INT. POKROVSKOE--NIGHT

CLOSE--Expert fingers--female, unlovely, capable--shape a small lump of

dough which, with some shreds of cabbage, becomes a filled bun called a pirozhok . . .

which is now placed on a baking tray to join rows of pirozhoki ready for the oven.

CLOSE-- One hand opens the oven, and, mittened by an apron, removes

a tray of perfectly baked pirozhoki, which the other hand replaces with the

fresh tray . . . slightly burning itself on a knuckle.

TITLE OVER:

FEBRUARY 1872

POKROVSKOE, KONSTANTIN LEVIN'S ESTATE

300 MILES SOUTH OF MOSCOW:

INT. KITCHEN, POKROVSKOE, SAME TIME--NIGHT

Agafia sucks her knuckle and checks what's cooking on the stove-top. She is

the cook-housekeeper.

AGAFIA:

He needs to come in if he's to wash himself.

A Kitchen Maid at the sink obediently dries her hands on her apron. A

dozing dog, Laska, pricks up her ears.

EXT. YARD, POKROVSKOE, SAME TIME--NIGHT

It's snowing. The Kitchen Maid, shawled, with a lantern, makes her way

across the yard towards the cowshed, a short distance, and pushes open the

frozen door. Laska is at her heels, but is made to stay outside.

3

INT. COWSHED, POKROVSKOE, SAME TIME--NIGHT

The herd stirs at the lantern light. The bull, Berkut, with a ring through

his nose, snorts as the girl goes by. At the back of the shed a cow is calving.

Levin is midwifing, sleeves pulled back, blood and slime up to his elbows.

He is 34. His steward, Vasili, holds up a lantern. Levin pulls carefully at

the emerging forefeet.

LEVIN:

Good girl . . . good girl, Pava.

The calf's head emerges.

KITCHEN MAID:

(ARRIVING)

Agafia Mishaylovna says dinner's like to

spoil.

The calf enters the world like a diver. Levin is feeling great pride and

pleasure.

LEVIN:

. . . her father's colour.

VASILI:

Worth coming home for, Konstantin

Dmitrich!

LEVIN:

I stayed too long in Moscow.

The cow nuzzles and licks her calf.

4

INT. DINING ROOM, POKROVSKOE--NIGHT

Cleaned up, in a smock shirt, Levin bites hungrily into a pirozhok, talking.

He has a book on a book-rest. Agafia ladles soup for him. Three generations

of family portraits look down on him.

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