torn, and held in his hand a stout staff. As he entered he smote this
staff upon the floor, and, contracting his brows and opening his mouth
to its fullest extent, laughed in a dreadful, unnatural way. He had lost
the sight of one eye, and its colourless pupil kept rolling about and
imparting to his hideous face an even more repellent expression than it
otherwise bore.
"Hullo, you are caught!" he exclaimed as he ran to Woloda with little
short steps and, seizing him round the head, looked at it searchingly.
Next he left him, went to the table, and, with a perfectly serious
expression on his face, began to blow under the oil-cloth, and to make
the sign of the cross over it, "O-oh, what a pity! O-oh, how it hurts!
They are angry! They fly from me!" he exclaimed in a tearful choking
voice as he glared at Woloda and wiped away the streaming tears with his
sleeve. His voice was harsh and rough, all his movements hysterical and
spasmodic, and his words devoid of sense or connection (for he used no
conjunctions). Yet the tone of that voice was so heartrending, and his
yellow, deformed face at times so sincere and pitiful in its expression,
that, as one listened to him, it was impossible to repress a mingled
sensation of pity, grief, and fear.
This was the idiot Grisha. Whence he had come, or who were his parents,
or what had induced him to choose the strange life which he led, no
one ever knew. All that I myself knew was that from his fifteenth year
upwards he had been known as an imbecile who went barefooted both in
winter and summer, visited convents, gave little images to any one who
cared to take them, and spoke meaningless words which some people took
for prophecies; that nobody remembered him as being different; that at,
rare intervals he used to call at Grandmamma's house; and that by some
people he was said to be the outcast son of rich parents and a pure,
saintly soul, while others averred that he was a mere peasant and an
idler.
At last the punctual and wished-for Foka arrived, and we went
downstairs. Grisha followed us sobbing and continuing to talk nonsense,
and knocking his staff on each step of the staircase. When we entered
the drawing-room we found Papa and Mamma walking up and down there, with
their hands clasped in each other's, and talking in low tones. Maria
Ivanovna was sitting bolt upright in an arm-chair placed at tight angles
to the sofa, and giving some sort of a lesson to the two girls sitting
beside her. When Karl Ivanitch entered the room she looked at him for a
moment, and then turned her eyes away with an expression which seemed to
say, "You are beneath my notice, Karl Ivanitch." It was easy to see from
the girls' eyes that they had important news to communicate to us as
soon as an opportunity occurred (for to leave their seats and approach
us first was contrary to Mimi's rules). It was for us to go to her
and say, "Bon jour, Mimi," and then make her a low bow; after which we
should possibly be permitted to enter into conversation with the girls.
What an intolerable creature that Mimi was! One could hardly say a word
in her presence without being found fault with. Also whenever we wanted
to speak in Russian, she would say, "Parlez, donc, francais," as though
on purpose to annoy us, while, if there was any particularly nice
dish at luncheon which we wished to enjoy in peace, she would keep on
ejaculating, "Mangez, donc, avec du pain!" or, "Comment est-ce que vous
tenez votre fourchette?" "What has SHE got to do with us?" I used to
think to myself. "Let her teach the girls. WE have our Karl Ivanitch." I
shared to the full his dislike of "certain people."
"Ask Mamma to let us go hunting too," Katenka whispered to me, as she
caught me by the sleeve just when the elders of the family were making a
move towards the dining-room.
"Very well. I will try."
Grisha likewise took a seat in the dining-room, but at a little table
apart from the rest. He never lifted his eyes from his plate, but kept
on sighing and making horrible grimaces, as he muttered to himself:
lies on the tomb!" and so forth.
Ever since the morning Mamma had been absent-minded, and Grisha's
presence, words, and actions seemed to make her more so.
"By the way, there is something I forgot to ask you," she said, as she
handed Papa a plate of soup.
"What is it?"
"That you will have those dreadful dogs of yours tied up. They nearly
worried poor Grisha to death when he entered the courtyard, and I am
sure they will bite the children some day."
No sooner did Grisha hear himself mentioned that he turned towards our
table and showed us his torn clothes. Then, as he went on with his meal,
he said: "He would have let them tear me in pieces, but God would not
allow it! What a sin to let the dogs loose--a great sin! But do not beat
him, master; do not beat him! It is for God to forgive! It is past now!"
"What does he say?" said Papa, looking at him gravely and sternly. "I
cannot understand him at all."
"I think he is saying," replied Mamma, "that one of the huntsmen set
the dogs on him, but that God would not allow him to be torn in pieces.
Therefore he begs you not to punish the man."
