fodder wasted, and tried to get it saved; but always it had turned out to be
impossible. The peasant got this done, and he could not say enough in
praise of it as food for the beasts.
“What have the wenches to do? They carry it out in bundles to the
roadside, and the cart brings it away.”
“Well, we landowners can’t manage well with our laborers,” said Levin,
handing him a glass of tea.
“Thank you,” said the old man, and he took the glass, but refused sugar,
pointing to a lump he had left. “They’re simple destruction,” said he. “Look
at Sviazhsky’s, for instance. We know what the land’s like—first-rate, yet
there’s not much of a crop to boast of. It’s not looked after enough—that’s
all it is!”
“But you work your land with hired laborers?”
“We’re all peasants together. We go into everything ourselves. If a man’s
no use, he can go, and we can manage by ourselves.”
“Father, Finogen wants some tar,” said the young woman in the clogs,
coming in.
“Yes, yes, that’s how it is, sir!” said the old man, getting up, and crossing
himself deliberately, he thanked Levin and went out.
When Levin went into the kitchen to call his coachman he saw the whole
family at dinner. The women were standing up waiting on them. The young,
sturdy-looking son was telling something funny with his mouth full of
pudding, and they were all laughing, the woman in the clogs, who was
pouring cabbage soup into a bowl, laughing most merrily of all.
Very probably the good-looking face of the young woman in the clogs
had a good deal to do with the impression of well-being this peasant
household made upon Levin, but the impression was so strong that Levin
could never get rid of it. And all the way from the old peasant’s to
Sviazhsky’s he kept recalling this peasant farm as though there were
something in this impression that demanded his special attention.
Chapter 26
Sviazhsky was the marshal of his district. He was five years older than
Levin, and had long been married. His sister-in-law, a young girl Levin
liked very much, lived in his house; and Levin knew that Sviazhsky and his
wife would have greatly liked to marry the girl to him. He knew this with
certainty, as so-called eligible young men always know it, though he could
never have brought himself to speak of it to anyone; and he knew too that,
although he wanted to get married, and although by every token this very
attractive girl would make an excellent wife, he could no more have
married her, even if he had not been in love with Kitty Shtcherbatskaya,
than he could have flown up to the sky. And this knowledge poisoned the
pleasure he had hoped to find in the visit to Sviazhsky.
On getting Sviazhsky’s letter with the invitation for shooting, Levin had
immediately thought of this; but in spite of it he had made up his mind that
Sviazhsky’s having such views for him was simply his own groundless
supposition, and so he would go, all the same. Besides, at the bottom of his
heart he had a desire to try himself, put himself to the test in regard to this
girl. The Sviazhskys’ home-life was exceedingly pleasant, and Sviazhsky
himself, the best type of man taking part in local affairs that Levin knew,
was very interesting to him.
Sviazhsky was one of those people, always a source of wonder to Levin,
whose convictions, very logical though never original, go one way by
themselves, while their life, exceedingly definite and firm in its direction,
goes its way quite apart and almost always in direct contradiction to their
convictions. Sviazhsky was an extremely advanced man. He despised the
nobility, and believed the mass of the nobility to be secretly in favor of
serfdom, and only concealing their views from cowardice. He regarded
Russia as a ruined country, rather after the style of Turkey, and the
government of Russia as so bad that he never permitted himself to criticize
its doings seriously, and yet he was a functionary of that government and a
model marshal of nobility, and when he drove about he always wore the
cockade of office and the cap with the red band. He considered human life
only tolerable abroad, and went abroad to stay at every opportunity, and at
the same time he carried on a complex and improved system of agriculture
in Russia, and with extreme interest followed everything and knew
everything that was being done in Russia. He considered the Russian
peasant as occupying a stage of development intermediate between the ape
and the man, and at the same time in the local assemblies no one was
readier to shake hands with the peasants and listen to their opinion. He
believed neither in God nor the devil, but was much concerned about the
question of the improvement of the clergy and the maintenance of their
revenues, and took special trouble to keep up the church in his village.
On the woman question he was on the side of the extreme advocates of
complete liberty for women, and especially their right to labor. But he lived
with his wife on such terms that their affectionate childless home life was
the admiration of everyone, and arranged his wife’s life so that she did
nothing and could do nothing but share her husband’s efforts that her time
should pass as happily and as agreeably as possible.
If it had not been a characteristic of Levin’s to put the most favorable
interpretation on people, Sviazhsky’s character would have presented no
doubt or difficulty to him: he would have said to himself, “a fool or a
knave,” and everything would have seemed clear. But he could not say “a
fool,” because Sviazhsky was unmistakably clever, and moreover, a highly
cultivated man, who was exceptionally modest over his culture. There was
not a subject he knew nothing of. But he did not display his knowledge
except when he was compelled to do so. Still less could Levin say that he
was a knave, as Sviazhsky was unmistakably an honest, good-hearted,
sensible man, who worked good-humoredly, keenly, and perseveringly at
his work; he was held in high honor by everyone about him, and certainly
he had never consciously done, and was indeed incapable of doing,
anything base.
