It was morning before Nekhludoff could fall asleep, and therefore he woke up late. At noon seven men, chosen from among the peasants at the foreman's invitation, came into the orchard, where the foreman had arranged a table and benches by digging posts into the ground, and fixing boards on the top, under the apple trees. It took some time before the peasants could be persuaded to put on their caps and to sit down on the benches.
Especially firm was the ex-soldier, who to-day had bark shoes on.
He stood erect, holding his cap as they do at funerals, according to military regulation. When one of them, a respectable-looking, broad-shouldered old man, with a curly, grizzly beard like that of Michael Angelo's "Moses," and grey hair that curled round the brown, bald forehead, put on his big cap, and, wrapping his coat round him, got in behind the table and sat down, the rest followed his example. When all had taken their places Nekhludoff sat down opposite them, and leaning on the table over the paper on which he had drawn up his project, he began explaining it.
Whether it was that there were fewer present, or that he was occupied with the business in hand and not with himself, anyhow, this time Nekhludoff felt no confusion. He involuntarily addressed the broad-shouldered old man with white ringlets in his grizzly beard, expecting approbation or objections from him. But Nekhludoff's conjecture was wrong. The respectable-looking old patriarch, though he nodded his handsome head approvingly or shook it, and frowned when the others raised an objection, evidently understood with great difficulty, and only when the others repeated what Nekhludoff had said in their own words. A little, almost beardless old fellow, blind in one eye, who sat by the side of the patriarch, and had a patched nankeen coat and old boots on, and, as Nekhludoff found out later, was an oven-builder, understood much better. This man moved his brows quickly, attending to Nekhludoff's words with an effort, and at once repeated them in his own way. An old, thick-set man with a white beard and intelligent eyes understood as quickly, and took every opportunity to put in an ironical joke, clearly wishing to show off. The ex-soldier seemed also to understand matters, but got mixed, being used to senseless soldiers' talk. A tall man with a small beard, a long nose, and a bass voice, who wore clean, home-made clothes and new bark-plaited shoes, seemed to be the one most seriously interested. This man spoke only when there was need of it. The two other old men, the same toothless one who had shouted a distinct refusal at the meeting the day before to every proposal of Nekhludoff's, and a tall, white lame old man with a kind face, his thin legs tightly wrapped round with strips of linen, said little, though they listened attentively. First of all Nekhludoff explained his views in regard to personal property in land. "The land, according to my idea, can neither he bought nor sold, because if it could be, he who has got the money could buy it all, and exact anything he liked for the use of the land from those who have none."
"That's true," said the long-nosed man, in a deep bass.
"Just so," said the ex-soldier.
"A woman gathers a little grass for her cow; she's caught and imprisoned," said the white-bearded old man.
"Our own land is five versts away, and as to renting any it's impossible; the price is raised so high that it won't pay," added the cross, toothless old man. "They twist us into ropes, worse than during serfdom."
"I think as you do, and I count it a sin to possess land, so I wish to give it away," said Nekhludoff.
"Well, that's a good thing," said the old man, with curls like Angelo's "Moses," evidently thinking that Nekhludoff meant to let the land.
"I have come here because I no longer wish to possess any land, and now we must consider the best way of dividing it."
"Just give it to the peasants, that's all," said the cross, toothless old man.
Nekhludoff was abashed for a moment, feeling a suspicion of his not being honest in these words, but he instantly recovered, and made use of the remark, in order to express what was in his mind, in reply.
"I should be glad to give it them," he said, "but to whom, and how? To which of the peasants? Why, to your commune, and not to that of Deminsk." (That was the name of a neighbouring village with very little land.) All were silent. Then the ex-soldier said, "Just so."
"Now, then, tell me how would you divide the land among the peasants if you had to do it?" said Nekhludoff.
"We should divide it up equally, so much for every man," said the oven-builder, quickly raising and lowering his brows.
"How else? Of course, so much per man," said the good natured lame man with the white strips of linen round his legs.
Every one confirmed this statement, considering it satisfactory.
"So much per man? Then are the servants attached to the house also to have a share?" Nekhludoff asked.
"Oh, no," said the ex-soldier, trying to appear bold and merry.
But the tall, reasonable man would not agree with him.
"If one is to divide, all must share alike," he said, in his deep bass, after a little consideration.
"It can't be done," said Nekhludoff, who had already prepared his reply. "If all are to share alike, then those who do not work themselves--do not plough--will sell their shares to the rich.
The rich will again get at the land. Those who live by working the land will multiply, and land will again be scarce. Then the rich will again get those who need land into their power."
"Just so," quickly said the ex-soldier.
"Forbid to sell the land; let only him who ploughs it have it," angrily interrupted the oven-builder.
To this Nekhludoff replied that it was impossible to know who was ploughing for himself and who for another.
