The most solemn moment had arrived. The elections were about to begin. The leaders of both parties were making estimates and calculating on their fingers the white and black balls they could reckon on.

 

The debate about Flerov had given the new party not merely his vote but also a gain in time, so that they had had a chance to bring up three more nobles who, by the machinations of the old party, were to be prevented from taking part in the election. Two of these noblemen, who had a weakness for wine, had been made drunk by Snetkov’s agents, and the uniform of the third had been carried off.

 

The new party, having heard of this, had had time while Flerov’s case was being discussed to send two of their men in a carriage to supply that nobleman with a uniform and to bring one of the tipsy ones to the Assembly.

 

‘I have brought one. I soused him,’ said the landowner who had been to fetch him, approaching Sviyazhsky. ‘He’ll do.’

 

‘He’s not too drunk — he won’t fall down?’ asked Sviyazhsky, swaying his head.

 

‘No, he’s fine. If only they don’t give him anything here. . . . I told the man at the bar on no account to let him have anything!’

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 29

 

 

 

—>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<—

 

 

 

THE narrow room in which they were eating and smoking was full of noblemen, The excitement was ever increasing and anxiety was noticeable on all the faces. Especially excited were the leaders, who knew all the details and the estimates of votes. They were directors of the impending battle. The others, like the rank and file before a battle, though preparing for the fight, sought distraction meanwhile. Some of them ate, standing or hastily sitting down at the table; others smoked cigarettes, pacing up and down the long room, and talked to friends they had not seen for a long time.

 

Levin did not want to eat and did not smoke; he did not wish to join his own set — Koznyshev, Oblonsky, Sviyazhsky and the others — because among them, in animated conversation, stood Vronsky, wearing his uniform as an equerry.

 

Levin had noticed him at the elections the day before and had carefully avoided meeting him. He went to the window and sat down, looking at the different groups and listening to what was being said around him. He felt sad, chiefly because he saw that every one else was animated, preoccupied, and busy, while only he and a mumbling, toothless, quite old man in naval uniform who had sat down beside him were uninterested and inactive.

 

‘He is such a rascal! I told him not to! Really! In three years he could not collect it’ — a short, round-shouldered landowner with pomaded hair that hung down on the embroidered collar of his uniform was saying energetically, stamping loudly with the heels of the new boots he had evidently put on specially for this occasion. And casting a discontented glance at Levin, he suddenly turned away.

 

‘Yes, it’s a dirty business, say what you will,’ remarked an undersized man with a feeble voice.

 

Following those two a whole crowd of landowners, surrounding a stout General, hastily approached Levin. Obviously they were seeking a place where they could talk without being overheard.

 

‘How dare he say I gave orders to steal his trousers? I expect he drank them. I snap my fingers at him and his princely title! He has no right to say it: it’s mean!’

 

‘But excuse me! They rely on the statute,’ some one in another group was saying. ‘The wife ought to be registered as belonging to the Nobility.’

 

‘What the devil do I care about the statute? I speak frankly. That’s what the Nobility are for. One must have confidence.’

 

‘Come, your Excellency! A glass of fine champagne!’

 

Another group followed close on the heels of a nobleman who was shouting loudly. He was one of those who had been made drunk.

 

‘I always advised Mary Semenovna to let her estate, because she will never make it pay,’ said a pleasant-voiced landowner with a grey moustache, wearing the uniform of Colonel of the former General Staff. It was the landowner Levin had met at Sviyazhsky’s house. He knew him at once. The landowner also recognized Levin and they shook hands.

 

‘Very pleased to see you! Of course I remember you very well. Last year, at Sviyazhsky the Marshal’s house.’

 

‘Well, how is your husbandry getting on?’ Levin inquired.

 

‘Oh, still the same — with a loss,’ replied the landowner as he stopped beside Levin, with a resigned smile and a look of calm conviction that it must be so. ‘And how do you come to be in our Province?’ he asked. ‘Have you come to take part in our coup d’état?’ he went on, pronouncing the French words firmly but badly.

 

‘All Russia has assembled here: Chamberlains and almost Ministers.’ He pointed to the portly figure of Oblonsky in his Chamberlain’s uniform with white trousers, walking beside a General.

 

‘I must confess to you that I only imperfectly understand the meaning of these Nobility elections,’ said Levin.

 

The landowner looked at him.

 

‘But what is there to understand? It has no meaning whatever. The Nobility is an obsolete institution, which continues to act through inertia. Look at the uniforms! They tell the tale: this is an assembly of Justices of the Peace, permanent officials, and so on, but not of nobles!’

