Leo Tolstoy

by Anna Karenina (tr Richard Pevear, Larissa Volokhonsky) (Penguin Classics) (epub)

  In the beginning Levin thought of leasing the whole farm, as it was, to the peasants, workers and steward, on new conditions of partnership, but he soon became convinced that it was impossible, and he decided to subdivide the farming. The cattle–yard, orchards, kitchen gardens, meadows, fields, divided into several parts, were to constitute separate items. Naive Ivan the cowman, who understood the matter best of all, as it seemed to Levin, chose an association for himself mainly from his own family, and became a participant in the cattle–yard. A far field that had lain fallow and overgrown for eight years was taken with the help of the clever carpenter Fyodor Rezunov by six muzhik families on the new associative terms, and the muzhik Shuraev leased all the kitchen gardens on the same conditions. The rest remained as before, but these three items were the beginning of a new system and fully occupied Levin.

  True, in the cattle–yard things went no better than before, and Ivan strongly resisted the heating of the cow barn and making butter from fresh cream, maintaining that cows that are kept cold need less food and that sour–cream butter does you best, and he demanded a salary as in the old days, not concerned in the least that the money he got was not a salary but an advance against his share of the profit.

  True, Fyodor Rezunov’s company did not cross–plough their land before sowing, as had been agreed, justifying themselves by the shortness of time. True, the muzhiks of this company, though they had agreed to conduct business on the new basis, referred to the land not as common but as shared, and both the muzhiks of the association and Rezunov himself more than once said to Levin: ‘If you’d take money for the land, it would put you at ease and unbind us.’ Besides that, these muzhiks, under various pretexts, kept postponing the building of a cattle–yard and threshing barn on this land, as had been agreed, and dragged it on till winter.

  True, Shuraev wanted to take the kitchen gardens leased to him and let them out in small parcels to the muzhiks. Evidently he had completely misunderstood and, it seemed, deliberately misunderstood, the conditions on which the land had been leased to him.

  True, as he talked with the muzhiks, explaining all the advantages of the undertaking to them, Levin often felt that they were listening only to the music of his voice and knew firmly that, whatever he might say, they were not going to let him deceive them. He felt it especially when he talked with the smartest of the peasants, Rezunov, and noticed that play in his eyes which clearly showed both mockery of him and the firm conviction that, if anyone was going to be deceived, it was not he, Rezunov.

  But, despite all that, Levin thought that things had got going and that, by strict accounting and having it his way, he would eventually prove to them the advantages of such a system, and then everything would go by itself.

  These matters, along with the rest of the farming, which had been left in his hands, along with the study–work on his book, so occupied Levin’s summer that he hardly ever went hunting. He learned at the end of August, from the man who brought back the side–saddle, that the Oblonskys had returned to Moscow. He felt that by not answering Darya Alexandrovna’s letter, by his impoliteness, which he could not recall without a flush of shame, he had burned his boats and could never visit them again. He had done the same with the Sviyazhskys by leaving without saying goodbye. But he would never visit them again either. It made no difference to him now. The business of his new system of farming occupied him as nothing ever had before in his life. He read the books Sviyazhsky gave him, and, ordering what he did not have, also read books on political economy and socialism concerned with the same subject and, as he expected, found nothing that related to the business he had undertaken. In the politico–economic books – in Mill,[30] for instance, whom he studied at first with great fervour, hoping at any moment to find a solution to the questions that preoccupied him – he found laws deduced from the situation of European farming; but he simply could not see why those laws, not applicable in Russia, should be universal. He saw the same in the socialist books: these were either beautiful but inapplicable fantasies, such as he had been enthusiastic about while still a student, or corrections, mendings of the state of affairs in which Europe stood and with which Russian agriculture had nothing in common. Political economy said that the laws according to which European wealth had developed and was developing were universal and unquestionable. Socialist teaching said that development according to these laws led to ruin. And neither the one nor the other gave, not only an answer, but even the slightest hint of what he, Levin, and all Russian peasants and landowners were to do with their millions of hands and acres so that they would be most productive for the common good.

  Once he got down to this matter, he conscientiously read through everything related to his subject and planned to go abroad in the autumn to study the matter on site, so that the same thing would not happen to him with this question as had happened so often with various other questions. Just as he was beginning to understand his interlocutor’s thought and to explain his own, he would suddenly be told: ‘And what about Kauffmann, and Jones, and Dubois, and Miccelli?[31] You haven’t read them? You should – they’ve worked out this whole question.’

