with my colleagues, Filipp Ivanuitch Nikitin, Mikhaïl Stanislavitch Grinevitch;" then turning to Levin, "A landed proprietor, a rising man, a member of the zemstsvo, and a gymnast who can lift two hundred pounds with one hand, a raiser of cattle, and huntsman, and my friend, Konstantin Dmitrievitch Levin, the brother of Sergyeï Ivanuitch Koznuishef."
"Very happy," said the little old man. "I have the honor of knowing your brother, Sergyeï Ivanuitch," said Grinevitch, extending his delicate hand with its long nails.
Levin frowned; he coldly shook hands, and turned to Oblonsky. Although he had much respect for his half-brother, a writer universally known in Russia, it was none the less unpleasant for him to be addressed, not as Konstantin Levin, but as the brother of the famous Koznuishef.
"No, I am no longer a worker in the zemstsvo. I have quarreled with everybody, and I don't go to the assemblies," said he to Oblonsky.
"This is a sudden change," said Stepan Arkadyevitch, with a smile. "But how? why?"
"It is a long story, and I will tell it some other time," replied Levin; but he nevertheless went on to say, "To make a long story short, I was convinced that no action amounts to anything, or can amount to anything, in our provincial assemblies." He spoke as if some one had insulted him. "On the one hand, they try to play Parliament, and I am not young enough and not old enough to amuse myself with toys; and, on the other hand,"—he hesitated,—"this serves the district ring to make a little money. There used to be guardianships, judgments; but now we have the zemstsvo, not in the way of bribes, but in the way of unearned salaries."
He spoke hotly, as if some one present had attacked his views.
"Aha! here you are, I see, in a new phase, on the conservative side," said Stepan Arkadyevitch. "Well, we'll speak about this by and by."
"Yes, by and by. But I want to see you particu-
