III.

Levin had on this visit to town seen a great deal of his old friend at the university, Professor Katavassov, whom he had not seen since his marriage. He liked in Katavassov the clearness and simplicity of his conception of life. Levin thought that the clearness of Katavassov’s conception of life was due to the poverty of his nature; Katavassov thought that the disconnectedness of Levin’s ideas was due to his lack of intellectual discipline; but Levin enjoyed Katavassov’s clearness, and Katavassov enjoyed the abundance of Levin’s untrained ideas, and they liked to meet and to dispute.

Levin had read to Katavassov some parts of his book, and he had liked them. On the previous day Katavassov had met Levin at a public lecture and told him that the celebrated Metrov, whose article Levin had so much liked, was in Moscow, that he had been much interested by what Katavassov had told him about Levin’s work, and that he was coming to see him tomorrow at eleven, and would be very glad to make Levin’s acquaintance.

“You’re positively a reformed character, my dear, I’m glad to see,” said Katavassov, meeting Levin in the little drawing room. “I heard the bell and thought: Impossible! It can’t be he at the exact time! . . . Well, what do you say to the Montenegrins now? They’re a race of warriors.”

“Why, what’s happened?” asked Levin.

Katavassov in a few words told him the last piece of news from the war, and, going into his study, introduced Levin to a short, thickset man of pleasant appearance. This was Metrov. The conversation touched for a brief space on politics and on how recent events were looked at in the higher spheres in Peterburg. Metrov repeated a saying that had reached him through a most trustworthy source, reported as having been uttered on this subject by the Czar and one of the ministers. Katavassov had heard also on excellent authority that the Czar had said something quite different. Levin tried to imagine circumstances in which both sayings might have been uttered, and the conversation on that topic dropped.

“Yes, here he’s practically written a book on the natural conditions of the laborer in relation to the land,” said Katavassov; “I’m not a specialist, but I, as a student of natural science, was pleased at his not taking mankind as something outside biological laws; but, on the contrary, perceiving his dependence on his surroundings, and in that dependence seeking the laws of his development.”

“That’s very interesting,” said Metrov.

“To tell the truth, I began to write a book on agriculture; but, studying the chief instrument of agriculture, the laborer,” said Levin, reddening, “I could not help coming to quite unexpected results.”

And Levin began carefully, as though feeling his ground, to expound his views. He knew Metrov had written an article against the generally accepted theory of political economy, but to what extent he could reckon on his sympathy with his own new views he did not know and could not guess from the clever and serene face of the savant.

“But in what do you see the special characteristics of the Russian laborer?” said Metrov; “in his biological characteristics, so to speak, or in the condition in which he is placed?”

Levin saw that there was an idea underlying this question with which he did not agree. But he went on explaining his own idea that the Russian laborer has a quite special view of the land, different from that of other people; and to support this proposition he made haste to add that in his opinion this attitude of the Russian peasant was due to the consciousness of his vocation to settle vast unoccupied expanses in the East.

“One may easily be led into error in basing any conclusion on the general vocation of a people,” said Metrov, interrupting Levin. “The condition of the laborer will always depend on his relation to the land and to capital.”

And without letting Levin finish explaining his idea, Metrov began expounding to him the special point of his own theory.

In what the point of his theory lay, Levin did not understand, because he did not take the trouble to understand. He saw that Metrov, like other people, in spite of his own article, in which he had attacked the current theory of political economy, looked at the position of the Russian peasant simply from the point of view of capital, wages, and rent. He would indeed have been obliged to admit that in the eastern — much the larger — part of Russia rent was as yet nil, that for nine-tenths of the eighty millions of the Russian peasants wages took the form simply of food provided for themselves, and that capital does not so far exist except in the form of the most primitive tools. Yet it was only from that point of view that he considered every laborer, though in many points he differed from the economists and had his own theory of the wage fund, which he expounded to Levin.

Levin listened reluctantly, and at first made objections. He would have liked to interrupt Metrov, to explain his own thought, which in his opinion would have rendered further exposition of Metrov’s theories superfluous. But later on, feeling convinced that they looked at the matter so differently, that they could never understand one another, he did not even oppose his statements, but simply listened. Although what Metrov was saying was by now utterly devoid of interest for him, he yet experienced a certain satisfaction in listening to him. It flattered his vanity that such a learned man should explain his ideas to him so eagerly, with such intensity and confidence in Levin’s understanding of the subject, sometimes with a mere hint referring him to a whole aspect of the subject. He put this down to his own credit, unaware that Metrov, who had already discussed his theory over and over again with all his intimate friends, talked of it with special eagerness to every new person, and in general was eager to talk to anyone of any subject that interested him, even if still obscure to himself.

“We are late though,” said Katavassov, looking at his watch directly Metrov had finished his discourse.

“Yes, there’s a meeting of the Society of Amateurs today in commemoration of the fifty-year jubilee of Svintich,” said Katavassov in answer to Levin’s inquiry. “Piotr Ivanovich and I were going. I’ve promised to deliver an address on his labors in zoology. Come along with us, it’s very interesting.”

“Yes, and it’s really time to start,” said Metrov. “Come with us, and from there, if you care to, come to my place. I should very much like to hear your work.”

“Oh, no! It’s no good yet — it’s unfinished. But I shall be very glad to go to the meeting.”

“I say, my dear, have you heard? He has handed in a minority report,” Katavassov called from the other room, where he was putting on his dress coat.

And a conversation sprang up on the university question.

The university question was a very important event that winter in Moscow. Three old professors in the council had not accepted the opinion of the younger professors. The young ones had registered a separate resolution. This resolution, in the judgment of some people, was monstrous, in the judgment of others it was the simplest and most just thing to do, and the professors were split into two parties.

One party, to which Katavassov belonged, saw in the opposite party a scoundrelly betrayal and treachery, while the opposite party saw in them childishness and lack of respect for the authorities. Levin, though he did not belong to the university, had several times already during his stay in Moscow heard and talked about this matter, and had his own opinion on the subject. He took part in the conversation that was continued in the street, as all three walked to the old buildings of the university.

The meeting had already begun. Round the cloth-covered table, at which Katavassov and Metrov seated themselves, there were some half-dozen persons, and one of these was bending close over a manuscript, reading something aloud. Levin sat down in one of the empty chairs that were standing round the table, and in a whisper asked a student sitting near what was being read. The student, eying Levin with displeasure, said:

“The biography.”

Though Levin was not interested in the biography, he could not help listening, and learned some new and interesting facts about the life of the distinguished man of science.

When the reader had finished, the chairman thanked him and read some verses of the poet Ment, sent him on the jubilee, and said a few words by way of thanks to the poet. Then Katavassov in his loud, ringing voice read his address on the scientific labors of the man whose jubilee was being kept.

When Katavassov had finished, Levin looked at his watch, saw it was past one, and thought that there would not be time before the concert to read his paper to Metrov, and indeed, he did not now care to do so. During the reading he had thought over their conversation. He saw distinctly now that though Metrov’s ideas might perhaps have value, his own ideas had a value too, and their ideas could only be made clear and lead to something if each worked separately in his chosen path, and that nothing would be gained by communicating these ideas. And having made up his mind to refuse Metrov’s invitation, Levin went up to him at the end of the meeting. Metrov introduced Levin to the chairman, with whom he was talking of the political news. Metrov told the chairman what he had already told Levin, and Levin made the same remarks on his news that he had already made that morning, but for the sake of variety he expressed also a new opinion which had only just struck him. After that the conversation turned again on the university question. As Levin had already heard it all, he made haste to tell Metrov that he was sorry he could not take advantage of his invitation, took leave, and drove to Lvov’s.