Chapter 7
The next day was Sunday. Stepan Arkadyevitch went to the Grand
Theater to a rehearsal of the ballet, and gave Masha Tchibisova, a pretty
dancing-girl whom he had just taken under his protection, the coral
necklace he had promised her the evening before, and behind the scenes in
the dim daylight of the theater, managed to kiss her pretty little face, radiant
over her present. Besides the gift of the necklace he wanted to arrange with
her about meeting after the ballet. After explaining that he could not come
at the beginning of the ballet, he promised he would come for the last act
and take her to supper. From the theater Stepan Arkadyevitch drove to
Ohotny Row, selected himself the fish and asparagus for dinner, and by
twelve o’clock was at Dussots’, where he had to see three people, luckily all
staying at the same hotel: Levin, who had recently come back from abroad
and was staying there; the new head of his department, who had just been
promoted to that position, and had come on a tour of revision to Moscow;
and his brother-in-law, Karenin, whom he must see, so as to be sure of
bringing him to dinner.
Stepan Arkadyevitch liked dining, but still better he liked to give a
dinner, small, but very choice, both as regards the food and drink and as
regards the selection of guests. He particularly liked the program of that
day’s dinner. There would be fresh perch, asparagus, and la pièce de
resistance—first-rate, but quite plain, roast beef, and wines to suit: so much
for the eating and drinking. Kitty and Levin would be of the party, and that
this might not be obtrusively evident, there would be a girl cousin too, and
young Shtcherbatsky, and la pièce de resistance among the guests—Sergey
Koznishev and Alexey Alexandrovitch. Sergey Ivanovitch was a Moscow
man, and a philosopher; Alexey Alexandrovitch a Petersburger, and a
practical politician. He was asking, too, the well-known eccentric
enthusiast, Pestsov, a liberal, a great talker, a musician, an historian, and the
most delightfully youthful person of fifty, who would be a sauce or garnish
for Koznishev and Karenin. He would provoke them and set them off.
The second installment for the forest had been received from the
merchant and was not yet exhausted; Dolly had been very amiable and
good-humored of late, and the idea of the dinner pleased Stepan
Arkadyevitch from every point of view. He was in the most light-hearted
mood. There were two circumstances a little unpleasant, but these two
circumstances were drowned in the sea of good-humored gaiety which
flooded the soul of Stepan Arkadyevitch. These two circumstances were:
first, that on meeting Alexey Alexandrovitch the day before in the street he
had noticed that he was cold and reserved with him, and putting the
expression of Alexey Alexandrovitch’s face and the fact that he had not
come to see them or let them know of his arrival with the rumors he had
heard about Anna and Vronsky, Stepan Arkadyevitch guessed that
something was wrong between the husband and wife.
That was one disagreeable thing. The other slightly disagreeable fact was
that the new head of his department, like all new heads, had the reputation
already of a terrible person, who got up at six o’clock in the morning,
worked like a horse, and insisted on his subordinates working in the same
way. Moreover, this new head had the further reputation of being a bear in
his manners, and was, according to all reports, a man of a class in all
respects the opposite of that to which his predecessor had belonged, and to
which Stepan Arkadyevitch had hitherto belonged himself. On the previous
day Stepan Arkadyevitch had appeared at the office in a uniform, and the
new chief had been very affable and had talked to him as to an
acquaintance. Consequently Stepan Arkadyevitch deemed it his duty to call
upon him in his non-official dress. The thought that the new chief might not
tender him a warm reception was the other unpleasant thing. But Stepan
Arkadyevitch instinctively felt that everything would come round all right.
“They’re all people, all men, like us poor sinners; why be nasty and
quarrelsome?” he thought as he went into the hotel.
“Good-day, Vassily,” he said, walking into the corridor with his hat
cocked on one side, and addressing a footman he knew; “why, you’ve let
your whiskers grow! Levin, number seven, eh? Take me up, please. And
find out whether Count Anitchkin” (this was the new head) “is receiving.”
“Yes, sir,” Vassily responded, smiling. “You’ve not been to see us for a
long while.”
