Memoirs of a sportman

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Contents

WAam I Khor and KalInitch 3

II ErmolAi and thk Miller's Wife 26

III The Raspberry Water 47

II ERMOLAI AND THE MILLER's WIFE

In the evening, Ermolai and I set off to the " stand-shooting." .... But, possibly, not all my readers know what that is. Listen then, gentlemen.

A quarter of an hour before sunset, in spring, you enter the woods with your gun, and without your dog. You search out for yourself a spot somewhere close to the border of the woods, scan your surroundings, look to your percussion-cap, exchange winks with your companion. A quarter of an hour has elapsed. The sun has set, but it is still light in the forest; the air is pure and limpid ; the birds are chirping volubly ; the young grass gleams with the gay shimmer of an emerald . . . you wait. The interior of the forest gradually grows dark; the scarlet light of the evening sky glides slowly along the roots and boles of the trees, rises ever higher and higher, passes from the lower, almost bare boughs, to the motionless crests of the trees, which are falling asleep. • • . And lo, now the crests also have grown dim ; the crimson heaven turns blue. The odour of the forest is intensified, a warm moisture is lightly wafted abroad; the fleeting breeze dies away around you. The birds sink to sleep — ^not all at once — ^but according to their species: now the chaffinches have fallen silent, in a few moments the hedge-sparrows will do the same, and after them the greenfinches. In the forest, everjrthing grows darker and darker. The trees flow together in huge, blackish masses; the first tiny stars peer out timidly in the blue sky. All the birds are asleep. The redtails, the little woodpeckers, alone are still chirping sleepily. . . . And now they, also, have grown silent. Once more the resonant voice of the pewit has rung out overhead; an oriole has uttered a mournful cry somewhere or other; the nightingale has trilled for the first time. Your heart is languishing with anticipation, and all of a sudden— ^but only sportsmen wilj understand me — all of a sudden, athwart the profound silence, a }>eculiar sort of croaking and hissing rings out, the measured sweep of rapid wings becomes audible,— ^and a woodcock, his long beak handsomely bent on one side, flies swimmingly from behind a dark birch-tree to meet your shot.

That is what ^' stand-shooting " means.

So, as I was saying, Ermolai and I set out for the stand-shooting; but pardon me, gentlemen; I must first make you acquainted with Ermolai.

Picture to yourselves a man five and forty years of age, tall, gaunt, with a long, thin nose, a narrow forehead, small grey eyes, dishevelled hair, and broad, mocking lips. This man went about, winter and summer, in a yellowish nankeen kaftan, of German cut, but girt with a belt; he wore blue, full trousers, and a cap with a lambskin border, presented to him by a ruined landed proprietor in a merry mood. To his girdle were attached two bags, one in front, artfully twisted into two halves, for powder and shot, — ^the other behind, for game; but the wads Ermoldi procured from his own, seemingly inexhaustible, cap. He might easily have bought himself a cartridge-box and a game-bag out of the money paid to hinl for the game he sold, but he never once even so much as thought of such a purchase, and continued to load his gun as before, exciting the amazement of spectators by the art wherewith he avoided the danger of spilling or mixing the powder and shot. His gun was single-barrelled, with a flint lock, addicted, moreover, to the bad habit of " kicking " viciously, the result of which was, that Ermoldi's right cheek was always plumper than the left. How he could hit anything with that gun was more than even a clever man could divine; but hit he did. He had a setter dog, Valetka,* a very remarkable creature. Ermoldi never fed him. " As if I were going to feed a dog," — ^he argued : — " moreover, a dog is a clever animal, it will

^Little knave or valet; also, knave at cards. — TEAxsLAioa.

