‘Well, anyhow I can say that I’m very glad of it.’
‘Tomorrow, tomorrow you can, and no more of that! Never mind, never mind, silence!’14 said Levin and, wrapping him in his fur coat once more, added: ‘I love you very much! So, can I be present at the meeting?’
‘Of course you can.’
‘What are you discussing tonight?’ Levin asked, without ceasing to smile.
They arrived at the meeting. Levin listened as the secretary haltingly read the minutes, which he evidently did not understand himself; but Levin could see by the face of this secretary what a sweet, kind and nice man he was. It could be seen from the way he became confused and embarrassed as he read the minutes. Then the speeches began. They argued about allotting certain sums and installing certain pipes, and Sergei Ivanovich needled two members and triumphantly spoke at length about something; and another member, having written something on a piece of paper, at first turned timid, but then responded to him quite venomously and sweetly. And then Sviyazhsky (he, too, was there) also said something ever so beautifully and nobly. Levin listened to them and saw clearly that neither those allotted sums nor the pipes existed, and that none of them was angry, they were all such kind, nice people and things all went so nicely and sweetly among them. They did not bother anyone, and everyone felt pleased. What Levin found remarkable was that he could see through them all that night, and by small tokens, inconspicuous before, could recognize the soul of each and see clearly that they were all kind. In particular it was him, Levin, that they all loved so much that night. It could be seen by the way they spoke to him and looked at him tenderly, lovingly, even all the strangers.
‘Well, are you pleased?’ Sergei Ivanovich asked him.
‘Very. I never thought it could be so interesting! Fine, splendid!’
Sviyazhsky came up to Levin and invited him for tea at his place. Levin simply could not understand or recall what had displeased him in Sviyazhsky and what he had been looking for from him. He was an intelligent and remarkably kind man.
‘Delighted,’ he said and asked after his wife and sister-in-law. And by a strange filiation of ideas, since in his imagination the thought of Sviyazhsky’s sister-in-law was connected with marriage, he decided that there could be no one better to tell of his happiness than Sviyazhsky’s wife and sister-in-law, and he would be very glad to go and see them.
Sviyazhsky asked him about his work on the estate, as always, not allowing any possibility of finding anything not yet found in Europe, and now this was not the least bit unpleasant for Levin. On the contrary, he felt that Sviyazhsky was right, that the whole thing was worthless, and noted the surprisingly mild and gentle way in which Sviyazhsky avoided saying how right he was. Sviyazhsky’s ladies were especially sweet. It seemed to Levin that they already knew everything and sympathized with him, and did not say so only out of delicacy. He stayed with them for an hour, two hours, three hours, talking about various subjects, but having in mind the one thing that filled his soul, and not noticing that he was boring them terribly and that it was long since time for them to go to bed. Sviyazhsky, yawning, saw him to the front hall, wondering at the strange state his friend was in. It was past one o‘clock. Levin went back to his hotel and became frightened at the thought of how he, alone now with his impatience, was going to spend the remaining ten hours. The lackey on duty was not asleep, lit candles for him and was about to leave, but Levin stopped him. This lackey, Yegor, whom Levin had never noticed before, turned out to be a very intelligent and good man, and, above all, a kind one.
‘So, Yegor, is it hard not sleeping?’
‘No help for it. That’s our job. It’s easier in a master’s house, but the reckoning’s bigger here.’
It turned out that Yegor had a family, three boys and a daughter, a seamstress, whom he wanted to marry to a sales assistant in a saddler’s shop.
Levin took this occasion to convey to Yegor his thought that the main thing in marriage was love, and that with love one was always happy, because happiness exists only in oneself.
Yegor heard him out attentively and evidently understood Levin’s thought fully, but to corroborate it he made the observation, unexpected for Levin, that when he had lived with good masters he had always been pleased with them, and he was quite pleased with his master now, though he was a Frenchman.
‘A remarkably kind man,’ thought Levin.
‘Well, and you, Yegor, when you got married, did you love your wife?’
‘Of course I loved her,’ answered Yegor.
And Levin saw that Yegor was also in a rapturous state and intended to voice all his innermost feelings.
‘My life is also remarkable. Ever since I was little, I ...’ he began, his eyes shining, obviously infected by Levin’s rapture, just as people get infected by yawning.
