Book Seven: 1810-11 - Chapter IV

by Leo Tolstoy

　　The old count, who had always kept up an enormous huntingestablishment but had now handed it all completely over to his son'scare, being in very good spirits on this fifteenth of September,prepared to go out with the others.

　　In an hour's time the whole hunting party was at the porch.Nicholas, with a stern and serious air which showed that now was notime for attending to trifles, went past Natasha and Petya who weretrying to tell him something. He had a look at all the details ofthe hunt, sent a pack of hounds and huntsmen on ahead to find thequarry, mounted his chestnut Donets, and whistling to his own leash ofborzois, set off across the threshing ground to a field leading to theOtradnoe wood. The old count's horse, a sorrel gelding calledViflyanka, was led by the groom in attendance on him, while thecount himself was to drive in a small trap straight to a spot reservedfor him.

　　They were taking fifty-four hounds, with six hunt attendants andwhippers-in. Besides the family, there were eight borzoi kennelmen andmore than forty borzois, so that, with the borzois on the leashbelonging to members of the family, there were about a hundred andthirty dogs and twenty horsemen.

　　Each dog knew its master and its call. Each man in the hunt knew hisbusiness. his place, what he had to do. As soon as they had passed thefence they all spread out evenly and quietly, without noise or talk,along the road and field leading to the Otradnoe covert.

　　The horses stepped over the field as over a thick carpet, now andthen splashing into puddles as they crossed a road. The misty skystill seemed to descend evenly and imperceptibly toward the earth, theair was still, warm, and silent. Occasionally the whistle of ahuntsman, the snort of a horse, the crack of a whip, or the whine of astraggling hound could be heard.

　　When they had gone a little less than a mile, five more riderswith dogs appeared out of the mist, approaching the Rostovs. Infront rode a fresh-looking, handsome old man with a large graymustache.

　　"Good morning, Uncle!" said Nicholas, when the old man drew near.

　　"That's it. Come on!... I was sure of it," began "Uncle." (He wasa distant relative of the Rostovs', a man of small means, and theirneighbor.) "I knew you wouldn't be able to resist it and it's a goodthing you're going. That's it! Come on! (This was "Uncle's" favoriteexpression.) "Take the covert at once, for my Girchik says the Ilaginsare at Korniki with their hounds. That's it. Come on!... They'lltake the cubs from under your very nose."

　　"That's where I'm going. Shall we join up our packs?" askedNicholas.

　　The hounds were joined into one pack, and "Uncle" and Nicholasrode on side by side. Natasha, muffled up in shawls which did not hideher eager face and shining eyes, galloped up to them. She was followedby Petya who always kept close to her, by Michael, a huntsman, andby a groom appointed to look after her. Petya, who was laughing,whipped and pulled at his horse. Natasha sat easily and confidently onher black Arabchik and reined him in without effort with a firm hand.

　　"Uncle" looked round disapprovingly at Petya and Natasha. He did notlike to combine frivolity with the serious business of hunting.

　　"Good morning, Uncle! We are going too!" shouted Petya.

　　"Good morning, good morning! But don't go overriding the hounds,"said "Uncle" sternly.

　　"Nicholas, what a fine dog Trunila is! He knew me," said Natasha,referring to her favorite hound.

　　"In the first place, Trunila is not a 'dog,' but a harrier," thoughtNicholas, and looked sternly at his sister, trying to make her feelthe distance that ought to separate them at that moment. Natashaunderstood it.

　　"You mustn't think we'll be in anyone's way, Uncle," she said."We'll go to our places and won't budge."

　　"A good thing too, little countess," said "Uncle," "only mind youdon't fall off your horse," he added, "because- that's it, come on!-you've nothing to hold on to."

　　The oasis of the Otradnoe covert came in sight a few hundred yardsoff, the huntsmen were already nearing it. Rostov, having finallysettled with "Uncle" where they should set on the hounds, and havingshown Natasha where she was to stand- a spot where nothing couldpossibly run out- went round above the ravine.

　　"Well, nephew, you're going for a big wolf," said "Uncle." "Mind anddon't let her slip!"

　　"That's as may happen," answered Rostov. "Karay, here!" heshouted, answering "Uncle's" remark by this call to his borzoi.Karay was a shaggy old dog with a hanging jowl, famous for havingtackled a big wolf unaided. They all took up their places.

　　The old count, knowing his son's ardor in the hunt, hurried so asnot to be late, and the hunstmen had not yet reached their places whenCount Ilya Rostov, cheerful, flushed, and with quivering cheeks, droveup with his black horses over the winter rye to the place reserved forhim, where a wolf might come out. Having straightened his coat andfastened on his hunting knives and horn, he mounted his good, sleek,well-fed, and comfortable horse, Viflyanka, which was turning gray,like himself. His horses and trap were sent home. Count Ilya Rostov,though not at heart a keen sportsman, knew the rules of the hunt well,and rode to the bushy edge of the road where he was to stand, arrangedhis reins, settled himself in the saddle, and, feeling that he wasready, looked about with a smile.

　　Beside him was Simon Chekmar, his personal attendant, an oldhorseman now somewhat stiff in the saddle. Chekmar held in leash threeformidable wolfhounds, who had, however, grown fat like their masterand his horse. Two wise old dogs lay down unleashed. Some hundredpaces farther along the edge of the wood stood Mitka, the count'sother groom, a daring horseman and keen rider to hounds. Before thehunt, by old custom, the count had drunk a silver cupful of mulledbrandy, taken a snack, and washed it down with half a bottle of hisfavorite Bordeaux.

