TOLSTOY: Anna Karenina Part 1, Chapter 10[Previous Chapter] [Table of Contents] Chapter 10 When Levin went into the restaurant with Oblonsky, he could not help noticing a certain peculiarity of expression, as it were, a restrained radiance, about the face and whole figure of Stepan Arkadyevich. Oblonsky took off his overcoat, and with his hat over one ear walked into the dining room, giving directions to the Tatar waiters, who were clustered about him in evening coats, and with napkins under their arms. Bowing right and left to acquaintances who, here as everywhere, greeted him joyously, he went up to the bar, took a little wineglass of vodka and a snack of fish, and said to the painted Frenchwoman decked in ribbons, lace and ringlets, behind the desk, something so amusing that even that Frenchwoman was moved to genuine laughter. Levin for his part refrained from taking any vodka only because he found most offensive this Frenchwoman, all made up, it seemed, of false hair, poudre de riz and vinaigre de toilette. He made haste to move away from her, as from a dirty place. His whole soul was filled with memories of Kitty, and there was a smile of triumph and happiness shining in his eyes.
`This way, Your Excellency, please. Your Excellency won't be disturbed here,' said a particularly pertinacious, white-headed old Tatar with immense hips and coattails gaping widely behind. `Walk in, your Excellency,' he said to Levin - being attentive to his guest as well, by way of showing his respect to Stepan Arkadyevich.
Instantly flinging a fresh cloth over the round table under the bronze sconce, though it already had a tablecloth on it, he pushed up velvet chairs and came to a standstill before Stepan Arkadyevich with a napkin and a bill of fare in his hands, awaiting his commands.
`If you prefer it, Your Excellency, a private room will be free directly: Prince Golitsin with a lady. Fresh oysters have come in.'
`Ah, oysters!' Stepan Arkadyevich became thoughtful.
`How if we were to change our program, Levin?' he said, keeping his finger on the bill of fare. And his face expressed serious hesitation.
`Are the oysters good? Mind, now!'
`They're Flensburg, Your Excellency. We've no Ostend.'
`Flensburg will do - but are they fresh?'
`Only arrived yesterday.'
`Well, then, how if we were to begin with oysters, and so change the whole program? Eh?'
`It's all the same to me. I should like cabbage soup and porridge better than anything; but of course there's nothing like that here.'
`Porridge à la Russe, Your Honor would like?' said the Tatar, bending down to Levin, like a nurse speaking to a child.
`No, joking apart, whatever you choose is sure to be good. I've been skating, and I'm hungry. And don't imagine,' he added, detecting a look of dissatisfaction on Oblonsky's face, `that I shan't appreciate your choice. I don't object to a good dinner.'
`I should hope so! After all, it's one of the pleasures of life,'
said Stepan Arkadyevich. `Well, then, my friend, you give us two - or better say three - dozen oysters, clear soup with vegetables...'
` Printaniere ,' prompted the Tatar. But Stepan Arkadyevich apparently did not care to allow him the satisfaction of giving the French names of the dishes.
`With vegetables in it, you know. Then turbot with thick sauce, then... roast beef; and mind it's good. Yes, and capons, perhaps, and then stewed fruit.'
The Tatar, recollecting that it was Stepan Arkadyevich's way not to call the dishes by the names in the French bill of fare, did not repeat them after him, but could not resist rehearsing the whole menu to himself according to the bill: ` Soupe printaniere, turbot sauce Beaumarchais, poulard à l'estragon, Macédoine de fruits ...' and then instantly, as though worked by springs, laying down one bound bill of fare, he took up another, the list of wines, and submitted it to Stepan Arkadyevich.
`What shall we drink?'
`What you like, only not too much. Champagne,' said Levin.
`What! to start with? You're right though, I dare say. Do you like the white seal?'
` Cachet blanc ,' prompted the Tatar.
`Very well, then, give us that brand with the oysters, and then we'll see.'
`Yes, sir. And what table wine?'
`You can give us Nuits. Oh, no - better the classic Chablis .'
`Yes, sir. And your cheese, Your Excellency?'
`Oh, yes, Parmesan. Or would you like another?'
`No, it's all the same to me,' said Levin, unable to suppress a smile.
And the Tatar ran off with flying coattails, and in five minutes darted in with a dish of opened oysters in their nacreous shells, and a bottle between his fingers.
Stepan Arkadyevich crushed the starchy napkin, tucked it into his waistcoat, and, settling his arms comfortably, started on the oysters.
`Not bad,' he said, detaching the jellied oysters from their pearly shells with a small silver fork, and swallowing them one after another.
`Not bad,' he repeated, turning his dewy, brilliant eyes now upon Levin, now upon the Tatar.
Levin ate the oysters too, though white bread and cheese pleased him better. But he was admiring Oblonsky. Even the Tatar, uncorking the bottle and pouring the sparkling wine into the delicate funnel-shaped glasses, and adjusting his white cravat, kept on glancing at Stepan Arkadyevich with a perceptible smile of satisfaction.
`You don't care much for oysters, do you?' said Stepan Arkadyevich, emptying his wineglass, `or are you worried about something. Eh?'
He wanted Levin to be in good spirits. But it was not that Levin was not in good spirits, he was ill at ease. With what he had in his soul, he felt hard and awkward in the restaurant, in the midst of private rooms where men were dining with ladies, in all this fuss and bustle; the surroundings of bronzes, looking glasses, gas and Tatars - all of this was offensive to him. He was afraid of sullying what his soul was brimful of.
`I? Yes, I am worried; but besides that, all this bothers me,'
