Anna Karenina

estsov liked thrashing an argument out to the end, and was not
satisfied with Sergey Ivanovitch’s words, especially as he felt the
injustice of his view.

“I did not mean,” he said over the soup, addressing Alexey
Alexandrovitch, “mere density of population alone, but in conjunction
with fundamental ideas, and not by means of principles.”

“It seems to me,” Alexey Alexandrovitch said languidly, and with no
haste, “that that’s the same thing. In my opinion, influence over
another people is only possible to the people which has the higher
development, which....”

“But that’s just the question,” Pestsov broke in in his bass. He was
always in a hurry to speak, and seemed always to put his whole soul
into what he was saying. “In what are we to make higher development
consist? The English, the French, the Germans, which is at the highest
stage of development? Which of them will nationalize the other? We see
the Rhine provinces have been turned French, but the Germans are not at
a lower stage!” he shouted. “There is another law at work there.”

“I fancy that the greater influence is always on the side of true
civilization,” said Alexey Alexandrovitch, slightly lifting his
eyebrows.

“But what are we to lay down as the outward signs of true
civilization?” said Pestsov.

“I imagine such signs are generally very well known,” said Alexey
Alexandrovitch.

“But are they fully known?” Sergey Ivanovitch put in with a subtle
smile. “It is the accepted view now that real culture must be purely
classical; but we see most intense disputes on each side of the
question, and there is no denying that the opposite camp has strong
points in its favor.”

“You are for classics, Sergey Ivanovitch. Will you take red wine?” said
Stepan Arkadyevitch.

“I am not expressing my own opinion of either form of culture,” Sergey
Ivanovitch said, holding out his glass with a smile of condescension,
as to a child. “I only say that both sides have strong arguments to
support them,” he went on, addressing Alexey Alexandrovitch. “My
sympathies are classical from education, but in this discussion I am
personally unable to arrive at a conclusion. I see no distinct grounds
for classical studies being given a preeminence over scientific
studies.”

“The natural sciences have just as great an educational value,” put in
Pestsov. “Take astronomy, take botany, or zoology with its system of
general principles.”

“I cannot quite agree with that,” responded Alexey Alexandrovitch. “It
seems to me that one must admit that the very process of studying the
forms of language has a peculiarly favorable influence on intellectual
development. Moreover, it cannot be denied that the influence of the
classical authors is in the highest degree moral, while, unfortunately,
with the study of the natural sciences are associated the false and
noxious doctrines which are the curse of our day.”

Sergey Ivanovitch would have said something, but Pestsov interrupted
him in his rich bass. He began warmly contesting the justice of this
view. Sergey Ivanovitch waited serenely to speak, obviously with a
convincing reply ready.

“But,” said Sergey Ivanovitch, smiling subtly, and addressing Karenin,
“One must allow that to weigh all the advantages and disadvantages of
classical and scientific studies is a difficult task, and the question
which form of education was to be preferred would not have been so
quickly and conclusively decided if there had not been in favor of
classical education, as you expressed it just now, its moral—disons le
mot—anti-nihilist influence.”

“Undoubtedly.”

“If it had not been for the distinctive property of anti-nihilistic
influence on the side of classical studies, we should have considered
the subject more, have weighed the arguments on both sides,” said
Sergey Ivanovitch with a subtle smile, “we should have given elbow-room
to both tendencies. But now we know that these little pills of
classical learning possess the medicinal property of anti-nihilism, and
we boldly prescribe them to our patients.... But what if they had no
such medicinal property?” he wound up humorously.

At Sergey Ivanovitch’s little pills, everyone laughed; Turovtsin in
especial roared loudly and jovially, glad at last to have found
something to laugh at, all he ever looked for in listening to
conversation.

Stepan Arkadyevitch had not made a mistake in inviting Pestsov. With
Pestsov intellectual conversation never flagged for an instant.
Directly Sergey Ivanovitch had concluded the conversation with his
jest, Pestsov promptly started a new one.

“I can’t agree even,” said he, “that the government had that aim. The
government obviously is guided by abstract considerations, and remains
indifferent to the influence its measures may exercise. The education
of women, for instance, would naturally be regarded as likely to be
harmful, but the government opens schools and universities for women.”

And the conversation at once passed to the new subject of the education
of women.

Alexey Alexandrovitch expressed the idea that the education of women is
apt to be confounded with the emancipation of women, and that it is
only so that it can be considered dangerous.

“I consider, on the contrary, that the two questions are inseparably
connected together,” said Pestsov; “it is a vicious circle. Woman is
deprived of rights from lack of education, and the lack of education
results from the absence of rights. We must not forget that the
subjection of women is so complete, and dates from such ages back that
we are often unwilling to recognize the gulf that separates them from
us,” said he.

“You said rights,” said Sergey Ivanovitch, waiting till Pestsov had
finished, “meaning the right of sitting on juries, of voting, of
presiding at official meetings, the right of entering the civil
service, of sitting in parliament....”

“Undoubtedly.”

“But if women, as a rare exception, can occupy such positions, it seems
to me you are wrong in using the expression ‘rights.’ It would be more
correct to say duties. Every man will agree that in doing the duty of a
juryman, a witness, a telegraph clerk, we feel we are performing
duties. And therefore it would be correct to say that women are seeking
duties, and quite legitimately. And one can but sympathize with this
desire to assist in the general labor of man.”

“Quite so,” Alexey Alexandrovitch assented. “The question, I imagine,
is simply whether they are fitted for such duties.”

“They will most likely be perfectly fitted,” said Stepan Arkadyevitch,
“when education has become general among them. We see this....”

“How about the proverb?” said the prince, who had a long while been
intent on the conversation, his little comical eyes twinkling. “I can
say it before my daughter: her hair is long, because her wit is....”

“Just what they thought of the negroes before their emancipation!” said
Pestsov angrily.

“What seems strange to me is that women should seek fresh duties,” said
Sergey Ivanovitch, “while we see, unhappily, that men usually try to
avoid them.”

“Duties are bound up with rights—power, money, honor; those are what
women are seeking,” said Pestsov.

“Just as though I should seek the right to be a wet-nurse and feel
injured because women are paid for the work, while no one will take
me,” said the old prince.

Turovtsin exploded in a loud roar of laughter and Sergey Ivanovitch
regretted that he had not made this comparison. Even Alexey
Alexandrovitch smiled.

“Yes, but a man can’t nurse a baby,” said Pestsov, “while a woman....”

“No, there was an Englishman who did suckle his baby on board ship,”
said the old prince, feeling this freedom in conversation permissible
before his own daughters.

“There are as many such Englishmen as there would be women officials,”
said Sergey Ivanovitch.

“Yes, but what is a girl to do who has no family?” put in Stepan
Arkadyevitch, thinking of Masha Tchibisova, whom he had had in his mind
all along, in sympathizing with Pestsov and supporting him.

“If the story of such a girl were thoroughly sifted, you would find she
had abandoned a family—her own or a sister’s, where she might have
found a woman’s duties,” Darya Alexandrovna broke in unexpectedly in a
tone of exasperation, probably suspecting what sort of girl Stepan
Arkadyevitch was thinking of.

“But we take our stand on principle as the ideal,” replied Pestsov in
his mellow bass. “Woman desires to have rights, to be independent,
educated. She is oppressed, humiliated by the consciousness of her
disabilities.”

“And I’m oppressed and humiliated that they won’t engage me at the
Foundling,” the old prince said again, to the huge delight of
Turovtsin, who in his mirth dropped his asparagus with the thick end in
the sauce.