daughter’s daughter; the young son, a sixth form high school boy, coming
home from school, and greeting his father, kissing his big hand; the
genuine, cordial words and gestures of the old man—all this had the day
before roused an instinctive feeling of respect and sympathy in Levin. This
old man was a touching and pathetic figure to Levin now, and he longed to
say something pleasant to him.
“So you’re sure to be our marshal again,” he said.
“It’s not likely,” said the marshal, looking round with a scared
expression. “I’m worn out, I’m old. If there are men younger and more
deserving than I, let them serve.”
And the marshal disappeared through a side door.
The most solemn moment was at hand. They were to proceed
immediately to the election. The leaders of both parties were reckoning
white and black on their fingers.
The discussion upon Flerov had given the new party not only Flerov’s
vote, but had also gained time for them, so that they could send to fetch
three noblemen who had been rendered unable to take part in the elections
by the wiles of the other party. Two noble gentlemen, who had a weakness
for strong drink, had been made drunk by the partisans of Snetkov, and a
third had been robbed of his uniform.
On learning this, the new party had made haste, during the dispute about
Flerov, to send some of their men in a sledge to clothe the stripped
gentleman, and to bring along one of the intoxicated to the meeting.
“I’ve brought one, drenched him with water,” said the landowner, who
had gone on this errand, to Sviazhsky. “He’s all right? he’ll do.”
“Not too drunk, he won’t fall down?” said Sviazhsky, shaking his head.
“No, he’s first-rate. If only they don’t give him any more here…. I’ve told
the waiter not to give him anything on any account.”
Chapter 29
The narrow room, in which they were smoking and taking refreshments,
was full of noblemen. The excitement grew more intense, and every face
betrayed some uneasiness. The excitement was specially keen for the
leaders of each party, who knew every detail, and had reckoned up every
vote. They were the generals organizing the approaching battle. The rest,
like the rank and file before an engagement, though they were getting ready
for the fight, sought for other distractions in the interval. Some were
lunching, standing at the bar, or sitting at the table; others were walking up
and down the long room, smoking cigarettes, and talking with friends
whom they had not seen for a long while.
Levin did not care to eat, and he was not smoking; he did not want to join
his own friends, that is Sergey Ivanovitch, Stepan Arkadyevitch, Sviazhsky
and the rest, because Vronsky in his equerry’s uniform was standing with
them in eager conversation. Levin had seen him already at the meeting on
the previous day, and he had studiously avoided him, not caring to greet
him. He went to the window and sat down, scanning the groups, and
listening to what was being said around him. He felt depressed, especially
because everyone else was, as he saw, eager, anxious, and interested, and he
alone, with an old, toothless little man with mumbling lips wearing a naval
uniform, sitting beside him, had no interest in it and nothing to do.
“He’s such a blackguard! I have told him so, but it makes no difference.
Only think of it! He couldn’t collect it in three years!” he heard vigorously
uttered by a round-shouldered, short, country gentleman, who had pomaded
hair hanging on his embroidered collar, and new boots obviously put on for
the occasion, with heels that tapped energetically as he spoke. Casting a
displeased glance at Levin, this gentleman sharply turned his back.
“Yes, it’s a dirty business, there’s no denying,” a small gentleman
assented in a high voice.
Next, a whole crowd of country gentlemen, surrounding a stout general,
hurriedly came near Levin. These persons were unmistakably seeking a
place where they could talk without being overheard.
“How dare he say I had his breeches stolen! Pawned them for drink, I
expect. Damn the fellow, prince indeed! He’d better not say it, the beast!”
“But excuse me! They take their stand on the act,” was being said in
another group; “the wife must be registered as noble.”
“Oh, damn your acts! I speak from my heart. We’re all gentlemen, aren’t
we? Above suspicion.”
“Shall we go on, your excellency, fine champagne?”
Another group was following a nobleman, who was shouting something
in a loud voice; it was one of the three intoxicated gentlemen.
“I always advised Marya Semyonovna to let for a fair rent, for she can
never save a profit,” he heard a pleasant voice say. The speaker was a
country gentleman with gray whiskers, wearing the regimental uniform of
an old general staff-officer. It was the very landowner Levin had met at
Sviazhsky’s. He knew him at once. The landowner too stared at Levin, and
they exchanged greetings.
“Very glad to see you! To be sure! I remember you very well. Last year at
our district marshal, Nikolay Ivanovitch’s.”
“Well, and how is your land doing?” asked Levin.
“Oh, still just the same, always at a loss,” the landowner answered with a
resigned smile, but with an expression of serenity and conviction that so it
must be. “And how do you come to be in our province?” he asked. “Come
to take part in our coup d’état?” he said, confidently pronouncing the
French words with a bad accent. “All Russia’s here—gentlemen of the
bedchamber, and everything short of the ministry.” He pointed to the
imposing figure of Stepan Arkadyevitch in white trousers and his court
uniform, walking by with a general.
