# Anna Karenina (Dole)/Part Three/Chapter 4

CHAPTER IV
The thought that was absorbing Levin at the time of his discussion with his brother was this: the year before, having come one day to the hay-field, Levin had fallen into a passion with his overseer. He had employed his favorite means of calming himself—had taken the scythe from a muzhik and begun to mow.
He enjoyed the work so much that he had tried it again and again. He had mowed the whole of the lawn in front of his house, and this year early in the spring he had formulated a plan of spending whole days mowing with the muzhiks.
Since his brother's arrival he had been in doubt: Should he mow or not? He had scruples about leaving his brother alone for whole days at a time, and he was afraid that his brother would make sport of him on account of this. But as they crossed the meadow, and he recalled the impression that the mowing had made on him, he had almost made up his mind that he would mow. Now after his vexatious discussion with his brother, he again remembered his project.
"I must have some physical exercise, or my character will absolutely spoil," he thought, and made up his mind to mow, no matter what his brother or his servants should say.
That very evening Konstantin Levin went to the office, gave some directions about the work to be done, and ​sent to the village to hire some mowers for the morrow, so as to attack his field at Kalinovo, which was the largest and best.
"And here, please send my scythe over to Sef, and have him put it in order and bring it back to-morrow; perhaps I will come and mow too," said he, trying to hide his confusion.
The overseer smiled, and said:—
"I will obey you—slushayu-s."
Later, at the tea-table, Levin said to his brother:—
"It seems like settled weather. To-morrow I am going to begin mowing."
"I like this work very much," said Sergyeï Ivanovitch.
"I like it extremely," said Levin. "Last year I myself mowed with the muzhiks, and to-morrow I am going to spend all day at it."
Sergyeï Ivanovitch raised his head, and gazed with astonishment at his brother.
"What did you say? Like the muzhiks, all day long?"
"Certainly; it is very enjoyable," said Levin.
"It is excellent as physical exercise, but can you stand such work?" asked Sergyeï Ivanovitch, without meaning to say anything ironical.
"I have tried it. At first it is hard work, but afterwards you get used to it. I think I shall not leave off." ....
Really! but tell me, how do the muzhiks look at it? Naturally they make sport because the barin is queer, don't they?"
"No, I don't think so; but this is such pleasant and at the same time hard work, that they don't think about it."
"But how do you and they do about dinner? You could hardly have a bottle of Lafitte and a roast turkey sent you out there."
"No; I come home while the workmen have their nooning."
The next morning Konstantin Levin got up earlier than usual; but his duties about the house detained ​him, and when he came to the mowing-field he found the men had already mowed the first time across.
From the top of the slope the part of the meadow still in the shade, and already mowed, spread out before him, with its long windrows and the little black heaps of kaftans thrown down by the men when they went by the first time.
As he drew nearer he saw also the band of muzhiks, some in their kaftans, some in their shirt-sleeves, moving in a long line, and swinging their scythes in unison. He counted forty-two men of them. They were advancing slowly over the uneven bottom-land of the meadow, where there was an old dike. Many of them Levin knew. There was the old round-shouldered Yermil, in a very clean white shirt, wielding the scythe; there was the young small Vaska, who used to be Levin's coach-man; there was Sef, also, a little, thin old peasant, who had taught him how to mow. He was cutting a wide swath without stooping, and handling his scythe as if he were playing with it.
Levin dismounted from his horse, tied her near the road, and went across to Sef, who immediately got a second scythe from a clump of bushes and handed it to him.
"All ready, barin; 't is like a razor,—cuts of itself," said Sef, with a smile, taking off his cap and handing him the scythe.
Levin took it and began to try it. The mowers, having finished their line, were returning one after the other on their track, covered with sweat, but gay and lively. They laughed timidly, and saluted the barin. All of them looked at him, but no one ventured to speak until at last a tall old man, with a wrinkled, beardless face, and dressed in a sheepskin jacket, thus addressed him:—
"Look here, barin, if you put your hand to the rope, you must not let go," said he; and Levin heard the sound of stifled laughter among the mowers.
​"I will try not to be left behind," he said, as he took his place behind Sef, and waited for the signal to begin.
"'Tention!" cried the old man.
Sef opened the way, and Levin followed in his track. The grass was short and tough; and Levin, who had not mowed in a long time, and was confused by the watchful eyes of the men, at first made very bad work of it, though he swung the scythe energetically. Voices were heard behind him:—
"He does not hold his scythe right: the sned is too high. See how he stoops like," said one.
