Anna Karenina by graf Leo Tolstoy
Chapter 117
1358 words | Chapter 117
The streets were still empty. Levin went to the house of the
Shtcherbatskys. The visitors’ doors were closed and everything was
asleep. He walked back, went into his room again, and asked for coffee.
The day servant, not Yegor this time, brought it to him. Levin would
have entered into conversation with him, but a bell rang for the
servant, and he went out. Levin tried to drink coffee and put some roll
in his mouth, but his mouth was quite at a loss what to do with the
roll. Levin, rejecting the roll, put on his coat and went out again for
a walk. It was nine o’clock when he reached the Shtcherbatskys’ steps
the second time. In the house they were only just up, and the cook came
out to go marketing. He had to get through at least two hours more.
All that night and morning Levin lived perfectly unconsciously, and
felt perfectly lifted out of the conditions of material life. He had
eaten nothing for a whole day, he had not slept for two nights, had
spent several hours undressed in the frozen air, and felt not simply
fresher and stronger than ever, but felt utterly independent of his
body; he moved without muscular effort, and felt as if he could do
anything. He was convinced he could fly upwards or lift the corner of
the house, if need be. He spent the remainder of the time in the
street, incessantly looking at his watch and gazing about him.
And what he saw then, he never saw again after. The children especially
going to school, the bluish doves flying down from the roofs to the
pavement, and the little loaves covered with flour, thrust out by an
unseen hand, touched him. Those loaves, those doves, and those two boys
were not earthly creatures. It all happened at the same time: a boy ran
towards a dove and glanced smiling at Levin; the dove, with a whir of
her wings, darted away, flashing in the sun, amid grains of snow that
quivered in the air, while from a little window there came a smell of
fresh-baked bread, and the loaves were put out. All of this together
was so extraordinarily nice that Levin laughed and cried with delight.
Going a long way round by Gazetny Place and Kislovka, he went back
again to the hotel, and putting his watch before him, he sat down to
wait for twelve o’clock. In the next room they were talking about some
sort of machines, and swindling, and coughing their morning coughs.
They did not realize that the hand was near twelve. The hand reached
it. Levin went out onto the steps. The sledge-drivers clearly knew all
about it. They crowded round Levin with happy faces, quarreling among
themselves, and offering their services. Trying not to offend the other
sledge drivers, and promising to drive with them too, Levin took one
and told him to drive to the Shtcherbatskys’. The sledge-driver was
splendid in a white shirt-collar sticking out over his overcoat and
into his strong, full-blooded red neck. The sledge was high and
comfortable, and altogether such a one as Levin never drove in after,
and the horse was a good one, and tried to gallop but didn’t seem to
move. The driver knew the Shtcherbatskys’ house, and drew up at the
entrance with a curve of his arm and a “Wo!” especially indicative of
respect for his fare. The Shtcherbatskys’ hall-porter certainly knew
all about it. This was evident from the smile in his eyes and the way
he said:
“Well, it’s a long while since you’ve been to see us, Konstantin
Dmitrievitch!”
Not only he knew all about it, but he was unmistakably delighted and
making efforts to conceal his joy. Looking into his kindly old eyes,
Levin realized even something new in his happiness.
“Are they up?”
“Pray walk in! Leave it here,” said he, smiling, as Levin would have
come back to take his hat. That meant something.
“To whom shall I announce your honor?” asked the footman.
The footman, though a young man, and one of the new school of footmen,
a dandy, was a very kind-hearted, good fellow, and he too knew all
about it.
“The princess ... the prince ... the young princess....” said Levin.
The first person he saw was Mademoiselle Linon. She walked across the
room, and her ringlets and her face were beaming. He had only just
spoken to her, when suddenly he heard the rustle of a skirt at the
door, and Mademoiselle Linon vanished from Levin’s eyes, and a joyful
terror came over him at the nearness of his happiness. Mademoiselle
Linon was in great haste, and leaving him, went out at the other door.
Directly she had gone out, swift, swift light steps sounded on the
parquet, and his bliss, his life, himself—what was best in himself,
what he had so long sought and longed for—was quickly, so quickly
approaching him. She did not walk, but seemed, by some unseen force, to
float to him. He saw nothing but her clear, truthful eyes, frightened
by the same bliss of love that flooded his heart. Those eyes were
shining nearer and nearer, blinding him with their light of love. She
stopped still close to him, touching him. Her hands rose and dropped
onto his shoulders.
She had done all she could—she had run up to him and given herself up
entirely, shy and happy. He put his arms round her and pressed his lips
to her mouth that sought his kiss.
She too had not slept all night, and had been expecting him all the
morning.
Her mother and father had consented without demur, and were happy in
her happiness. She had been waiting for him. She wanted to be the first
to tell him her happiness and his. She had got ready to see him alone,
and had been delighted at the idea, and had been shy and ashamed, and
did not know herself what she was doing. She had heard his steps and
voice, and had waited at the door for Mademoiselle Linon to go.
Mademoiselle Linon had gone away. Without thinking, without asking
herself how and what, she had gone up to him, and did as she was doing.
“Let us go to mamma!” she said, taking him by the hand. For a long
while he could say nothing, not so much because he was afraid of
desecrating the loftiness of his emotion by a word, as that every time
he tried to say something, instead of words he felt that tears of
happiness were welling up. He took her hand and kissed it.
“Can it be true?” he said at last in a choked voice. “I can’t believe
you love me, dear!”
She smiled at that “dear,” and at the timidity with which he glanced at
her.
“Yes!” she said significantly, deliberately. “I am so happy!”
Not letting go his hands, she went into the drawing-room. The princess,
seeing them, breathed quickly, and immediately began to cry and then
immediately began to laugh, and with a vigorous step Levin had not
expected, ran up to him, and hugging his head, kissed him, wetting his
cheeks with her tears.
“So it is all settled! I am glad. Love her. I am glad.... Kitty!”
“You’ve not been long settling things,” said the old prince, trying to
seem unmoved; but Levin noticed that his eyes were wet when he turned
to him.
“I’ve long, always wished for this!” said the prince, taking Levin by
the arm and drawing him towards himself. “Even when this little
feather-head fancied....”
“Papa!” shrieked Kitty, and shut his mouth with her hands.
“Well, I won’t!” he said. “I’m very, very ... plea... Oh, what a fool I
am....”
He embraced Kitty, kissed her face, her hand, her face again, and made
the sign of the cross over her.
And there came over Levin a new feeling of love for this man, till then
so little known to him, when he saw how slowly and tenderly Kitty
kissed his muscular hand.
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