| PART 1
Chapter 27
 The house was big and old-fashioned, and Levin, though he lived
 alone, had the whole house heated and used.  He knew that this
 was stupid, he knew that it was positively not right, and
 contrary to his present new plans, but this house was a whole
 world to Levin.  It was the world in which his father and mother
 had lived and died.  They had lived just the life that to Levin
 seemed the ideal of perfection, and that he had dreamed of
 beginning with his wife, his family. Levin scarcely remembered his mother.  His conception of her was
 for him a sacred memory, and his future wife was bound to be in
 his imagination a repetition of that exquisite, holy ideal of a
 woman that his mother had been. He was so far from conceiving of love for woman apart from
 marriage that he positively pictured to himself first the family,
 and only secondarily the woman who would give him a family.  His
 ideas of marriage were, consequently, quite unlike those of the
 great majority of his acquaintances, for whom getting married was
 one of the numerous facts of social life.  For Levin it was the
 chief affair of life, on which its whole happiness turned.  And
 now he had to give up that. When he had gone into the little drawing room, where he always
 had tea, and had settled himself in his armchair with a book ,
 and Agafea Mihalovna had brought him tea, and with her usual,
 "Well, I'll stay a while, sir," had taken a chair in the window,
 he felt that, however strange it might be, he had not parted from
 his daydreams, and that he could not live without them.  Whether
 with her, or with another, still it would be.  He was reading a
 book, and thinking of what he was reading, and stopping to listen
 to Agafea Mihalovna, who gossiped away without flagging, and yet
 with all that, all sorts of pictures of family life and work in
 the future rose disconnectedly before his imagination.  He felt
 that in the depth of his soul something had been put in its
 place, settled down, and laid to rest. |