"Oh, is that it?" said Papa, "How does he know that I intended to
punish the huntsman? You know, I am not very fond of fellows like this,"
he added in French, "and this one offends me particularly. Should it
ever happen that--"
"Oh, don't say so," interrupted Mamma, as if frightened by some thought.
"How can you know what he is?"
"I think I have plenty of opportunities for doing so, since no lack of
them come to see you--all of them the same sort, and probably all with
the same story."
I could see that Mamma's opinion differed from his, but that she did not
mean to quarrel about it.
"Please hand me the cakes," she said to him, "Are they good to-day or
not?"
"Yes, I AM angry," he went on as he took the cakes and put them where
Mamma could not reach them, "very angry at seeing supposedly reasonable
and educated people let themselves be deceived," and he struck the table
with his fork.
"I asked you to hand me the cakes," she repeated with outstretched hand.
"And it is a good thing," Papa continued as he put the hand aside, "that
the police run such vagabonds in. All they are good for is to play upon
the nerves of certain people who are already not over-strong in
that respect," and he smiled, observing that Mamma did not like the
conversation at all. However, he handed her the cakes.
"All that I have to say," she replied, "is that one can hardly believe
that a man who, though sixty years of age, goes barefooted winter and
summer, and always wears chains of two pounds' weight, and never
accepts the offers made to him to live a quiet, comfortable life--it is
difficult to believe that such a man should act thus out of laziness."
Pausing a moment, she added with a s
igh: "As to predictions, je suis
payee pour y croire, I told you, I think, that Grisha prophesied the
very day and hour of poor Papa's death?"
"Oh, what HAVE you gone and done?" said Papa, laughing and putting his
hand to his cheek (whenever he did this I used to look for something
particularly comical from him). "Why did you call my attention to his
feet? I looked at them, and now can eat nothing more."
Luncheon was over now, and Lubotshka and Katenka were winking at us,
fidgeting about in their chairs, and showing great restlessness. The
winking, of course, signified, "Why don't you ask whether we too may go
to the hunt?" I nudged Woloda, and Woloda nudged me back, until at last
I took heart of grace, and began (at first shyly, but gradually with
more assurance) to ask if it would matter much if the girls too were
allowed to enjoy the sport. Thereupon a consultation was held among the
elder folks, and eventually leave was granted--Mamma, to make things
still more delightful, saying that she would come too.
VI -- PREPARATIONS FOR THE CHASE
During dessert Jakoff had been sent for, and orders given him to have
ready the carriage, the hounds, and the saddle-horses--every detail
being minutely specified, and every horse called by its own particular
name. As Woloda's usual mount was lame, Papa ordered a "hunter" to be
saddled for him; which term, "hunter" so horrified Mamma's ears, that
she imagined it to be some kind of an animal which would at once run
away and bring about Woloda's death. Consequently, in spite of all
Papa's and Woloda's assurances (the latter glibly affirming that it was
nothing, and that he liked his horse to go fast), poor Mamma continued
to exclaim that her pleasure would be quite spoilt for her.
When luncheon was over, the grown-ups had coffee in the study, while
we younger ones ran into the garden and went chattering along the
undulating paths with their carpet of yellow leaves. We talked about
Woloda's riding a hunter and said what a shame it was that Lubotshka,
could not run as fast as Katenka, and what fun it would be if we could
see Grisha's chains, and so forth; but of the impending separation
we said not a word. Our chatter was interrupted by the sound of the
carriage driving up, with a village urchin perched on each of its
springs. Behind the carriage rode the huntsmen with the hounds, and
they, again, were followed by the groom Ignat on the steed intended
for Woloda, with my old horse trotting alongside. After running to
the garden fence to get a sight of all these interesting objects, and
indulging in a chorus of whistling and hallooing, we rushed upstairs to
dress--our one aim being to make ourselves look as like the huntsmen as
possible. The obvious way to do this was to tuck one's breeches inside
one's boots. We lost no time over it all, for we were in a hurry to run
to the entrance steps again there to feast our eyes upon the horses and
hounds, and to have a chat with the huntsmen. The day was exceedingly
warm while, though clouds of fantastic shape had been gathering on the
horizon since morning and driving before a light breeze across the sun,
it was clear that, for all their menacing blackness, they did not
really intend to form a thunderstorm and spoil our last day's pleasure.
Moreover, towards afternoon some of them broke, grew pale and elongated,
and sank to the horizon again, while others of them changed to the
likeness of white transparent fish-scales. In the east, over Maslovska,
a single lurid mass was louring, but Karl Ivanitch (who always seemed to
know the ways of the heavens) said that the weather would still continue
to be fair and dry.
