Sviiazhsky took Levin's arm, and went with him to his own friends. This time there was no avoiding Vronsky. He was standing with Stepan Arkadyevich and Sergei Ivanovich, and looking straight at Levin as he drew near. .cheap christian louboutin.
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With a slight smile Vronsky went on talking to Sviiazhsky, obviously without the slightest inclination to enter into conversation with Levin. But Levin, as he talked to his brother, was continually looking round at Vronsky, trying to think of something to say to him to smooth over his rudeness. .cartier love bracelet replica.
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This was Neviedovsky himself. Sviiazhsky introduced him to Levin.
`Well, do you find it exciting too?' said Stepan Arkadyevich, winking at Vronsky. `It's something like a race. One might bet on it.'
`Yes, it is keenly exciting,' said Vronsky. `And once taking the thing up, one's eager to see it through. It's a fight!' he said, scowling and setting his powerful jaws.
`What a businessman Sviiazhsky is! Sees it all so clearly.'
`Oh, yes!' Vronsky assented indifferently.
A silence followed, during which Vronsky - since he had to look at something - looked at Levin, at his feet, at his frock coat, then at his face, and noticing his gloomy eyes fixed upon him, he said, in order to say something:
`How is it that you, living constantly in the country, are not a justice of the peace? You are not in the uniform of one.'
`It's because I consider the justice of the peace a silly institution,' morosely answered Levin, who had been all the time looking for an opportunity to enter into conversation with Vronsky, so as to smooth over his rudeness at their first meeting.
`I don't think so - quite the contrary,' Vronsky said, with calm surprise.
`It's a plaything,' Levin cut him short. `We don't want justices of the peace. I've never had a single thing to do with them during eight years. And what I have had, was decided wrongly by them. The justice of the peace is over thirty miles from me. For a matter of two roubles or so, I should have to send a lawyer, who costs me fifteen.'
And he related how a peasant had stolen some flour from the miller, and when the miller told him of it, had lodged a complaint for slander. All this was utterly uncalled-for and stupid, and Levin felt it himself as he said it.
`Oh, this is such an original fellow!' said Stepan Arkadyevich with his most soothing, almond-oil smile. `But come along; I think they're voting....'
And they separated.
`I can't understand,' said Sergei Ivanovich, who had observed his brother's gaucherie, `I can't understand how anyone can be so absolutely devoid of political tact. That's where we Russians are so deficient. The marshal of the province is our opponent, and with him you're ami cochon, and you beg him to be candidate. Count Vronsky, now... I'm not making a friend of him - he's asked me to dinner, and I'm not going; but he's one of our side - why make an enemy of him? Then you ask Neviedovsky if he's going to run. That's not done.'
`Oh, I don't understand it at all! And it's all such nonsense,' Levin answered somberly.
`You say it's all such nonsense - yet as soon as you have anything to do with it, you make a muddle.'
Levin did not answer, and they walked together into the big room.
The marshal of the province, though he was vaguely conscious in the air of some trap being prepared for him, and though he had not been called upon by all to run, had nevertheless made up his mind to run for office. All was silence in the room. The secretary announced in a loud voice that Mikhail Stepanovich Snetkov, captain of the guards, would now be balloted for as marshal of the province.
The district marshals walked carrying plates, on which were balls, from their tables to the province table, and the election began.
`Put it in the right side,' whispered Stepan Arkadyevich, as Levin with his brother followed the marshal of his district to the table. But Levin had forgotten by now the machination that had been explained to him, and was afraid Stepan Arkadyevich might be mistaken in saying `the right side.' Surely Snetkov was the enemy. As he went up, he held the ball in his right hand, but thinking he was wrong, just at the box he changed to the left hand, and undoubtedly put the ball to the left. An adept in the business, standing at the box and seeing by the mere action of the elbow where each put his ball, scowled with annoyance. It was no good for him to use his insight.
Everything was still, and the counting of the balls was heard. Then a single voice rose and proclaimed the numbers for and against.
