Anna Karenina

he 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.