When Kitty had gone and Levin was left alone, he felt such
uneasiness without her and such an impatient longing to get as
quickly, as quickly as possible, to tomorrow morning, when he
would see her again and be plighted to her forever, that he felt
afraid, as though of death, of those fourteen hours that he had
to get through without her. It was essential for him to be with
someone to talk to, so as not to be left alone, to kill time.
Stepan Arkadyevitch would have been the companion most congenial
to him, but he was going out, he said, to a soiree, in reality to
the ballet. Levin only had time to tell him he was happy, and
that he loved him, and would never, never forget what he had done
for him. The eyes and the smile of Stepan Arkadyevitch showed
Levin that he comprehended that feeling fittingly.
"Oh, so it's not time to die yet?" said Stepan Arkadyevitch,
pressing Levin's hand with emotion.
"N-n-no!" said Levin.
Darya Alexandrovna too, as she said good-bye to him, gave him a
sort of congratulation, saying, "How glad I am you have met
Kitty again! One must value old friends." Levin did not like
these words of Darya Alexandrovna's. She could not understand
how lofty and beyond her it all was, and she ought not to have
dared to allude to it. Levin said good-bye to them, but, not to
be left alone, he attached himself to his brother.
"Where are you going?"
"I'm going to a meeting."
"Well, I'll come with you. May I?"
"What for? Yes, come along," said Sergey Ivanovitch, smiling.
"What is the matter with you today?"
"With me? Happiness is the matter with me!" said Levin, letting
down the window of the carriage they were driving in. "You don't
mind?--it's so stifling. It's happiness is the matter with me!
Why is it you have never married?"
Sergey Ivanovitch smiled.
"I am very glad, she seems a nice gi..." Sergey Ivanovitch was
"Don't say it! don't say it!" shouted Levin, clutching at the
collar of his fur coat with both hands, and muffling him up in
it. "She's a nice girl" were such simple, humble words, so out
of harmony with his feeling.
Sergey Ivanovitch laughed outright a merry laugh, which was rare
with him. "Well, anyway, I may say that I'm very glad of it."
"That you may do tomorrow, tomorrow and nothing more! Nothing,
nothing, silence," said Levin, and muffing him once more in his
fur coat, he added: "I do like you so! Well, is it possible for
me to be present at the meeting?"
"Of course it is."
"What is your discussion about today?" asked Levin, never ceasing
They arrived at the meeting. Levin heard the secretary
hesitatingly read the minutes which he obviously did not himself
understand; but Levin saw from this secretary's face what a good,
nice, kind-hearted person he was. This was evident from his
confusion and embarrassment in reading the minutes. Then the
discussion began. They were disputing about the misappropriation
of certain sums and the laying of certain pipes, and Sergey
Ivanovitch was very cutting to two members, and said something at
great length with an air of triumph; and another member,
scribbling something on a bit of paper, began timidly at first,
but afterwards answered him very viciously and delightfully. And
then Sviazhsky (he was there too) said something too, very
handsomely and nobly. Levin listened to them, and saw clearly
that these missing sums and these pipes were not anything real,
and that they were not at all angry, but were all the nicest,
kindest people, and everything was as happy and charming as
possible among them. They did no harm to anyone, and were all
enjoying it. What struck Levin was that he could see through
them all today, and from little, almost imperceptible signs knew
the soul of each, and saw distinctly that they were all good at
heart. And Levin himself in particular they were all extremely
fond of that day. That was evident from the way they spoke to
him, from the friendly, affectionate way even those he did not
know looked at him.
"Well, did you like it?" Sergey Ivanovitch asked him.
"Very much. I never supposed it was so interesting! Capital!
Sviazhsky went up to Levin and invited him to come round to tea
with him. Levin was utterly at a loss to comprehend or recall
what it was he had disliked in Sviazhsky, what he had failed to
find in him. He was a clever and wonderfully good-hearted man.