The marshal had been voted for by a considerable majority. All was noise and eager movement toward the doors. Snetkov came in, and the nobles thronged round him, congratulating him.
`Well, now, is it over?' Levin asked Sergei Ivanovich.
`It's only just beginning,' Sviiazhsky said, replying for Sergei Ivanovich with a smile. `Some other candidate may receive more votes than the marshal.'
Levin had quite forgotten about that again. Now he could only remember that there was some sort of trickery in it, but he was too bored to think what it was exactly. He felt depressed, and longed to get out of the crowd.
As no one was paying any attention to him, and no one apparently needed him, he quietly slipped away into the little room where the refreshments were, and again had a great sense of comfort when he saw the waiters. The little old waiter pressed him to have something, and Levin agreed. After eating a cutlet with beans and talking to the waiters of their former masters, Levin, not wishing to go back to the hall, where it was all so distasteful to him, proceeded to walk through the galleries.
The galleries were full of fashionably dressed ladies, leaning over the balustrade and trying not to lose a single word of what was being said below. With the ladies were sitting and standing smart lawyers, high school teachers in spectacles, and officers. Everywhere they were talking of the election, and of how worried the marshal was, and how splendid the discussions had been. In one group Levin heard his brother's praises. One lady was telling a lawyer:
`How glad I am I heard Koznishev! It's worth missing one's lunch. He's exquisite! So clear and distinct - all of it! There's not one of you in the law courts that speaks like that. The only one is Meidel, and he's very far from being so eloquent.'
Finding a free place, Levin leaned over the balustrade and began looking and listening.
All the noblemen were sitting railed off behind barriers, according to their districts. In the middle of the room stood a man in a uniform, who shouted in a loud high voice:
`As a candidate for the marshalship of the nobility of the province we call upon staff captain Eugenii Ivanovich Apukhtin!' A dead silence followed, and then a weak old voice was heard:
`We call upon the privy councilor Piotr Petrovich Bol,' the voice began again.
`Declined!' a high boyish voice replied.
Again it began, and again came the `Declined.' And so it went on for about an hour. Levin, with his elbows on the balustrade, looked and listened. At first he wondered and wanted to know what it meant; then feeling sure that he could not make it out he began to be bored. Then, recalling all the excitement and vindictiveness he had seen on all the faces, he felt sad; he made up his mind to go, and went downstairs. As he passed through the entry to the galleries he met a dejected high school boy walking up and down with tired-looking eyes. On the stairs he met a couple - a lady running quickly on her high heels and the jaunty deputy prosecutor.
`I told you you weren't late,' the deputy prosecutor was saying at the moment when Levin moved aside to let the lady pass.
Levin was on the stairs to the way out, and was just feeling in his waistcoat pocket for his overcoat check, when the secretary overtook him. `This way, please, Konstantin Dmitrievich; they are voting.'
The candidate who was being voted on was Neviedovsky, who had so stoutly denied all idea of candidacy.
Levin went up to the door of the room; it was locked. The secretary knocked, the door opened, and Levin was met by two red-faced gentlemen, who darted out.
`I can't stand any more of it,' said one red-faced gentleman.
After them the face of the marshal of the province was poked out. His face was dreadful-looking from exhaustion and dismay.
`I told you not to let anyone out!' he cried to the doorkeeper.
`I let someone in, Your Excellency!'
`Mercy on us!' And with a heavy sigh the marshal of the province walked with downcast head to the high table in the middle of the room, his white-trousered legs wavering from fatigue.
Neviedovsky had scored a higher majority, as they had planned, and he was the new marshal of the province. Many people were amused, many were pleased and happy, many were in ecstasies, many were disgusted and unhappy. The former marshal of the province was in a state of despair which he could not conceal. When Neviedovsky went out of the room, the crowd thronged round him and followed him enthusiastically, just as they had followed the governor on the first day, when he had opened the meetings, and just as they had followed Snetkov when he had been elected.
? Leo Tolstoy