LITMIR.BIZ

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expect so.’

      The door of No. 12 was ajar, and from within, visible in the streak of light, issued dense fumes of inferior and weak tobacco. Levin heard a stranger’s voice, but knew at once that his brother was there, for he heard him coughing.

      As he entered the doorway the stranger’s voice was saying: ‘It all depends on how intelligently and rationally the affair is conducted.’

      Constantine Levin glanced into the room, which was beyond a partition, and saw that the speaker was a young man with an enormous head of hair, who wore a workman’s coat, and that a young, pockmarked woman in a woollen dress without collar or cuffs was sitting on the sofa. [At that time better-class women always wore something white round their necks and wrists.] He could not see his brother, and his heart sank painfully at the thought that Nicholas lived among such strange people. No one noticed him, and, as he took off his goloshes, he overheard what the man in the workman’s coat was saying. He was talking about some commercial enterprise.

      ‘Oh, let the privileged classes go to the devil,’ said his brother’s voice, with a cough.

      ‘Masha, get us some supper and bring the wine if any is left, or send for some.’

      The woman rose, came out from behind the partition, and saw Constantine.

      ‘Here is a gentleman, Nicholas Dmitrich,’ she said.

      ‘Whom do you want?’ said Nicholas Levin’s voice angrily.

      ‘It is I,’ answered Constantine Levin, coming forward into the lamplight.

      ‘Who’s I?’ said the voice of Nicholas Levin still more angrily.

      Constantine heard how he rose hurriedly and caught against something, and then in the doorway before him he saw the familiar yet ever strange figure of his brother, wild, sickly, gigantic, lean, and round-shouldered, with large, frightened eyes.

      He was even more emaciated than three years before, when Constantine Levin had last seen him. He was wearing a short coat, and his hands and broad bones appeared more immense than ever. His hair was thinner, but the same straight moustache covered his lips; and the same eyes with their peculiar, naïve gaze looked out at the newcomer.

      ‘Ah! Kostya!’ he said suddenly, recognizing his brother, and his eyes lit up with joy. But at the same moment he turned to look at the young man and convulsively jerked his head and neck as if his necktie were strangling him, a movement Levin knew well, and quite another expression — a wild, suffering, and cruel look — settled on his haggard face.

      ‘I wrote both to you and to Sergius Ivanich that I do not know you and do not wish to know you. What is it? What do you want?’

      He was not at all as Constantine had imagined him. Constantine when thinking of him had forgotten the most trying and worst part of his character, that which made intercourse with him so difficult; but now when he saw his face, and especially that convulsive movement of his head, he remembered it all.

      ‘I do not want anything of you specially,’ he answered meekly; ‘I have simply come to see you.’

      His brother’s timidity obviously softened Nicholas, whose lips quivered.

      ‘Ah! You have come just for that?’ he said. ‘Well, come in, sit down. Will you have some supper? Masha, get supper for three. No, wait a little. Do you know who this is?’ he added, turning to his brother and pointing to the man in the workman’s coat. ‘It is Mr. Kritsky, my friend ever since my Kiev days, a very remarkable fellow. Of course the police are after him, because he is not a scoundrel.’

      And he glanced round at everybody present as was his way. Seeing that the woman in the doorway was about to go out he shouted to her: ‘Wait, I told you,’ and in the awkward and blundering manner familiar to Constantine, he again looked round at everybody, and began to tell his brother about Kritsky: how he had been expelled from the University because he had started a society to help the poorer students, and also Sunday schools, and how he had afterwards taught in an elementary school, and had been turned out from that too, and had then been tried on some charge or other.

      ‘You were at Kiev University?’ Constantine Levin asked Kritsky, in order to break the awkward silence that followed.

      ‘Yes, at Kiev,’ Kritsky replied with an angry frown.

      ‘And this woman,’ said Nicholas Levin, interrupting him, and pointing to her, ‘is my life’s companion, Mary Nikolavna; I took her out of a house …’ and as he said this he again jerked his neck. ‘But I love and respect her and beg all those who wish to know me,’ he added, raising his voice and scowling, ‘to love and respect her. She is just the same to me as a wife, just the same. So now you know whom you have to deal with, and if you fear you will be degraded — there is the door.’

      And again his eyes glanced questioningly around.

      ‘Why should I be degraded? I don’t understand.’

      ‘Well, Masha, order supper for three, with vodka and wine… . No, wait. No, never mind… . You may go.’

      Chapter 25

      ‘SO you see, …’ Nicholas Levin continued with an effort, wrinkling his brow and twitching.

      He evidently found it hard to decide what to say and to do.

      ‘Do you see …’he pointed to a bundle of iron rods tied together with string, in a corner of the room. ‘Do you see that? It is the beginning of a new business we are undertaking. The business is to be a Productive Association …’

      Constantine hardly listened. He kept glancing at his brother’s sickly, consumptive face, and felt more and more sorry for him, nor could he force himself to pay attention to what Nicholas was telling him about the Association. He realized that this Association was merely an anchor to save his brother from self-contempt. Nicholas Levin continued speaking:

      ‘You know that capitalism oppresses the workers. Our workmen the peasants bear the whole burden of labour, but are so placed that, work as they may, they cannot escape from their degrading condition. All the profits on their labour, by which they might better their condition, give themselves some leisure, and consequently gain some education, all this surplus value is taken away by the capitalists. And our society has so shaped itself that the more the people work the richer the merchants and landowners will become, while the people will remain beasts of burden for ever. And this system must be changed,’ he concluded, with an inquiring look at his brother.

      ‘Yes, of course,’ said Constantine, looking intently at the hectic flush which had appeared on his brother’s face below its prominent cheek bones.

      ‘And so we are starting a Locksmiths’ Association, in which all the products and the profits and, above all, the instruments of production will be common property.’

      ‘Where will the business be?’ asked Constantine.

      ‘In the village of Vozdrema, Kazan Government.’

      ‘Why in a village? It seems to me there is plenty of work to do in the country as it is. Why start a Locksmiths’ Association there?’

      ‘Because the peasants are still just as much slaves as they used to be, and that is why you and Sergius Ivanich don’t like it when anyone wishes to deliver them from their slavery,’ replied Nicholas Levin, irritated by Constantine’s objection.

      Constantine sighed and at the same time looked round the room which was dismal and dirty. The sigh seemed to irritate Nicholas still more.

      ‘I know your aristocratic outlook and Sergius Ivanich’s. I know that he uses all the powers of his mind to justify the existing evils.’

      ‘But why talk about Sergius Ivanich?’ said Levin with a smile.

      ‘Sergius Ivanich? This is why!’ suddenly shouted Nicholas at the mention of the name. ‘This is why… . But what is the good

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