at the end of september the timber had been carted for building the cattleyard on the land that had been allotted to the association of peasants, and the butter from the cows was sold and the profits divided. in practice the system worked capitally, or, at least, so it seemed to levin. in order to work out the whole subject theoretically and to complete his book, which, in levin's daydreams, was not merely to effect a revolution in political economy, but to annihilate that science entirely and to lay the foundation of a new science of the relation of the people to the soil, all that was left to do was to make a tour abroad, and to study on the spot all that had been done in the same direction, and to collect conclusive evidence that all that had been done there was not what was wanted. levin was only waiting for the delivery of his wheat to receive the money for it and go abroad. but the rains began, preventing the harvesting of the corn and potatoes left in the fields, and putting a stop to all work, even to the delivery of the wheat.
the mud was impassable along the roads; two mills were carried away, and the weather got worse and worse.
on the 30th of september the sun came out in the morning, and hoping for fine weather, levin began making final preparations for his journey. he gave orders for the wheat to be delivered, sent the bailiff to the merchant to get the money owing him, and went out himself to give some final directions on the estate before setting off.
having finished all his business, soaked through with the streams of water which kept running down the leather behind his neck and his gaiters, but in the keenest and most confident temper, levin returned homewards in the evening. the weather had become worse than ever towards evening; the hail lashed the drenched mare so cruelly that she went along sideways, shaking her head and ears; but levin was all right under his hood, and he looked cheerfully about him at the muddy streams running under the wheels, at the drops hanging on every bare twig, at the whiteness of the patch of unmelted hailstones on the planks of the bridge, at the thick layer of still juicy, fleshy leaves that lay heaped up about the stripped elm-tree. in spite of the gloominess of nature around him, he felt peculiarly eager. the talks he had been having with the peasants in the further village had shown that they were beginning to get used to their new position. the old servant to whose hut he had gone to get dry evidently approved of levin's plan, and of his own accord proposed to enter the partnership by the purchase of cattle.
"i have only to go stubbornly on towards my aim, and i shall attain my end," thought levin; "and it's something to work and take trouble for. this is not a matter of myself individually; the question of the public welfare comes into it. the whole system of culture, the chief element in the condition of the people, must be completely transformed. instead of poverty, general prosperity and content; instead of hostility, harmony and unity of interests. in short, a bloodless revolution, but a revolution of the greatest magnitude, beginning in the little circle of our district, then the province, then russia, the whole world. because a just idea cannot but be fruitful. yes, it's an aim worth working for. and it's being me, kostya levin, who went to a ball in a black tie, and was refused by the shtcherbatskaya girl, and who was intrinsically such a pitiful, worthless creature--that proves nothing; i feel sure franklin felt just as worthless, and he too had no faith in himself, thinking of himself as a whole. that means nothing. and he too, most likely, had an agafea mihalovna to whom he confided his secrets."
musing on such thoughts levin reached home in the darkness.
the bailiff, who had been to the merchant, had come back and brought part of the money for the wheat. an agreement had been made with the old servant, and on the road the bailiff had learned that everywhere the corn was still standing in the fields, so that his one hundred and sixty shocks that had not been carried were nothing in comparison with the losses of others.
after dinner levin was sitting, as he usually did, in an easy chair with a book, and as he read he went on thinking of the journey before him in connection with his book. today all the significance of his book rose before him with special distinctness, and whole periods ranged themselves in his mind in illustration of his theories. "i must write that down," he thought. "that ought to form a brief introduction, which i thought unnecessary before." he got up to go to his writing table, and laska, lying at his feet, got up too, stretching and looking at him as though to inquire where to go. but he had not time to write it down, for the head peasants had come round, and levin went out into the hall to them.
after his levee, that is to say, giving directions about the labors of the next day, and seeing all the peasants who had business with him, levin went back to his study and sat down to work.
laska lay under the table; agafea mihalovna settled herself in her place with her stocking.
after writing for a little while, levin suddenly thought with exceptional vividness of kitty, her refusal, and their last meeting. he got up and began walking about the room.
"what's the use of being dreary?" said agafea mihalovna. "come, why do you stay on at home? you ought to go to some warm springs, especially now you're ready for the journey."
"well, i am going away the day after tomorrow, agafea mihalovna; i must finish my work."
