| PART 3
Chapter 30
 At the end of September the timber had been carted for building
 the cattleyard on the land that had been allotted to the
 association of peasants, and the butter from the cows was sold
 and the profits divided.  In practice the system worked
 capitally, or, at least, so it seemed to Levin.  In order to work
 out the whole subject theoretically and to complete his book,
 which, in Levin's daydreams, was not merely to effect a
 revolution in political economy, but to annihilate that science
 entirely and to lay the foundation of a new science of the
 relation of the people to the soil, all that was left to do was
 to make a tour abroad, and to study on the spot all that had been
 done in the same direction, and to collect conclusive evidence
 that all that had been done there was not what was wanted.  Levin
 was only waiting for the delivery of his wheat to receive the
 money for it and go abroad.  But the rains began, preventing the
 harvesting of the corn and potatoes left in the fields, and
 putting a stop to all work, even to the delivery of the wheat. The mud was impassable along the roads; two mills were carried
 away, and the weather got worse and worse. On the 30th of September the sun came out in the morning, and
 hoping for fine weather, Levin began making final preparations
 for his journey.  He gave orders for the wheat to be delivered,
 sent the bailiff to the merchant to get the money owing him, and
 went out himself to give some final directions on the estate
 before setting off. Having finished all his business, soaked through with the streams
 of water which kept running down the leather behind his neck and
 his gaiters, but in the keenest and most confident temper, Levin
 returned homewards in the evening.  The weather had become worse
 than ever towards evening; the hail lashed the drenched mare so
 cruelly that she went along sideways, shaking her head and ears;
 but Levin was all right under his hood, and he looked cheerfully
 about him at the muddy streams running under the wheels, at the
 drops hanging on every bare twig, at the whiteness of the patch
 of unmelted hailstones on the planks of the bridge, at the thick
 layer of still juicy, fleshy leaves that lay heaped up about the
 stripped elm-tree.  In spite of the gloominess of nature around
 him, he felt peculiarly eager.  The talks he had been having with
 the peasants in the further village had shown that they were
 beginning to get used to their new position.  The old servant to
 whose hut he had gone to get dry evidently approved of Levin's
 plan, and of his own accord proposed to enter the partnership by
 the purchase of cattle. |