Stopping neither at Petersburg nor at Moscow, Litvinov went back to his
estate. He was dismayed when he saw his father; the latter was so weak
and failing. The old man rejoiced to have his son, as far as a man can
rejoice who is just at the close of life; he at once gave over to him
the management of everything, which was in great disorder, and lingering
on a few weeks longer, he departed from this earthly sphere. Litvinov
was left alone in his ancient little manor-house, and with a heavy
heart, without hope, without zeal, and without money, he began to work
the land. Working the land is a cheerless business, as many know too
well; we will not enlarge on how distasteful it seemed to Litvinov. As
for reforms and innovations, there was, of course, no question even of
them; the practical application of the information he had gathered
abroad was put off for an indefinite period; poverty forced him to make
shift from day to day, to consent to all sorts of compromises--both
material and moral. The new had ‘begun ill,’ the old had lost all power;
ignorance jostled up against dishonesty; the whole agrarian organisation
was shaken and unstable as quagmire bog, and only one great word,
‘freedom,’ was wafted like the breath of God over the waters. Patience
was needed before all things, and a patience not passive, but active,
persistent, not without tact and cunning at times.... For Litvinov, in
his frame of mind, it was doubly hard. He had but little will to live
left in him.... Where was he to get the will to labour and take trouble?
But a year passed, after it another passed, the third was beginning. The
mighty idea was being realised by degrees, was passing into flesh and
blood, the young shoot had sprung up from the scattered seed, and its
foes, both open and secret, could not stamp it out now. Litvinov
himself, though he had ended by giving up the greater part of his land
to the peasants on the half-profit system, that’s to say, by returning
to the wretched primitive methods, had yet succeeded in doing something;
he had restored the factory, set up a tiny farm with five free hired
labourers--he had had at different times fully forty--and had paid his
principal private debts.... And his spirit had gained strength; he had
begun to be like the old Litvinov again. It’s true, a deeply buried
melancholy never left him, and he was too quiet for his years; he shut
himself up in a narrow circle and broke off all his old connections ...
but the deadly indifference had passed, and among the living he moved
and acted as a living man again. The last traces, too, had vanished of
the enchantment in which he had been held; all that had passed at Baden
appeared to him dimly as in a dream.... And Irina? even she had paled
and vanished too, and Litvinov only had a faint sense of something
dangerous behind the mist that gradually enfolded her image. Of Tatyana
news reached him from time to time; he knew that she was living with her
aunt on her estate, a hundred and sixty miles from him, leading a quiet
life, going out little, and scarcely receiving any guests--cheerful and
well, however. It happened on one fine May day, that he was sitting in
his study, listlessly turning over the last number of a Petersburg
paper; a servant came to announce the arrival of an old uncle. This
uncle happened to be a cousin of Kapitolina Markovna and had been
recently staying with her. He had bought an estate in Litvinov’s
vicinity and was on his way thither. He stayed twenty-four hours with
his nephew and told him a great deal about Tatyana’s manner of life. The
next day after his departure Litvinov sent her a letter, the first
since their separation. He begged for permission to renew her
acquaintance, at least by correspondence, and also desired to learn
whether he must for ever give up all idea of some day seeing her again?
Not without emotion he awaited the answer ... the answer came at last.
Tatyana responded cordially to his overture. ‘If you are disposed to pay
us a visit,’ she finished up, ‘we hope you will come; you know the
saying, “even the sick are easier together than apart.”’ Kapitolina
Markovna joined in sending her regards. Litvinov was as happy as a
child; it was long since his heart had beaten with such delight over
anything. He felt suddenly light and bright.... Just as when the sun
rises and drives away the darkness of night, a light breeze flutters
with the sun’s rays over the face of the reviving earth. All that day
Litvinov kept smiling, even while he went about his farm and gave his
orders. He at once began making arrangements for the journey, and a
fortnight later he was on his way to Tatyana.