But at that moment the bell rang. Yegor went out, and Levin was left alone. He had eaten almost nothing at dinner, had declined tea and supper at the Sviyazhskys‘, but could not think of eating. He had not slept last night, but could not even think of sleeping. The room was cool, yet he felt stifled by the heat. He opened both vent-panes and sat on the table facing them. Beyond the snow-covered roof he could see an open-work cross with chains and rising above it the triangular constellation of the Charioteer with the bright yellowish Capella. He gazed first at the cross, then at the star, breathed in the fresh, frosty air that steadily entered the room, and followed, as in a dream, the images and memories that arose in his imagination. Towards four o’clock he heard footsteps in the corridor and looked out of the door. It was the gambler Myaskin, whom he knew, returning from the club. He was walking gloomily, scowling and clearing his throat. ‘Poor, unfortunate man!’ thought Levin, and tears came to his eyes from love and pity for the man. He wanted to talk to him, to comfort him; but, remembering that he had nothing on but a shirt, he changed his mind and again sat by the vent to bathe in the cold air and gaze at the wondrous form of the cross, silent but full of meaning for him, and at the soaring, bright yellow star. After six o‘clock the floor polishers began to make noise, bells rang for some service and Levin felt that he was beginning to be cold. He closed the vent, washed, dressed and went out.
XV
The streets were still empty. Levin walked to the Shcherbatskys’ house. The front door was locked and all was asleep. He walked back, went to his room and asked for coffee. The day lackey, not Yegor now, brought it to him. He wanted to get into conversation with the lackey, but they rang for him and he left. Levin tried to drink some coffee and put the roll in his mouth, but his mouth decidedly did not know what to do with it. He spat out the roll, put on his coat and again went out to walk around. It was past nine when he came to the Shcherbatskys’ porch for the second time. In the house they were just getting up, and the cook had gone to buy provisions. He had to live through at least another two hours.
All that night and morning Levin had lived completely unconsciously and had felt himself completely removed from the conditions of material life. He had not eaten for a whole day, had not slept for two nights, had spent several hours undressed in the freezing cold, yet felt not only fresh and healthy as never before but completely independent of his body. He moved without any muscular effort and felt he could do anything. He was certain that he could fly into the air or lift up the corner of the house if need be. He spent the rest of the time walking the streets, constantly looking at his watch and gazing about him.
And what he saw then, he afterwards never saw again. He was especially moved by children going to school, the grey-blue pigeons that flew down from the roof to the pavement, and the white rolls sprinkled with flour that some invisible hand had set out. These rolls, the pigeons and the two boys were unearthly beings. All this happened at the same time: a boy ran up to a pigeon and, smiling, looked at Levin; the pigeon flapped its wings and fluttered off, sparkling in the sun amidst the air trembling with snowdust, while the smell of baked bread wafted from the window as the rolls appeared in it. All this together was so extraordinarily good that Levin laughed and wept from joy. Making a big circle along Gazetny Lane and Kislovka, he went back to his hotel again and, placing his watch in front of him, sat down to wait till twelve o‘clock. In the next room they were saying something about machines and cheating, and coughing morning coughs. They did not realize that the hand was already approaching twelve. The hand reached twelve. Levin went out to the porch. The cabbies evidently knew everything. They surrounded him with happy faces, vying among themselves and offering their services. Trying not to offend the others and promising to ride with them, too, Levin hired one cabby and told him to go to the Shcherbatskys’. The cabby was charming, with his white shirt collar sticking out from under his caftan and buttoned tightly on his full, strong, red neck. This cabby’s sleigh was high, smart, the like of which Levin never drove in again, and the horse was fine and tried to run, but did not move from the spot. The cabby knew the Shcherbatskys’ house and, with particular deference to his fare, rounded his arms and shouted ‘Whoa!’ as he pulled up at the entrance. The Shcherbatskys’ hall porter certainly knew everything. That could be seen by the smile of his eyes and the way he said:
‘Well, you haven’t been here for a long time, Konstantin Dmitrich!’
