time this season. Her success in society was greater than that of her two older sisters and greater than the old princess had even expected. Not only were all the young men who danced at the Moscow balls in love with Kitty, but already in this first season two serious suitors had presented themselves: Levin and, immediately after his departure, Count Vronsky.
Levin's appearance at the beginning of winter, his frequent visits and obvious love for Kitty, gave rise to the first serious conversations between Kitty's parents about her future and to disputes between the prince and the princess. The prince was on Levin's side, said he could wish nothing better for Kitty. The princess, however, with that way women have of sidestepping the question, said that Kitty was too young, that Levin had in no way shown that his intentions were serious, that Kitty had no attachment to him, and other arguments; but what she did not say was that she expected a better match for her daughter, that she found Levin unsympathetic, and that she did not understand him. When Levin suddenly left, the princess was glad and said triumphantly to her husband: 'You see, I was right.' And when Vronsky appeared, she was gladder still, being confirmed in her opinion that Kitty was to make not merely a good but a brilliant match.
For the mother there could be no comparison between Vronsky and Levin. The mother disliked in Levin his strange and sharp judgements, his awkwardness in society (caused, as she supposed, by his pride), and his, in her opinion, wild sort of life in the country, busy with cattle and muzhiks; she also very much disliked that he, being in love with her daughter, had visited their house for a month and a half as if waiting for something spying out, as i
f he were afraid it would be too great an honour if he should propose, and not understanding that if he visited a house where here was a marriageable daughter, he ought to explain himself. And suddenly, without explanation, he had left. 'It's a good thing he's so unattractive that Kitty didn't fall in love with him,' thought the mother.
Vronsky satisfied all the mother's desires. Very rich, intelligent, wellborn, a brilliant military-courtly career, and a charming man. One could wish for nothing better.
At the balls Vronsky openly courted Kitty, danced with her and visited the house, which meant there could be no doubt of the seriousness of his intentions. But, in spite of that, the mother spent the entire winter in terrible worry and agitation.
The old princess herself had married thirty years ago, with her aunt as matchmaker. The fiance, of whom everything was known beforehand, came, saw the bride, and was seen himself; the matchmaking aunt found out and conveyed the impression made on both sides; the impression was good; then on the appointed day the expected proposal was made to her parents and accepted. Everything happened very easily and simply. At least it seemed so to the princess. But with her own daughters she had experienced how this seemingly ordinary thing - giving away her daughters in marriage - was neither easy nor simple. So many fears had been lived through, so many thoughts thought, so much money spent, so many confrontations with her husband when the older two, Darya and Natalya, were being married! Now, as the youngest one was brought out, she lived through the same fears, the same doubts, and had still greater quarrels with her husband than over the older ones. The old prince, like all fathers, was especially scrupulous about the honour and purity of his daughters; he was unreasonably jealous over them, and especially over Kitty, who was his favourite, and at every step made scenes with his wife for compromising their daughter. The princess had already grown used to it with the first two daughters, but now she felt that the prince's scrupulousness had more grounds. She saw that much had changed lately in the ways of society, that the duties of a mother had become even more difficult. She saw that girls of Kitty's age formed some sort of groups, attended some sort of courses[26] freely associated with men, drove around by themselves, many no longer curtsied, and, worse still, they were all firmly convinced that choosing a husband was their own and not their parents' business. 'Nowadays girls are not given in marriage as they used to be,' all these young girls, and even all the old people, thought and said. But how a girl was to be given in marriage nowadays the princess could not find out from anyone. The French custom - for the parents to decide the children's fate - was not accepted, and was even condemned. The English custom - giving the girl complete freedom - was also not accepted and was impossible in Russian society.
The Russian custom of matchmaking was regarded as something outrageous and was laughed at by everyone, the princess included. But how a girl was to get married or be given in marriage, no one knew. Everyone with whom the princess happened to discuss it told her one and the same thing: 'Good gracious, in our day it's time to abandon this antiquity. It's young people who get married, not their parents; that means the young people should be left to arrange it as they can.' It was fine for those who had no daughters to talk that way; but the princess understood that in making friends her daughter might fall in love, and fall in love with someone who would not want to marry or who was not right as a husband. And however much the princess was assured that in our time young people themselves must settle their fate, she was unable to believe it, as she would have been unable to believe that in anyone's time the best toys for five-year-old children would be loaded pistols. And therefore the princess worried more about Kitty than she had about her older daughters.
