Sketches From a Hunter's Album Page 3

  While out hunting in the Zhizdra region I became acquainted with a small Kaluga landowner, Polutykin, also a passionate hunter and, consequently, an excellent fellow. Admittedly, he had acquired one or two weaknesses: for instance, he paid court to all the rich young ladies of marriageable age in the province and, being refused both their hands and admission to their homes, confessed his grief heartbrokenly to all his friends and acquaintances while continuing to send the young ladies’ parents gifts of sour peaches and other raw produce from his garden; he was fond of repeating one and the same anecdote which, despite Polutykin’s high opinion of its merits, simply failed to make anyone laugh; he was full of praise for the works of Akim Nakhimov3 and the story Pinna;4 he had a stammer; he called his dog Astronomer; instead of however he used to say howsoever, and he introduced in his own house a French cuisine, the secret of which, according to his cook’s ideas, consisted in completely altering the natural taste of each dish: in the hands of this culinary master meat turned out to be fish, fish became mushrooms, and macaroni ended up dry as powder; moreover, no carrot would be permitted in a soup that had not first assumed a rhomboidal or trapezoidal shape. But apart from these minor and insignificant failings Polutykin was, as I’ve said, an excellent fellow.

  On the day of our meeting Polutykin invited me to spend the night with him.

  ‘It’ll be about five miles to my place,’ he added, ‘a long way on foot, so let’s drop in on Khor first of all.’ (The reader will permit me to overlook his stammer.)

  ‘And who is this Khor?’

  ‘One of my peasants. He lives not far from here.’

  We set off for his place. Khor’s isolated settlement stood amid woodland in a clearing that had been given over to cultivation. It consisted of several frame dwellings of fir linked by fences. An overhanging roof, supported by thin pillars, ran along the front of the main hut. We entered and were met by a tall, handsome young man of about twenty.

  ‘Hello, Fedya! Is Khor at home?’ Polutykin asked him.

  ‘No, Khor’s gone off to the town,’ the young man answered, smiling and displaying a row of snow-white teeth. ‘Would you like the cart got ready?’

  ‘Yes, my good fellow, harness the cart. And bring us some kvas.’5

  We entered the hut. No cheap pictures, such as are made in Suzdal, were stuck on the clean, beamed walls; in one corner, before a heavy icon in its silver frame, a small lamp was kept burning; the table, constructed of lime-wood, had recently been scrubbed and wiped clean; and among the beams and the window-frames there were neither scurrying cockroaches nor lurking, contemplative beetles. The young man soon appeared with a large white jug full of good-tasting kvas, a large portion of good wheat loaf and a dozen salted cucumbers in a wooden bowl. He placed these refreshments on the table, leaned against the door and proceeded to watch us smilingly as we ate. We had barely finished when the cart drove up to the porch. We went out to find a curly-haired, red-cheeked boy of about fifteen sitting in the driver’s seat and restraining with difficulty a frisky, piebald stallion. Around the cart there stood six or so young giants, all very similar to each other and to Fedya.

  ‘They’re all Khor’s boys,’ Polutykin remarked.

  ‘We’re the Khor lads,’ echoed Fedya, who had followed us out on to the porch, ‘and there aren’t all of us here – Potap’s in the forest and Sidor’s gone to the town with the old man. Now watch out, Vasya,’ he continued, turning to the young driver, ‘remember you’re driving the master! See you go quietly over the bumps or you’ll smash the carriage and upset the master’s stomach!’

  The remaining Khor brothers grinned broadly at Fedya’s witticism.

  ‘Let Astronomer be seated!’ exclaimed Polutykin pompously.

  Fedya, not without a show of pleasure, lifted the uneasily smiling dog into the air and deposited it on the floor of the cart. Vasya gave rein to the horses and we set off.

  ‘And that’s my office,’ Polutykin said suddenly, pointing to a tiny, low-walled house. ‘Would you like to see inside?’

  ‘Certainly.’

  ‘It’s not used now,’ he said, climbing down, ‘but it’s still worth looking at.’

  The office consisted of two empty rooms. The caretaker, a bent old man, ran in from the yard at the back.

  ‘Good day, Minyaich,’ said Polutykin, ‘and have you any of that water?’

  The ancient caretaker made off and at once returned with a bottle and two glasses.

  ‘You try it,’ Polutykin said to me. ‘It’s some of my good spring water.’

  We each drank a glassful, while the old man regaled us with low bows to the waist.

  ‘Well, it’s time now, it seems, for us to be off,’ my new friend remarked. ‘In this office I got a good price from the merchant Alliluyev for ten acres of woodland I once sold him.’

  We took our seats again in the carriage and in half an hour were entering the forecourt of Polutykin’s mansion.

  ‘Tell me, please,’ I asked him at dinner, ‘why is it that Khor lives apart from your other peasants?’

