Читать книгу Anna Karenina - 2 Classic Unabridged Translations in one eBook (Garnett and Maude translations) - Leo Tolstoy - Страница 107

BY the end of September the timber for the buildings to be erected on the land let to the peasant-group was carted, the butter was all sold and the profits divided. Everything on the estate was going well practically, at least Levin thought so. To elucidate matters theoretically and to finish his book, which, according to his dreams, would not only revolutionize political economy but completely abolish that science and lay the foundation of a new science (that of the relation of the people to the land) it was only necessary to go abroad and there study what had been done on the subject and find convincing proofs that what had been done there was not what was needed. Levin was only waiting for the wheat to be delivered and to get paid for it, before leaving for abroad. But rain set in, making it impossible to get in what remained of the corn and potatoes, stopped all the work, and even prevented the delivery of the wheat. The mud made the roads impassable: two mills had been carried away by floods, and the weather was getting worse and worse.

On the thirtieth of September the sun showed itself in the morning, and, in hopes of fine weather, Levin began seriously preparing for his departure. He gave orders that the grain was to be got ready for carting and sent the steward to the merchant to collect the money for the wheat, while he himself went round to give final instructions before leaving.

Having got through all his business, soaked by the streams of water that had run in at the neck of his leather coat and at the top of his high boots, but in the most buoyant and animated spirits, he returned home in the evening. The weather grew still worse toward evening, and the frozen sleet beat the whole body of his drenched horse so painfully that it shook its head and ears and went sideways. But Levin under his hood felt comfortable; he looked cheerfully round, now at the turbid streams that ran down the ruts, now at the drops that hung from every bare twig, now at the white spots of unthawed sleet that lay on the planks of the bridge or on the heaps of still juicy willow leaves lying in a thick layer round a denuded tree. Notwithstanding the gloomy aspect of nature around him he felt peculiarly elated. His conversation with the peasants of the outlying village showed that they were beginning to get used to the new conditions. An old innkeeper, into whose house he had gone to dry himself, evidently approved of Levin’s plan and had offered to join a group to buy cattle.

‘I need only push on steadily toward my aim and I shall achieve it,’ he thought, ‘and it is worth working and striving for. It is not a personal affair of my own but one of public welfare. The whole system of farming, and above all the position of the people, must be completely altered: instead of poverty — wealth and satisfaction for all; instead of hostility — concord and a bond of common interest. In a word — a revolution bloodless but immense; first in our own small district, then throughout the province, throughout Russia, and the whole world — for a good thought must be fruitful. Yes, it is an aim worth working for! The fact that the author of it is myself, Constantine Levin, who once went to a ball in a black tie, whom Kitty Shcherbatskaya refused, and who seems so pitiful and insignificant to himself, proves nothing. I feel sure that Franklin felt just as insignificant and distrusted himself just as I do when he remembered his past. All that does not matter. He too probably had an Agatha Mikhaylovna to whom he confided his secrets.’

With such thoughts Levin reached home when it was already dark.

The steward, having been to the merchant, had returned bringing an instalment of the money for the wheat. An arrangement had been made with the innkeeper, and the steward, while away, had learnt that the corn had nowhere been got in, so that Levin’s hundred and sixty stacks still in the fields were a trifle compared to what others were losing.

Having dined, Levin as usual sat down in his easy-chair with a book, and while reading continued to think about his impending journey in connection with the book he was writing. To-day the importance of his work presented itself to him with especial clearness, and whole paragraphs of their own accord shaped themselves in his mind, expressing the gist of his thoughts. ‘I must write that down,’ thought he. ‘That must form a short preface, such as I formerly considered unnecessary.’ He rose to go to his writing-table, and Laska, who was lying at his feet, stretched herself, also got up, and looked round at him as if asking where she was to go to. But he had no time to write his thoughts down, for the labourers’ foremen had come, and Levin went into the hall to speak to them.

After arranging about the next day’s work by seeing the peasants who had come on business, Levin went to his study and sat down to his work. Laska lay down under the table, and Agatha Mikhaylovna with her knitting sat down in her usual place.

Having written for some time, Levin suddenly with particular vividness remembered Kitty, her refusal, and their last meeting. He rose and began to pace up and down the room.

‘What is the use of fretting?’ said Agatha Mikhaylovna. ‘Why do you always sit at home? You should go to a watering-place now that you have got ready.’

‘So I shall: I am going the day after to-morrow, Agatha Mikhaylovna, only I must finish my business.’

‘Eh, what is your business? Have you not done enough for the peasants as it is! Why, they are saying, “Your master will get a reward from the Tsar for it!” And it is strange: why should you bother about the peasants?’

‘I am not bothering about them: I am doing it for myself.’

Agatha Mikhaylovna knew all the details of Levin’s farming plans. He often laid bare his thoughts before her in all their details, and frequently argued with her and disagreed with her explanations. But this time she quite misunderstood what he said.

‘Of course one must think of one’s soul before everything else,’ she remarked with a sigh. ‘There was Parfen Denisich, who was no scholar at all, but may God grant every one to die as he did!’ she said, referring to a servant who had died recently: ‘he received Holy Communion and Extreme Unction.’

‘I am not speaking about that,’ he said. ‘I mean that I am doing it for my own profit. My gains are bigger when the peasants work better.’

‘But, whatever you do, an idler will always bungle. If he has a conscience he will work, if not, you can do nothing with him.’

‘But you yourself say that Ivan looks after the cattle better now.’

‘I only say,’ answered Agatha Mikhaylovna, evidently not speaking at random but with strict sequence of thought, ‘you must marry, that is all!’

Her mention of the very thing he was just thinking about grieved and hurt him. He frowned, and without replying again sat down to his work, repeating to himself all that he had been thinking about its importance. Only occasionally, in the stillness, he listened to the clicking of her needles and, remembering what he did not wish to remember, made a wry face.

At nine o’clock he heard the sound of a bell and the heavy lurching of a carriage through the mud.

‘There now! Visitors have come to you,’ said Agatha Mikhaylovna, rising and going toward the door. ‘Now you won’t feel dull.’

But Levin overtook her. His work was not getting on now and he was glad of a visitor, whoever it might be.