Konstantin was silent. He felt himself roundly beaten, but together with that he felt that his brother had not understood what he had wanted to say. Only he did not know why he had not understood: whether it was because he had not been able to say clearly what he meant, or because his brother had been unwilling or unable to understand him. But he did not go deeper into these thoughts and, without objecting to his brother, began thinking about a completely different matter, a personal one for him.
Sergei Ivanovich reeled in the last line, Konstantin untied the horse, and they drove off.
IV
The personal matter that had occupied Levin during his conversation with his brother was the following: once last year, coming to the mowing and getting angry with the steward, Levin had used his remedy for calming down -he had taken a scythe from a muzhik and begun mowing.
He had liked the work so much that he had taken to mowing several more times; he had mowed the whole meadow in front of the house, and since the spring of that year he had made a plan for himself - to spend whole days mowing with the muzhiks. Since his brother’s arrival, he had been pondering: to mow or not? He was ashamed to leave his brother alone for whole days, and he feared that his brother would laugh at him for it. But having walked through the meadow, recalling his impressions of mowing, he was now almost decided that he would mow. And after the vexing conversation with his brother, he again recalled this intention.
‘I need physical movement, otherwise my character definitely deteriorates,’ he thought, and he decided to mow no matter how awkward it was in front of his brother and the peasants.
In the evening Konstantin Levin went to the office, gave orders about the work, and sent to the villages to summon mowers for tomorrow to mow the Viburnum Meadow, the biggest and best.
‘And please send my scythe to Titus to be sharpened and brought along tomorrow - perhaps I’ll do some mowing myself,’ he said, trying not to be embarrassed.
The steward smiled and said:
‘Yes, sir.’
That evening over tea Levin told his brother as well.
‘The weather seems to have settled,’ he said. ‘Tomorrow I’ll start mowing.’
‘I like that work very much,’ said Sergei Ivanovich.
‘I like it terribly. I’ve mowed with the muzhiks occasionally, and tomorrow I intend to mow the whole day.’
Sergei Ivanovich raised his head and looked at his brother with curiosity.
‘How do you mean? On a par with the muzhiks, the whole day?’
‘Yes, it’s very satisfying,’ said Levin.
‘It’s wonderful as physical exercise, only you’ll hardly be able to hold out,’ Sergei Ivanovich said without any mockery.
‘I’ve tried it. It’s hard at first, but then you get into the rhythm. I don’t think I’ll lag behind ...’
‘Really! But tell me, how do the muzhiks look at it? They must be chuckling over the master’s whimsies.’
‘No, I don’t think so; but it’s such cheerful and at the same time such hard work, that one has no time to think.’
‘But how are you going to have dinner with them? It’s a bit awkward to send Lafite5 and roast turkey to you out there.’
‘No, I’ll just come home when they take their break.’
The next morning Konstantin Levin got up earlier than usual, but tasks on the estate detained him and when he came to the mowing, the mowers had already started the second swath.
From the top of the hill there opened out before him, at its foot, the shady, already mowed part of the meadow, with greying rows and black heaps of caftans, which the mowers had taken off where they started their first swath.
As he rode nearer, the muzhiks came into his view, following each other in a strung out line and swinging their scythes variedly, some in caftans, some just in shirts. He counted forty-two men.
They moved slowly along the uneven lower edge of the meadow, where the old dam was. Levin recognized some of his people. There was old Yermil in a very long white shirt, bent over and swinging his scythe; there was the young lad Vaska, Levin’s former coachman, taking each swath at one swing. There was also Titus, Levin’s tutor in mowing, a small, skinny muzhik. He walked straight ahead without bending, as if playing with his scythe, cutting down his wide swath.
Levin got off his horse, tethered it by the road, and met Titus, who took a second scythe from a bush and handed it over.
‘It’s ready, master; like a razor, mows by itself,’ said Titus, doffing his hat with a smile and handing him the scythe.
Levin took the scythe and began to get the feel of it. Their swaths finished, the sweaty and cheerful mowers came out on the road one after another, chuckling and greeting the master. They all gazed at him, but nobody said anything until a tall old man with a wrinkled, beardless face, in a sheepskin coat, came out on the road and addressed him.
‘Watch out, master, once you start there’s no stopping!’ he said, and Levin heard repressed laughter among the mowers.
‘I’ll try to keep up,’ he said, taking a stand behind Titus and waiting for the moment to start.