 

‘Then why do you come?’ asked Levin.

 

‘From habit, for one thing. Then one must keep up one’s connections. It’s a sort of moral obligation. And then, to tell the truth, I have a private reason. My son-in-law wishes to stand for a permanent membership: they are not well off and I want him to get it. But why do such gentlemen come?’ he went on, indicating the venomous gentleman who had spoken at the Provincial table.

 

‘He is one of the new Nobility.’

 

‘New if you like, but not the Nobility. They are landowners; we are country squires. They, as noblemen, are committing suicide.’

 

‘But you say it is an obsolete institution!’

 

‘It is obsolete certainly; but all the same one should treat it more respectfully. Take Snetkov. . . . Whether we are good or bad, we have been growing for a thousand years. You know, if we had to make a garden in front of our house, we should plan it out; and if a century-old tree is growing on that spot — though it may be rugged and old, yet you won’t cut it down for the sake of a flower-bed, but will plan your beds so as to make use of the old tree! It can’t be grown in a year,’ he remarked cautiously, immediately changing the subject. ‘Well, and how is your husbandry getting on?’

 

‘Oh, not well. I get about five per cent.’

 

‘Yes, but you don’t reckon your own work. You know you too are worth something! Now, take me. Before I took to farming I was getting three thousand roubles a year in the Service. Now I work harder than I did in the Service, and like yourself I clear about five per cent, and that only with luck. And my own labour goes for nothing.’

 

‘Then why do you go on with it, if it is a clear loss?’

 

‘Well, you see . . . one goes on! What would you have? It’s a habit, and one knows that it’s necessary! I will tell you, moreover,’ and leaning his elbow on the window and having started talking, the landowner went on: ‘My son has no taste at all for husbandry. It is clear he will be a scholar, so that there will be no one to continue my work, and yet I go on! Just now, you know, I have planted an orchard.’

 

‘Yes, yes,’ said Levin, ‘that is quite so! I always feel that I am getting no real profit out of my estate and yet I go on. . . . One feels a sort of duty toward the land.’

 

‘I’ll tell you something,’ continued the landowner. ‘My neighbour, a merchant, called on me, and we went over the farm and garden together. He said, “Everything is going as it should, only your garden is neglected,” though my garden is quite in order. “If I were you, I should cut down those limes, but it must be done when the sap rises. You must have a thousand limes here, and each one of them would yield a good lot of bast, and at present bast fetches a good price. And the trunks could be cut up for log huts!” ’

 

‘Yes, and with that money he would buy cattle, or a piece of land for a mere song, and would lease it to the peasants,’ added Levin with a smile, having evidently more than once come across such calculations. ‘And he will make a fortune, while you and I must be thankful if we can keep what we have and leave it to our children.’

 

‘You are married, I hear?’ said the landowner.

 

‘Yes,’ replied Levin with proud satisfaction. ‘Yes; it is curious,’ he continued. ‘We live without gaining anything, as if we were appointed, like the vestals of old, to guard some fire or other.’

 

The landowner smiled under his grey moustache.

 

‘There are those among us too . . . for example our friend Sviyazhsky, or Count Vronsky, who has now settled here, who want to turn agriculture into an industry; but as yet that leads only to loss of capital.’

 

‘But why don’t we do like the merchant? Why don’t we cut down our limes for bast?’ said Levin, returning to the thought that had struck him.

 

‘Why, as you have said, we guard the fire! The other is not work for the Nobility. Our work is not done here, at the elections, but at our homes. We have a class instinct as to what should not be done. I see it in the peasants too sometimes: a proper peasant always tries to get hold of as much land as possible. However bad the land, still he ploughs it. It brings him also no profit, but pure loss.’

 

‘Just like us,’ said Levin. ‘Very, very glad to have met you,’ he added, seeing Sviyazhsky approaching.

 

‘We two have met for the first time since we were at your house,’ said the landowner, ‘and have indulged in a chat.’

 

‘Yes, and have you been abusing the new order?’ asked Sviyazhsky with a smile.

 

‘We won’t deny it.’

 

‘Unburdening our souls!’

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 30

 

 

 

—>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<—

 

 

 

SVIYAZHSKY took Levin’s arm and led him back to his own group.

 

This time it was impossible to avoid Vronsky. He was standing with Oblonsky and Koznyshev, and looked straight at Levin as he came up.

