Chapter 12: Levin
Levin was almost of the same age as Oblonsky; their intimacy did not rest merely on champagne. Levin had been the friend and companion of his early youth. They were fond of one another in spite of the difference of their characters and tastes, as friends are fond of one another who have been together in early youth. But in spite of this, each of them - as is often the way with men who have selected careers of different kinds - though in discussion he would even justify the other's career, in his heart despised it.
It seemed to each of them that the life he led himself was the only real life, and the life led by his friend was a mere phantasm. Oblonsky could not restrain a slight mocking smile at the sight of Levin. How often he had seen him come up to Moscow from the country where he was doing something, but what precisely Stepan Arkadyevitch could never quite make out, and indeed he took no interest in the matter. Levin arrived in Moscow always excited and in a hurry, rather ill at ease and irritated by his own want of ease, and for the most part with a perfectly new, unexpected view of things.
Stepan Arkadyevitch laughed at this, and liked it. In the same way Levin in his heart despised the town mode of life of his friend, and his official duties, which he laughed at, and regarded as trifling. But the difference was that Oblonsky, as he was doing the same as every one did, laughed complacently and good-humoredly, while Levin laughed without complacency and sometimes angrily.
"We have long been expecting you", said Stepan Arkadyevitch, going into his room and letting Levin's hand go as though to show that here all danger was over.
"I am very, very glad to see you", he went on. "Well, how are you? Eh? When did you come?"
Levin was silent, looking at the unknown faces of Oblonsky's two companions, and especially at the hand of the elegant Grinevitch, which had such long white fingers, such long yellow Filbert-shaped nails, and such huge shining studs on the shirt-cuff, that apparently they absorbed all his attention, and allowed him no freedom of thought. Oblonsky noticed this at once, and amiled.
"Ah, to be sure, let me introduce you", he said. "My colleagues: Philip Ivanitch Niktin, Mihail Stanislavitch Grinevitch" - and turning to Levin - "a district councilor, a modern district councilman, a Gymnast who lifts thirteen stone in one hand, a cattle-breeder and sportsman, and my friend, Konstantin Dmitrievitch Levin, the brother of Sregey Ivonovitch Koznishev".
"Delighted", said the veteran.
"I have the honor of knowing your brother, Sergey Ivonovitch", said Grinevitch, holding out his slender hand with its long nails.
Levin frowned, shook hands coldly, and at once turned to Oblonsky. Though he had a great respect for his half-brother, an author well known to all Russia, he could not endure it when people treated him not as Konstantin Levin, but as the brother of the celebrated Koznishev.
"No, I am no longer a district councilor. I have quarreled with them all, and don't go to the meetings any more", he said, turning to Oblonsky.
"You've been quick about it!" said Oblonsky with a smile. "But how? Why?"
"It's a long story. I will tell you some time",said Levin, but he began telling him at once. "Well, to put it shortly, I was convinced that nothing was really done by the district councils, or ever could be", he began, as though someone has just insulted him.
"On one side it's a plaything; they play at being a parliament, and I'm neither young enough nor old enough to find amusement in playthings; and on the other side" (he stammered) "it's a means for the coterie of the district to make money. Formerly they had wardships, courts of justice, now they have the district council - not in the form of bribes, but in form of unearned salary", he said, as hotly as though someone of those present had opposed his opinion.
"Aha! You're in a new phase again, I see - a conservative", said Stepan Arkadyevitch. "However, we can go into that later".
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