find food for itself." And, in fact, although Valetka astonished even the indifferent passer-by with his emaciation, still he lived, and lived long ; and even, in spite of his wretched condition, he never once got lost, nor exhibited a desire to abandon his master. Once upon a time, during his youthful years, he absented himself for a couple of days, led astray by love ; but that folly speedily broke away from him. . Valetka's most remarkable quality was his incomprehensible indifference to everything on earth If I

were not speaking of a dog, I would use the word disenchantment. He generally sat with his bob-tail tucked up under him, scowled, shivered, now and then, and never smiled. (Everyone knows that dogs have the power of smiling, and even of smiling very prettily.) He was extremely ill-favoured, and not a single idle house-serf omitted an opportunity to jeer spitefully at his appearance ; but Valetka endured all these jeers and even blows with remarkable coolness. He afforded particular satisfaction to the cooks, who immediately tore themselves from their work, and set out in pursuit of him with hue and cry, when he, in consequence of a weakness not confined to dogs alone, thrust his hungry snout through the half -open door of the seductively warm and sweet-smelling kitchen. On a hunt, he distinguished himself by indef atigability, and he had a very respectable scent; but if he accidentally overtook a wounded hare, he promptly devoured every bit of him, to the very last little bone, with great gusto, somewhere in the cool shade, at a respectful distance from £rmoldi, who swore in all known and unknown dialects.

Ermolii belonged to one of my neighbours, a country squire of the ancient sort These old-fashioned landed proprietors do not like ^' snipe," and stick to domestic fowls. It is only on exceptional occasions — on birth-days, saints' days, and election days ^ — ^that the cooks of squires of the ancient cut undertake to prepare the long-billed birds, and, waxing furious, as a Russian is wont to do when he himself does not quite understand what he is about, they invent for them sudi complicated sauces, that most of the guests survey with curiosity and attention the viands pkced before them, but cannot possibly bring themselves to taste them. ErmoliLi had orders to furnish his master's table, once a month, with a couple of brace of black-cock and partridges, and, for the rest, was permitted to live where and how he pleased. He was discarded, as a man who was fit for no work whatsoever,—" a ne'er do well," as we say in the GU>vemment of Orel. They did not furnish him with powder and shot, as a matter of course, in consonance with the selfsame principle on which he did not feed his dog.

^ Par Mmnhal of the Nobility.— TkorsLA

ErmoMi was a man of a very singular nature; care-free as a bird, decidedly loquacious, absentminded, and clumsy in appearance; he was extremely fond of drink, never lived long in one place, shuffled his feet as he walked, and swayed from side to side, — and with all his shuffling and swaying to and fro, he would cover a distance of fifty versts in twenty-four hoiu*s. He exposed himself to the most varied experiences ; he would pass the night in the marshes, in trees, on roofs, under bridges, more than once he sat locked up in garrets, cellars, and bams, lost his gun, his dog, his most indispensable garments, was thrashed long and violently, — ^and, notwithstanding, after a while, he would return home clothed, with his gun and his dog. It was impossible to call him a joUy man, although he was almost always in a fairly cheerful mood; his general aspect was that of a droll fellow. Ermolai was fond of chatting with a nice man, especially over a glass of liquor, but even that not for long at a time; he would rise and walk off. — " But where the devil art thou going? Night is falling." — " Why, to Tchiplino." — "But what hast thou got to trudge to Tchdplino for — ^ten versts away?" — "Why, to spend the night there with peasant Sofron." — " Come, spend the night here." — " No, I can't." — ^And off would go Ermoldi, with his Valetka, into the dark night, through the bushes and the ravines, and, as likely as not, the poor peasant

Sofr6n would not let him into the house, and, in all probability, would pummel his back for him to boot: " Don't go bothering honest folks." On the other hand, there was no one who could be compared with Ermolai in the art of catching fish at flood-water m spring, of getting crawfish with his hands, of searching out game by instinct, of decoying woodcock, of training hawks, of enticing nightingales with the " forest pipes," with " cuckoo call." * . . . . One thing he could not do : train dogs ; he had not the patience. He had a wife. He went to see her once a week. She dwelt in a miserable, half -ruined little hut, scraped along somehow or other, and often did not know at night whether she would have enough to eat on the morrow or not, and, in general, her lot was a bitter one. Ermoldi, that care-free, good-natured man, treated her harshly and roughly, assuming at home a threatening and surly aspect, — and his poor wife did not know how to please him, trembled at his glance, bought him liquor with her last farthing, and servilely covered him with her sheepskin coat when he, stretching himself out majestically on the oven, fell into a heroic slumber. More than once I had occasion to observe in him the involimtary manifestations of a certain surly ferocity. I did not like the expression of his face when