In spite of his advanced years, it was in quite a sprightly manner that
Foka came out to the entrance steps, to give the order "Drive up."
In fact, as he planted his legs firmly apart and took up his station
between the lowest step and the spot where the coachman was to halt,
his mien was that of a man who knew his duties and had no need to be
reminded of them by anybody. Presently the ladies, also came out, and
after a little discussions as to seats and the safety of the girls (all
of which seemed to me wholly superfluous), they settled themselves in
the vehicle, opened their parasols, and started. As the carriage was,
driving away, Mamma pointed to the hunter and asked nervously "Is that
the horse intended for Vladimir Petrovitch?" On the groom answering
in the affirmative, she raised her hands in horror and turned her head
away. As for myself, I was burning with impatience. Clambering on to
the back of my steed (I was just tall enough to see between its ears), I
proceeded to perform evolutions in the courtyard.
"Mind you don't ride over the hounds, sir," said one of the huntsmen.
"Hold your tongue. It is not the first time I have been one of the
party." I retorted with dignity.
Although Woloda had plenty of pluck, he was not altogether free from
apprehensions as he sat on the hunter. Indeed, he more than once asked
as he patted it, "Is he quiet?" He looked very well on horseback--almost
a grown-up young man, and held himself so upright in the saddle that I
envied him since my shadow seemed to show that I could not compare with
him in looks.
Presently Papa's footsteps sounded on the flagstones, the whip collected
the hounds, and the huntsmen mounted their steeds. Papa's horse came up
in charge of a groom, the hounds of his particular leash sprang up from
their picturesque attitudes to fawn upon him, and Milka, in a collar
studded with beads, came bounding joyfully from behind his heels to
greet and sport with the other dogs. Finally, as soon as Papa had
mounted we rode away.
VII -- THE HUNT
AT the head of the cavalcade rode Turka, on a hog-backed roan. On his
head he wore a shaggy cap, while, with a magnificent horn slung across
his shoulders and a knife at his belt, he looked so cruel and inexorable
that one would have thought he was going to engage in bloody strife with
his fellow men rather than to hunt a small animal. Around the hind legs
of his horse the hounds gambolled like a cluster of checkered, restless
balls. If one of them wished to stop, it was only with the greatest
difficulty that it could do so, since not only had its leash-fellow
also to be induced to halt, but at once one of the huntsmen would wheel
round, crack his whip, and shout to the delinquent,
"Back to the pack, there!"
Arrived at a gate, Papa told us and the huntsmen to continue our way
along the road, and then rode off across a cornfield. The harvest was at
its height. On the further side of a large, shining, yellow stretch of
cornland lay a high purple belt of forest which always figured in my
eyes as a distant, mysterious region behind which either the world ended
or an uninhabited waste began. This expanse of corn-land was dotted with
swathes and reapers, while along the lanes where the sickle had passed
could be seen the backs of women as they stooped among the tall, thick
grain or lifted ar
mfuls of corn and rested them against the shocks. In
one corner a woman was bending over a cradle, and the whole stubble was
studded with sheaves and cornflowers. In another direction shirt-sleeved
men were standing on waggons, shaking the soil from the stalks of
sheaves, and stacking them for carrying. As soon as the foreman (dressed
in a blouse and high boots, and carrying a tally-stick) caught sight of
Papa, he hastened to take off his lamb's-wool cap and, wiping his red
head, told the women to get up. Papa's chestnut horse went trotting
along with a prancing gait as it tossed its head and swished its tail
to and fro to drive away the gadflies and countless other insects which
tormented its flanks, while his two greyhounds--their tails curved like
sickles--went springing gracefully over the stubble. Milka was always
first, but every now and then she would halt with a shake of her head
to await the whipper-in. The chatter of the peasants; the rumbling of
horses and waggons; the joyous cries of quails; the hum of insects as
they hung suspended in the motionless air; the smell of the soil and
grain and steam from our horses; the thousand different lights and
shadows which the burning sun cast upon the yellowish-white cornland;
the purple forest in the distance; the white gossamer threads which were
floating in the air or resting on the soil-all these things I observed
and heard and felt to the core.
Arrived at the Kalinovo wood, we found the carriage awaiting us
there, with, beside it, a one-horse waggonette driven by the butler--a
waggonette in which were a tea-urn, some apparatus for making ices, and
many other attractive boxes and bundles, all packed in straw! There was
no mistaking these signs, for they meant that we were going to have tea,
fruit, and ices in the open air. This afforded us intense delight, since