"Bears his hand on too much," said another.
"No matter, it goes pretty well," said the head man.
"Look, he goes at a great rate! Cuts a wide swath! .... He'll get played out. The master is trying it for himself as hard as he can, but look at his row! For such work my brother was beaten once."
The grass became less tough; and Levin, listening and making no reply, trying to mow as well as he could, followed Sef. Thus they went a hundred steps. Sef kept on without any intermission, and without showing the least fatigue; but Levin began by this time to feel terribly and feared that he could not keep it up, he was so tired.
He was just thinking that he was using his last strength and had determined to ask Sef to rest; but at this time the muzhik of his own accord halted, bent over, and, taking a handful of grass, began to wipe his scythe, and to whet it. Levin straightened himself up, and with a sigh of relief looked about him. Just behind was a peasant, and he also was evidently tired, because instantly without catching up to Levin he also stopped and began to whet his scythe. Sef whetted his own scythe and Levin's, and they started again.
At the second attempt it was just the same. Sef advanced a step at every swing of the scythe, without stopping and without sign of weariness. Levin followed him, striving not to fall behind; but each moment it ​came harder and harder. But, as before, just as he believed himself at the end of his forces, Sef stopped and whetted his scythe.
Thus they went over the first swath. And this long stretch seemed especially hard for Levin. When the swath was finished and Sef, throwing the scythe over his shoulder, slowly walked back in the tracks made by his heels as he had mowed, and Levin also retraced his steps in the same way, although the sweat stood on his face and dropped from his nose, and all his back was as wet as if he had been plunged in water; still he felt very comfortable. He was especially glad that he knew now that he could keep up with the rest.
His pleasure was marred only by the fact that his swath was not good.
"I will work less with my arms and more with my whole body," he said to himself, carefully comparing Sef's smooth straight swath with his own rough and irregular line.
The first time, as Levin observed, Sef went very rapidly, apparently wishing to test his barin's endurance, and the swath seemed endless. But the succeeding swaths grew easier and easier. Still Levin had to exert all his energies not to fall behind the muzhiks. He had no other thought, no other desire, than to reach the other end of the meadow as soon as the others did, and to do his work as perfectly as possible. He heard nothing but the swish of the scythes, saw nothing but Sef's straight back, plodding on in front of him, and the semicircle described in the grass which fell over, slowly carrying with it the delicate heads of flowers, and then far in front of him the end of the row, where he would be able to get breath.
Not at first realizing what it was or whence it came, suddenly in the midst of his labors he felt a pleasant sensation of coolness on his shoulders. He looked up at the sky while Sef was plying the whetstone, and he saw an inky black cloud. A heavy shower had come up and the raindrops were falling fast. Some of the muzhiks were putting on their kaftans; others, like ​Levin himself, were glad to feel the rain on their hot, sweaty shoulders.
The work went on and on. Some of the swaths were long, others were shorter; here the grass was good, there it was poor. Levin absolutely lost all idea of time and knew not whether it was early or late. In his work a change now began to be visible, and this afforded him vast satisfaction. While he was engaged in this labor there were moments during which he forgot what he was doing and it seemed easy to him, and during these moments his swath came out almost as even and perfect as that done by Sef. But as soon as he became conscious of what he was doing and strove to do better, he immediately began to feel all the difficulty of the work and his swath became poor.
After they had gone over the field one more time, he started to turn back again; but Sef halted, and, going to the old man, whispered something to him. Then the two studied the sun.
"What are they talking about? and why don't they keep on?" thought Levin, without considering that the muzhiks had been mowing for more than four hours, and it was time for them to have their morning meal.
"Breakfast, barin," said the old man.
"Time, is it? Well, breakfast, then."
Levin gave his scythe to Sef, and together with the muzhiks, who were going to their kaftans for their bread, he crossed the wide stretch of field, where the mown grass lay lightly moistened by the shower, and went to his horse. Then only he perceived that he had made a false prediction about the weather, and that the rain had wet his hay.
"The hay will be spoiled," he said.
"No harm done, barin; mow in the rain, rake in the sun," said the old man.
Levin unhitched his horse and went home to take coffee.
Sergyeï Ivanovitch had just got up; before he was dressed and down in the dining-room, Konstantin was back to the field again.