Part Three - Chapter 24

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_ The night spent by Levin on the haycock did not pass without
result for him. The way in which he had been managing his land
revolted him and had lost all attraction for him. In spite of the
magnificent harvest, never had there been, or, at least, never it
seemed to him, had there been so many hindrances and so many
quarrels between him and the peasants as that year, and the
origin of these failures and this hostility was now perfectly
comprehensible to him. The delight he had experienced in the work
itself, and the consequent greater intimacy with the peasants,
the envy he felt of them, of their life, the desire to adopt that
life, which had been to him that night not a dream but an
intention, the execution of which he had thought out in detail--
all this had so transformed his view of the farming of the land
as he had managed it, that he could not take his former interest
in it, and could not help seeing that unpleasant relation between
him and the workspeople which was the
foundation of it all. The herd of improved cows such as Pava, the
whole land ploughed over and enriched, the nine level fields
surrounded with hedges, the two hundred and forty acres heavily
manured, the seed sown in drills, and all the rest of it--it was
all splendid if only the work had been done for themselves, or
for themselves and comrades--people in sympathy with them. But he
saw clearly now (his work on a book of agriculture, in which the
chief element in husbandry was to have been the laborer, greatly
assisted him in this) that the sort of farming he was carrying on
was nothing but a cruel and stubborn struggle between him and the
laborers, in which there was on one side--his side--a continual
intense effort to change everything to a pattern he considered
better; on the other side, the natural order of things. And in
the struggle he saw that with immense expenditure of force on his
side, and with no effort or even intention on the other side, all
that was attained was that the work did not go to the liking of
either side, and that splendid tools, splendid cattle and land
were spoiled with no good to any one. Worst of all, the energy
expended on this work was not simply wasted. He could not help
feeling now, since the meaning of this system had become clear to
him, that the aim of his energy was a most unworthy one. In
reality, what was the struggle about? He was struggling for every
farthing of his share (and he could not help it, for he had only
to relax his efforts, and he would not have had the money to pay
his laborers' wages), while they were only struggling to be able
to do their work easily and agreeably, that is to say, as they
were used to doing it. It was for his interests that every
laborer should work as hard as possible, and that while doing so
he should keep his wits about him, so as to try not to break the
winnowing-machines, the horse-rakes, the thrashing-machines, that
he should attend to what he was doing. What the laborer wanted
was to work as pleasantly as possible, with rests, and above all,
carelessly and heedlessly, without thinking. That summer Levin
saw this at every step. He sent the men to mow some clover for
hay, picking out the worst patches where the clover was overgrown
with grass and weeds and of no use for seed; again and again they
mowed the best acres of clover, justifying themselves by the
pretense that the bailiff had told them to, and trying to pacify
him with the assurance that it would be splendid hay; but he knew
that it was owing to those acres being so much easier to mow. He
sent out a hay machine for pitching the hay--it was broken at the
first row because it was dull work for a peasant to sit on the
seat in front with the great wings waving above him. And he was
told, "Don't trouble, your honor, sure, the women-folks will
pitch it quick enough." The ploughs were practically useless,
because it never occurred to the laborer to raise the share when
he turned the plough, and forcing it round, he strained the
horses and tore up the ground, and Levin was begged not to mmd
about it. The horses were allowed to stray into the wheat because
not a single laborer would consent to be night-watchman, and in
spite of orders to the contrary, the laborers insisted on taking
turns for night duty, and Ivan, after working all day long, fell
asleep, and was very penitent for his fault, saying, "Do what you
will to me, your honor."

They killed three of the best calves by letting them into the
clover aftermath without care as to their drinking, and nothing
would make the men believe that they had been blown out by the
clover, but they told him, by way of consolation, that one of his
neighbors had lost a hundred and twelve head of cattle in three
days. All this happened, not because any one felt ill-will to
Levin or his farm; on the contrary, he knew that they liked him,
thought him a simple gentleman (their highest praise); but it
happened simply because all they wanted was to work merrily and
carelessly, and his interests were not only remote and
incomprehensible to them, but fatally opposed to their most just
claims. Long before, Levin had felt dissatisfaction with his own
position in regard to the land. He saw where his boat leaked, but
he did not look for the leak, perhaps purposely deceiving
himself. (Nothing would be left him if he lost faith in it.) But
now he could deceive himself no longer. The farming of the land,
as he was managing it, had become not merely unattractive but
revolting to him, and he could take no further interest in it.

To this now was joined the presence, only twenty-five miles off,
of Kitty Shtcherbatskaya, whom he longed to see and could not
see. Darya Alexandrovna Oblonskaya had invited him, when he was
over there, to come; to come with the object of renewing his
offer to her sister, who would, so she gave him to understand,
accept him now. Levin himself had felt on seeing Kitty
Shtcherbatskaya that he had never ceased to love her; but he
could not go over to the Oblonskys', knowing she was there. The
fact that he had made her an offer, and she had refused him,
had-placed an insuperable barrier between her and him. "I can't
ask her to be my wife merely because she can't be the wife of the
man she wanted to marry," he said to himself. The thought of this
made him cold and hostile to her. "I should not be able to speak
to her without a feeling of reproach.; I could not look at her
without resentment; and she will only hate me all the more, as
she's bound to. And besides, how can I now, after what Darya
Alexandrovna told me, go to see them? Can I help showing that I
know what she told met And me to go magnanimously to forgive her,
and have pity on her! Me go through a performance before her of
forgiving, and deigning to bestow my love on her! ...What
induced Darya Alexandrovna to tell me that? By chance I might
have seen her, then everything would have happened of itself;
but, as it is, it's out of the question, out of the question!"

Darya Alexandrovna sent him a letter, asking him for a
side-saddle for Kitty's use. "I'm told you have a side-saddle,"
she wrote to him; "I hope you will bring it over yourself."

This was more than he could stand. How could a woman of any
intelligence, of any delicacy, put her sister in such a
humiliating position! He wrote ten notes, and tore them all up,
and sent the saddle without any reply. To write that he would go
was impossible, because he could not go; to write that he could
not come because something prevented him, or that he would be
away, that was still worse. He sent the saddle without an answer,
and with a sense of having done something shameful; he handed
over all the now revolting business of the estate to the bailiff,
and set off next day to a remote district to see his friend
Sviazhsky, who had splendid marshes for grouse in his
neighborhood, and had lately written to ask him to keep a
long-standing promise to stay with him. The grouse-marsh, in the
Surovsky district, had long tempted Levin, but he had continually
put off this visit on account of his work on the estate. Now he
was glad to get away from the neighborhood of the Shtcherbatskys,
and still more from his farm-work, especially on a shoot ing
expedition, which always in trouble served as the best
consolation. _

Read next: Part Three: Chapter 25

Read previous: Part Three: Chapter 23

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