The steward smiled and said, ‘All right, sir.’
That evening, at tea, Levin said to his brother:
‘The weather looks settled; to-morrow we begin mowing.’
‘I like that work very much,’ said Koznyshev.
‘I like it awfully too. I have mown with the peasants now and then, and to-morrow I want to mow all day.’
Koznyshev looked up at his brother in surprise.
‘How do you mean? All day, just like the peasants?’
‘Yes, it is very pleasant,’ replied Levin.
‘It is splendid physical exercise, but you will hardly be able to hold out,’ remarked Koznyshev, without the least sarcasm.
‘I have tried it. At first it seems hard, but one gets drawn into it. I don’t think I shall lag behind …’
‘Dear me! But tell me, how do the peasants take it? I expect they laugh at their crank of a master?’
‘No, I don’t think so; but it is such pleasant work, and at the same time so hard, that one has no time for thinking.’
‘But how can you dine with them? It would not be quite the thing to send you claret and roast turkey out there?’
‘No; I will just come home at their dinnertime.’
Next morning Constantine got up earlier than usual, but giving instructions about the farming delayed him, and when he came to the meadow each man was already mowing his second swath.
From the hill, as he came to his first swath, he could see, in the shade at his feet, a part of the meadow that was already mown, with the green heaps of grass and dark piles of coats thrown down by the mowers.
As he drew nearer, the peasants — following each other in a long straggling line, some with coats on, some in their shirts, each swinging his scythe in his own manner — gradually came into sight. He counted forty-two of them.
They moved slowly along the uneven bottom of the meadow, where a weir had once been. Levin recognized some of his own men. Old Ermil, wearing a very long white shirt, was swinging his scythe, with his back bent; young Vaska, who had been in Levin’s service as coachman, and who at each swing of his scythe cut the grass the whole width of his swath; and Titus, Levin’s mowing master, a thin little peasant, who went along without stopping, mowing his wide swath as if in play.
Levin dismounted and, tethering his horse by the roadside, went up to Titus, who fetched another scythe from behind a bush and gave it to Levin.
‘It’s ready, master! Like a razor, it will mow of itself,’ said Titus, taking off his cap and smiling as he handed the scythe.
Levin took it and began to put himself in position. The peasants, perspiring and merry, who had finished their swaths came out on to the road one after another, and laughingly exchanged greetings with their master. They all looked at him, but no one made any remark until a tall old man with a shrivelled, beardless face, wearing a sheepskin jacket, stepped out on to the road and addressed him:
‘Mind, master! Having put your hand to the plough, don’t look back!’
And Levin heard the sound of repressed laughter among the mowers.
‘I will try not to lag behind,’ he said, taking his place behind Titus and waiting his turn to fall in.
‘Mind!’ repeated the old man.
Titus made room for Levin, and Levin followed him. By the roadside the grass was short and tough, and Levin, who had not done any mowing for a long time and was confused by so many eyes upon him mowed badly for the first ten minutes, though he swung his scythe with much vigour. He heard voices behind him:
‘It’s not properly adjusted, the grip is not right. See how he has to stoop!’ said one.
‘Hold the heel lower,’ said another.
‘Never mind! It’s all right: he’ll get into it,’ said the old man. ‘There he goes …’
‘You are taking too wide a swath, you’ll get knocked up.’ … ‘He’s the master, he must work; he’s working for himself!’ … ‘But look how uneven!’ … ‘That’s what the likes of us used to get a thump on the back for.’
They came to softer grass, and Levin, who was listening without replying, followed Titus and tried to mow as well as possible. When they had gone some hundred steps Titus was still going on without pausing, showing no signs of fatigue, while Levin was already beginning to fear he would not be able to keep up, he felt so tired.
He swung his scythe, feeling almost at the last gasp, and made up his mind to ask Titus to stop. But just at that moment Titus stopped of his own accord, stooped, took up some grass and wiped his scythe with it. Levin straightened himself, sighed, and looked back. The peasant behind him was still mowing but was obviously tired too, for he stopped without coming even with Levin and began whetting his scythe. Titus whetted his own and Levin’s, and they began mowing again.
The same thing happened at Levin’s second attempt. Titus swung his scythe, swing after swing, without stopping and without getting tired. Levin followed, trying not to lag behind, but it became harder and harder until at last the moment came when he felt he had no strength left, and then Titus again stopped and began whetting his scythe. In this way they finished the swaths. They were long, and to Levin seemed particularly difficult; but when it was done and Titus with his scythe over his shoulder turned about and slowly retraced his steps, placing his feet on the marks left on the mown surface by the heels of his boots, and Levin went down his own swath in the same way, then — in spite of the perspiration that ran down his face in streams and dripped from his nose, and though his back was as wet as if the shirt had been soaked in water — he felt very light-hearted. What gave him most pleasure was the knowledge that he would be able to keep up with the peasants.
The only thing marring his joy was the fact that his swath was not well mown. ‘I must swing the scythe less with my arms and more with the whole of my body,’ he thought, comparing Titus’s swath, cut straight as if by measure, with his own, on which the grass lay scattered and uneven.
As Levin was aware, Titus had been mowing this swath with special rapidity, probably to put his master to the test, and it chanced to be a very long one. The next swaths were easier, but still Levin had to work with all his might to keep even with the peasants. He thought of nothing and desired nothing, except not to lag behind and to do his work as well as possible. He heard only the swishing of the scythes and saw only the receding figure of Titus, the convex half-circle of the mown piece before him, and the grasses and heads of flowers falling in waves about the blade of his scythe, and in the background the end of the swath where he would rest.
Suddenly he was conscious of a pleasant coolness on his hot perspiring shoulders, without knowing what it was or whence it came. He glanced up at the sky whilst whetting his scythe. A dark cloud was hanging low overhead, and large drops of rain were falling. Some of the peasants went to put on their coats; others as well as Levin felt pleasure in the refreshing rain and merely moved their shoulders up and down.
They came to the end of another swath. They went on mowing long and short rows, good and poor grass. Levin had lost count of time and had really no idea whether it was late or early. His work was undergoing a change which gave him intense pleasure. While working he sometimes forgot for some minutes what he was about, and felt quite at ease; then his mowing was nearly as even as that of Titus. But as soon as he began thinking about it and trying to work better, he