934 935
putting on his shoes and stockings. “Good-bye, gentlemen. If it’s fun,
I’ll fetch you. You’ve treated me to some good sport, and I won’t forget
you.”
“He really is a capital fellow, isn’t he?” said Stepan Arkadyevitch,
when Veslovsky had gone out and the peasant had closed the door
after him.
“Yes, capital,” answered Levin, still thinking of the subject of their
conversation just before. It seemed to him that he had clearly ex-
pressed his thoughts and feelings to the best of his capacity, and yet
both of them, straightforward men and not fools, had said with one
voice that he was comforting himself with sophistries. This discon-
certed him.
“It’s just this, my dear boy. One must do one of two things: either
admit that the existing order of society is just, and then stick up for
one’s rights in it; or acknowledge that you are enjoying unjust privi-
leges, as I do, and then enjoy them and be satisfied.”
“No, if it were unjust, you could not enjoy these advantages and be
satisfied—at least I could not. The great thing for me is to feel that I’m
not to blame.”
“What do you say, why not go after all?” said Stepan Arkadyevitch,
evidently weary of the strain of thought. “We shan’t go to sleep, you
know. Come, let’s go!”
Levin did not answer. What they had said in the conversation,
that he acted justly only in a negative sense, absorbed his thoughts.
“Can it be that it’s only possible to be just negatively?” he was asking
himself.
“How strong the smell of the fresh hay is, though,” said Stepan
Arkadyevitch, getting up. “There’s not a chance of sleeping. Vassenka
has been getting up some fun there. Do you hear the laughing and his
voice? Hadn’t we better go? Come along!”
“No, I’m not coming,” answered Levin.
“Surely that’s not a matter of principle too,” said Stepan
Arkadyevitch, smiling, as he felt about in the dark for his cap.
“It’s not a matter of principle, but why should I go?”
“But do you know you are preparing trouble for yourself,” said
Stepan Arkadyevitch, finding his cap and getting up.
“How so?”
“Do you suppose I don’t see the line you’ve taken up with your
wife? I heard how it’s a question of the greatest consequence, whether
or not you’re to be away for a couple of days’ shooting. That’s all very
well as an idyllic episode, but for your whole life that won’t answer. A
man must be independent; he has his masculine interests. A man has
to be manly,” said Oblonsky, opening the door.
“In what way? To go running after servant girls?” said Levin.
“Why not, if it amuses him? Ca ne tire pas a consequence. It won’t
do my wife any harm, and it’ll amuse me. The great thing is to respect
the sanctity of the home. There should be nothing in the home. But
don’t tie your own hands.”
“Perhaps so,” said Levin dryly, and he turned on his side. “Tomor-
row, early, I want to go shooting, and I won’t wake anyone, and shall set
off at daybreak.”
“Messieurs, venes vite!” they heard the voice of Veslovsky coming
back. “Charmante! I’ve made such a discovery. Charmante! a perfect
Gretchen, and I’ve already made friends with her. Really, exceedingly
pretty,” he declared in a tone of approval, as though she had been
made pretty entirely on his account, and he was expressing his satis-
faction with the entertainment that had been provided for him.
Levin pretended to be asleep, while Oblonsky, putting on his slip-