Tolstoy in Chicago

 Am I a "romantic"? For an hour and a half, while driving to a meeting in downtown Chicago, I listened to a ballroom scene of Tolstoy's Anna Kerenina.

Upon arriving, I entered the real ballroom of a large hotel. Chandeliers glistened overhead; fruits and pastries were arrayed on large serving tables. In my eyes, the porcelain plates became fine china, and the water glasses, crystal. Looking over the crowded room, I allowed myself to ponder which of the people here were royals, which courtiers, and which sycophants or upstarts. I half expected to see uniforms with shoulder knots and gleaming swords, silk shawls and ballroom dresses. I certainly anticipated elegant and proper speech. As it turns out, the speakers were indeed well-spoken and eloquent - even when discussing so prosaic a matter as health care. 

While it wasn't a classically Tolstoyan situation, the nuances, deceits and foibles that he captured so well were abundantly present in the room. The self-serving and self-sacrificing were here, the saints and the scoundrels too. I'm not sure that I met a real princess or a prince, though I'm not sure I didn't. The woman to my left, the man across the table, though here in their roles as hospital administrators, presented themselves with a certain - je ne sais pas - a certain "regality", a certain presence that commanded respect. More than that, they seemed to embody deeply Tolstoyan virtues: intelligence, kindness, groundedness, compassion. 

If all this makes me a romantic, so be it. I enjoy living in a Tolstoyan novel, though I can't quite determine what role I have been assigned.