  He now saw clearly that Kauffmann and Miccelli had nothing to tell him. He knew what he wanted. He saw that Russia had excellent land, excellent workers, and that in some cases, as with the muzhik half–way there, workers and land produced much, but in the majority of cases, when capital was employed European–style, they produced little, and that this came only from the fact that the workers wanted to work and to work well in the one way natural to them, and that their resistance was not accidental but constant and rooted in the spirit of the peasantry. He thought that the Russian peasantry, called upon to inhabit and cultivate vast unoccupied spaces, consciously kept to the methods necessary for it until all the lands were occupied, and that these methods were not at all as bad as was usually thought. And he wanted to prove it theoretically in his book and in practice on his estate.

  XXX

  At the end of September lumber was delivered for the building of the cattle–yard on the land allotted to the association, and the butter from the cows was sold and the profits distributed. The practical side of the farming was going excellently, or at least it seemed so to Levin. Now, to explain the whole thing theoretically and to finish his book, which, according to Levin’s dreams, was not only to bring about a revolution in political economy but was to abolish that science altogether and initiate a new science – of the relation of the peasantry to the land – the only thing necessary was to go abroad and study on site everything that had been done there in that direction and to find convincing proofs that everything done there was not what was needed. Levin was waiting only for the delivery of the wheat, so as to get the money and go abroad. But rain set in, which prevented the harvesting of the remaining grain and potatoes and put a stop to all work, even the delivery of the wheat. Mud made the roads impassable; two mills were washed away by floods, and the weather was getting worse and worse.

  On September 30th, the sun came out in the morning and, hoping for good weather, Levin resolutely began to prepare for departure. He ordered the wheat to be measured out, sent the steward to the merchant to get the money and went round the estate himself to give final orders before his departure.

  Having done everything, wet from the streams that poured from his leather jacket either down his neck or into his boots, but in a most cheerful and excited mood, Levin returned home towards evening. The weather grew still worse towards evening, hail beat so painfully on his drenched horse that he walked sideways, twitching his ears and head; but Levin felt fine under his hood, and he glanced cheerfully around him, now at the turbid streams running down the ruts, now at the drops hanging on every bare twig, now at the white spots of unmelted hail on the planks of the bridge, now at the succulent, still–fleshy elm leaves that lay in a thick layer around the naked tree. Despite the gloom of the surrounding nature, he felt himself especially excited. Talks with the peasants in the di
stant village had shown that they were beginning to get used to their relations. The old innkeeper at whose place he stopped in order to dry off apparently approved of Levin’s plan and himself offered to join the partnership to buy cattle.

  ‘I need only persist in going towards my goal and I’ll achieve what I want,’ thought Levin, ‘and so work and effort have their wherefore. This is not my personal affair, it is a question here of the common good. Agriculture as a whole, above all the position of the entire peasantry, must change completely. Instead of poverty – universal wealth, prosperity; instead of hostility – concord and the joining of interests. In short, a revolution, a bloodless but great revolution, first in the small circle of our own region, then the province, Russia, the whole world. Because a correct thought cannot fail to bear fruit. Yes, that is a goal worth working for. And the fact that it is I, Kostya Levin, the same one who came to the ball in a black tie and was rejected by Miss Shcherbatsky and is so pathetic and worthless in his own eyes – proves nothing. I’m sure that Franklin[32] felt as worthless and distrusted himself in the same way, looking back at his whole self. That means nothing. And he, too, surely had his Agafya Mikhailovna to whom he confided his projects.’

  In such thoughts Levin rode up to the house when it was already dark.

  The steward, who had gone to the merchant, came and brought part of the money for the wheat. The arrangement with the innkeeper was made, and the steward had found out on the way that wheat had been left standing in the fields everywhere, so that his own hundred and sixty stacks were nothing in comparison with what others had lost.

  After dinner Levin sat down in his easy–chair with a book, as usual, and while reading continued to think about his forthcoming trip in connection with his book. Today the significance of what he was doing presented itself to him with particular clarity, and whole paragraphs took shape of themselves in his mind, expressing the essence of his thinking. ‘This must be written down,’ he thought. ‘This should constitute the brief introduction that I considered unnecessary before.’ He got up to go to his desk, and Laska, who lay at his feet, also got up, stretching herself, and looked back at him as if asking where to go. But there was no time to write it down, because the foremen of the work details came, and Levin went out to them in the front hall.

  Having done the detailing – that is, given orders for the next day’s work – and received all the muzhiks who had business with him, Levin went to his study and sat down to work. Laska lay under the desk; Agafya Mikhailovna settled in her place with a stocking.

  Levin had been writing for some time when suddenly, with extraordinary vividness, he remembered Kitty, her refusal and their last encounter. He got up and began to pace the room.

  ‘No point being bored,’ Agafya Mikhailovna said to him. ‘Well, why do you sit at home? Go to the hot springs, since you’re all ready.’