^ Hunters for nightingales are familiar with these terms : they designate the best ^passages" in the nightingale*s song. — ^Author.

he bit the neck of a wounded bird. But Ermolai never remained at home for more than one day; and, away from home, he was again transformed into " Ermolka," as he was called for a hundred versts round about, and as he occasionally called himself.^ The meanest house-serf was conscious of his superiority over this vagabond, — ^and, possibly for that very reason, treated him in a friendly manner; while the peasants first gladly pursued and caught him, like a hare in the field, but afterward released him and b::de him Grodspeed, and having once recognised the fact that he was a queer fish, they did not touch him again, but even gave him bread, and entered into conversation with him This was the man

whom I took with me as a hunter, and with him I set out for '^ stand-shooting " in a large birch grove on the bank of the Ista.

Many Russian rivers have one hilly shore and the other in level plams, Uke the Volga; so has the Ista. This little river winds about in an extremely capricious way, writhing like a snake, never flows straight for a single half -verst, and, in some places, from the crest of a steep hill, about ten versts of it are visible, with dams and ponds, mills, vegetable-plots enclosed with willows, and dense gardens. The Ista aboimds in fish, especially in mullet (the peasants catch

^The diminutive fonn conveys tlie idea of an amiable, good fellow. Erm61ka may also mean the skull-cap. — ^Trakslator.

them, with their hands, in the heat of the day, under the bushes). Small sandpipers fly whistling along the rocky shores, dotted with cold, bright springs ; wild ducks swim out into the centre of the ponds, and gaze cautiously about; herons stand out prominently in the shadow, in

the bays, under the precipices We had

been standing at '' stand-shooting " for about an hour, and had killed a couple of brace of woodcock ; and, being desirous of trjring our luck once more before sunrise (one can also go stand-shooting early in the morning), we decided to pass the night in the nearest mill. We emerged from the grove, and descended the hill. The river was flowing on in dark-blue waves; the air had grown thick, burdened with the nocturnal moisture. We knocked at the gate. The dogs began to bark in the yard. " Who 's there? " — rang out a hoarse, sleepy voice. — " Sportsmen : let us in to pass the night." — There was no answer.—" We wiU pay."—" I '11 go and teU the master. . . Shut up, you damned beasts! • • • . Ekh, I 'd like to murder you 1 " — ^We heard the labourer enter the cottage; he speedily returned to the gate. — " No," he said, " the master does not command me to admit you." — " Why not? " — " Why, he 's afraid: you are hunters; the first thing anybody knows, you '11 be setting the mill afire ; you see, you have that sort of ammunition." — '' What nonsense! " — " Anyhow, oiu* mill was burned down the year before last: some cattledrovers spent the night here, and, you know, probably they set it ablaze." — " But, brother, we can't spend the night out of doors, of course I " — " As you please." .... He went off, clumping with his boots.

Ermolai wished him divers unpleasant things. "Let's go to the village," — ^he ejaculated, at last, with a sigh. But it was two versts to the village. ..." Let 's pass the night here," — said I: — "it is warm out of doors; the miller will send us out some straw, if we pay for it." —Ermolai agreed, without making any difficulties.— ^Again we began to thump on the gate. — " What do you want now? "—rang out the voice of the hired man again : — " I told you, you couldn't." — ^We explained to him what we wanted. He went to consult his master, and came back accompanied by the latter. The wicket screeched. The miUer made his appearance, a man of lofty stature, with a fat face, a bull neck, and a huge, round belly. He assented to my proposal. A hundred paces from the mill there was a tiny shed, open on all sides. Thither they brought us straw and hay; the workman placed the samovdr on the grass beside the stream, and squatting down on his heels, began

