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, whiteheaded old Tatar with immense hips and coat-tails gaping
widely behind. ‘Walk in, your excellency,’ he said to Levin;
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Anna Karenina
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
61
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.’
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 menu 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.’
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Anna Karenina
‘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 coat-tails, and in five
minutes darted in with a dish of opened oysters on motherof-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
63
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
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Anna Karenina
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,
65
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?’
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Anna Karenina
‘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