Now her fear was that Vronsky would not limit himself to merely courting her daughter. She saw that Kitty was already in love with him, but she comforted herself with thinking that he was an honest man and therefore would not do such a thing. But along with that she knew how easy it was, with the present-day freedom of behaviour, to turn a girl's head and, generally, how lightly men looked upon this fault. The week before, Kitty had repeated to her mother her conversation with Vronsky during the mazurka. This conversation had partly set the princess at ease; but she could not be completely at ease. Vronsky had told Kitty that he and his brother were both so used to obeying their mother in all things that they would never dare undertake anything important without consulting her. 'And now I'm waiting, as for a special happiness, for my mother's arrival from Petersburg,' he had said.
Kitty had repeated it without giving any significance to these words. But her mother understood it differently. She knew that the old woman was expected any day, knew that she would be glad of her son's choice, and found it strange that he would not propose for fear of offending his mother; yet she so much wanted the marriage itself and, most of all, a rest from her anxieties, that she believed it. Painful as it was for the Princess to see the unhappiness of her eldest daughter, Dolly, who was Preparing to leave her husband, her worry over the deciding of her youngest daughter's fate consumed all her feelings. Levin's appearance that same day had added to her trouble. She was afraid that her daughter, who as it seemed to her, had some feeling for Levin, might refuse Vronsky out of unnecessary honesty, and generally that Levin's arrival might confuse and delay matters so near conclusion.
'What about him, did he arrive long ago?' the princess said of Levin as they returned home.
'Today, maman.'
'I only want to say...' the princess began, and by her seriously animated face Kitty could guess what the talk would be about.
'Mama,' she said, flushing and quickly turning to her, 'please, please, don't say anything about it. I know, I know it all.'
She wished for the same thing her mother did, but the motives for her mother's wish offended her.
'I only want to say that, having given hopes to one ...'
'Mama, darling, for God's sake, don't speak. It's so awful to speak of it.'
'I won't, I won't,' her mother said, seeing the tears in her daughter's eyes, 'but one thing, my dearest: you promised me you wouldn't have any secrets from me. You won't?'
'Never, mama, none,' Kitty answered, blushing and looking straight into her mother's face. 'But I have nothing to tell now. I.. . I... even if I wanted to, I don't know what to say or how ... I don't know ...'
'No, she can't tell a lie with such eyes,' her mother thought, smiling at her excitement and happiness. The princess was smiling at how immense and significant everything now happening in her soul must seem to the poor dear.
XIII
Between dinner and the beginning of the evening, Kitty experienced a feeling similar to that of a young man before battle. Her heart was beating hard, and she could not fix her thoughts on anything.
She felt that this evening, when the two of them would meet for the first time, must be decisive in her fate. And she constantly pictured them to herself, first each of them separately, then the two together. When she thought about the past, she paused with pleasure, with tenderness, over memories of her relations with Levin. Memories of childhood and memories of Levin's friendship with her dead brother lent her relations with him a special poetic charm. His love for her, which she was certain of was flattering and joyful for her. And it was easy for her to recall Levin. But in her recollections of Vronsky there was an admixture of something awkward, though he was in the highest degree a calm and worldly man. It was as if there were some falseness - not in him, he was very simple and nice - but in herself, while with Levin she felt completely simple and clear. But on the other hand, the moment she thought of a future with Vronsky, the most brilliantly happy prospects rose before her, while with Levin the future seemed cloudy.
Going upstairs to dress for the evening and glancing in the mirror, she noticed with joy that she was having one of her good days and was in full possession of all her powers, which she so needed for what lay ahead of her: she felt in herself an external calm and a free grace of movement.
At
half-past seven, just as she came down to the drawing room, the footman announced: 'Konstantin Dmitrich Levin.' The princess was still in her room, and the prince also did not emerge. 'That's it,' thought Kitty, and the blood rushed to her heart. Glancing in the mirror, she was horrified at her paleness.
Now she knew for certain that he had come earlier in order to find her alone and to propose. And only here did the whole matter present itself to her for the first time with quite a different, new side. Only here did she realize that the question concerned not just herself-with whom would she be happy and whom she loved - but that at this very minute she must hurt a man she loved. And hurt him cruelly . .. Why? Because he, the dear man, loved her, was in love with her. But, no help for it, it must be so, it had to be so.
'My God, can it be that I must tell him myself?' she thought. 'Well, what shall I tell him? Can I possibly tell him I don't love him? It wouldn't be true. What shall I tell him, then? That I love another man? No, that's impossible. I'll go away, just go away.'
She was already close to the door when she heard his steps. 'No, it's dishonest! What am I afraid of? I haven't done anything wrong. What will be, will be! I'll tell the truth. I can't feel awkward with him. Here he is,' she said to herself, seeing his whole strong and timid figure, with his shining eyes directed at her. She looked straight into his face, as if begging him for mercy, and gave him her hand.