1 Rice powder, aromatic vinegar.
11
LEVIN drained his glass and they fell silent.
‘There is just one other thing I must tell you. Do you know Vronsky?’ Stepan Arkadyich asked Levin.
‘No, I don’t. Why do you ask?’
‘Bring us another,’ said Stepan Arkadyich to the Tatar who was filling the glasses, and hovering around them just when he did not need to be.
‘Why do I need to know Vronsky?’
‘You need to know Vronsky because he is one of your competitors.’
‘Who is this Vronsky?’ asked Levin, and his face suddenly switched its expression from the child-like rapture which Oblonsky had just been admiring to one which was ill-humoured and disagreeable.
‘Vronsky is one of Kirill Ivanovich Vronsky’s sons, and one of the best examples of Petersburg’s gilded youth. I got to know him in Tver,* when I had a post there, and he came to be enlisted. Terribly rich, handsome, excellent connections, aide-de-camp, and at the same time a very pleasant, decent fellow. But he’s more than just a decent fellow. As I have discovered here, he is also educated and very clever; he is a person who will go far.’
Levin glowered and remained silent.
‘Anyway, he turned up here soon after you left, and as I understand it, is head over heels in love with Kitty, and her mother, you understand …’
‘Excuse me, but I don’t understand anything,’ said Levin, scowling gloomily. And he immediately remembered his brother Nikolay, and how loathsome he was to have forgotten about him.
‘Just wait, wait,’ said Stepan Arkadyich, smiling and touching his arm. ‘I’ve told you what I know, and I repeat that the odds seem to be in your favour in this subtle and delicate affair, as far as one can judge.’
Levin leaned back in his chair; his face was pale.
‘But I would advise you to settle the matter as quickly as you can,’ continued Oblonsky, filling up his glass.
‘No, thank you, I can’t drink any more,’ said Levin, pushing away the glass. ‘I’ll be drunk … Well, how are things with you?’ he continued, clearly wanting to change the subject.
‘One word more: I do advise you to settle the matter soon in any case. I don’t advise you to say anything today,’ said Stepan Arkadyich. ‘Go over tomorrow morning, propose in the time-honoured way, and may God bless you …’
‘You know you’ve always wanted to come to my place for some shooting? You should come in spring, when the woodcock are roding,’* said Levin.
He now regretted with all his heart starting that conversation with Stepan Arkadyich. His special feeling had been tarnished by the conversation about some Petersburg officer being a rival, and by Stepan Arkadyich’s speculations and pieces of advice.
Stepan Arkadyich smiled. He understood what was going on in Levin’s heart.
‘I will come some time,’ he said. ‘Yes, my friend, women are the pivot on which everything turns. I’m in a bad way too, very bad. And all because of women. Be frank with me,’ he continued, picking up a cigar and holding his glass with the same hand. ‘Give me some advice.’
‘But about what?’
‘Well, it’s like this. Let us suppose you are married, and you love your wife, but you are attracted to another woman …’
‘I’m sorry, but I really do not understand this, it’s as if … like I would not understand it if I now went past a bakery after having had a good meal and stole a roll.’
Stepan Arkadyich’s eyes twinkled more than usual.
‘But why not? Sometimes rolls smell so good you can’t resist.
Himmlisch ist’s, wenn ich bezwungen
Meine irdische Begier;
Aber noch wenn’s nicht gelungen,
Hatt’ ich auch recht hübsch Plaisir.’*1
As he said this, Stepan Arkadyich smiled artfully. Levin also could not stop himself from smiling.
‘Yes, but joking aside,’ continued Oblonsky. ‘You have to understand that the woman is a sweet, gentle, affectionate creature who is poor and lonely, and has sacrificed everything. Now that the deed is done, you understand, I can hardly abandon her, can I? I’m presuming we will have to separate so as not to destroy family life, but how can I not feel sorry for her, make arrangements for her, and soften the blow?’
‘Well, you must forgive me. For me, as you know, all women are divided into two sorts … no, what I mean is … to put it better: there are women and there are … I have never ever seen any lovely fallen creatures,* nor will I, and the ones like that painted Frenchwoman at the desk with the ringlets are vermin, and all fallen women are the same.’
‘But what about the one in the Gospels?’
‘Oh, stop it! Christ would have never said those words if he had known how they would be misused.* Out of the entire Gospels, those are the only words people remember. Anyway, I am not saying what I think, but what I feel. I have an aversion to fallen women. You are afraid of spiders but I’m afraid of these vile creatures. You probably haven’t studied spiders, after all, and don’t know their manners and customs: it’s the same for me.’
‘It’s all very well for you to say that; you’re just like that gentleman in Dickens who throws all troublesome questions over his right shoulder with his left hand.* But denying a fact is not an answer. Just what am I to do, please tell me, what am I to do? Your wife is getting old, but you are full of life. You’ve barely had time to turn around and you are already feeling that you can’t love your wife with love, however much you respect her. And then suddenly love comes along, and you’re lost—lost!’ said Stepan Arkadyich in grim despair.
Levin chuckled.
‘Yes, I’m lost,’ continued Oblonsky. ‘But what am I to do?’
‘Don’t steal rolls.’
Stepan Arkadyich burst out laughing.
‘You’re such a moralist! But you have to understand, we have two women here: one insists only on her rights, and these rights are your love, which you cannot give her; while the other sacrifices everything for you, and asks for nothing. What are you to do? How should you behave? It’s a terrible drama.’
‘If you want my frank opinion about this, then I have to tell you that I do not believe there is any drama going on. And here is why. As far as I see it, love … both kinds of love, which you remember Plato defines in his Symposium*—both loves serve as a touchstone for people. Some people understand only the first kind, and others only the second. And those who only understand non-Platonic love should not be talking about drama. There cannot be any drama with this kind of love. “Thanking you humbly for the pleasure, my compliments,” and that is all the drama. And there cannot be any drama in Platonic love, because in that kind of love everything is clear and pure, because …’
At that moment Levin remembered his own misdemeanours, and the inner struggle he had gone through. And he added unexpectedly:
‘However, maybe you are right. Maybe indeed … But I don’t know, I really don’t.’
‘The thing is,’ said Stepan Arkadyich, ‘you are a very integrated person. It’s both your strength and your weakness. You yourself are integrated, and you want all of life to consist of integrated phenomena, but that cannot happen. You despise the activities of civil servants, for example, because you want the work to correspond to the goal, and that cannot happen. You also want the activities of each individual to always have a goal, and for love and family life always to be one. But that cannot happen either. All the variety, all the wonder and beauty of life is made up of light and shade.’
Levin sighed and did not reply. He was thinking his own thoughts and was not listening to Oblonsky.