Levin was especially happy that evening, which he spent with his fiancée at Dolly‘s, and, explaining his excited state to Stepan Arkadyich, said that he was as happy as a dog that has been taught to jump through a hoop and, having finally understood and done what was demanded of it, squeals, wags its tail, and leaps in rapture on to the tables and windowsills.
II
On the day of the wedding Levin, according to custom (the princess and Darya Alexandrovna strictly insisted on fulfilling all customs), did not see his fiancée and dined in his hotel with a chance gathering of three bachelors: Sergei Ivanovich, Katavasov, his university friend, now a professor of natural science, whom Levin had met in the street and dragged home with him, and Chirikov, one of his groomsmen, a Moscow justice of the peace, Levin’s bear-hunting comrade. The dinner was very merry. Sergei Ivanovich was in the best of spirits and enjoyed Katavasov’s originality. Katavasov, feeling that his originality was appreciated and understood, flaunted it. Chirikov gaily and good-naturedly supported all the conversations.
‘See, now,’ Katavasov said, drawing out his words, from a habit acquired at the lectern, ‘what an able fellow our friend Konstantin Dmitrich used to be. I’m speaking of him as an absent man because he is no more. He loved science then, on leaving the university, and had human interests; but now half of his abilities are aimed at deceiving himself and the other half at justifying this deceit.’
‘A more resolute enemy of marriage than you I’ve never yet seen,’ said Sergei Ivanovich.
‘No, not an enemy. I’m a friend of the division of labour. People who can’t do anything should make people, and the rest should contribute to their enlightenment and happiness. That’s how I understand it. The mixing of these trades is done by hosts of fanciers, of whom I am not one.’3
‘How happy I’ll be when I find out you’ve fallen in love!’ said Levin. ‘Kindly invite me to your wedding.’
‘I’m already in love.’
‘Yes, with the cuttlefish. You know,’ Levin turned to his brother, ‘Mikhail Semyonych is writing a work on the feeding and...’
‘Well, don’t go muddling things! It makes no difference what it’s about. The point is that I really do love the cuttlefish.’
‘But that won’t prevent you loving a wife!’
‘That won’t prevent me, but the wife will.’
‘Why so?’
‘You’ll find out. You, for instance, love farming and hunting - well, wait and see!’
‘Arkhip came today and said there’s no end of elk in Prudnoye, and two bears,’ said Chirikov.
‘Well, you’ll have to bag them without me.’
‘You see, it’s true,’ said Sergei Ivanovich. ‘And from now on it’s good-bye to bear hunting - your wife won’t allow it!’
Levin smiled. The idea of his wife not allowing him pleased him so much that he was ready to renounce for ever the pleasure of seeing bears.
‘Still, it’s a pity those two bears will get bagged without you. Do you remember the last time in Khapilovo? We’d have great hunting,’ said Chirikov.
Levin did not want to deprive him of the illusion that there could be anything good anywhere without her, and so he said nothing.
‘This custom of bidding farewell to bachelor life was not established in vain,’ said Sergei Ivanovich. ‘However happy one may be, one still regrets one’s freedom.’
‘Confess, you do have that feeling of wanting to jump out of the window like the suitor in Gogol?’4
‘Certainly he does, but he won’t confess it!’ Katavasov said and laughed loudly.
‘Well, the window’s open ... Let’s set off for Tver right now! One is a she-bear, so we can get to the den. Really, let’s take the five o’clock train! And they can do as they like here,’ said Chirikov, smiling.
‘I’ll tell you, by God,’ Levin said, smiling, ‘in my heart I can’t find any feeling of regret for my freedom!’
‘Ah, there’s such chaos in your heart now that you couldn’t find anything there,’ Katavasov said. ‘Wait till you sort things out, then you’ll find it!’
‘No, otherwise I’d have at least some slight sense that, besides my feeling’ (he did not want to say ‘of love’ in front of him) ‘... and happiness, I was still sorry to lose my freedom ... On the contrary, I’m glad precisely of this loss of freedom.’
‘Bad! A hopeless specimen!’ said Katavasov. ‘Well, let’s drink to his recovery, or else wish him that only a hundredth part of his dreams comes true. And that would already be such happiness as has never been on earth!’
The guests left soon after dinner so as to have time to change for the wedding.
Remaining alone and recalling the conversation of these bachelors, Levin once again asked himself: did he really feel in his heart this regret for his freedom that they had spoken of? He smiled at the question. ‘Freedom? Why freedom? Happiness is only in loving and desiring, thinking her desires, her thoughts - that is, no freedom at all - that’s what happiness is!’
