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They are utter nonsense, if you'll excuse my saying so." Markelov drew himself up. "In the first place," he began angrily, "I don't agree with you about these letters I find them extremely interesting... and conscientious! In the second place, Kisliakov works very hard and, what is more, he is in earnest; he BELIEVES in our cause, believes in the revolution!
It doesn't matter that Golushkin is an ass, and as for Kisliakov's letters, they may perhaps be absurd, but we must consider the most important thing. Kisliakov says that everything is ready. Perhaps you don't believe that too." Nejdanov did not reply. "You may be right, but if we've to wait until everything, absolutely everything, is ready, we shall never make a beginning.
"All the same, it will have to be altered afterwards!" Mashurina asked Nejdanov if she might come with him as far as the town, where she had a little shopping to do. "I can walk back afterwards or, if need be, ask the first peasant I meet for a lift in his cart." Solomin must also come. "Oh, by the way, what about those letters you wanted to show me? What is the fellow's name... Kisliakov?"
They spoke of the necessary means and measures to be employed, of the part each must take upon himself, selected and tied up various bundles of pamphlets and leaflets, mentioned a certain merchant, Golushkin, a nonconformist, as a very possible man, although uneducated, then a young propagandist, Kisliakov, who was very clever, but had an exaggerated idea of his own capabilities, and also spoke of Solomin...
Kisliakov was kept under arrest for about a month, after which he was released and even allowed to continue "galloping" from province of province. Nejdanov died, Solomin was under suspicion, but for lack of sufficient evidence was left in peace. A year and a half had gone by it was the winter of 1870. In St. Petersburg the very same St.
He assured him that there was a great deal of learning in them and even poetry, not of the frivolous kind, but poetry with a socialistic tendency! From Kisliakov, Markelov went on to the military, to adjutants, Germans, even got so far as his articles on the shortcomings of the artillery, whilst Nejdanov spoke about the antagonism between Heine and Borne, Proudhon, and realism in art.
For Markelov, Eremy stood in some way as the personification of the whole Russian people, and Eremy had deceived him! Had he been mistaken about the thing he was striving for? Was Kisliakov a liar? And were Vassily Nikolaevitch's orders all stupid? And all the articles, books, works of socialists and thinkers, every letter of which had seemed to him invincible truth, were they all nonsense too?
Nejdanov also asked about the military, but Markelov hesitated, tugged at his long whiskers, and announced at last that with regard to them nothing certain was known as yet, unless Kisliakov had made any discoveries. "Who is this Kisliakov?" Nejdanov asked impatiently. Markelov smiled significantly. "He's a wonderful person," he declared.
Nejdanov marvelled inwardly, not so much at Kisliakov's conceit, as at Markelov's honest simplicity. "Bother aestheticism! Mr. Kisliakov may be even useful," he thought to himself instantly. The three friends gathered together for tea in the dining-room, but last night's conversation was not renewed between them.
Nejdanov also inquired about the gentry of the neighbourhood, and learned from Markelov that there were five or six possible young men among them, but, unfortunately, the most radical of them was a German, "and you can't trust a German, you know, he is sure to deceive you sooner or later!" They must wait and see what information Kisliakov would gather.
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