"there, there, your work, you say! as if you hadn't done enough for the peasants! why, as 'tis, they're saying, 'your master will be getting some honor from the tsar for it.' indeed and it is a strange thing; why need you worry about the peasants?"
"i'm not worrying about them; i'm doing it for my own good."
agafea mihalovna knew every detail of levin's plans for his land. levin often put his views before her in all their complexity, and not uncommonly he argued with her and did not agree with her comments. but on this occasion she entirely misinterpreted what he had said.
"of one's soul's salvation we all know and must think before all else," she said with a sigh. "parfen denisitch now, for all he was no scholar, he died a death that god grant every one of us the like," she said, referring to a servant who had died recently. "took the sacrament and all."
"that's not what i mean," said he. "i mean that i'm acting for my own advantage. it's all the better for me if the peasants do their work better."
"well, whatever you do, if he's a lazy good-for-nought, everything'll be at sixes and sevens. if he has a conscience, he'll work, and if not, there's no doing anything."
"oh, come, you say yourself ivan has begun looking after the cattle better."
"all i say is," answered agafea mihalovna, evidently not speaking at random, but in strict sequence of idea, "that you ought to get married, that's what i say."
agafea mihalovna's allusion to the very subject he had only just been thinking about, hurt and stung him. levin scowled, and without answering her, he sat down again to his work, repeating to himself all that he had been thinking of the real significance of that work. only at intervals he listened in the stillness to the click of agafea mihalovna's needles, and recollecting what he did not want to remember, he frowned again.
at nine o'clock they heard the bell and the faint vibration of a carriage over the mud.
"well, here's visitors come to us, and you won't be dull," said agafea mihalovna, getting up and going to the door. but levin overtook her. his work was not going well now, and he was glad of a visitor, whoever it might be.
chapter 31
running halfway down the staircase, levin caught a sound he knew, a familiar cough in the hall. but he heard it indistinctly through the sound of his own footsteps, and hoped he was mistaken. then he caught sight of a long, bony, familiar figure, and now it seemed there was no possibility of mistake; and yet he still went on hoping that this tall man taking off his fur cloak and coughing was not his brother nikolay.
levin loved his brother, but being with him was always a torture. just now, when levin, under the influence of the thoughts that had come to him, and agafea mihalovna's hint, was in a troubled and uncertain humor, the meeting with his brother that he had to face seemed particularly difficult. instead of a lively, healthy visitor, some outsider who would, he hoped, cheer him up in his uncertain humor, he had to see his brother, who knew him through and through, who would call forth all the thoughts nearest his heart, would force him to show himself fully. and that he was not disposed to do.
angry with himself for so base a feeling, levin ran into the hall; as soon as he had seen his brother close, this feeling of selfish disappointment vanished instantly and was replaced by pity. terrible as his brother nikolay had been before in his emaciation and sickliness, now he looked still more emaciated, still more wasted. he was a skeleton covered with skin.
he stood in the hall, jerking his long thin neck, and pulling the scarf off it, and smiled a strange and pitiful smile. when he saw that smile, submissive and humble, levin felt something clutching at his throat.
"you see, i've come to you," said nikolay in a thick voice, never for one second taking his eyes off his brother's face. "i've been meaning to a long while, but i've been unwell all the time. now i'm ever so much better," he said, rubbing his beard with his big thin hands.
"yes, yes!" answered levin. and he felt still more frightened when, kissing him, he felt with his lips the dryness of his brother's skin and saw close to him his big eyes, full of a strange light.
a few weeks before, konstantin levin had written to his brother that through the sale of the small part of the property, that had remained undivided, there was a sum of about two thousand roubles to come to him as his share.
nikolay said that he had come now to take this money and, what was more important, to stay a while in the old nest, to get in touch with the earth, so as to renew his strength like the heroes of old for the work that lay before him. in spite of his exaggerated stoop, and the emaciation that was so striking from his height, his movements were as rapid and abrupt as ever. levin led him into his study.
his brother dressed with particular care--a thing he never used to do--combed his scanty, lank hair, and, smiling, went upstairs.
he was in the most affectionate and good-humored mood, just as levin often remembered him in childhood. he even referred to sergey ivanovitch without rancor. when he saw agafea mihalovna, he made jokes with her and asked after the old servants. the news of the death of parfen denisitch made a painful impression on him. a look of fear crossed his face, but he regained his serenity immediately.