Levin tried to understand him, and could not understand him, and looked
at him and his life as at a living enigma.
Levin and he were very friendly, and so Levin used to venture to sound
Sviazhsky, to try to get at the very foundation of his view of life; but it was
always in vain. Every time Levin tried to penetrate beyond the outer
chambers of Sviazhsky’s mind, which were hospitably open to all, he
noticed that Sviazhsky was slightly disconcerted; faint signs of alarm were
visible in his eyes, as though he were afraid Levin would understand him,
and he would give him a kindly, good-humored repulse.
Just now, since his disenchantment with farming, Levin was particularly
glad to stay with Sviazhsky. Apart from the fact that the sight of this happy
and affectionate couple, so pleased with themselves and everyone else, and
their well-ordered home had always a cheering effect on Levin, he felt a
longing, now that he was so dissatisfied with his own life, to get at that
secret in Sviazhsky that gave him such clearness, definiteness, and good
courage in life. Moreover, Levin knew that at Sviazhsky’s he should meet
the landowners of the neighborhood, and it was particularly interesting for
him just now to hear and take part in those rural conversations concerning
crops, laborers’ wages, and so on, which, he was aware, are conventionally
regarded as something very low, but which seemed to him just now to
constitute the one subject of importance. “It was not, perhaps, of
importance in the days of serfdom, and it may not be of importance in
England. In both cases the conditions of agriculture are firmly established;
but among us now, when everything has been turned upside down and is
only just taking shape, the question what form these conditions will take is
the one question of importance in Russia,” thought Levin.
The shooting turned out to be worse than Levin had expected. The marsh
was dry and there were no grouse at all. He walked about the whole day and
only brought back three birds, but to make up for that—he brought back, as
he always did from shooting, an excellent appetite, excellent spirits, and
that keen, intellectual mood which with him always accompanied violent
physical exertion. And while out shooting, when he seemed to be thinking
of nothing at all, suddenly the old man and his family kept coming back to
his mind, and the impression of them seemed to claim not merely his
attention, but the solution of some question connected with them.
In the evening at tea, two landowners who had come about some business
connected with a wardship were of the party, and the interesting
conversation Levin had been looking forward to sprang up.
Levin was sitting beside his hostess at the tea table, and was obliged to
keep up a conversation with her and her sister, who was sitting opposite
him. Madame Sviazhskaya was a round-faced, fair-haired, rather short
woman, all smiles and dimples. Levin tried through her to get a solution of
the weighty enigma her husband presented to his mind; but he had not
complete freedom of ideas, because he was in an agony of embarrassment.
This agony of embarrassment was due to the fact that the sister-in-law was
sitting opposite to him, in a dress, specially put on, as he fancied, for his
benefit, cut particularly open, in the shape of a trapeze, on her white bosom.
This quadrangular opening, in spite of the bosom’s being very white, or just
because it was very white, deprived Levin of the full use of his faculties. He
imagined, probably mistakenly, that this low-necked bodice had been made
on his account, and felt that he had no right to look at it, and tried not to
look at it; but he felt that he was to blame for the very fact of the low-
necked bodice having been made. It seemed to Levin that he had deceived
someone, that he ought to explain something, but that to explain it was
impossible, and for that reason he was continually blushing, was ill at ease
and awkward. His awkwardness infected the pretty sister-in-law too. But
their hostess appeared not to observe this, and kept purposely drawing her
into the conversation.
“You say,” she said, pursuing the subject that had been started, “that my
husband cannot be interested in what’s Russian. It’s quite the contrary; he is
always in cheerful spirits abroad, but not as he is here. Here, he feels in his
proper place. He has so much to do, and he has the faculty of interesting
himself in everything. Oh, you’ve not been to see our school, have you?”
“I’ve seen it…. The little house covered with ivy, isn’t it?”
“Yes; that’s Nastia’s work,” she said, indicating her sister.
“You teach in it yourself?” asked Levin, trying to look above the open
neck, but feeling that wherever he looked in that direction he should see it.
“Yes; I used to teach in it myself, and do teach still, but we have a first-
rate schoolmistress now. And we’ve started gymnastic exercises.”
“No, thank you, I won’t have any more tea,” said Levin, and conscious of
doing a rude thing, but incapable of continuing the conversation, he got up,
blushing. “I hear a very interesting conversation,” he added, and walked to
the other end of the table, where Sviazhsky was sitting with the two
gentlemen of the neighborhood. Sviazhsky was sitting sideways, with one
elbow on the table, and a cup in one hand, while with the other hand he
gathered up his beard, held it to his nose and let it drop again, as though he
were smelling it. His brilliant black eyes were looking straight at the excited
country gentleman with gray whiskers, and apparently he derived
amusement from his remarks. The gentleman was complaining of the
peasants. It was evident to Levin that Sviazhsky knew an answer to this
gentleman’s complaints, which would at once demolish his whole
contention, but that in his position he could not give utterance to this
answer, and listened, not without pleasure, to the landowner’s comic
speeches.