  ‘I’ll go the day after tomorrow, Agafya Mikhailovna. I have business to finish.’

  ‘Well, what’s this business of yours? As if you haven’t given the muzhiks enough already! They say, "Your master’ll win favour with the tsar for that." It’s even strange: why should you concern yourself with muzhiks?’

  ‘I’m not concerned with them, I’m doing it for myself.’

  Agafya Mikhailovna knew all the details of Levin’s plans for the estate. Levin often told her his thoughts in fine detail and not infrequently argued with her and disagreed with her explanations. But this time she completely misunderstood what he said to her.

  ‘It’s a known fact, a man had best think of his own soul,’ she said with a sigh. ‘There’s Parfen Denisych, illiterate as they come, but God grant everybody such a death,’ she said of a recently deceased house servant. ‘Took communion, got anointed.’[33]

  ‘I’m not talking about that,’ he said. ‘I mean that I’m doing it for my own profit. The better the muzhiks work, the more profitable it is for me.’

  ‘Whatever you do, if he’s a lazybones, everything will come out slapdash. If he’s got a conscience, he’ll work, if not, there’s no help for it.’

  ‘Yes, but you say yourself that Ivan takes better care of the cattle now.’

  ‘I say one thing,’ Agafya Mikhailovna answered, evidently not at random but with a strictly consistent train of thought, ‘you’ve got to get married, that’s what!’

  Agafya Mikhailovna’s mention of the very thing he had just been thinking about upset and offended him. Levin frowned and, without answering her, sat down to his work, repeating to himself everything he thought about the significance of that work. Only occasionally he listened in the silence to the sound of Agafya Mikhailovna’s needles and, recalling what he did not want to recall, winced again.

  At nine o’clock they heard a bell and the dull heaving of a carriage through the mud.

  ‘Well, here’s guests coming to see you, so you won’t be bored,’ said Agafya Mikhailovna, getting up and going to the door. But Levin went ahead of her. His work was not going well now, and he was glad of a guest, whoever it might be.

  XXXI

  Having run half–way down the stairs, Levin heard the familiar sound of a little cough in the front hall; but he did not hear it clearly because of the noise of his footsteps and hoped that he was mistaken. Then he saw the whole long, bony, familiar figure, and it seemed no longer possible to deceive himself, yet he still hoped that he was mistaken and that this tall man taking off his fur coat and coughing was not his brother Nikolai.

  Levin loved his brother, but being with him was always a torment. Now, under the influence of the thought that had come to him and of Agafya Mikhailovna’s reminder, he was in a vague, confused state, and the imminent meeting with his brother seemed especially difficult. Instead of a cheerful, healthy stranger for a guest, who he hoped would divert him in his state of uncertainty, he had to confront his brother, who understood him thoroughly, who would call up all his innermost thoughts, would make him speak his whole mind. And that he did not want.

  Angry with himself for this nasty feeling, Levin ran down to the front hall. As soon as he saw his brother up close, this feeling of personal disappointment vanished at once and was replaced by pity. Frightening as his brother Nikolai’s thinness and sickliness had been before, he was now still thinner, still more wasted. He was a skeleton covered with skin.

  He stood in the front hall, twitching his long, thin neck and tearing his scarf from it, and smiled with a strange pitifulness. Seeing this smile, humble and obedient, Levin felt his throat contract spasmodically.

  ‘You see, I’ve come to visit you,’ Nikolai said in a dull voice, not taking his eyes off his brother’s face for a second. ‘I’ve long been wanting to, but I wasn’t feeling well. Now I’m much better,’ he said, wiping his beard with big, thin palms.

  ‘Yes, yes!’ Levin replied. And he felt still more frightened when, as he kissed him, his lips felt the dryness of his brother’s body and he saw his big, strangely glinting eyes up close.

  A few weeks earlier Levin had written to his brother that, following the sale of a small, as yet undivided portion of their inheritance, he was now to receive his share, about two thousand roubles.

  Nikolai said that he had come to receive the money and, above all, to visit his own nest, to touch the soil, in order to gather strength, as mighty heroes do, for future action. Despite his increasing stoop, despite his striking thinness in view of his height, his movements were, as usual, quick and impetuous. Levin led him to his study.

  His brother changed with particular care, something he had never done before, combed his sparse, straight hair and, smiling, went upstairs.

  He was in a most gentle and cheerful mood, as Levin had often remembered him in childhood. He even mentioned Sergei Ivanovich without anger. Seeing Agafya Mikhailovna, he joked with her and asked about the old servants. The news of the death of Parfen Denisych had an unpleasant affect on him. Fear showed in his face, but he recovered at once.