‘Yes, it’s stupid,’ Stepan Arkadyich agreed with a soothing smile. ‘But calm down, they’ll bring it in a moment.’
‘No, really!’ Levin said with suppressed rage. ‘And these idiotic open-front waistcoats! Impossible!’ he said, looking at the crumpled front of his shirt. ‘And what if my things have already been taken to the station!’ he cried in despair.
‘Then you’ll wear mine.’
‘I should have done that long ago.’
‘It’s better not to look ridiculous ... Wait! things will shape
The trouble was that when Levin had asked for his clothes, Kuzma, his old servant, had brought the tailcoat, the waistcoat and everything needed.
‘But where’s the shirt!’ cried Levin.
‘The shirt is on you,’ Kuzma replied with a calm smile.
It had not occurred to Kuzma to lay out a clean shirt and, on receiving the order to have everything packed and taken to the Shcherbatskys‘, from where the newlyweds were to set out that same night, he had done just that, packing everything except the dress suit. The shirt, worn since morning, was wrinkled and impossible with the now fashionable open-front waistcoat. It was too far to send to the Shcherbatskys’. They sent a footman to buy a shirt. He came back: everything was closed - it was Sunday. They sent to Stepan Arkadyich’s for a shirt: it was impossibly wide and short. They finally sent to the Shcherbatskys’ to have the luggage unpacked. The bridegroom was expected at the church and here he was, like an animal locked in a cage, pacing the room, poking his head out to the corridor and recalling with horror and despair all that he had said to Kitty and what she might be thinking now.
At last the guilty Kuzma, gasping for breath, came flying into the room with the shirt.
‘Nearly missed them. They were already loading it on the cart,’ Kuzma said.
Three minutes later, not looking at his watch so as not to rub salt into the wound, Levin went running down the corridor.
‘That won’t help now,’ Stepan Arkadyich said with a smile, unhurriedly trotting after him. ‘Things will
IV
‘They’ve come!’ ‘Here he is!’ ‘Which one?’ ‘The younger one, is it?’ ‘And she, poor dear, is more dead than alive!’ Voices came from the crowd, as Levin, having met his bride at the door, entered the church together with her.
Stepan Arkadyich told his wife the reason for the delay, and the guests, smiling, exchanged whispers. Levin did not notice anything or anyone; he gazed at his bride without taking his eyes off her.
Everyone said she had been looking very poorly over the last few days and at the altar was far less pretty than usual; but Levin did not find it so. He looked at her hair, dressed high under the long white veil and white flowers, at her high, stiff, fluted collar, which in an especially maidenly way covered her long neck at the sides and left it open in front, and at her amazingly slender waist, and it seemed to him that she was better than ever - not because these flowers, this veil, this gown ordered from Paris added anything to her beauty, but because, in spite of all the prepared magnificence of her attire, the expression of her dear face, her eyes, her lips, was still her own special expression of innocent truthfulness.
‘I was thinking you wanted to run away,’ she said and smiled at him.
‘It’s so stupid, what happened to me, I’m ashamed to speak of it!’ he said, blushing, and he had to turn to the approaching Sergei Ivanovich.
‘Your shirt story’s a fine one!’ Sergei Ivanovich said, shaking his head and smiling.
‘Yes, yes,’ Levin answered, not understanding what was said to him.
‘Well, Kostya, now you’ve got to decide an important question,’ said Stepan Arkadyich, with a look of mock fright. ‘Precisely now you will be able to appreciate its full importance. I’ve been asked what candles to light, used ones or new ones?8 It’s a difference of ten roubles,’ he added, drawing his lips into a smile. ‘I decided, but was afraid you wouldn’t give your consent.’
Levin realized that this was a joke, but was unable to smile.
‘So, which is it - new or used? That is the question.’
‘Yes, yes, new ones!’
‘Well, I’m very glad. The question’s decided!’ Stepan Arkadyich said, smiling. ‘How stupid people get in this situation, though,’ he said to Chirikov, as Levin, giving him a lost look, moved nearer to his bride.
‘See that you’re the first to step on the rug,9 Kitty,’ Countess Nordston said, coming up. ‘A fine one you are!’ she turned to Levin.
‘What, frightened?’ said Marya Dmitrievna, her old aunt.
‘You’re not chilly? You look pale. Wait, bend down!’ Kitty’s sister Natalie said and, rounding her full, beautiful arms, she smilingly straightened the flowers on her head.
Dolly came over, tried to say something, but could not get it out, began to cry, then laughed unnaturally.
Kitty looked at everyone with the same absent gaze as Levin. To all that was said to her she could respond only with the smile of happiness that was now so natural to her.
