‘Wait, wait,’ said Stepan Arkadyich, smiling and touching his hand. ‘I’ve told you what I know, and I repeat that in this subtle and delicate matter, as far as I can surmise, the chances seem to be on your side.’
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 hishscb 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 no 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.