zealously to blow into the pipe The coals

flared up brilliantly, illuminating his youthful face. The miUer ran to arouse his wife, and, at last, himself suggested to me that we should spend the night in his cottage; but I preferred to remain in the open air. The miller's wife brought us milk, eggs, potatoes, and bread. The samovar soon began to hiss, and we set to drinking tea. Vapours rose from the river; there was no wind; the corncrakes were calling all around us; faint noises resounded near the mill-wheels: now the drops dripped from the blades, again the water trickled through the bars of the sluice-gate. We built a small bonfire. While ErmoMi was roasting the potatoes in the ashes, I managed to fall into a doze A faint, repressed whispering aroused me. I raised my head: before the fire, on an overturned cask, sat the miller's wife, chatting with my huntsman. I had already, from her garb, her movements, and her mode of speech, divined that she was of the house-serf class — ^not a peasant woman, and not a petty burgheress ; but only now did I scan her face well. Apparently, she was about thirty years of age; her thin, pale face still preserved traces of remarkable beauty; I was particularly pleased by her eyes, which were large and mournful. She had her elbows propped on her knees, and her face rested on her hands. Ermolai was sitting with his back toward me, and feeding the fire with chips.

" There 's murrain in Zheltukhino again," — said the miller's wife : — " both of Father Ivdn's cows are down with it Lord have

mercy I "

" And how are your pigs? " — ^inquired Ermolai, after a pause.

" They 're alive."

" You mighty at least, give me a sucking-pig."

The miller's wife remained silent for a while, then sighed.

" Who 's this you 're with? " — she asked.

" With a gentleman — ^the gentleman from Kostomarovsk."

Ermolai flung several fir-branches on the fire; the branches immediately began to crackle vigorously, the thick, white smoke puffed out straight in his face.

" Why would n't your husband let us into the cottage? "

" He 's afraid."

"What a fat-belly! . • . • My dear little dove, Anna Timofyeevna, do thou fetch me out a little glass of liquor! "

The miller's wife rose, and disappeared into the gloom. Ermolai began to sing in an undertone:

When to my loved one I did go, All my boots I quite wore out."

Arfna returned with a small caraffe and a glass. Ermolai half rose to his feet, crossed himself, and tossed off a glassful at a gulp. " I love it ! " he added.

Again the miller's wife seated herself on the cask.

Well, how goes it, Anna Timofyeevna, — thou art still ailing, I suppose?

Yes, I am."

wen, now goes it, 2\Tin3, I an siui auuig, ± suppose i "

" What 's the matter? "

" My cough torments me at night.^

^' The gentleman has fallen asleep, apparently,"—said Ermolai, after a brief silence.— " Don't go to the doctor, Arina: 'twill be the worse for thee."

" I 'm not going, as it is."

" But do thou come and stay with me."

Arina bowed her head.

" I 'U drive my own wife away, in that case," — ^went on Ermolai. . • " I really will, ma'am."

" You 'd better wake up your master, Ermoldi Petrovitch ; the potatoes are roasted enough, you sec n

Why, let him go on with his nap," — ^remarked my faithful servant, indifferently,—" he h.» n» J leg, off, »> he « deepy."

I turned over on the hay. Ermolai rose, and came over to me. — " The potatoes are ready, sir, please eat."

I emerged from beneath the shed-roof; the miller's wife rose from the cask, and started to go away. I entered into conversation with her.

" Is it long since you took over this mill? " " Our second year began on Trinity-day." * " Where does thy husband come from? " Arina did not imderstand my question. " Whence comes thv husband? " ^ — ^repeated

Ermolai, raising his voi*ce.

" From Byelyoff . He is a burgher of Bye-

ly6ff."

" And art thou also from Byely6ff ? "

" No, I 'm a serf. ... I was a serf."

" Whose? "

" Mr. ZvyerkoflT's. Now I 'm a free woman."

