“I think it’s possible. Why not possible?”
“No! Do you really think it’s possible? No, tell me all you think!” Socrates bent forward another six degrees, his deepening incline reflecting Levin’s urgency. “Oh, but if… if refusal’s in store for me!… Indeed I feel sure…”
“Why should you think that?” said Stepan Arkadyich, 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 Arkadyich 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 Arkadyich 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 death for me. I have never spoken to anyone of this. And there’s no one I could speak of it to, except you. You know we’re utterly unlike each other, different tastes and views and everything; but I know you’re fond of me and understand me, and that’s why I like you awfully. But for God’s sake, be quite straightforward with me.”
Socrates bent forward further and a sharp luteous light began to flash from within his eyebank.
“I tell you what I think,” said Stepan Arkadyich, smiling. “But I’ll say more: my wife is a wonderful woman…” He sighed, remembering his position with his wife, and, after a moment’s silence, resumed. “She has a gift of foreseeing things. She sees right through people, as if she had a physiometer in her face; but that’s not all; she knows what will come to pass, especially in the way of marriages!”
Both of them laughed lightly, though Levin’s laughter was more out of nervousness than anything like genuine amusement. His true state was reflected by what was happening in Socrates’ eyebank, where lights were blinking rapidly, in alternating shades of yellow, topaz, and orange.
“She foretold, for instance, that Princess Shahovskaya would marry Brenteln. No one would believe it, but it came to pass. And she’s on your side.”
“How do you mean?”
“It’s not only that she likes you-she says that Kitty is certain to be married to you.”
Levin’s face suddenly lighted up with a smile, a smile not far from tears of emotion.
“She says that!” cried Levin. “I always said she was exquisite, your wife. There, that’s enough, enough said about it,” he said, getting up from his seat. Socrates got up just after him, one step behind his master, the deep-set lamps of his eyebank now a flickering blur of red and orange, orange and yellow, yellow and red.
“Do sit down,” cried Stiva to both of them, as Small Stiva twittered with alarm at the other robot’s wild display of lights.
But Levin could not sit down. He walked with his firm tread twice up and down the little cage of a room, blinked his eyelids so that his tears might not fall, and only then sat down to the table.
“You must understand,” he said, “it’s not love.”
“Not merely love,” Socrates echoed in a high-pitched burble.
“I’ve been in love, but it’s not that. It’s not my feeling, but a sort of force outside me has taken possession of me.”
“A force, a force, a powerful force!”
“I went away, you see, because I made up my mind that it could never be, you understand, as a happiness that does not come on earth; but I’ve struggled with myself, I see there’s no living without it. And it must be settled.”
“It must, it must, it must be settled now!” blared Socrates.
“What did you go away for?” inquired Oblonsky, but Levin charged on: “Ah, the thoughts that come crowding on one! The questions one must ask oneself!” Socrates now was pacing at furious speed around the dining table, beeping and whirring and whistling in a paroxysm of agitation. “You can’t imagine what you’ve done for me by what you said. I’m so happy that I’ve become positively hateful; I’ve forgotten everything. I heard today that my brother Nikolai… you know, he’s here… he’s ill… I had even forgotten him. But what’s awful… Here, you’ve been married, you know the feeling…” Socrates was now turning, twisting rapidly in place, his eyebank a wild xanthic blur, but Levin hardly noticed. “It’s awful that we-old-with a past… not of love, but of sins… are brought all at once so near to a creature pure and innocent; it’s loathsome-”
“Loathsome! Loathsome!”
“And that’s why one can’t help feeling oneself unworthy.”
“Unworthy! Unworthy! Unworthy!” Socrates bleated, and then there was a loud grinding noise and a small hiss of steam, as Socrates overheated, and went to unintentional Surcease.
CHAPTER 9
LEVIN CURSED, REVIVIFIED HIS beloved-companion, and emptied his glass. The two old friends sat in silence for a time, waiting for Socrates’ circuits to realign. Tea cups clinked elsewhere in the restaurant; a I/Samovar/1(8) burbled in the kitchen; a Class I lumière flickered to life automatically just as the gathering twilight demanded it; off in the distance on the streets outside was the tromp of 77s, the sharp hoot of their Caretaker.
“There’s one other thing I ought to tell you,” said Stepan Arkadyich while they waited. “Do you know Vronsky?”
“No, I don’t. Why do you ask?”
“Give us another bottle,” Stepan Arkadyich directed the II/Server/888 who was filling up their glasses, motoring round them just when he was not wanted. “And then turn off your sensors, will you?” Not needing to watch to make sure the white-jacketed Class II complied, since the Iron Laws demanded obedience to a human’s every order, Stepan Arkadyich freely turned back to Levin to share his secret.
“Why you ought to know Vronsky is that he’s one of your rivals.”
“Who’s Vronsky?” said Levin, and his face was suddenly transformed from the look of childlike ecstasy which Oblonsky had just been admiring to an angry and unpleasant expression.
“Vronsky is one of the sons of Count Kirill Ivanovitch Vronsky, and one of the finest specimens of the gilded youth of Petersburg. I made his acquaintance in Tver when I was there on official business, and he came there for the levy of recruits. Fearfully rich, handsome, great connections, a hero of the Border Wars, and authorized to carry a hot-whip and a pair of smokers on his belt. And with all that a very nice, good-natured fellow. But he’s more than simply a good-natured fellow, as I’ve found out here-he’s a cultivated man, too, and very intelligent; he’s a man who’ll make his mark.”
Levin scowled and was dumb.
“Well, he turned up here soon after you’d gone, and as I can see, he’s over head and ears in love with Kitty, and you know that her mother…”
“Excuse me, but I know nothing,” said Levin, frowning gloomily. And immediately he recollected his ill brother Nikolay and how hateful he was to have been able to forget him.
“You wait a bit, wait a bit,” said Stepan Arkadyich, smiling and touching his hand. “I’ve told you what I know, and I repeat that in this delicate and tender matter, as far as one can conjecture, I believe the chances are in your favor.”
Levin dropped back in his chair; his face was pale.
“But I would advise you to settle the thing as soon as may be,” pursued Oblonsky, filling up his glass.