  ‘He lives apart because he’s one of my clever ones. About fifteen years ago his hut burned down and he came to my late father and said: “If you please, Nikolay Kuzmich, allow me to settle on some of the marshland in your forest. I’ll pay you a good rent for it.” “And what do you want to settle in a marsh for?” “That’s my business, sir; all I ask, Nikolay Kuzmich, sir, is that you don’t use me for any kind of work, but name whatever rent you think is right.” “Fifty roubles a year!” “Thank you, sir.” “No falling down on the rent payments, mind you!” “Of course, sir, no falling down…” And so he settled in the marshland. And from that time he’s become known as Khor the Polecat.’

  ‘I suppose he’s got rich?’ I asked.

  ‘He’s got rich. He now pays me a hundred silver roubles a year in rent, and I’ll probably raise that a bit before long. Many times I’ve said to him: “Buy yourself off, Khor, buy your freedom!” But he, wily polecat that he is, always assures me he’s got nothing to do it with, no money, nothing. He’s a sly one!’

  On the next day, directly after morning tea, we set off on a hunting expedition. On our way through the village Polutykin ordered the driver to stop at a squat little hut and called out loudly:

  ‘Kalinych!’

  ‘At once, sir, at once!’ a voice cried from the yard. ‘I’m just doing up my shoe.’

  We went on at a walking pace and just beyond the village we were caught up by a man of about forty, of tall, thin build, with a small head bent well back on his shoulders. This was Kalinych. At the very first glance I took a liking to his warm-hearted, ruddy and slightly pock-marked face. Kalinych (as I learned subsequently) was accustomed to go out on a daily hunting trip with his master, would carry his bag, sometimes also his gun, note where a bird had fallen, act as water-carrier, gather wild strawberries, build shelters and run behind the buggy; indeed, without him Polutykin was helpless. Kalinych was a man of the happiest and most amenable disposition. He hummed endless tunes to himself, glancing around him on all sides in a carefree way and talking slightly through his nose, smiling, screwing up his light-blue eyes and giving frequent tugs at his scanty, wedge-shaped beard. He had a habit of walking slowly but with long strides, leaning a little on a long, thin stick. In the course of the day he more than once chatted with me and showed no servility towards me, but he looked after his master like a child. When the intolerable midday heat forced us to seek shelter, he led us into the depths of the wood to the place where he kept bees. Here he invited us into his little hut, adorned with tufts of dry, sweet-scented herbs, prepared fresh hay for us to He on and then placed a kind of net sacking over his head, picked up a knife, a pot and a lighted brand and went out to his bees to cut out a honeycomb for us. We drank down the warm transparent mead like spring water and fell asleep to the monotone humming of the bees and the leaves’ talkative rustling.

  I was awakened by a gentle gust of breeze. I opened my eyes and
saw Kalinych. He was sitting in the half-open doorway whittling a spoon. For a long while I looked admiringly at his patient face, as unclouded as an evening sky. Polutykin also awoke, but we did not get up at once. After a long walk and a deep sleep it is very enjoyable to lie quietly in the hay while one’s body relaxes and dreams, one’s face burns with a slight flush and a sweet drowsiness presses on the eyes. Finally we arose and again set off on our wanderings until evening.

  Over supper I again turned the conversation to Khor and Kalinych.

  ‘Kalinych is a good man,’ Polutykin told me, ‘diligent, obliging, a good peasant. Howsoever, he can’t keep his holding in proper order because I’m always taking him off with me. He goes hunting with me every day. You can judge for yourself what happens to his holding.’

  I agreed with him, and we went to bed.

  Next day Polutykin had to go into town on business connected with his neighbour, Pichukov. Pichukov had ploughed up some of Polutykin’s land and on this ploughed land he had also administered a beating to one of Polutykin’s female serfs. I went out hunting alone and just before evening turned into Khor’s place. On the threshold of his hut I was met by an old man – bald, small in stature, thick-set and broad-shouldered; it was Khor himself. The sight of this polecat aroused in me considerable curiosity. The cast of his features reminded me of Socrates: the same high, protuberant forehead, the same small eyes, the same snub nose. Together we entered the hut. Once again Fedya brought me some milk and brown bread. Khor sat down on a bench and, stroking his curly beard with the utmost calmness, proceeded to converse with me. He was evidently a man aware of his standing in the world, for his speech and his movements were of a measured slowness and he gave occasional chuckles through his long whiskers.

  We touched on such subjects as the sowing, the harvesting and the life of the peasantry. He seemed to be in agreement with me on most things, but after a while I began to have apprehensions of my own, feeling that I wasn’t saying the right thing, since everything I said began to sound so strange. Khor sometimes expressed himself in a rather puzzling fashion out of caution, I assumed. Here is an example of our conversation:

  ‘Listen, Khor,’ I was saying to him, ‘why don’t you buy yourself off from your master?’

