Part Three: Chapter 25

by Leo Tolstoy

　　In the Surovsky district there was no railway nor service ofpost horses, and Levin drove there with his own horses in hisbig, old-fashioned carriage.

　　He stopped halfway at a well-to-do peasant's to feed his horses.A bald, well-preserved old man, with a broad, red beard, gray onhis cheeks, opened the gate, squeezing against the gatepost tolet the three horses pass. Directing the coachman to a placeunder the shed in the big, clean, tidy yard, with charred,old-fashioned ploughs in it, the old man asked Levin to come intothe parlor. A cleanly dressed young woman, with clogs on herbare feet, was scrubbing the floor in the new outer room. Shewas frightened of the dog, that ran in after Levin, and uttered ashriek, but began laughing at her own fright at once when she wastold the dog would not hurt her. Pointing Levin with her barearm to the door into the parlor, she bent down again, hiding herhandsome face, and went on scrubbing.

　　"Would you like the samovar?" she asked.

　　"Yes, please."

　　The parlor was a big room, with a Dutch stove, and a screendividing it into two. Under the holy pictures stood a tablepainted in patterns, a bench, and two chairs. Near the entrancewas a dresser full of crockery. The shutters were closed, therewere few flies, and it was so clean that Levin was anxious thatLaska, who had been running along the road and bathing inpuddles, should not muddy the floor, and ordered her to a placein the corner by the door. After looking round the parlor, Levinwent out in the back yard. The good-looking young woman inclogs, swinging the empty pails on the yoke, ran on before him tothe well for water.

　　"Look sharp, my girl!" the old man shouted after her,good-humoredly, and he went up to Levin. "Well, sir, are yougoing to Nikolay Ivanovitch Sviazhsky? His honor comes to ustoo," he began, chatting, leaning his elbows on the railing ofthe steps. In the middle of the old man's account of hisacquaintance with Sviazhsky, the gates creaked again, andlaborers came into the yard from the fields, with wooden ploughsand harrows. The horses harnessed to the ploughs and harrowswere sleek and fat. The laborers were obviously of thehousehold: two were young men in cotton shirts and caps, the twoothers were hired laborers in homespun shirts, one an old man,the other a young fellow. Moving off from the steps, the old manwent up to the horses and began unharnessing them.

　　"What have they been ploughing?" asked Levin.

　　"Ploughing up the potatoes. We rent a bit of land too. Fedot,don't let out the gelding, but take it to the trough, and we'llput the other in harness."

　　"Oh, father, the ploughshares I ordered, has he brought themalong?" asked the big, healthy-looking fellow, obviously the oldman's son.

　　"There...in the outer room," answered the old man, bundlingtogether the harness he had taken off, and flinging it on theground. "You can put them on, while they have dinner."

　　The good-looking young woman came into the outer room with thefull pails dragging at her shoulders. More women came on thescene from somewhere, young and handsome, middle-aged, old andugly, with children and without children.

　　The samovar was beginning to sing; the laborers and the family,having disposed of the horses, came in to dinner. Levin, gettinghis provisions out of his carriage, invited the old man to taketea with him.

　　"Well, I have had some today already," said the old man,obviously accepting the invitation with pleasure. "But just aglass for company."

　　Over their tea Levin heard all about the old man's farming. Tenyears before, the old man had rented three hundred acres from thelady who owned them, and a year ago he had bought them and rentedanother three hundred from a neighboring landowner. A small partof the land--the worst part--he let out for rent, while ahundred acres of arable land he cultivated himself with hisfamily and two hired laborers. The old man complained thatthings were doing badly. But Levin saw that he simply did sofrom a feeling of propriety, and that his farm was in aflourishing condition. If it had been unsuccessful he would nothave bought land at thirty-five roubles the acre, he would nothave married his three sons and a nephew, he would not haverebuilt twice after fires, and each time on a larger scale. Inspite of the old man's complaints, it was evident that he wasproud, and justly proud, of his prosperity, proud of his sons,his nephew, his sons' wives, his horses and his cows, andespecially of the fact that he was keeping all this farminggoing. From his conversation with the old man, Levin thought hewas not averse to new methods either. He had planted a greatmany potatoes, and his potatoes, as Levin had seen driving past,were already past flowering and beginning to die down, whileLevin's were only just coming into flower. He earthed up hispotatoes with a modern plough borrowed from a neighboringlandowner. He sowed wheat. The trifling fact that, thinning outhis rye, the old man used the rye he thinned out for his horses,specially struck Levin. How many times had Levin seen thissplendid fodder wasted, and tried to get it saved; but always ithad turned out to be impossible. The peasant got this done, andhe 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 tothe roadside, and the cart brings it away."

　　"Well, we landowners can't manage well with our laborers," saidLevin, handing him a glass of tea.

　　"Thank you," said the old man, and he took the glass, but refusedsugar, pointing to a lump he had left. "They're simpledestruction," said he. "Look at Sviazhsky's, for instance. Weknow what the land's like--first-rate, yet there's not much of acrop to boast of. It's not looked after enough--that's all itis!"

　　"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 theclogs, 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 thewhole family at dinner. The women were standing up waiting onthem. The young, sturdy-looking son was telling something funnywith his mouth full of pudding, and they were all laughing, thewoman 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 thedogs had a good deal to do with the impression of well-being thispeasant household made upon Levin, but the impression was sostrong that Levin could never get rid of it. And all the wayfrom the old peasant's to Sviazhsky's he kept recalling thispeasant farm as though there were something in this impressionthat demanded his special attention.