Stepan Arkadyich arranged that as well. And Levin began to prepare for communion. For Levin, as an unbeliever who at the same time respected the beliefs of others, it was very difficult to attend and participate in any Church rituals. Now, in the softened mood he found himself in, sensitive to everything, this necessity to pretend was not only difficult for him but seemed utterly impossible. Now, in this state of his glory, his blossoming, he had either to lie or to blaspheme. He felt himself unable to do either the one or the other. But much as he questioned Stepan Arkadyich whether it might not be possible to get the certificate without going to confession, Stepan Arkadyich declared that it was impossible.
‘And what is it to you - two days? And he’s such a sweet, intelligent old fellow. He’ll pull this tooth of yours before you notice it.’
Standing through the first liturgy, Levin tried to refresh in himself his youthful memories of the strong religious feeling he had experienced between the ages of sixteen and seventeen. But he could see at once that it was utterly impossible for him. He tried to look at it as a meaningless, empty custom, like the custom of paying visits; but he felt that he could not do that either. With regard to religion, Levin, like most of his contemporaries, was in a very uncertain position. He could not believe, yet at the same time he was not firmly convinced that it was all incorrect. And therefore, being unable either to believe in the meaningfulness of what he was doing or to look at it indifferently as at an empty formality, he experienced, all through this time of preparation, a feeling of awkwardness and shame at doing what he himself did not understand and therefore, as his inner voice kept telling him, something false and bad.
During the services, he first listened to the prayers, trying to ascribe a meaning to them that did not disagree with his views, then, feeling that he could not understand and had to condemn them, he tried not to listen, but occupied himself with his own thoughts, observations and memories, which during this idle standing in church wandered with extreme vividness through his head.
He stood through the liturgy, vigil and compline, and the next day, getting up earlier than usual, without having tea, went to the church at eight o‘clock in the morning to hear the morning prayers and confess.
There was no one in the church except a begging soldier, two little old women and the clergy.
A young deacon, the two halves of his long back sharply outlined under his thin cassock, met him and, going over to a little table, began at once to read the prayers. As the reading went on, and especially at the frequent and rapid repetition of the same words, ‘Lord have mercy,’ which sounded like ‘Lordamerse, Lordamerse,’ Levin felt that his mind was locked and sealed and should not be touched or stirred now, otherwise confusion would come of it, and therefore, standing behind the deacon, without listening or fathoming, he went on having his own thoughts. ‘Amazing how much expression there is in her hand,’ he thought, recalling how they had sat at the corner table the day before. They found nothing to talk about, as almost always during that time, and she, placing her hand on the table, kept opening and closing it, and laughed as she watched its movement. He recalled kissing that hand and afterwards studying the merging lines on its pink palm. ‘Again “Lordamerse,”’ thought Levin, crossing himself, bowing and looking at the supple movement of the bowing deacon’s back. ‘Then she took my hand and studied the lines: “You have a nice hand,” she said.’ And he looked at his own hand and at the deacon’s stubby hand. ‘Yes, it will soon be over now,’ he thought. ‘No, it seems he’s starting again,’ he thought, listening to the prayers. ‘No, it’s the end; there he’s bowing to the ground. That’s always just before the end.’
The hand in its velveteen cuff having discreetly received a three-rouble note, the deacon said he would register it and, briskly stamping with his new boots over the flagstones of the empty church, went into the sanctuary. A moment later he peeked out and beckoned to Levin. The thought locked up till then in Levin’s head began to stir, but he hastened to drive it away. ‘It will work out somehow,’ he reflected and walked to the ambo.2 He went up the steps and, turning to the right, saw the priest. An elderly man with a thin, greying beard and tired, kindly eyes, he was standing by a lectern leafing through the service book. After bowing slightly to Levin, he at once began reading prayers in an accustomed voice. When he finished them, he bowed to the ground and turned to face Levin.
‘Christ stands here invisibly and receives your confession,’ he said, pointing to the crucifix. ‘Do you believe everything that is taught by the holy apostolic Church?’ the priest went on, turning his eyes from Levin’s face and folding his hands under the stole.
