Anna Karenina

hen the ceremony of plighting troth was over, the beadle spread before
the lectern in the middle of the church a piece of pink silken stuff,
the choir sang a complicated and elaborate psalm, in which the bass and
tenor sang responses to one another, and the priest turning round
pointed the bridal pair to the pink silk rug. Though both had often
heard a great deal about the saying that the one who steps first on the
rug will be the head of the house, neither Levin nor Kitty were capable
of recollecting it, as they took the few steps towards it. They did not
hear the loud remarks and disputes that followed, some maintaining he
had stepped on first, and others that both had stepped on together.

After the customary questions, whether they desired to enter upon
matrimony, and whether they were pledged to anyone else, and their
answers, which sounded strange to themselves, a new ceremony began.
Kitty listened to the words of the prayer, trying to make out their
meaning, but she could not. The feeling of triumph and radiant
happiness flooded her soul more and more as the ceremony went on, and
deprived her of all power of attention.

They prayed: “Endow them with continence and fruitfulness, and
vouchsafe that their hearts may rejoice looking upon their sons and
daughters.” They alluded to God’s creation of a wife from Adam’s rib
“and for this cause a man shall leave father and mother, and cleave
unto his wife, and they two shall be one flesh,” and that “this is a
great mystery”; they prayed that God would make them fruitful and bless
them, like Isaac and Rebecca, Joseph, Moses and Zipporah, and that they
might look upon their children’s children. “That’s all splendid,”
thought Kitty, catching the words, “all that’s just as it should be,”
and a smile of happiness, unconsciously reflected in everyone who
looked at her, beamed on her radiant face.

“Put it on quite,” voices were heard urging when the priest had put on
the wedding crowns and Shtcherbatsky, his hand shaking in its
three-button glove, held the crown high above her head.

“Put it on!” she whispered, smiling.

Levin looked round at her, and was struck by the joyful radiance on her
face, and unconsciously her feeling infected him. He too, like her felt
glad and happy.

They enjoyed hearing the epistle read, and the roll of the head
deacon’s voice at the last verse, awaited with such impatience by the
outside public. They enjoyed drinking out of the shallow cup of warm
red wine and water, and they were still more pleased when the priest,
flinging back his stole and taking both their hands in his, led them
round the lectern to the accompaniment of bass voices chanting “Glory
to God.”

Shtcherbatsky and Tchirikov, supporting the crowns and stumbling over
the bride’s train, smiling too and seeming delighted at something, were
at one moment left behind, at the next treading on the bridal pair as
the priest came to a halt. The spark of joy kindled in Kitty seemed to
have infected everyone in the church. It seemed to Levin that the
priest and the deacon too wanted to smile just as he did.

Taking the crowns off their heads the priest read the last prayer and
congratulated the young people. Levin looked at Kitty, and he had never
before seen her look as she did. She was charming with the new radiance
of happiness in her face. Levin longed to say something to her, but he
did not know whether it was all over. The priest got him out of his
difficulty. He smiled his kindly smile and said gently, “Kiss your
wife, and you kiss your husband,” and took the candles out of their
hands.

Levin kissed her smiling lips with timid care, gave her his arm, and
with a new strange sense of closeness, walked out of the church. He did
not believe, he could not believe, that it was true. It was only when
their wondering and timid eyes met that he believed in it, because he
felt that they were one.

After supper, the same night, the young people left for the country.