Konstantin was barely listening. He was peering into his brother’s unhealthy, consumptive face and feeling more and more sorry for him, so he was unable to make himself listen to what his brother was telling him about the co-operative. He could see that this co-operative was merely an anchor saving him from despising himself. Nikolay Levin carried on talking:
‘You know that capital oppresses the worker—our workers, the peasants, bear all the burden of labour, and they are placed so that however hard they work, they cannot escape their brutish situation. All the profits from their wages, which they could have used to improve their situation, obtain some leisure time and, as a consequence, some education—all their surplus earnings are taken from them by the capitalists. And the way society has evolved, the more they work, the more the merchants and the landowners will make, and they will be beasts of burden for ever. And this state of affairs has to be changed,’ he concluded, looking enquiringly at his brother.
‘Yes, of course,’ said Konstantin, contemplating the red blotches which had appeared under his brother’s prominent cheekbones.
‘So we are organizing a metalworkers’ co-operative, in which everything we produce, and the profits, and, most importantly, the tools, will all be shared.’
‘And where is this co-operative going to be?’ asked Konstantin Levin.
‘In the village of Vozdremo, in Kazan province.’*
‘But why in a village? There is already enough to do in the villages, it seems to me. Why set up a metalworkers’ co-operative in a village?’
‘Because the peasants are just as much slaves now as they were before, and that is why you and Sergey Ivanich don’t like the idea of people wanting to take them out of this state of slavery,’ said Nikolay Levin, irritated by the objection.
Konstantin Levin sighed as he looked round the room, which was gloomy and dirty. This sigh appeared to irritate Nikolay even more.
‘I know the aristocratic views you and Sergey Ivanich have. I know that he uses all his mental faculties to justify the existing evil.’
‘No, but why are you talking about Sergey Ivanich?’ said Levin with a smile.
‘Sergey Ivanich? I’ll tell you!’ Nikolay Levin cried out suddenly at the mention of Sergey Ivanich. ‘I’ll tell you why … But what is there to say? There’s just one thing … Why have you come to see me? You despise all this, and that’s fine, so you can be on your way now, off you go!’ he shouted, getting up from his chair. ‘Go on, off you go!’
‘I don’t despise it at all,’ said Konstantin Levin timidly. ‘I am not even arguing.’
Just then Marya Nikolayevna came back. Nikolay Levin looked at her angrily. She went up to him quickly and whispered something.
‘I am not well, I’ve become irritable,’ Nikolay Levin said, calming down and breathing heavily, ‘and then you have to talk to me about Sergey Ivanich and his article. It’s such rubbish, such lies, such self-deception. What can a man write about justice when he does not know what it is? Have you read his article?’ he asked Kritsky, sitting back down at the table and moving some half-filled cigarettes off it to clear some space.
‘No, I haven’t,’ said Kritsky gloomily, clearly not wanting to enter into conversation.
‘Why not?’ Nikolay Levin now turned with irritation to Kritsky.
‘Because I don’t consider it necessary to waste time on it.’
‘Forgive me for asking, but how do you know you would be wasting time? That article is inaccessible to many people, I mean it’s above their heads. But with me it’s a different matter, I can see through his thinking, and I know why it is unconvincing.’
Everyone fell silent. Kritsky got up slowly and reached for his hat.
‘You don’t want supper? Well, goodbye then. Come by tomorrow with the metalworker.’
As soon as Kritsky left, Nikolay Levin smiled and winked.
‘He’s no good either,’ he said. ‘You know, I can see …’
But just then Kritsky called him from the door.
‘What else do you want?’ he said and went out to him in the corridor. When he was alone with Marya Nikolayevna, Levin turned to her.
‘Have you been with my brother long?’ he asked her.
‘This is the second year now. His health has got very bad. He drinks a lot,’ she said.
‘What exactly is he drinking?’
‘Vodka, and it’s bad for him.’
‘Does he really drink a lot?’ whispered Levin.
‘Yes,’ she said, looking round apprehensively at the doorway in which Nikolay Levin had appeared.
‘What have you been talking about?’ he said, frowning and transferring his frightened eyes from one to the other. ‘Tell me!’
‘Nothing,’ answered Konstantin in embarrassment.
‘Well, if you don’t want to talk, that’s up to you. But there is nothing for you to talk to her about. She is a common wench, and you are a gentleman,’ he said, his neck jerking.
‘But I can see that you have understood and considered everything, and are taking pity on the error of my ways,’ he began again, raising his voice.
‘Nikolay Dmitrich, Nikolay Dmitrich,’ Marya Nikolayevna whispered again as she went up to him.
‘Oh, all right, all right! … But what about supper? Ah, here it is,’ he said, seeing a servant with a tray. ‘Here, put it here,’ he said angrily, and promptly took the vodka, poured a glass, and drank it greedily. ‘Want a drink?’ he asked his brother, having immediately brightened up. ‘Well, that’s enough about Sergey Ivanich. I’m glad to see you anyway. When all is said and done, you’re still family. Come on, drink up. Tell me, what are you doing these days?’ he continued, greedily chomping on a piece of bread and pouring another glass. ‘How are you getting on?’
‘I’m living on my own in the country, as before, managing the estate,’ Konstantin answered, observing with horror the greediness with which his brother was drinking and eating, and trying to conceal the fact of his having noticed.
‘Why don’t you get married?’
‘Hasn’t happened,’ answered Konstantin, blushing.
‘Why not? As for me, it’s all over! I have ruined my life. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again; if I had been given my inheritance when I needed it, my whole life would have been different.’
Konstantin Dmitrich hurriedly changed subject.
‘Did you know that I’ve got your Vanyushka working for me in the office at Pokrovskoye?’ he said.
Nikolay’s neck jerked and he became pensive.
‘So tell me, what is going on at Pokrovskoye? Is the house still standing, and what about the birches, and our classroom? Filipp the gardener, he can’t still be alive, can he? I remember the summer-house and the sofa so well! Make sure you don’t change anything in the house, but hurry up and get married, and set things up again the way they used to be. Then I’ll come and visit you, if your wife is nice.’
‘You should come and visit me now,’ said Levin. ‘We’d settle in together very cosily!’
‘I would come and visit you if I knew I wouldn’t find Sergey Ivanich there.’
‘You won’t find him there. I live completely independently from him.’
‘Yes, but you have still got to choose between me and him, whatever you say,’ he said, looking timidly into his brother’s eyes. Konstantin found this timidity touching.
‘If you want to know my true feelings on that matter, let me tell you that I don’t side with either you or Sergey Ivanich in your argument with him. You are both wrong. You are more outwardly wrong, and he is more inwardly wrong.’
‘Aha! You’ve understood that, you really have?’ exclaimed Nikolay jubilantly.
‘But if you want to know, I personally cherish my friendship with you more, because …’
‘Why do you, why?’
Konstantin could not say that he cherished it more because Nikolay was unhappy and in need of friendship. But Nikolay realized this was exactly what he wanted to say, and, frowning, he reached for the vodka again.