 

‘Very pleased! I think I had the pleasure of meeting you . . . at the Princess Shcherbatsky’s?’ said he, holding out his hand to Levin.

 

‘Yes, I well remember our meeting,’ said Levin, and blushing scarlet immediately turned and spoke to his brother.

 

Smiling slightly, Vronsky continued his conversation with Sviyazhsky, evidently having no desire to start a conversation with Levin; but Levin, while talking to his brother, kept looking round at Vronsky, trying to think of something to say to him, in order to mitigate his rudeness.

 

‘What is delaying matters now?’ asked Levin, glancing at Sviyazhsky and Vronsky.

 

‘Snetkov. He must either decline or accept,’ replied Sviyazhsky.

 

‘Well, and has he agreed or not?’

 

‘That’s just it: neither the one nor the other,’ answered Vronsky.

 

‘And if he should refuse, who will stand?’ asked Levin, looking at Vronsky.

 

‘Whoever likes,’ replied Sviyazhsky.

 

‘Will you?’ asked Levin.

 

‘Certainly not I,’ said Sviyazhsky, becoming embarrassed and casting an alarmed glance at the venomous gentleman, who was standing beside Koznyshev.

 

‘Who then? Nevedovsky?’ said Levin, feeling that he had put his foot in it somehow.

 

But this was still worse. Nevedovsky and Sviyazhsky were the two prospective candidates.

 

‘Not I, not on any account!’ said the venomous gentleman.

 

So this was Nevedovsky! Sviyazhsky introduced him to Levin.

 

‘Well, has it touched you to the quick too?’ said Oblonsky, winking at Vronsky. ‘It’s like the races. It makes one inclined to bet on the result.’

 

‘Yes, it does touch one to the quick,’ replied Vronsky, ‘and having once taken the matter up, one wants to carry it through. It’s a struggle!’ he said frowning, and closed his powerful jaw.

 

‘What a capable man Sviyazhsky is! How clearly he puts everything!’

 

‘Oh yes,’ replied Vronsky absent-mindedly.

 

There was a pause, during which Vronsky, since he had to look at something, looked at Levin: at his feet, his uniform, and then his face, and noticing the sombre eyes fixed upon him he remarked, just to say something:

 

‘And how is it that you, living constantly in the country, are not a Justice of the Peace? You are not in the uniform of a Justice?’

 

‘Because I consider that the Magistracy is an idiotic institution,’ morosely replied Levin, who had all the time been looking for an opportunity of speaking to Vronsky, to atone for his rudeness at their first encounter.

 

‘I don’t think so; on the contrary . . .’ said Vronsky with calm surprise.

 

‘It’s a game,’ Levin interrupted. ‘We don’t need any Justices of the Peace. I have not had a single case in eight years, and when I did have one it was decided wrongly. The Justice’s Court is forty versts from my house. To settle a matter worth two roubles I should have to send an attorney who costs me fifteen.’

 

And he related how a peasant stole some flour from a miller, and how when the miller spoke to him about it the peasant sued him for libel. All this was untimely and foolish, and Levin himself was conscious of it even while he spoke.

 

‘Oh, he is such a crank!’ said Oblonsky with his smoothest and most almondy smile. ‘But come! I think the ballot has begun . . .’

 

And they separated.

 

‘I don’t understand,’ said Koznyshev, who had observed his brother’s awkward sally, ‘I don’t understand how one can be so entirely devoid of political tact! That is what we Russians lack. The Marshal of the Province is our opponent, and you are ami cochon [quite thick] with him and ask him to stand. But Count Vronsky . . . I do not make a friend of him; he invited me to dinner and I shan’t go; but he is one of our party, so why make an enemy of him? Then you ask Nevedovsky whether he will stand. That kind of thing is not done!’

 

‘Oh, I understand nothing about it! It is all trifling,’ said Levin, gloomily.

 

‘There, you say it’s all trifling, but when you begin on it you make a mess of everything.’

 

Levin remained silent and they entered the Large Hall together.

 

The Marshal of the Province, though he felt in the air that there was a plot prepared against him, and though he had not been unanimously asked to stand, had still decided to do so. There was silence in the hall, and the Secretary loudly announced that Michael Stepanich Snetkov, Captain of the Guards, was nominated for the post of Provincial Marshal, and that the ballot would now be taken.

 

The District Marshals carried little plates filled with ballot balls from their own tables to the Provincial table, and the election began.

