But the division into young and old did not coincide with the division into parties. Some of the young, by Levin's observation, belonged to the old party and, on the contrary, some of the oldest noblemen whispered with Sviyazhsky and were apparently ardent supporters of the new party.
Levin stood in the small room for smoking and refreshments, by a group of his own people, listening to what they were saying and uselessly straining his mental powers to understand it. Sergei Ivanovich was the centre around which the others grouped themselves. He was now listening to Sviyazhsky and Khliustov, the marshal of another district, who belonged to their party. Khliustov would not agree to go with his district and ask Snetkov to stand, but Sviyazhsky was trying to persuade him to do it, and Sergei Ivanovich approved of the plan. Levin did not understand why the opposition party should ask the marshal to stand when they intended to vote him down.
Stepan Arkadyich, having just had a snack and a drink, wiping his mouth with a perfumed cambric handkerchief with a border, came over to them in his uniform of a gentleman of the bedchamber.
'Positioning yourself, Sergei Ivanych!' he said, smoothing down his side-whiskers.
And, after listening to the conversation, he confirmed Sviyazhsky's opinion.
'One district will be enough, and Sviyazhsky's obviously already in the opposition,' he said in words that everyone except Levin could understand.
'So, Kostya, it seems you've acquired a taste for it, too?' he added, turning to Levin and taking him under the arm. Levin would even have been glad to acquire a taste for it, but he could not understand what the point was and, moving a few steps away from the talkers, he voiced his perplexity to Stepan Arkadyich as to why the provincial marshal should be nominated.
'O sancta simplicitas,'[9] said Stepan Arkadyich, and he explained the matter briefly and clearly to Levin.
'If all the districts nominated the provincial marshal, as at the previous elections, he would be elected unanimously. That must not happen. Now eight districts have agreed to nominate him. If the other two refuse to nominate him, Snetkov may refuse to stand. And then the old party may choose someone else from among themselves, and all our calculations will go for naught. But if Sviyazhsky's district alone does not nominate him, Snetkov will stand. He will even be chosen, and they will purposely give him more votes to mislead the opposition, and when our candidate is put forward, they will give him more votes.'
Levin understood, but not completely, and was about to ask a few more questions, when everyone suddenly started talking and moving noisily into the big room.
'What is it? What? Whom? A warrant? For whom? What? They refute it? There's no warrant. Flerov's not admitted. What if he is on trial? That way no one will be admitted. It's mean. The law!' came from all sides, and along with the rest, who hurried from everywhere and were afraid of missing something, Levin went to the big room and, jostled by the noblemen, approached the governor's table, around which a heated discussion was going on between the provincial marshal, Sviyazhsky and other leaders.
XXVIII
Levin was standing quite far away. Beside him stood one nobleman who was wheezing and breathing heavily and another whose thick soles creaked, preventing him from hearing well. He could only hear the marshal's soft voice from afar, then the shrill voice of the venomous nobleman, and then Sviyazhsky's voice. They were arguing, as far as he could gather, about the meaning of an article of the law and especially of the words: 'being under investigation'.
The crowd parted to make way as Sergei Ivanovich approached the table. Sergei Ivanovich, after waiting for the venomous nobleman to finish his speech, said it seemed to him that the right thing to do would be to consult the article of the law, and he asked the secretary to find it. In the article it said that in case of disagreement there should be a vote.
Sergei Ivanovich read the article and began to explain its meaning, but here a tall, fat, slightly stooping landowner with a dyed moustache, in a tight uniform with a collar that propped his neck up from behind, interrupted him. He came up to the table and, rapping on it with his signet ring, shouted loudly: 'To the vote! Cast your ballots! No point talking! Cast your ballots!'
Here several voices started talking, and the tall nobleman with the signet ring, growing more and more angry, shouted louder and louder. But it was impossible to make out what he was saying.
He was saying the same thing that Sergei Ivanovich had suggested; but he obviously hated him and his whole party, and that feeling of hatred communicated itself to the whole party and provoked a response of the same anger, though more decent, from the other side. Shouts arose, and for a moment everything was so confused that the provincial marshal had to call for order.
'To the vote! To the vote! Every nobleman will understand. We shed our blood ... The monarch's trust... Don't count the marshal, he's no one to give orders ... That's not the point... The vote, if you please! Disgusting! . ..' Angry, furious cries came from all sides. The looks and faces were still more angry and furious than the talk. They expressed irreconcilable hatred. Levin had no idea what it was all about and was astonished at the passion with which they discussed the question of whether the opinion about Flerov should or should not be put to the vote. As Sergei Ivanovich later explained to him, he had forgotten the syllogism that for the common good it was necessary to bring down the provincial marshal; to bring down the provincial marshal, a majority of the votes was necessary; for a majority of the votes, Flerov had to be given the right to a voice; to have Flerov's eligibility recognized, they had to explain how to understand the article of the law.
