510 511
element in husbandry was to have been the laborer, greatly assisted
him in this) that the sort of farming he was carrying on was nothing but
a cruel and stubborn struggle between him and the laborers, in which
there was on one side—his side—a continual intense effort to change
everything to a pattern he considered better; on the other side, the
natural order of things. And in the struggle he saw that with immense
expenditure of force on his side, and with no effort or even intention on
the other side, all that was attained was that the work did not go to the
liking of either side, and that splendid tools, splendid cattle and land
were spoiled with no good to anyone. Worst of all, the energy ex-
pended on this work was not simply wasted. He could not help feeling
now, since the meaning of this system had become clear to him, that
the aim of his energy was a most unworthy one. In reality, what was
the struggle about? He was struggling for every farthing of his share
(and he could not help it, for he had only to relax his efforts, and he
would not have had the money to pay his laborers’ wages), while they
were only struggling to be able to do their work easily and agreeably,
that is to say, as they were used to doing it. It was for his interests that
every laborer should work as hard as possible, and that while doing so
he should keep his wits about him, so as to try not to break the winnow-
ing machines, the horse rakes, the thrashing machines, that he should
attend to what he was doing. What the laborer wanted was to work as
pleasantly as possible, with rests, and above all, carelessly and heed-
lessly, without thinking. That summer Levin saw this at every step.
He sent the men to mow some clover for hay, picking out the worst
patches where the clover was overgrown with grass and weeds and of
no use for seed; again and again they mowed the best acres of clover,
justifying themselves by the pretense that the bailiff had told them to,
and trying to pacify him with the assurance that it would be splendid
hay; but he knew that it was owing to those acres being so much easier
to mow. He sent out a hay machine for pitching the hay—it was
broken at the first row because it was dull work for a peasant to sit on
the seat in front with the great wings waving above him. And he was
told, “Don’t trouble, your honor, sure, the womenfolks will pitch it quick
enough.” The ploughs were practically useless, because it never oc-
curred to the laborer to raise the share when he turned the plough, and
forcing it round, he strained the horses and tore up the ground, and
Levin was begged not to mind about it. The horses were allowed to
stray into the wheat because not a single laborer would consent to be
night-watchman, and in spite of orders to the contrary, the laborers
insisted on taking turns for night duty, and Ivan, after working all day
long, fell asleep, and was very penitent for his fault, saying, “Do what
you will to me, your honor.”
They killed three of the best calves by letting them into the clover
aftermath without care as to their drinking, and nothing would make
the men believe that they had been blown out by the clover, but they
told him, by way of consolation, that one of his neighbors had lost a
hundred and twelve head of cattle in three days. All this happened,
not because anyone felt ill-will to Levin or his farm; on the contrary, he
knew that they liked him, thought him a simple gentleman (their high-
est praise); but it happened simply because all they wanted was to
work merrily and carelessly, and his interests were not only remote and
incomprehensible to them, but fatally opposed to their most just claims.
Long before, Levin had felt dissatisfaction with his own position in
regard to the land. He saw where his boat leaked, but he did not look
for the leak, perhaps purposely deceiving himself. (Nothing would be
left him if he lost faith in it.) But now he could deceive himself no
longer. The farming of the land, as he was managing it, had become not