Part Three: Chapter 5

by Leo Tolstoy

　　After lunch Levin was not in the same place in the string ofmowers as before, but stood between the old man who had accostedhim jocosely, and now invited him to be his neighbor, and a youngpeasant, who had only been married in the autumn, and who wasmowing this summer for the first time.

　　The old man, holding himself erect, moved in front, with his feetturned out, taking long, regular strides, and with a precise andregular action which seemed to cost him no more effort thanswinging one's arms in walking, as though it were in play, helaid down the high, even row of grass. It was as though it werenot he but the sharp scythe of itself swishing through the juicygrass.

　　Behind Levin came the lad Mishka. His pretty, boyish face, witha twist of fresh grass bound round his hair, was all working witheffort; but whenever anyone looked at him he smiled. He wouldclearly have died sooner than own it was hard work for him.

　　Levin kept between them. In the very heat of the day the mowingdid not seem such hard work to him. The perspiration with whichhe was drenched cooled him, while the sun, that burned his back,his head, and his arms, bare to the elbow, gave a vigor anddogged energy to his labor; and more and more often now camethose moments of unconsciousness, when it was possible not tothink what one was doing. The scythe cut of itself. These werehappy moments. Still more delightful were the moments when theyreached the stream where the rows ended, and the old man rubbedhis scythe with the wet, thick grass, rinsed its blade inthe fresh water of the stream, ladled out a little in a tindipper, and offered Levin a drink.

　　"What do you say to my home-brew, eh? Good, eh?" said he,winking.

　　And truly Levin had never drunk any liquor so good as this warmwater with green bits floating in it, and a taste of rust fromthe tin dipper. And immediately after this came the delicious,slow saunter, with his hand on the scythe, during which he couldwipe away the streaming sweat, take deep breaths of air, and lookabout at the long string of mowers and at what was happeningaround in the forest and the country.

　　The longer Levin mowed, the oftener he felt the moments ofunconsciousness in which it seemed not his hands that swung thescythe, but the scythe mowing of itself, a body full of life andconsciousness of its own, and as though by magic, withoutthinking of it, the work turned out regular and well-finished ofitself. These were the most blissful moments.

　　It was only hard work when he had to break off the motion, whichhad become unconscious, and to think; when he had to mow round ahillock or a tuft of sorrel. The old man did this easily. Whena hillock came he changed his action, and at one time with theheel, and at another with the tip of his scythe, clipped thehillock round both sides with short strokes. And while he didthis he kept looking about and watching what came into his view:at one moment he picked a wild berry and ate it or offered it toLevin, then he flung away a twig with the blade of the scythe,then he looked at a quail's nest, from which the bird flew justunder the scythe, or caught a snake that crossed his path, andlifting it on the scythe as though on a fork showed it to Levinand threw it away.

　　For both Levin and the young peasant behind him, such changes ofposition were difficult. Both of them, repeating over and overagain the same strained movement, were in a perfect frenzy oftoil, and were incapable of shifting their position and at thesame time watching what was before them.

　　Levin did not notice how time was passing. If he had been askedhow long he had been working he would have said half an hour--and it was getting on for dinner time. As they were walking backover the cut grass, the old man called Levin's attention to thelittle girls and boys who were coming from different directions,hardly visible through the long grass, and along the road towardsthe mowers, carrying sacks of bread dragging at their littlehands and pitchers of the sour rye-beer, with cloths wrappedround them.

　　"Look'ee, the little emmets crawling!" he said, pointing to them,and he shaded his eyes with his hand to look at the sun. Theymowed two more rows; the old man stopped.

　　"Come, master, dinner time!" he said briskly. And on reachingthe stream the mowers moved off across the lines of cut grasstowards their pile of coats, where the children who had broughttheir dinners were sitting waiting for them. The peasantsgathered into groups--those further away under a cart, thosenearer under a willow bush.

　　Levin sat down by them; he felt disinclined to go away.

　　All constraint with the master had disappeared long ago. Thepeasants got ready for dinner. Some washed, the young ladsbathed in the stream, others made a place comfortable for a rest,untied their sacks of bread, and uncovered the pitchers ofrye-beer. The old man crumbled up some bread in a cup, stirredit with the handle of a spoon, poured water on it from thedipper, broke up some more bread, and having seasoned it withsalt, he turned to the east to say his prayer.

　　"Come, master, taste my sop," said he, kneeling down before thecup.