'One vote could decide the whole thing, and you must be serious and consistent if you want to serve the common cause,' Sergei Ivanovich concluded.
But Levin had forgotten that, and it was painful for him to see these good people, whom he respected, in such unpleasant, angry agitation. To rid himself of that painful feeling, he went to the other room without waiting for the end of the debate. No one was there except the servants at the buffet. Seeing the servants busily wiping platters and setting out plates and glasses, seeing their calm, animated faces, Levin experienced a sudden feeling of relief, as if he had gone from a stinking room into the fresh air. He began pacing up and down, looking with pleasure at the servants. He liked it very much when one servant with grey side-whiskers, showing his contempt for the younger ones who kept teasing him, taught them how to fold napkins. Levin was about to get into conversation with the old servant when the secretary of the noblemen's trust, a little old man whose specialty was knowing all the noblemen of the province by name and patronymic, distracted him.
'If you please, Konstantin Dmitrich,' he said to him, 'your brother is looking for you. The question is being put to the vote.'
Levin went into the room, was given a little white ball and, following his brother Sergei Ivanovich, approached the table at which Sviyazhsky stood with a significant and ironic face, gathering his beard in his fist and sniffing it. Sergei Ivanovich thrust his hand into the box, put his ballot somewhere and, yielding his place to Levin, stayed right there. Levin came up, but forgetting what it was all about and becoming embarrassed, he turned to Sergei Ivanovich and asked: 'Where shall I put it?' He asked it softly, while there was talk around him, and hoped his question would not be heard. But the talkers fell silent, and his improper question was heard. Sergei Ivanovich frowned.
'That is a matter of individual conviction,' he said sternly.
A few smiled. Levin blushed, hastily put his hand under the cloth and placed the ballot to the right, since it was in his right hand. Then he remembered that he should also have put his left hand in, and put it in as well, but too late, and, still more embarrassed, hurriedly retreated to the farthest rows.
'One hundred and twenty-six in favour! Ninety-eight against!' the voice of the secretary, who swallowed his rs, rang out. Laughter followed: a button and two nuts had been found in the box. The nobleman was admitted, and the new party was victorious.
But
the old party did not consider itself defeated. Levin heard that Snetkov was being asked to stand, and saw a crowd of noblemen surround the provincial marshal, who was saying something. Levin went closer. In answer to the noblemen, Snetkov spoke of the confidence of the nobility, of their love for him, which he did not deserve, for his whole merit consisted in his being loyal to the nobility, to whom he had devoted twelve years of service. Several times he repeated the words: 'I have served with all my strength, truly and loyally, I appreciate and thank you,' and suddenly he stopped, choked by tears, and walked out of the room. Whether those tears were caused by awareness of the injustice done him, or by his love for the nobility, or by the strained position he was in, feeling himself surrounded by enemies, his emotion communicated itself, the majority of the noblemen were moved and Levin felt a tenderness for Snetkov.
In the doorway the provincial marshal ran into him.
'I'm sorry, please excuse me,' he said to him, as to a stranger; but recognizing Levin, he smiled timidly. It seemed to Levin that he wanted to say something, but could not because of the emotion. The expression of his face and of his whole figure in the uniform, the crosses and white trousers with galloons, the hurried way he walked, reminded Levin of a hunted beast who sees that things are going badly for him. Levin found the expression on the marshal's face especially touching because only yesterday he had called on him at his home on the matter of the trusteeship and had seen him in all the grandeur of a good family man. The big house with its old family furniture; the unfashionable and slightly shabby but deferential old servants, apparently former house serfs who had never changed masters; the fat and good-natured wife in a lace cap and Turkish shawl, caressing a pretty little grandchild, her daughter's daughter; the fine fellow of a son, a sixth-grade student on holiday from school, who kissed his father's big hand in greeting; the host's imposing, benign conversation and gestures - all this had involuntarily called up respect and sympathy in Levin the day before. Now he found the old man touching and pitiful, and he wanted to say something nice to him.
'So you're to be our marshal again,' he said.
'Hardly,' said the marshal, looking round fearfully. 'I'm tired and old. There are others worthier and younger than I. Let them serve.'
And the marshal disappeared through the side door.
The most solemn moment arrived. The elections were about to begin. The leaders of both parties were tallying white and black ballots on their fingers.
The debate over Flerov had given the new party not only Flerov's one vote but also a gain in time, so that three noblemen who had been kept from participating in the elections by the machinations of the old party could be brought in. Two of these noblemen, who had a weakness for wine, had been made drunk by Snetkov's minions, and the third had had his uniform stolen.
Learning of it, the new party managed, during the debate over Flerov, to send two of their people in a cab to furnish the one nobleman with a uniform and bring one of the two drunk men to the meeting.
'I poured water over one and brought him,' said the landowner who had gone on the errand, coming up to Sviyazhsky. 'Never mind, he'll do.'
