Anna Karenina

ashkin Upland was mown, the last row finished, the peasants had put on
their coats and were gaily trudging home. Levin got on his horse and,
parting regretfully from the peasants, rode homewards. On the hillside
he looked back; he could not see them in the mist that had risen from
the valley; he could only hear rough, good-humored voices, laughter,
and the sound of clanking scythes.

Sergey Ivanovitch had long ago finished dinner, and was drinking iced
lemon and water in his own room, looking through the reviews and papers
which he had only just received by post, when Levin rushed into the
room, talking merrily, with his wet and matted hair sticking to his
forehead, and his back and chest grimed and moist.

“We mowed the whole meadow! Oh, it is nice, delicious! And how have you
been getting on?” said Levin, completely forgetting the disagreeable
conversation of the previous day.

“Mercy! what do you look like!” said Sergey Ivanovitch, for the first
moment looking round with some dissatisfaction. “And the door, do shut
the door!” he cried. “You must have let in a dozen at least.”

Sergey Ivanovitch could not endure flies, and in his own room he never
opened the window except at night, and carefully kept the door shut.

“Not one, on my honor. But if I have, I’ll catch them. You wouldn’t
believe what a pleasure it is! How have you spent the day?”

“Very well. But have you really been mowing the whole day? I expect
you’re as hungry as a wolf. Kouzma has got everything ready for you.”

“No, I don’t feel hungry even. I had something to eat there. But I’ll
go and wash.”

“Yes, go along, go along, and I’ll come to you directly,” said Sergey
Ivanovitch, shaking his head as he looked at his brother. “Go along,
make haste,” he added smiling, and gathering up his books, he prepared
to go too. He, too, felt suddenly good-humored and disinclined to leave
his brother’s side. “But what did you do while it was raining?”

“Rain? Why, there was scarcely a drop. I’ll come directly. So you had a
nice day too? That’s first-rate.” And Levin went off to change his
clothes.

Five minutes later the brothers met in the dining-room. Although it
seemed to Levin that he was not hungry, and he sat down to dinner
simply so as not to hurt Kouzma’s feelings, yet when he began to eat
the dinner struck him as extraordinarily good. Sergey Ivanovitch
watched him with a smile.

“Oh, by the way, there’s a letter for you,” said he. “Kouzma, bring it
down, please. And mind you shut the doors.”

The letter was from Oblonsky. Levin read it aloud. Oblonsky wrote to
him from Petersburg: “I have had a letter from Dolly; she’s at
Ergushovo, and everything seems going wrong there. Do ride over and see
her, please; help her with advice; you know all about it. She will be
so glad to see you. She’s quite alone, poor thing. My mother-in-law and
all of them are still abroad.”

“That’s capital! I will certainly ride over to her,” said Levin. “Or
we’ll go together. She’s such a splendid woman, isn’t she?”

“They’re not far from here, then?”

“Twenty-five miles. Or perhaps it is thirty. But a capital road.
Capital, we’ll drive over.”

“I shall be delighted,” said Sergey Ivanovitch, still smiling. The
sight of his younger brother’s appearance had immediately put him in a
good humor.

“Well, you have an appetite!” he said, looking at his dark-red,
sunburnt face and neck bent over the plate.

“Splendid! You can’t imagine what an effectual remedy it is for every
sort of foolishness. I want to enrich medicine with a new word:
Arbeitskur.”

“Well, but you don’t need it, I should fancy.”

“No, but for all sorts of nervous invalids.”

“Yes, it ought to be tried. I had meant to come to the mowing to look
at you, but it was so unbearably hot that I got no further than the
forest. I sat there a little, and went on by the forest to the village,
met your old nurse, and sounded her as to the peasants’ view of you. As
far as I can make out, they don’t approve of this. She said: ‘It’s not
a gentleman’s work.’ Altogether, I fancy that in the people’s ideas
there are very clear and definite notions of certain, as they call it,
‘gentlemanly’ lines of action. And they don’t sanction the gentry’s
moving outside bounds clearly laid down in their ideas.”

“Maybe so; but anyway it’s a pleasure such as I have never known in my
life. And there’s no harm in it, you know. Is there?” answered Levin.
“I can’t help it if they don’t like it. Though I do believe it’s all
right. Eh?”

“Altogether,” pursued Sergey Ivanovitch, “you’re satisfied with your
day?”

“Quite satisfied. We cut the whole meadow. And such a splendid old man
I made friends with there! You can’t fancy how delightful he was!”

“Well, so you’re content with your day. And so am I. First, I solved
two chess problems, and one a very pretty one—a pawn opening. I’ll show
it you. And then—I thought over our conversation yesterday.”

“Eh! our conversation yesterday?” said Levin, blissfully dropping his
eyelids and drawing deep breaths after finishing his dinner, and
absolutely incapable of recalling what their conversation yesterday was
about.

“I think you are partly right. Our difference of opinion amounts to
this, that you make the mainspring self-interest, while I suppose that
interest in the common weal is bound to exist in every man of a certain
degree of advancement. Possibly you are right too, that action founded
on material interest would be more desirable. You are altogether, as
the French say, too primesautière a nature; you must have intense,
energetic action, or nothing.”

Levin listened to his brother and did not understand a single word, and
did not want to understand. He was only afraid his brother might ask
him some question which would make it evident he had not heard.

“So that’s what I think it is, my dear boy,” said Sergey Ivanovitch,
touching him on the shoulder.

“Yes, of course. But, do you know? I won’t stand up for my view,”
answered Levin, with a guilty, childlike smile. “Whatever was it I was
disputing about?” he wondered. “Of course, I’m right, and he’s right,
and it’s all first-rate. Only I must go round to the counting house and
see to things.” He got up, stretching and smiling. Sergey Ivanovitch
smiled too.

“If you want to go out, let’s go together,” he said, disinclined to be
parted from his brother, who seemed positively breathing out freshness
and energy. “Come, we’ll go to the counting house, if you have to go
there.”

“Oh, heavens!” shouted Levin, so loudly that Sergey Ivanovitch was
quite frightened.

“What, what is the matter?”

“How’s Agafea Mihalovna’s hand?” said Levin, slapping himself on the
head. “I’d positively forgotten her even.”

“It’s much better.”

“Well, anyway I’ll run down to her. Before you’ve time to get your hat
on, I’ll be back.”

And he ran downstairs, clattering with his heels like a spring-rattle.