　　The sop was so good that Levin gave up the idea of going home.He dined with the old man, and talked to him about his familyaffairs, taking the keenest interest in them, and told him abouthis own affairs and all the circumstances that could be ofinterest to the old man. He felt much nearer to him than to hisbrother, and could not help smiling at the affection he felt forthis man. When the old man got up again, said his prayer, andlay down under a bush, putting some grass under his head for apillow, Levin did the same, and in spite of the clinging fliesthat were so persistent in the sunshine, and the midges thattickled his hot face and body, he fell asleep at once and onlywaked when the sun had passed to the other side of the bush andreached him. The old man had been awake a long while, and wassitting up whetting the scythes of the younger lads.

　　Levin looked about him and hardly recognized the place,everything was so changed. The immense stretch of meadow hadbeen mown and was sparkling with a peculiar fresh brilliance,with its lines of already sweet-smelling grass in the slantingrays of the evening sun. And the bushes about the river had beencut down, and the river itself, not visible before, now gleaminglike steel in its bends, and the moving, ascending peasants, andthe sharp wall of grass of the unmown part of the meadow, and thehawks hovering over the stripped meadow--all was perfectly new.Raising himself, Levin began considering how much had been cutand how much more could still be done that day.

　　The work done was exceptionally much for forty-two men. They hadcut the whole of the big meadow, which had, in the years of serflabor, taken thirty scythes two days to mow. Only the cornersremained to do, where the rows were short. But Levin felt alonging to get as much mowing done that day as possible, and wasvexed with the sun sinking so quickly in the sky. He felt noweariness; all he wanted was to get his work done more and morequickly and as much done as possible.

　　"Could you cut Mashkin Upland too?--what do you think?" he saidto the old man.

　　"As God wills, the sun's not high. A little vodka for the lads?"

　　At the afternoon rest, when they were sitting down again, andthose who smoked had lighted their pipes, the old man told themen that "Mashkin Upland's to be cut--there'll be some vodka."

　　"Why not cut it? Come on, Tit! We'll look sharp! We can eat atnight. Come on!" cried voices, and eating up their bread, themowers went back to work.

　　"Come, lads, keep it up!" said Tit, and ran on ahead almost at atrot.

　　"Get along, get along!" said the old man, hurrying after him andeasily overtaking him, "I'll mow you down, look out!"

　　And young and old mowed away, as though they were racing with oneanother. But however fast they worked, they did not spoil thegrass, and the rows were laid just as neatly and exactly. Thelittle piece left uncut in the corner was mown in five minutes.The last of the mowers were just ending their rows while theforemost snatched up their coats onto their shoulders, andcrossed the road towards Mashkin Upland.

　　The sun was already sinking into the trees when they went withtheir jingling dippers into the wooded ravine of Mashkin Upland.The grass was up to their waists in the middle of the hollow,soft, tender, and feathery, spotted here and there among thetrees with wild heart's-ease.

　　After a brief consultation--whether to take the rows lengthwiseor diagonally--Prohor Yermilin, also a renowned mower, a huge,black-haired peasant, went on ahead. He went up to the top,turned back again and started mowing, and they all proceeded toform in line behind him, going downhill through the hollow anduphill right up to the edge of the forest. The sun sank behindthe forest. The dew was falling by now; the mowers were in thesun only on the hillside, but below, where a mist was rising, andon the opposite side, they mowed into the fresh, dewy shade. Thework went rapidly. The grass cut with a juicy sound, and was atonce laid in high, fragrant rows. The mowers from all sides,brought closer together in the short row, kept urging one anotheron to the sound of jingling dipper and clanging scythes, and thehiss of the whetstones sharpening them, and good-humored shouts.

　　Levin still kept between the young peasant and the old man. Theold man, who had put on his short sheepskin jacket, was just asgood-humored, jocose, and free in his movements. Among the treesthey were continually cutting with their scythes the so-called"birch mushrooms," swollen fat in the succulent grass. But theold man bent down every time he came across a mushroom, picked itup and put it in his bosom. "Another present for my old woman,"he said as he did so.

　　Easy as it was to mow the wet, soft grass, it was hard work goingup and down the steep sides of the ravine. But this did nottrouble the old man. Swinging his scythe just as ever, andmoving his feet in their big, plaited shoes with firm, littlesteps, he climbed slowly up the steep place, and though hisbreeches hanging out below his smock, and his whole frametrembled with effort, he did not miss one blade of grass or onemushroom on his way, and kept making jokes with the peasants andLevin. Levin walked after him and often thought he must fall, ashe climbed with a scythe up a steep cliff where it would havebeen hard work to clamber without anything. But he climbed upand did what he had to do. He felt as though some external forcewere moving him.