'He's not too drunk? He won't fall down?' Sviyazhsky said, shaking his head.
'No, he's fine. As long as they don't give him any more to drink here ... I told the barman on no account to serve him.'
XXIX
The narrow room for smoking and refreshments was filled with noblemen. The excitement kept mounting, and anxiety could be noticed on all faces. Especially excited were the leaders, who knew all the details and the count of all the ballots. They were the directors of the impending battle. The rest, like rank-and-file soldiers, though readying themselves before the fight, meanwhile sought distraction. Some ate and drank, standing up or sitting at the table; others paced up and down the long room, smoking cigarettes and talking with friends they had not seen for a long time.
Levin did not want to eat and did not smoke; he also did not want to mix with his own people, that is, with Sergei Ivanovich, Stepan Arkadyich, Sviyazhsky and the others, because Vronsky was standing with them in his equerry's uniform, engaged in an animated conversation. Levin had noticed him at the elections the day before and had carefully avoided him, not wishing to meet him. He went over to the window and sat down, looking at the groups and listening to what was being said around him. He felt sad, especially because he could see that everyone was animated, preoccupied and busy, and he alone, along with one extremely old, toothless man in a navy uniform, who sat next to him chewing his gums, had no interest and nothing to do.
'He's such a rogue! I told him, but no. Really! In three years he couldn't collect it,' a short, stooping landowner, with pomaded hair that hung over the embroidered collar of his uniform, was saying energetically, stomping solidly with the heels of his new boots, evidently donned for the elections. And, casting a displeased glance at Levin, he abruptly turned away.
'Yes, it's dirty work, say what you will,' the little landowner said in a high voice.
After them a whole crowd of landowners, surrounding a fat general, hurriedly came towards Levin. The landowners were obviously looking for a place to talk without being overheard.
'How dare he say I ordered his trousers stolen! He drank them up, I suppose. I spit on him and his princely rank. He daren't say that, it's swinishness!'
'I beg your pardon! They're basing it on the article,' voices came from another group, 'the wife must be on record as a noblewoman.'
'The devil I care about the article! I'm speaking from the soul. That's what makes us nobility. There has to be trust.'
'Come, your excellency, there's fine champagne.'*
Another crowd followed after a nobleman who was loudly shouting something: he was one of the three who had been made drunk.
T always advised Marya Semyonovna to lease it, because she can't make any profit,' a grey-moustached landowner in the uniform of a colonel of the old general headquarters said in a pleasant voice. This was the landowner Levin had met at Sviyazhsky's. He recognized him at once. The landowner also looked closer at Levin, and they greeted each other.
'Delighted! Of course! I remember very well. Last year at Marshal Nikolai Ivanovich's.'
'Well, how goes the farming?' asked Levin.
'The same - still at a loss,' the landowner, stopping near Levin, answered with a resigned smile, but with an expression of calm conviction that it had to be so. 'And how have you wound up in our province?' he asked. 'Come to take part in our coup d'etat)' he said, pronouncing the French words firmly but poorly. 'All Russia's assembled here:
* Superior cognac.
gentlemen of the bedchamber and all but ministers.' He pointed to the impressive figure of Stepan Arkadyich, in white trousers and the uniform of a gentleman of the bedchamber, walking about with a general.
'I must confess that I have a very poor understanding of the significance of these elections among the nobility,' said Levin.
The landowner looked at him.
'What's there to understand? There is no significance. An obsolete institution that goes on moving only by the force of inertia. Look at the uniforms - even they tell you: this is an assembly of justices of the peace, of permanent members and so on, and not of the nobility.'
'Then why do you come?' asked Levin.
'Out of habit, that's all. And one must also keep up one's connections. A moral responsibility in a sense. And then, to tell the truth, there is a certain interest. My son-in-law wants to stand as a permanent member; they're not well-to-do people and I must help him win. But why do these people come?' he said, pointing to the venomous gentleman who had spoken at the governor's table.
'That's the new generation of nobility.'
'New it is. But not nobility. They are landlords, and we are landowners. As nobility, they're committing suicide.'
'But you yourself say that it's an outdated institution.'
'Outdated it is, but still it ought to be treated more respectfully. Take Snetk
ov ... Good or not, we've been a thousand years growing. You know, when you want to make a garden in front of your house, you have to lay it out, and there's a hundred-year-old tree growing in that spot... Though it's old and gnarled, you still won't cut the old-timer down for the sake of your flower beds, you'll lay them out so as to include the tree. It can't be grown in a year,' he said cautiously, and immediately changed the subject. 'Well, and how's your estate?'
'Not so good. About five per cent.'
'Yes, but you're not counting yourself. You're also worth something. I'll tell you about myself. Before I took up farming, I had a salary of three thousand roubles in the service. Now I work more than in the service, and like you I get five per cent, and thank God for that. And my work is done free.'