The sixth day was fixed for the election of the marshal of the province.
The rooms, large and small, were full of noblemen in all sorts of uniforms. Many had come only for that day. Men who had not seen each other
for years, some from the Crimea, some from Petersburg, some from abroad, met in the rooms of the Hall of Nobility. There was much discussion
around the governor's table under the portrait of the Tsar.
The nobles, both in the larger and the smaller rooms, grouped themselves in camps, and from their hostile and suspicious glances, from the
silence that fell upon them when outsiders approached a group, and from the way that some, whispering together, retreated to the farther
corridor, it was evident that each side had secrets from the other. In appearance the noblemen were sharply divided into two cla**es: the old
and the new. The old were for the most part either in old uniforms of the nobility, bu*toned up closely, with spurs and hats, or in their own
special naval, cavalry, infantry, or official uniforms. The uniforms of the older men were embroidered in the old-fashioned way with epaulets
on their shoulders; they were unmistakably tight and short in the waist, as though their wearers had grown out of them. The younger men wore
the uniform of the nobility with long waists and broad shoulders, unbu*toned over white waistcoats, or uniforms with black collars and with
the embroidered badges of justices of the peace. To the younger men belonged the court uniforms that here and there brightened up the crowd.
But the division into young and old did not correspond with the division of parties. Some of the young men, as Levin observed, belonged to the
old party; and some of the very oldest noblemen, on the contrary, were whispering with Sviazhsky, and were evidently ardent partisans of the
new party.
Levin stood in the smaller room, where they were smoking and taking light refreshments, close to his own friends, and listening to what they
were saying, he conscientiously exerted all his intelligence trying to understand what was said. Sergey Ivanovitch was the center round which
the others grouped themselves. He was listening at that moment to Sviazhsky and Hliustov, the marshal of another district, who belonged to
their party. Hliustov would not agree to go with his district to ask Snetkov to stand, while Sviazhsky was persuading him to do so, and Sergey
Ivanovitch was approving of the plan. Levin could not make out why the opposition was to ask the marshal to stand whom they wanted to
supersede.
Stepan Arkadyevitch, who had just been drinking and taking some lunch, came up to them in his uniform of a gentleman of the bedchamber, wiping
his lips with a perfumed handkerchief of bordered batiste.
"We are placing our forces," he said, pulling out his whiskers, "Sergey Ivanovitch!"
And listening to the conversation, he supported Sviazhsky's contention.
"One district's enough, and Sviazhsky's obviously of the opposition," he said, words evidently intelligible to all except Levin.
"Why, Kostya, you here too! I suppose you're converted, eh?" he added, turning to Levin and drawing his arm through his. Levin would have been
glad indeed to be converted, but could not make out what the point was, and retreating a few steps from the speakers, he explained to Stepan
Arkadyevitch his inability to understand why the marshal of the province should be asked to stand.
"O sancta simplicitas!" said Stepan Arkadyevitch, and briefly and clearly he explained it to Levin. If, as at previous elections, all the
districts asked the marshal of the province to stand, then he would be elected without a ballot. That must not be. Now eight districts had
agreed to call upon him: if two refused to do so, Snetkov might decline to stand at all; and then the old party might choose another of their
party, which would throw them completely out in their reckoning. But if only one district, Sviazhsky's, did not call upon him to stand,
Snetkov would let himself be balloted for. They were even, some of them, going to vote for him, and purposely to let him get a good many
votes, so that the enemy might be thrown off the scent, and when a candidate of the other side was put up, they too might give him some votes.
Levin understood to some extent, but not fully, and would have put a few more questions, when suddenly everyone began talking and making a
noise and they moved towards the big room.
"What is it? eh? whom?" "No guarantee? whose? what?" "They won't pa** him?" "No guarantee?" "They won't let Flerov in?" "Eh, because of the
charge against him?" "Why, at this rate, they won't admit anyone. It's a swindle!" "The law!" Levin heard exclamations on all sides, and he
moved into the big room together with the others, all hurrying somewhere and afraid of missing something. Squeezed by the crowding noblemen,
he drew near the high table where the marshal of the province, Sviazhsky, and the other leaders were hotly disputing about something.