Anna Karenina

‘Yes, I used to be a passionate skater; I wanted to achieve perfection.’

‘It seems you do everything passionately,’ she said, smiling. ‘I do so want to see you skate. Put on some skates and let’s skate together.’

‘Skate together! Can it be possible?’ thought Levin, looking at her.

‘I’ll put them on at once,’ he said.

And he went to put on some skates.

‘You haven’t been here for a long time, sir,’ said the skating attendant as he supported his foot, tightening the screw on the heel. ‘There have been no experts among the gentlemen since you left. Will that be all right?’ he asked, tightening the strap.

‘All right, all right, hurry up, please,’ Levin replied, barely repressing the smile of happiness that involuntarily appeared on his face. ‘Yes,’ he thought, ‘this is life, this is happiness! “Together”, she said, “let’s skate together”. Shall I tell her now? But that’s why I’m afraid to tell her, because I’m happy now, happy at least in hopes ... And then? ... But I must! I must! Away, weakness!’

Levin stood up, took his coat off and, taking a run on the rough ice near the shed, raced out on to the smooth ice and glided effortlessly, speeding up, slowing down, and directing his course as if by will alone. He approached her timidly, but again her smile set him at ease.

She gave him her hand, and they set off together, increasing their speed, and the faster they went, the tighter she held on to his arm.

‘With you I’d learn quicker; for some reason I have confidence in you,’ she said to him.

‘And I have confidence in myself when you lean on my arm,’ he said, but at once felt afraid of what he had said and blushed. Indeed, as soon as he uttered those words, her face lost all its gentleness, as if the sun had suddenly gone behind a cloud, and Levin recognized the familiar play of her face that indicated the effort of thought: a little wrinkle swelled on her smooth forehead.

‘Has anything unpleasant happened to you? Though I have no right to ask,’ he said quickly.

‘Why? ... No, nothing unpleasant has happened,’ she answered coldly and added at once: ‘Have you seen Mlle Linon?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Go over to her, she likes you so much.’

‘What’s this? I’ve upset her. Lord help me!’ thought Levin, and he raced over to the old Frenchwoman with grey curls, who was sitting on a bench. Smiling and showing her false teeth, she greeted him like an old friend.

‘So, we’re getting bigger,’ she said to him, glancing in Kitty’s direction, ‘and older. Tiny bear has grown up!’ the Frenchwoman went on, laughing, and she reminded him of his joke about the three girls, whom he used to call the three bears from the English tale. ‘Remember how you used to say it?’

He decidedly did not remember, but for ten years she had been laughing over this joke and enjoying it.

‘Well, go, go and skate. Our Kitty’s become a good skater, hasn’t she?’

When Levin again raced up to Kitty, her face was no longer stern, the look in her eyes was as truthful and gentle as ever, but it seemed to Levin that her gentleness had a special, deliberately calm tone. And he felt sad. After talking about her old governess and her quirks, she asked him about his life.

‘Is it really not boring for you in the country during the winter?’ she said.

‘No, it’s not boring, I’m very busy,’ he said, sensing that she was subjecting him to her calm tone, which he would be unable to get out of, just as had happened at the beginning of winter.

‘Have you come for long?’ Kitty asked him.

‘I don’t know,’ he replied, not thinking of what he was saying. It occurred to him that if he yielded again to this tone of calm friendship, he would again leave without having decided anything, and he decided to rebel.

‘Why don’t you know?’

‘I don’t know. That depends on you,’ he said and at once was horrified at his words.

She did not hear his words, or did not wish to hear, but seemed to stumble, tapped her foot twice, and hurriedly skated away from him. She skated over to Mlle Linon, said something to her, and went to the shed where the ladies took off their skates.

‘My God, what have I done! Lord God! Help me, teach me,’ Levin said, praying, and at the same time, feeling a need for strong movement, he speeded up, cutting outer and inner circles.

Just then one of the young men, the best of the new skaters, with skates on and a cigarette in his mouth, came out of the coffee room and, taking a short run, went down the steps on his skates, clattering and jumping. He flew down and, not even changing the free position of his arms, glided away over the ice.

‘Ah, that’s a new stunt!’ said Levin, and immediately ran up to try it.

‘Don’t hurt yourself, it takes practice!’ Nikolai Shcherbatsky called out to him.

Levin got up on the landing, took as much of a run as he could, and raced down, balancing himself with his arms in this unpractised movement. On the last step he caught on something, but, barely touching the ice with his hand, he made a strong movement, righted himself, and, laughing, skated on.