 

‘Put it on the right,’ whispered Oblonsky to Levin as the latter, with his brother, followed the Marshal to the table. But Levin had forgotten the plan which had been explained to him, and was afraid that Oblonsky was making a mistake when he said ‘right’. Surely Snetkov was their opponent! While approaching the box he had the ball in his right hand, but, thinking it was a mistake, he shifted it to his left hand just as he reached the box, and evidently placed it to the left. An expert standing beside the box, who by the mere motion of an elbow could tell where every ball was put, made a wry face. There was nothing for him to exercise his penetration upon this time.

 

All became silent again, and one heard the balls being counted. Then a solitary voice proclaimed the number for and against. The Marshal had received a considerable majority. A clamour arose and every one rushed to the door. Snetkov entered and the noblemen thronged around him with congratulations.

 

‘Well, is it over now?’ Levin asked his brother. ‘It’s only beginning!’ Sviyazhsky smilingly answered for Koznyshev. ‘The other candidate may get still more votes.’

 

Levin had again forgotten about that. He only now remembered that there was some subtlety in it, but he was too bored to recollect what it was. He was overcome by depression and wanted to get out of that crowd.

 

As no one was paying any attention to him, and he apparently was not wanted by anybody, he went quietly to the small refreshment-room and again felt great relief when he saw the waiters. The old waiter offered him something to eat and Levin accepted. Having eaten a cutlet and beans, and talked with the old man about his former masters, Levin, not wishing to return to the hall where he had felt so out of his element, went up into the gallery.

 

The gallery was crowded with smartly-dressed women who leaned over the balustrade and tried not to miss a single word of what was being said below. Beside the women sat or stood elegant lawyers, spectacled High School teachers, and officers. Every one was talking about the elections and how tired out the Marshal was and how interesting the debates had been. In one group Levin heard them praising his brother. A lady was saying to a lawyer:

 

‘How glad I am to have heard Koznyshev! It was worth while going a little hungry. Delightful! So clear and audible! There now, no one speaks like that in your Court — except perhaps Maydel, and even he is far less eloquent!’

 

Having found a vacant place at the balustrade, Levin leant over and began to look and listen.

 

The noblemen were sitting behind partitions, arranged according to their districts. In the centre of the room stood a man in uniform, who announced in a loud shrill voice:

 

‘As candidate for the post of Provincial Marshal, Captain Eugene Ivanich Apukhtin will now be balloted for.’ Then followed a dead silence, and a feeble voice was heard saying: ‘Declines!’

 

‘Court Councillor Peter Petrovich Bol will now be balloted for,’ cried the voice of the man in uniform.

 

‘Declines,’ shouted a youthful squeaky voice.

 

A similar announcement was made, and again followed by ‘Declines’. So it went on for about an hour. Levin, leaning over the balustrade, looked on and listened. At first he was surprised and wanted to understand what it meant; then, coming to the conclusion that he could not understand it, he grew bored. Then, remembering the agitation and anger he had witnessed on all faces, he felt sad, and with the intention of leaving the place went downstairs. As he was passing through the corridor behind the gallery he came across a dispirited High School pupil with bloodshot eyes pacing up and down. On the stairs he met a couple: a lady running up swiftly in her high-heeled shoes, and the Assistant Public Prosecutor.

 

‘I said you would be in time,’ the Assistant said, as Levin stepped aside to let the lady pass.

 

Levin was already descending the stairs to the exit and getting out his cloakroom ticket when the Secretary caught him. ‘Please come, Constantine Dmitrich! They are voting!’

 

The candidate who was standing was Nevedovsky, who had so decidedly declined.

 

Levin went up to the door of the hall: it was locked. The Secretary knocked, the door opened and two landowners with flushed faces plunged out past Levin.

 

‘I can’t stand it!’ cried one of the red-faced landowners. Then the head of the Provincial Marshal was thrust out at the doorway. His face was dreadful from its expression of exhaustion and fear.

 

‘I told you to let no one out!’ he shouted to the doorkeeper.

 

‘I was letting people in, Your Excellency!’

 

‘Oh, Lord!’ said the Marshal of the Province with a deep sigh; and with his weary legs in the white trousers dragging, and hanging his head, he went down the middle of the hall to the chief table.

 

Nevedovsky had a majority as they had expected and he was now Marshal of the Province. Many were cheerful, many contented and happy, many were in ecstasy, and many dissatisfied and miserable. The old Marshal was in despair and could not hide it. When Nevedovsky left the hall the crowd surrounded him and followed him enthusiastically as it had followed the Governor of the Province on the first day, when he opened the meeting, and as it had followed Snetkov when he was successful.