"of course he was quite old," he said, and changed the subject. "well, i'll spend a month or two with you, and then i'm off to moscow. do you know, myakov has promised me a place there, and i'm going into the service. now i'm going to arrange my life quite differently," he went on. "you know i got rid of that woman."
"marya nikolaevna? why, what for?"
"oh, she was a horrid woman! she caused me all sorts of worries." but he did not say what the annoyances were. he could not say that he had cast off marya nikolaevna because the tea was weak, and, above all, because she would look after him, as though he were an invalid.
"besides, i want to turn over a new leaf completely now. i've done silly things, of course, like everyone else, but money's the last consideration; i don't regret it. so long as there's health, and my health, thank god, is quite restored."
levin listened and racked his brains, but could think of nothing to say. nikolay probably felt the same; he began questioning his brother about his affairs; and levin was glad to talk about himself, because then he could speak without hypocrisy. he told his brother of his plans and his doings.
his brother listened, but evidently he was not interested by it.
these two men were so akin, so near each other, that the slightest gesture, the tone of voice, told both more than could be said in words.
both of them now had only one thought--the illness of nikolay and the nearness of his death--which stifled all else. but neither of them dared to speak of it, and so whatever they said-- not uttering the one thought that filled their minds--was all falsehood. never had levin been so glad when the evening was over and it was time to go to bed. never with any outside person, never on any official visit had he been so unnatural and false as he was that evening. and the consciousness of this unnaturalness, and the remorse he felt at it, made him even more unnatural. he wanted to weep over his dying, dearly loved brother, and he had to listen and keep on talking of how he meant to live.
as the house was damp, and only one bedroom had been kept heated, levin put his brother to sleep in his own bedroom behind a screen.
his brother got into bed, and whether he slept or did not sleep, tossed about like a sick man, coughed, and when he could not get his throat clear, mumbled something. sometimes when his breathing was painful, he said, "oh, my god!" sometimes when he was choking he muttered angrily, "ah, the devil!" levin could not sleep for a long while, hearing him. his thoughts were of the most various, but the end of all his thoughts was the same-- death. death, the inevitable end of all, for the first time presented itself to him with irresistible force. and death, which was here in this loved brother, groaning half asleep and from habit calling without distinction on god and the devil, was not so remote as it had hitherto seemed to him. it was in himself too, he felt that. if not today, tomorrow, if not tomorrow, in thirty years, wasn't it all the same! and what was this inevitable death--he did not know, had never thought about it, and what was more, had not the power, had not the courage to think about it.
"i work, i want to do something, but i had forgotten it must all end; i had forgotten--death."
he sat on his bed in the darkness, crouched up, hugging his knees, and holding his breath from the strain of thought, he pondered. but the more intensely he thought, the clearer it became to him that it was indubitably so, that in reality, looking upon life, he had forgotten one little fact--that death will come, and all ends; that nothing was even worth beginning, and that there was no helping it anyway. yes, it was awful, but it was so.
"but i am alive still. now what's to be done? what's to be done?" he said in despair. he lighted a candle, got up cautiously and went to the looking-glass, and began looking at his face and hair. yes, there were gray hairs about his temples. he opened his mouth. his back teeth were beginning to decay. he bared his muscular arms. yes, there was strength in them. but nikolay, who lay there breathing with what was left of lungs, had had a strong, healthy body too. and suddenly he recalled how they used to go to bed together as children, and how they only waited till fyodor bogdanitch was out of the room to fling pillows at each other and laugh, laugh irrepressibly, so that even their awe of fyodor bogdanitch could not check the effervescing, overbrimming sense of life and happiness. "and now that bent, hollow chest...and i, not knowing what will become of me, or wherefore..."
"k...ha! k...ha! damnation! why do you keep fidgeting, why don't you go to sleep?" his brother's voice called to him.
"oh, i don't know, i'm not sleepy."
"i have had a good sleep, i'm not in a sweat now. just see, feel my shirt; it's all wet, isn't it?"
levin felt, withdrew behind the screen, and put out the candle, but for a long while he could not sleep. the question how to live had hardly begun to grow a little clearer to him, when a new, insoluble question presented itself--death.
"why, he's dying--yes, he'll die in the spring, and how help him? what can i say to him? what do i know about it? i'd even forgotten that it was at all."