"Most delighted," he said, and asked after his wife and
sister-in-law. And from a queer association of ideas, because in
his imagination the idea of Sviazhsky's sister-in-law was
connected with marriage, it occurred to him that there was no one
to whom he could more suitably speak of his happiness, and he was
very glad to go and see them.
Sviazhsky questioned him about his improvements on his estate,
presupposing, as he always did, that there was no possibility of
doing anything not done already in Europe, and now this did not
in the least annoy Levin. On the contrary, he felt that
Sviazhsky was right, that the whole business was of little value,
and he saw the wonderful softness and consideration with which
Sviazhsky avoided fully expressing his correct view. The ladies
of the Sviazhsky household were particularly delightful. It
seemed to Levin that they knew all about it already and
sympathized with him, saying nothing merely from delicacy. He
stayed with them one hour, two, three, talking of all sorts of
subjects but the one thing that filled his heart, and did not
observe that he was boring them dreadfully, and that it was long
past their bedtime.
Sviazhsky went with him into the hall, yawning and wondering at
the strange humor his friend was in. It was past one o'clock.
Levin went back to his hotel, and was dismayed at the thought
that all alone now with his impatience he had ten hours still
left to get through. The servant, whose turn it was to be up all
night, lighted his candles, and would have gone away, but Levin
stopped him. This servant, Yegor, whom Levin had noticed before,
struck him as a very intelligent, excellent, and, above all,
"Well, Yegor, it's hard work not sleeping, isn't it?"
"One's got to put up with it! It's part of our work, you see.
In a gentleman's house it's easier; but then here one makes
It appeared that Yegor had a family, three boys and a daughter, a
sempstress, whom he wanted to marry to a cashier in a saddler's
Levin, on hearing this, informed Yegor that, in his opinion, in
marriage the great thing was love, and that with love one would
always be happy, for happiness rests only on oneself. Yegor
listened attentively, and obviously quite took in Levin's idea,
but by way of assent to it he enunciated, greatly to Levin's
surprise, the observation that when he had lived with good
masters he had always been satisfied with his masters, and now
was perfectly satisfied with his employer, though he was a
"Wonderfully good-hearted fellow!" thought Levin.
"Well, but you yourself, Yegor, when you got married, did you
love your wife?"
"Ay! and why not?" responded Yegor.
And Levin saw that Yegor too was in an excited state and
intending to express all his most heartfelt emotions.
"My life, too, has been a wonderful one. From a child up..." he
was beginning with flashing eyes, apparently catching Levin's
enthusiasm, just as people catch yawning.
But at that moment a ring was heard. Yegor departed, and Levin
was left alone. He had eaten scarcely anything at dinner, had
refused tea and supper at Sviazhsky's, but he was incapable of
thinking of supper. He had not slept the previous night, but was
incapable of thinking of sleep either. His room was cold, but he
was oppressed by heat. He opened both the movable panes in his
window and sat down to the table opposite the open panes. Over
the snow-covered roofs could be seen a decorated cross with
chains, and above it the rising triangle of Charles's Wain with
the yellowish light of Capella. He gazed at the cross, then at
the stars, drank in the fresh freezing air that flowed evenly
into the room, and followed as though in a dream the images and
memories that rose in his imagination. At four o'clock he heard
steps in the passage and peeped out at the door. It was the
gambler Myaskin, whom he knew, coming from the club. He walked
gloomily, frowning and coughing. "Poor, unlucky fellow!" thought
Levin, and tears came into his eyes from love and pity for this
man. He would have talked with him, and tried to comfort him,
but remembering that he had nothing but his shirt on, he changed
his mind and sat down again at the open pane to bathe in the cold
air and gaze at the exquisite lines of the cross, silent, but
full of meaning for him, and the mounting lurid yellow star. At
seven o'clock there was a noise of people polishing the floors,
and bells ringing in some servants' department, and Levin felt
that he was beginning to get frozen. He closed the pane, washed,
dressed, and went out into the street.