Leo Tolstoy: Levin Skates with Kitty
Vladimir Nabokov’s drawing of Kitty Scherbatsky in her skating costume. Reproduced from Nabokov’s posthumously published Lectures on Russian Literature. Click image for link.
A timeless passage from Anna Karenin.
At four o’clock that afternoon Levin, conscious that his heart was beating rapidly, got out of the hired sledge at the Zoological Gardens and went down the path leading to the ice-hills and skating lake, sure that he would find Kitty there, since he had noticed the Scherbatskys’ carriage at the entrance.
It was a bright, frosty day. Carriages, private sledges, sledges for hire, and mounted police stood at the entrance. Crowds of well-dressed people, their hats shining in the sunlight, thronged at the gates and along the clean-swept paths between little houses built with carved eaves in the Russian style. The bushy birch trees in the Garden, with all their branches weighed down by snow, seemed decked out in festive new garments. He walked along the path leading to the skating lake, and kept repeating to himself: “I must not be excited. I must be quiet!…What are you doing? What’s the matter? Be quiet, stupid!” he said to his heart. But the more he tried to be calm, the more breathless he became. He met an acquaintance who called out to him, but Levin did not even notice who it was. He approached the ice-hills and heard the clanking of the chains by which the sledges were being pulled up, their clatter as they descended the hills, and the sound of merry voices. A few more steps brought him to the skating lake, and among all the skaters he instantly recognized her. He knew she was there by the joy and terror that seized his heart. She stood talking to a lady at the other end of the lake. There seemed to be nothing striking in her dress or attitude, but it was as easy for Levin to recognize her in that crowd as to find a rose among nettles. Everything was lit up by her. She was the smile that brightened everything around.
“Can I really step down on to the ice, and go up to her?” he thought. The spot where she stood seemed to him an unapproachable sanctuary, and there was a moment when he nearly went away, he was so filled with awe. He had to make an effort and reason with himself that all sorts of people were passing near her and he himself might have come just to skate. He stepped down, avoiding any long look at her as one avoids long looks at the sun, but seeing her as one sees the sun, without looking.
On that day of the week and at that hour, people belonging to the same set, and acquainted with one another, met on the ice. Among them were crack skaters showing off their skill, and beginners with timid and awkward movements holding on to the backs of chairs fitted with runners; boys; and old men skating for hygienic reasons; and they all seemed to Levin to be fortune’s favourites because they were here near her. Yet skaters appeared quite calmly to gain on her, to catch up to her, an even speak to her, and quite independently of her to amuse themselves enjoying the excellent ice and the fine weather.
Nicholas Scherbatsky, Kitty’s cousin, in a short jacket and tight trousers, with skates on his feet, was sitting on a bench, and seeing Levin, called out to him.
“Hullo you Russian champion skater! When did you come? The ice is fantastic—put on your skates!”
“I haven’t got any skates,” answered Levin, wondering at such boldness and freedom of manner in her presence, and not losing sight of her for a moment although not looking at her. He felt the sun approaching him. She was turning a corner, her little feet, shod in high boots, kept close together, and she was skating timidly toward him. A little boy dressed in a Russian costume, violently swinging his arms and stooping very low, was overtaking her.
She was not very firm on her feet. Having drawn her hands from the muff that hung by a cord from her neck, she held them out and, looking at Levin, whom she had recognized, she smiled at him and at her fears. Having turned the corner, she pushed off with an elastic little foot, glided straight up to Scherbatsky, and catching hold of him with her hand, nodded smilingly to Levin. She was more beautiful than he had imagined her…
Anna Karenin, Part One (1873–1877)