‘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.
‘If you don’t want to say, then don’t. Only there’s no need for you to talk with her. She’s a slut and you’re a gentleman,’ he said, his neck twitching. ‘I see you’ve understood and appraised everything, and look upon my errors with regret,’ he began again, raising his voice.
‘Nikolai Dmitrich, Nikolai Dmitrich,’ Marya Nikolaevna whispered, going up to him.
‘Well, all right, all right! ... And what about supper? Ah, here it is,’ he said, seeing a lackey with a tray. ‘Here, put it here,’ he said angrily, and at once took the vodka, poured a glass and drank it greedily. ‘Want a drink?’ he asked his brother, cheering up at once. ‘Well, enough about Sergei Ivanych. Anyhow, I’m glad to see you. Say what you like, we’re not strangers. Well, have a drink. Tell me, what are you up to?’ he went on, greedily chewing a piece of bread and pouring another glass. ‘How’s your life going?’