“I was here yesterday, but at the other entrance. Is this number seven?”
Levin was standing with a peasant from Tver in the middle of the room,
measuring a fresh bearskin, when Stepan Arkadyevitch went in.
“What! you killed him?” cried Stepan Arkadyevitch. “Well done! A she-
bear? How are you, Arhip!”
He shook hands with the peasant and sat down on the edge of a chair,
without taking off his coat and hat.
“Come, take off your coat and stay a little,” said Levin, taking his hat.
“No, I haven’t time; I’ve only looked in for a tiny second,” answered
Stepan Arkadyevitch. He threw open his coat, but afterwards did take it off,
and sat on for a whole hour, talking to Levin about hunting and the most
intimate subjects.
“Come, tell me, please, what you did abroad? Where have you been?”
said Stepan Arkadyevitch, when the peasant had gone.
“Oh, I stayed in Germany, in Prussia, in France, and in England—not in
the capitals, but in the manufacturing towns, and saw a great deal that was
new to me. And I’m glad I went.”
“Yes, I knew your idea of the solution of the labor question.”
“Not a bit: in Russia there can be no labor question. In Russia the
question is that of the relation of the working people to the land; though the
question exists there too—but there it’s a matter of repairing what’s been
ruined, while with us….”
Stepan Arkadyevitch listened attentively to Levin.
“Yes, yes!” he said, “it’s very possible you’re right. But I’m glad you’re
in good spirits, and are hunting bears, and working, and interested.
Shtcherbatsky told me another story—he met you—that you were in such a
depressed state, talking of nothing but death….”
“Well, what of it? I’ve not given up thinking of death,” said Levin. “It’s
true that it’s high time I was dead; and that all this is nonsense. It’s the truth
I’m telling you. I do value my idea and my work awfully; but in reality only
consider this: all this world of ours is nothing but a speck of mildew, which
has grown up on a tiny planet. And for us to suppose we can have
something great—ideas, work—it’s all dust and ashes.”
“But all that’s as old as the hills, my boy!”
“It is old; but do you know, when you grasp this fully, then somehow
everything becomes of no consequence. When you understand that you will
die tomorrow, if not today, and nothing will be left, then everything is so
unimportant! And I consider my idea very important, but it turns out really
to be as unimportant too, even if it were carried out, as doing for that bear.
So one goes on living, amusing oneself with hunting, with work—anything
so as not to think of death!”
Stepan Arkadyevitch smiled a subtle affectionate smile as he listened to
Levin.
“Well, of course! Here you’ve come round to my point. Do you
remember you attacked me for seeking enjoyment in life? Don’t be so
severe, O moralist!”
“No; all the same, what’s fine in life is….” Levin hesitated—“oh, I don’t
know. All I know is that we shall soon be dead.”
“Why so soon?”
“And do you know, there’s less charm in life, when one thinks of death,
but there’s more peace.”
“On the contrary, the finish is always the best. But I must be going,” said
Stepan Arkadyevitch, getting up for the tenth time.
“Oh, no, stay a bit!” said Levin, keeping him. “Now, when shall we see
each other again? I’m going tomorrow.”
“I’m a nice person! Why, that’s just what I came for! You simply must
come to dinner with us today. Your brother’s coming, and Karenin, my
brother-in-law.”
“You don’t mean to say he’s here?” said Levin, and he wanted to inquire
about Kitty. He had heard at the beginning of the winter that she was at
Petersburg with her sister, the wife of the diplomat, and he did not know
whether she had come back or not; but he changed his mind and did not
ask. “Whether she’s coming or not, I don’t care,” he said to himself.
“So you’ll come?”
“Of course.”
“At five o’clock, then, and not evening dress.”
And Stepan Arkadyevitch got up and went down below to the new head
of his department. Instinct had not misled Stepan Arkadyevitch. The terrible
new head turned out to be an extremely amenable person, and Stepan
Arkadyevitch lunched with him and stayed on, so that it was four o’clock
before he got to Alexey Alexandrovitch.
