LITMIR.BIZ

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Levin but as a brother of the famous Koznyshev.

      ‘No, I am no longer on the Zemstvo — I have quarrelled with the lot of them, and don’t attend their meetings any more,’ said he, addressing his friend.

      ‘Quick work!’ said Oblonsky, with a smile. ‘What was it all about?’

      ‘It’s a long story — I’ll tell you some other time,’ said Levin, but at once began telling it. ‘To put it in a nutshell, I have come to the conclusion that there is and can be no such thing as Zemstvo work,’ he said, speaking as if some one had just offended him. ‘On the one hand it’s simply playing! They play at being a parliament, and I am neither young enough nor old enough to amuse myself with toys. On the other hand …’ he hesitated, ‘it is a means of getting pelf for the provincial coterie! We used to have guardianships and judgeships as soft jobs, and now we’ve Zemstvos — not bribes, but unearned salaries!’ he went on as warmly as if he had just been contradicted.

      ‘Aha! I see you’ve reached another new phase — a Conservative one this time!’ said Oblonsky. ‘However, we’ll talk about that later.’

      ‘Yes, later! … But I want to see you,’ said Levin, gazing with aversion at Grinevich’s hand.

      Oblonsky’s smile was hardly perceptible.

      ‘Didn’t you tell me you would never again put on Western European clothes?’ he asked, surveying Levin’s new suit, evidently made by a French tailor. ‘That’s it! You’re in a new phase.’

      Levin suddenly blushed, not as grown-up people blush who hardly notice it themselves, but as boys blush who are aware that their shyness is ridiculous and therefore feel ashamed of it and blush still more, almost to tears. It was so strange to see that intelligent manly face in such a childish condition that Oblonsky left off looking at him.

      ‘Where shall we see one another? You know it is very, very important for me to have a talk with you,’ said Levin.

      Oblonsky seemed to consider: ‘Well — suppose we go to lunch at Gurin’s and have a talk there? I am free till three.’

      ‘No,’ said Levin, after a moment’s consideration; ‘I have to go somewhere else.’

      ‘Well then, let’s dine together.’

      ‘Dine? But I’ve nothing particular to say — only a word or two … to ask you something! We can have a talk some other time.’

      ‘Well, tell me the word or two now, and we’ll talk at dinner.’

      ‘The two words are … however, it’s nothing particular,’ said Levin, and his face became almost vicious in his efforts to overcome his shyness.

      ‘What are the Shcherbatskys doing? All going on as usual?’

      Oblonsky, who had long known that Levin was in love with his, Oblonsky’s, sister-in-law Kitty, smiled very slightly and his eyes sparkled merrily.

      ‘You spoke of two words, but I can’t answer in two because… . Excuse me a moment… .’

      The Secretary came in, familiarly respectful, though with a certain modest consciousness (common to all secretaries) of his superiority to his chief in knowledge of business affairs, approached Oblonsky with some papers, and on the plea of asking a question began to explain some difficulty. Oblonsky, without hearing him to the end, put his hand in a kindly way on the Secretary’s sleeve and, softening his remark with a smile, said:

      ‘No; please do it as I said,’ and, having in a few words explained his view of the matter, he pushed the paper away and said finally: ‘Yes, please do it that way, Zachary Nikitich!’

      The Secretary went out, abashed. Levin, who during Oblonsky’s talk with the Secretary had quite overcome his shyness, stood leaning both arms on the back of a chair and listening with ironical attention.

      ‘I don’t understand it at all!’ he remarked.

      ‘What don’t you understand?’ asked Oblonsky with his usual merry smile, as he took out a cigarette. He expected Levin to say something eccentric.

      ‘I don’t understand what you’re doing,’ said Levin, shrugging his shoulders. ‘How can you do it seriously?’

      ‘Why not?’

      ‘Because there’s nothing to do!’

      ‘That’s how it seems to you, but really we’re overwhelmed with work.’

      ‘ — On paper! Ah well! you’ve a gift for that sort of thing,’ added Levin.

      ‘You mean I’m deficient in something?’

      ‘Perhaps!’ said Levin. ‘But all the same I admire your dignity and am proud that my friend is such a great man! But all the same you’ve not answered my question,’ he added, making a desperate effort to look Oblonsky straight in the face.

      ‘All right! All right! Wait a bit, and you’ll be in the same position yourself. It’s all very well for you, who have three thousand desyatins [about eight thousand acres] in the Karazin District, and such muscles, and are as fresh as a twelve-year-old girl! But still, you’ll be joining us yourself some day! … Now, about what you were asking: nothing has changed, but it’s a pity you’ve stopped away so long.’

      ‘Why?’ asked Levin in alarm.

      ‘Oh, nothing — ’ answered Oblonsky. ‘We’ll talk it over later on. But what has brought you here specially?’

      ‘We’ll talk about that too later on,’ said Levin and again blushed to his very ears.

      ‘All right, that’s natural enough!’ said Oblonsky. ‘Well, you know, I’d ask you to come to us, but my wife is not very well. Let’s see, — if you want to meet them, you’ll be sure to find them in the Zoological Gardens from four to five. Kitty skates there. Go there, and I’ll call for you and we’ll dine somewhere together.’

      ‘Splendid! Well then, au revoir!’

      ‘Mind you don’t forget! I know you — you may rush off back to the country!’ shouted Oblonsky after him.

      ‘That’ll be all right!’ said Levin and left the room, only recollecting when already at the door that he had not taken leave of Oblonsky’s colleagues.

      ‘He seems a very energetic man,’ said Grinevich when Levin was gone.

      ‘Yes, my dear fellow,’ said Oblonsky, shaking his head, ‘and he’s a lucky man! Three thousand desyatins in the Karazin District, his life before him, and such freshness! Not like some of us!’

      ‘What have you to complain of, Stephen Arkadyevich?’

      ‘Oh, things are wretched, miserable!’ said Oblonsky, and sighed heavily.

      Chapter 6

      WHEN Oblonsky asked Levin his reason for coming to town, Levin had blushed and been angry with himself for blushing, because he could not answer: ‘I have come to propose to your sister-in-law,’ although he really had come solely for that purpose.

      The Levins and the Shcherbatskys were two old aristocratic Moscow families that had always been on intimate and friendly terms. Their ties were drawn still closer during Levin’s University days. He had prepared for and entered the University together with young Prince Shcherbatsky, Dolly’s and Kitty’s brother. At that time Levin often visited the Shcherbatskys, and fell in love with the family. Strange as it may seem, it was the whole Shcherbatsky family — especially the feminine half of it — that Levin was in love with. He could not remember his mother, and his sister was much his senior, so that in the Shcherbatskys’ house he saw for the first time the family life of a well-educated and honourable family of the old aristocracy — a life such as he had been deprived of by the death of his own father and mother. All the members of that family, especially the women, appeared to him as

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