" Of what Zvyerkoff ? "

" Alexander Sflitch."

.

" Wert not thou his wife's maid? " " And how do you know that? — Yes, I was." I gazed at Arina with redoubled curiosity and sympathy.

" I know thy master," — I went on. " Do you? " — she replied, in a low voice, — ^and dropped her eyes.

I must tell the reader why I gazed upon Arina with so much sympathy. During my sojourn in Petersburg, I had accidentally made the acquaintance of Mr. Zvyerkoff.® He occupied a

^ In the Eastern Church this is Whitsunday, or Pentecost. The following day, which is an equally great feast, is ** the Day of the Descent of the Holy Spirit.** But the grand Pentecost celebration is on Trinity.^y. — ^Trakslatoe.

'Hie gentleman says, correctly, **otkuda" (whence); Ermolii says, incorrectly, "otkdeva." — ^Trakslatoh.

' Zvy^rkoflf is derived from Zvyer, a wild beast — TkAXSLAXoi.

rather important post, and bore the reputation of being a clever and active man. He had a wife, plmnp, sensitive, tearful, and ill-tempered, a heavy, commonplace creature; he had also a son, a regular little squire's son of the old-fashioned type, spoiled and stupid. Mr. Zvyerkoff 's personal appearance did not predispose one much in his favour: tiny, mouse-like eyes gazed craftily out of a broad, almost square face, a large, sharp-pointed nose, with flaring nostrils, projected from it ; closely-clipped grey hair reared itself in a brush above a furrowed brow, thin lips twitched and smiled incessantly. Mr. Zvyerkoff generally stood with his legs straddled far apart, and his thick little hands thrust into his pockets. It once fell to my lot to drive out of town in the same carriage with him. We fell into conversation. Being an experienced, energetic man, Mr. Zvyerkoff began to instruct me in the " way of truth."

" Permit me to remark to you," — ^he squeaked, at last : — " all you young men reason and talk about everything at random : you know very little about your own fatherland; Russia is an unknown country to you, gentlemen, — ^that 's what it is 1 ... . You never read anything but German books. Here, for example, you are telling me this, that, and the other, about • . . well, that is to say, about house-serfs. . . . Very good, I don't deny it, that 's all very good ; but you don't know them, you don't know what sort of folks they are." Mr. Zvyerkoff blew his nose loudly, and took a pinch of snuff. " Allow me to relate to you, as an example, one little anecdote: you may find it interesting." (Mr. Zvyerkoff cleared his throat) . '" You know, I suppose, what sort of a wife I have : apparently, it would be difficult to find a kinder woman than she, you must agree to that. Her maids never have any hardships— ^their life is simply paradise visibly realised But my wife has laid it down as

a rule for herself: not to keep married maids. Really, it 's not the thing to do : diildren will arrive,— ^and this, and that,^— well, and how is a maid to look after her mistress then, as she should, and attend to her ways: she no longer cares for that, she 's no longer thinking of that One must reason humanely. So, sir, we were once driving through our village, it must be — ^I want to tell you accurately, not to lie — fifteen years ago. We saw that the Elder had a little girl, a daughter, a very pretty creature; there was even, you know, something obsequious about her manners. My wife says to me : * Kokd,' — ^that is to say, you imderstand, that's what she calls me, — * let 's take this young girl to Petersburg ; she pleases me, Koko.' ... * We '11 take her, with pleasure,' says I. The Elder, of course, fell at our feet ; he could not have expected such luck, you understand Well, of course, the girl wept, out of folly. Now, it really is rather painful, at first: the parental house • • • . in general .... it's not in the least surprising. But she soon got used to us; at first we put her in the maids' room; they taught her, of course. And what do you think? . • • • The girl made astonishing progress; my wife simply took a violent fancy to her, and at last appointed her as her personal maid, over the head of the