　　He was somewhat flushed with the wine and the drive. His eyes wererather moist and glittered more than usual, and as he sat in hissaddle, wrapped up in his fur coat, he looked like a child taken outfor an outing.

　　The thin, hollow-cheeked Chekmar, having got everything ready,kept glancing at his master with whom he had lived on the best ofterms for thirty years, and understanding the mood he was inexpected a pleasant chat. A third person rode up circumspectly throughthe wood (it was plain that he had had a lesson) and stopped behindthe count. This person was a gray-bearded old man in a woman'scloak, with a tall peaked cap on his head. He was the buffoon, whowent by a woman's name, Nastasya Ivanovna.

　　"Well, Nastasya Ivanovna!" whispered the count, winking at him."If you scare away the beast, Daniel'll give it you!"

　　"I know a thing or two myself!" said Nastasya Ivanovna.

　　"Hush!" whispered the count and turned to Simon. "Have you seenthe young countess?" he asked. "Where is she?"

　　"With young Count Peter, by the Zharov rank grass," answeredSimon, smiling. "Though she's a lady, she's very fond of hunting."

　　"And you're surprised at the way she rides, Simon, eh?" said thecount. "She's as good as many a man!"

　　"Of course! It's marvelous. So bold, so easy!"

　　"And Nicholas? Where is he? By the Lyadov upland, isn't he?"

　　"Yes, sir. He knows where to stand. He understands the matter sowell that Daniel and I are often quite astounded," said Simon, wellknowing what would please his master.

　　"Rides well, eh? And how well he looks on his horse, eh?"

　　"A perfect picture! How he chased a fox out of the rank grass by theZavarzinsk thicket the other day! Leaped a fearful place; what a sightwhen they rushed from the covert... the horse worth a thousandrubles and the rider beyond all price! Yes, one would have to searchfar to find another as smart."

　　"To search far..." repeated the count, evidently sorry Simon had notsaid more. "To search far," he said, turning back the skirt of hiscoat to get at his snuffbox.

　　"The other day when he came out from Mass in full uniform, MichaelSidorych..." Simon did not finish, for on the still air he haddistinctly caught the music of the hunt with only two or threehounds giving tongue. He bent down his head and listened, shaking awarning finger at his master. "They are on the scent of the cubs..." he whispered, "straight to the Lyadov uplands."

　　The count, forgetting to smooth out the smile on his face, lookedinto the distance straight before him, down the narrow open space,holding the snuffbox in his hand but not taking any. After the cryof the hounds came the deep tones of the wolf call from Daniel'shunting horn; the pack joined the first three hounds and they could beheard in full cry, with that peculiar lift in the note thatindicates that they are after a wolf. The whippers-in no longer set onthe hounds, but changed to the cry of ulyulyu, and above the othersrose Daniel's voice, now a deep bass, now piercingly shrill. His voiceseemed to fill the whole wood and carried far beyond out into the openfield.

　　After listening a few moments in silence, the count and hisattendant convinced themselves that the hounds had separated intotwo packs: the sound of the larger pack, eagerly giving tongue,began to die away in the distance, the other pack rushed by the woodpast the count, and it was with this that Daniel's voice was heardcalling ulyulyu. The sounds of both packs mingled and broke apartagain, but both were becoming more distant.

　　Simon sighed and stooped to straighten the leash a young borzoihad entangled; the count too sighed and, noticing the snuffbox inhis hand, opened it and took a pinch. "Back!" cried Simon to aborzoi that was pushing forward out of the wood. The count started anddropped the snuffbox. Nastasya Ivanovna dismounted to pick it up.The count and Simon were looking at him.

　　Then, unexpectedly, as often happens, the sound of the hunt suddenlyapproached, as if the hounds in full cry and Daniel ulyulyuing werejust in front of them.

　　The count turned and saw on his right Mitka staring at him with eyesstarting out of his head, raising his cap and pointing before him tothe other side.

　　"Look out!" he shouted, in a voice plainly showing that he hadlong fretted to utter that word, and letting the borzois slip hegalloped toward the count.

　　The count and Simon galloped out of the wood and saw on their left awolf which, softly swaying from side to side, was coming at a quietlope farther to the left to the very place where they were standing.The angry borzois whined and getting free of the leash rushed past thehorses' feet at the wolf.

　　The wolf paused, turned its heavy forehead toward the dogsawkwardly, like a man suffering from the quinsy, and, still slightlyswaying from side to side, gave a couple of leaps and with a swishof its tail disappeared into the skirt of the wood. At the sameinstant, with a cry like a wail, first one hound, then another, andthen another, sprang helter-skelter from the wood opposite and thewhole pack rushed across the field toward the very spot where the wolfhad disappeared. The hazel bushes parted behind the hounds andDaniel's chestnut horse appeared, dark with sweat. On its long backsat Daniel, hunched forward, capless, his disheveled gray hair hangingover his flushed, perspiring face.

　　"Ulyulyulyu! ulyulyu!..." he cried. When he caught sight of thecount his eyes flashed lightning.

　　"Blast you!" he shouted, holding up his whip threateningly at thecount.

　　"You've let the wolf go!... What sportsmen! and as if scorning tosay more to the frightened and shamefaced count, he lashed the heavingflanks of his sweating chestnut gelding with all the anger the counthad aroused and flew off after the hounds. The count, like apunished schoolboy, looked round, trying by a smile to win Simon'ssympathy for his plight. But Simon was no longer there. He wasgalloping round by the bushes while the field was coming up on bothsides, all trying to head the wolf, but it vanished into the woodbefore they could do so.