Chapter VI
When the ceremony of plighting troth was
over, the beadle spread before the lectern in the middle of the
church a piece of pink silken stuff, the choir sang a complicated
and elaborate psalm, in which the bass and tenor sang responses to
one another, and the priest turning round pointed at the bridal
pair to the pink silk rug. Though both had often heard a great deal
about the saying that the one who steps first on the rug will be
the head of the house, neither Levin nor Kitty were capable of
recollecting it, as they took the few steps towards it. They did
not hear the loud remarks and disputes that followed, some
maintaining he had stepped on first, and others that both had
stepped on together.
After the customary questions, whether they desired
to enter upon matrimony, and whether they were pledged to any one
else, and their answers, which sounded strange to themselves, a new
ceremony began. Kitty listened to the words of the prayer, trying
to make out their meaning, but she could not. The feeling of
triumph and radiant happiness flooded her soul more and more as the
ceremony went on, and deprived her of all power of attention.
They prayed: “Endow them with continence and
fruitfulness, and vouchsafe that their hearts may rejoice looking
upon their sons and daughters.” They alluded to God’s creation of a
wife from Adam’s rib, “and for this cause a man shall leave father
and mother, and cleave unto his wife, and they two shall be one
flesh,” and that “this is a great mystery” ; they prayed that God
would make them fruitful and bless them, like Isaac and Rebecca,
Joseph, Moses and Zipporah,1 and
that they might look upon their children’s children. “That’s all
splendid,” thought Kitty, catching the words, “all that’s just as
it should be,” and a smile of happiness, unconsciously reflected in
every one who looked at her, beamed on her radiant face.
“Put it on completely,” voices were heard urging
when the priest had put on the wedding crowns and Shtcherbatsky,
his hand shaking in its three-button glove, held the crown high
above her head.
“Put it on!” she whispered, smiling.
Levin looked round at her, and was struck by the
joyful radiance on her face, and unconsciously her feeling infected
him. He too, like her, felt glad and happy.
They enjoyed hearing the epistle read, and the roll
of the head-deacon’s voice at the last verse, awaited with such
impatience by the outside public. They enjoyed drinking out of the
shallow cup of warm red wine and water, and they were still more
pleased when the priest, flinging back his stole and taking both
their hands in his, led them round the lectern to the accompaniment
of bass voices chanting “Glory to God.”
Shtcherbatsky and Tchirikov, supporting the crowns
and stumbling over the bride’s train, smiling too and seeming
delighted at something, were at one moment left behind, at the next
treading on the bridal pair as the priest came to a halt. The spark
of joy kindled in Kitty seemed to have infected every one in the
church. It seemed to Levin that the priest and the deacon too
wanted to smile just as he did.
Taking the crowns off their heads the priest read
the last prayer and congratulated the young people. Levin looked at
Kitty, and he had never before seen her look as she did. She was
charming with the new radiance of happiness in her face. Levin
longed to say something to her, but he did not know whether it was
all over. The priest got him out of his difficulty. He smiled his
kindly smile and said gently, “Kiss your wife, and you kiss your
husband,” and took the candles out of their hands.
Levin kissed her smiling lips with timid care, gave
her his arm, and with a new strange sense of closeness, walked out
of the church. He did not believe, he could not believe, that it
was true. It was only when their wondering and timid eyes met that
he believed in it, because he felt that they were one.
After supper, the same night, the young people left
for the country.