other maids observel . . . And I must do

her the justice to say, that my wife had never before had such a maid, — ^positively, never; obliging, modest, obedient — ^simply, everything that is required. On the other hand, I must admit that my wife petted her too much: she dressed her capitally, fed her from our own table,^ gave her tea to drink .... well, and every sort of thing you can imagine! So, after this fashion, she served my wife for ten years. All of a sudden, one fine morning, just fancy, Anna comes in — ^her name was Anna — comes into my study, without being announced, — ^and, flopl she goes at my feet. ... I will tell you frankly, that I cannot endure that sort of thing. A man should never forget his dignity, is n't that so? " — ^ What dost thou want? ' — ' Dear little father, Alexander Silitch, I crave a favour.' — ^ What is it? ' — * Permit me to marry.' — I must confess to you

* Russian servants always osed to hare, and generaUy have -tiD, their own cook and special food, such as cabbage soup* buck beat groats, and sour, blade lye bread. — Tsakslatob.

that I was amazed. — ^ But dost not thou know, fool, that thy mistress has no other maid? ' — * I will serve the mistress as usual.' — * Nonsense! Xonsense! thy mistress does not keep married maids.' — ' Malanya can take my place.' — * I beg

that thou wilt not argue 1 ' — * As you will.'

I must admit, that I was diunfounded. I tell you this is the sort of man I am: nothing so offends me, I venture to assert, so violently offends me, as ingratitude For there is no

need of my telling you — ^you know what sort of a wife I have : an angel in the flesh, kindness inexpressible. ...... It seems as though even a

malefactor would have pity on her. I ordered Arina out of the room. Perhaps she '11 recover her senses, I thought; one doesn't wish, you know, to beUeve evil, black ingratitude in a person. But what do you think? Six months later, she is good enough to apply to me again, with the same request. Then I drove her away in wrath, I admit it, and threatened her, promised to tell

my wife. I was upset But conceive my

surprise: a little while later, my wife comes to me, in tears, so agitated that I was fairly frightened.— * What has happened ? ' — * Arina

You imderstand. ... I am ashamed to speak out.' — * It cannot be! ... . who is it?' — * Petrushka, the footman.' I flew into a rage. Thi^ 's the kind of man I am ... • don't like half -measures ! Petrushka .... is not to blame. We can punish him ; but, in my opinion, he is not to blame. Arina . • • • well, what is there .... well, well, what more is there to be said? ' Of course, I immediately gave orders to have her hair cut off short, to clothe her in striped ticking, and to exile her to the country. My wife was deprived of an excellent maid, but there was no help for it : one cannot tolerate disorder in the household. It is better to amputate an ailing

member at one blow Well, well, and now,

judge for yourself, — ^well, now, you know what my wife is, you see, you see, she 's,she 's,she 's . • . . an angel, in short! .... She had got attached to Arfna, you see, — ^and Anna knew it, and was

not ashamed Hey? No, tell me • . •

hey? But what 's the use of discussing it I In any case, there was nothing else to be done. And that girl's ingratitude pained me, me myself, for a

longtime. Say what you will you need

not look for heart, for feeling in those creatures ! You may feed a wolf as you will, he always has

his eye on the forest Forward march,

science I But I merely wished to prove to you "

And, without finishing his sentence, Mr. Zvy^rkoff turned away his head, and wrapped himself more closely in his cloak, manfully stifling his involuntary emotion.

The reader now understands, probably, why I gazed at Arina with sympathy.

" Hast thou been married long to the miller? " — I asked her, at last.

" Two years."

" But is it possible that thy master permitted it?"

" My freedom was purchased."

" By whom? "

" Savely Alexyeevitch."

" Who is he? "

" My husband." (Ermolai smiled to himself.) " But did my master talk to you about me? " — added Anna*, after a brief silence.

I did not know what reply to make to her question. "Arfnal" shouted the miller from afar. She rose and went away.

" Is her husband a good man? " — ^I asked ErmoMi.

" So-so."

" And have they any children? "

" They had one, but it died."

" How did it come about — did the miller take a liking to her? Did he pay a large ransom for her? "