‘I wrote to both you and Sergei Ivanych that I don’t know and don’t wish to know you. What do you, what do the two of you want?’
He was quite different from the way Konstantin had imagined him. The most difficult and worst part of his character, that which made communication with him so hard, had been forgotten by Konstantin Levin when he thought about him; and now, when he saw his face, and especially that convulsive turning of the head, he remembered it all.
‘I don’t want anything from you,’ he replied timidly. ‘I simply came to see you.’
Nikolai was apparently softened by his brother’s timidity. He twitched his lips.
‘Ah, just like that?’ he said. ‘Well, come in, sit down. Want some supper? Masha, bring three portions. No, wait. Do you know who this is?’ he said to his brother, pointing to the gentleman in the sleeveless jacket. ‘This is Mr Kritsky, my friend from way back in Kiev, a very remarkable man. He’s being sought by the police, of course, because he’s not a scoundrel.’
And he looked round, as was his habit, at everyone in the room. Seeing the woman standing in the doorway make a movement as if to go, he shouted to her: ‘Wait, I said.’ And with that clumsiness in conversation that Konstantin knew so well, he again looked around at everybody and began telling his brother Kritsky’s story: how he had been expelled from the university for starting Sunday schools37 and a society to aid poor students, how he had then become a teacher in a people’s school, how he had been expelled from there as well, and how later he had been taken to court for something.
‘You were at Kiev University?’ Konstantin Levin said to Kritsky, in order to break the awkward silence that ensued.
‘Yes, Kiev,’ Kritsky began crossly, scowling.
‘And this woman,’ Nikolai Levin interrupted him, pointing to her, ‘is my life’s companion, Marya Nikolaevna. I took her from a house’ - and his neck twitched as he said it. ‘But I love her and respect her, and I ask everyone who wants to know me,’ he added, raising his voice and frowning, ‘to love and respect her. She’s the same as my wife, the same. So there, you know who you’re dealing with. And if you think you’re lowering yourself, here’s your hat and there’s the door.’
And again his eyes passed questioningly over them all.
‘Why should I be lowering myself? I don’t understand.’
‘Then tell them to serve supper, Masha: three portions, some vodka and wine ... No, wait ... No, never mind ... Go.’
XXV
‘So you see,’ Nikolai Levin went on with effort, wrinkling his brow and twitching. It was obviously hard for him to think what to say and do. ‘You see ...’ He pointed at some small iron bars tied with string in the corner of the room. ‘See that? That’s the beginning of a new business we’re undertaking. This business is a manufacturing association ...’
Konstantin was almost not listening. He peered into his brother’s sickly, consumptive face, felt more and more sorry for him, and was unable to make himself listen to what his brother was telling him about the association. He could see that this association was only an anchor saving him from despising himself. Nikolai Levin went on speaking:
‘You know that capital oppresses the worker - the workers in our country, the muzhiks, bear all the burden of labour, and their position is such that, however much they work, they can never get out of their brutish situation. All the profits earned by their work, with which they might improve their situation, give themselves some leisure and, consequently, education, all surplus earnings are taken from them by the capitalists. And society has developed so that the more they work, the more gain there will be for the merchants and landowners, and they will always remain working brutes. And this order must be changed,’ he concluded and looked inquiringly at his brother.
‘Yes, of course,’ said Konstantin, studying the red patches that had appeared below his brother’s prominent cheekbones.
‘And so we’re organizing a metal-working association, in which all production and profit and, above all, the tools of production, will be common property.’
‘Where will the association be located?’ asked Konstantin Levin.
‘In the village of Vozdryoma, Kazan province.’
‘Why in a village? I think there’s enough to do in the villages without that. Why have a metal-working association in a village?’
‘Because the muzhiks are just as much slaves now as they were before, and that’s why you and Sergei Ivanych don’t like it that we want to bring them out of this slavery,’ Nikolai Levin said, annoyed by the objection.
Konstantin Levin sighed, at the same time looking around the dismal and dirty room. This sigh seemed to annoy Nikolai still more.
‘I know the aristocratic views you and Sergei Ivanych have. I know that he employs all his mental powers to justify the existing evil.’
‘No, why do you talk about Sergei Ivanych?’ said Levin, smiling.
‘Sergei Ivanych? Here’s why!’ Nikolai Levin cried out suddenly at the name of Sergei Ivanych. ‘Here’s why ... But what’s there to talk about? Nothing but ... Why did you come to see me? You despise all this, and that’s wonderful, so go, go with God!’ he shouted, getting up from his chair. ‘Go, go!’
‘I don’t despise it in the least,’ Konstantin Levin said timidly. ‘I’m not even arguing.’
Just then Marya Nikolaevna came back. Nikolai Levin gave her an angry glance. She quickly went over to him and whispered something.
‘I’m not well, I’ve become irritable,’ Nikolai Levin said, calming down and breathing heavily, ‘and then you tell me about Sergei Ivanych and his article. It’s such nonsense, such lies, such self-deception. What can a man write about justice if he knows nothing of it? Have you read his article?’ he asked Kritsky, sitting down at the table again and pushing aside some half-filled cigarettes so as to clear a space.
‘No, I haven’t,’ Kritsky said glumly, obviously unwilling to enter the conversation.
‘Why not?’ Nikolai Levin now turned to Kritsky with irritation.
‘Because I don’t find it necessary to waste time on it.’
‘Excuse me, but how do you know you’d be wasting your time? The article is inaccessible to many - that is, it’s above them. But with me it’s a different matter, I can see through his thought, and I know why it’s weak.’
Everyone fell silent. Kritsky slowly got up and took his hat.
‘You won’t have supper? Well, good-bye. Come tomorrow with a metal-worker.’
As soon as Kritsky left, Nikolai Levin smiled and winked.
‘He’s also in a bad way,’ he said. ‘I do see ...’
But just then Kritsky called him from the door.
‘What does he want now?’ he said and went out to him in the corridor. Left alone with Marya Nikolaevna, Levin turned to her.
‘Have you been with my brother long?’ he asked her.
‘It’s the second year now. His health’s gone really bad. He drinks a lot,’ she said.
‘Drinks, meaning what?’
‘He drinks vodka, and it’s bad for him.’
‘Really a lot?’ Levin whispered.
‘Yes,’ she said, glancing timidly at the doorway, in which Nikolai Levin appeared.
‘What were you talking about?’ he said, frowning, his frightened eyes shifting from one to the other. ‘What was it?’
‘Nothing,’ Konstantin replied, embarrassed.