“I ought to own that I don’t very well understand the drift of the
provincial elections,” said Levin.
The landowner looked at him.
“Why, what is there to understand? There’s no meaning in it at all. It’s a
decaying institution that goes on running only by the force of inertia. Just
look, the very uniforms tell you that it’s an assembly of justices of the
peace, permanent members of the court, and so on, but not of noblemen.”
“Then why do you come?” asked Levin.
“From habit, nothing else. Then, too, one must keep up connections. It’s
a moral obligation of a sort. And then, to tell the truth, there’s one’s own
interests. My son-in-law wants to stand as a permanent member; they’re not
rich people, and he must be brought forward. These gentlemen, now, what
do they come for?” he said, pointing to the malignant gentleman, who was
talking at the high table.
“That’s the new generation of nobility.”
“New it may be, but nobility it isn’t. They’re proprietors of a sort, but
we’re the landowners. As noblemen, they’re cutting their own throats.”
“But you say it’s an institution that’s served its time.”
“That it may be, but still it ought to be treated a little more respectfully.
Snetkov, now…. We may be of use, or we may not, but we’re the growth of
a thousand years. If we’re laying out a garden, planning one before the
house, you know, and there you’ve a tree that’s stood for centuries in the
very spot…. Old and gnarled it may be, and yet you don’t cut down the old
fellow to make room for the flowerbeds, but lay out your beds so as to take
advantage of the tree. You won’t grow him again in a year,” he said
cautiously, and he immediately changed the conversation. “Well, and how is
your land doing?”
“Oh, not very well. I make five per cent.”
“Yes, but you don’t reckon your own work. Aren’t you worth something
too? I’ll tell you my own case. Before I took to seeing after the land, I had a
salary of three hundred pounds from the service. Now I do more work than
I did in the service, and like you I get five per cent. on the land, and thank
God for that. But one’s work is thrown in for nothing.”
“Then why do you do it, if it’s a clear loss?”
“Oh, well, one does it! What would you have? It’s habit, and one knows
it’s how it should be. And what’s more,” the landowner went on, leaning his
elbows on the window and chatting on, “my son, I must tell you, has no
taste for it. There’s no doubt he’ll be a scientific man. So there’ll be no one
to keep it up. And yet one does it. Here this year I’ve planted an orchard.”
“Yes, yes,” said Levin, “that’s perfectly true. I always feel there’s no real
balance of gain in my work on the land, and yet one does it…. It’s a sort of
duty one feels to the land.”
“But I tell you what,” the landowner pursued; “a neighbor of mine, a
merchant, was at my place. We walked about the fields and the garden.
‘No,’ said he, ‘Stepan Vassilievitch, everything’s well looked after, but your
garden’s neglected.’ But, as a fact, it’s well kept up. ‘To my thinking, I’d cut
down that lime-tree. Here you’ve thousands of limes, and each would make
two good bundles of bark. And nowadays that bark’s worth something. I’d
cut down the lot.’”
“And with what he made he’d increase his stock, or buy some land for a
trifle, and let it out in lots to the peasants,” Levin added, smiling. He had
evidently more than once come across those commercial calculations. “And
he’d make his fortune. But you and I must thank God if we keep what
we’ve got and leave it to our children.”
“You’re married, I’ve heard?” said the landowner.
“Yes,” Levin answered, with proud satisfaction. “Yes, it’s rather strange,”
he went on. “So we live without making anything, as though we were
ancient vestals set to keep in a fire.”
The landowner chuckled under his white mustaches.
“There are some among us, too, like our friend Nikolay Ivanovitch, or
Count Vronsky, that’s settled here lately, who try to carry on their
husbandry as though it were a factory; but so far it leads to nothing but
making away with capital on it.”
“But why is it we don’t do like the merchants? Why don’t we cut down
our parks for timber?” said Levin, returning to a thought that had struck
him.
“Why, as you said, to keep the fire in. Besides that’s not work for a
nobleman. And our work as noblemen isn’t done here at the elections, but
yonder, each in our corner. There’s a class instinct, too, of what one ought
and oughtn’t to do. There’s the peasants, too, I wonder at them sometimes;
any good peasant tries to take all the land he can. However bad the land is,
he’ll work it. Without a return too. At a simple loss.”
“Just as we do,” said Levin. “Very, very glad to have met you,” he added,
seeing Sviazhsky approaching him.
“And here we’ve met for the first time since we met at your place,” said
the landowner to Sviazhsky, “and we’ve had a good talk too.”
“Well, have you been attacking the new order of things?” said Sviazhsky
with a smile.
“That we’re bound to do.”
“You’ve relieved your feelings?”