  ‘But why should I? Now I know my master and I know the rent I must pay. Our master’s a good man.’

  ‘But surely it’s better to be free,’ I remarked.

  Khor gave me a sideways glance.

  ‘That’s for sure,’ he muttered.

  ‘Then why not buy yourself off?’

  Khor gave a little turn of the head.

  ‘What, sir, am I to use to buy myself off with?’

  ‘Surely, old man, you’ve got…’

  ‘If Khor was among free people,’ he continued in a low mutter, as though speaking to himself, ‘then everyone without a beard would be a bigger fish than Khor.’

  ‘Then cut off your beard.’

  ‘What’s a beard good for? It’s just like grass, you can cut it if you want to.’

  ‘Well, then?’

  ‘It’s like this – Khor’ll straightaway find himself among merchants. They live a good life, that’s for sure, and they wear beards.’

  ‘Don’t you also do some trading?’ I asked him.

  ‘We do a wee bit o’ trading, a bit of oil here, some tar there… What about it, sir, can I order them to harness up the cart?’

  You’re one who knows his own mind and keeps a strong rein on his tongue, I said to myself. ‘No,’ I said out loud. ‘I don’t need the cart. I’ll be going hunting in this region tomorrow and, if you’ll allow me, I’d like to spend the night in your barn.’

  ‘With pleasure, sir. Are you sure you’ll be all right in the barn? I’ll get the women to lay down a sheet for you and a pillow. Hey, women, come along!’ he shouted, getting up. ‘And you, Fedya, you go along with them. Women are a stupid lot by themselves.’

  A quarter of an hour later Fedya showed me the way to the barn with his lantern. I flung myself down into the fragrant hay and my dog curled up at my feet. Fedya wished me good night; the door creaked and banged to behind him. I was unable to go to sleep for a long time. A cow came up to the door and breathed loudly once or twice; the dog gave it a dignified growl; a pig strolled by, grunting in its preoccupied way; a horse somewhere close by began to chew the hay and snort… Finally I fell asleep.

  Fedya awoke me at first light. I had grown to like this gay, lively young fellow very much, and so far as I could tell he was also Khor’s favourite. They made very good-natured fun of each other. The old man came out to meet me. Whether it was because I had spent the night under his roof, or for some other reason, he treated me now in a much more kindly fashion than on the previous day.

  ‘The samovar’s ready for you,’ he said with a smile. ‘Let’s go and have some tea.’

  We took our places round the table. A buxom girl, one of his daughters-in-law, brought in a bowl of milk. One by one his sons came into the hut.

  ‘What a fine, grown-up crowd you have!’ I remarked to the old man.

  ‘Yes,’ he murmured, biting off a tiny piece of sugar, ‘it doesn’t seem like they’ve got much complaint to make against me and the old woman.’

  ‘And do they all live with you?’

  ‘They do. That’s how they want it.’

  ‘And they’re all married?’

  ‘There’s one of ’em not married yet,’ he answered, indicating Fedya who was as usual leaning against the door. ‘Vaska’s young yet, and he can wait a bit.’

  ‘What do I want with marriage?’ Fedya protested. ‘I’m all right as I am. What good’s a wife? To have howling matches with, eh?’

  ‘There you go again… I know what you’re up to! You’ve got those silver rings on your fingers and you’re all the time sniffing round the girls out in the yard. “Give over, you ought to be ashamed!”’ the old man continued, mimicking the servant girls. ‘I know your sort, you’ll never do a hand’s turn you won’t!’

  ‘What good is there in a woman, I ask you?’

  ‘A woman is a worker about the house,’ Khor remarked importantly. ‘A woman looks after a man.’

  ‘And why do I need a worker about the house?’

  ‘You’re one for having other people pull the chestnuts out of the fire, that’s why. I know your sort.’

  ‘If that’s so, then marry me off, eh? Come on now, say something!’

  ‘Enough now, enough! You’re a joker, you are. Just look how we’re upsetting our guest. I’ll marry you off, never you worry… Now, sir, please don’t be annoyed: as you can see, he’s just a child and he hasn’t had time to pick up a lot of sense yet.’

  Fedya just shook his head.

  ‘Is Khor at home?’ a familiar voice called from beyond the door, and Kalinych entered the hut carrying a bunch of wild strawberries which he had collected for his friend, Khor the polecat. The old man greeted him warmly. I looked at Kalinych in astonishment because I confess I had not expected such ‘niceties’ from a peasant.

  That day I went out hunting four hours later than usual, and I spent the next three days at Khor’s place. I became preoccupied with my new acquaintances. I don’t know how I had won their confidence, but they talked to me without any constraint. It was with pleasure that I listened to them and watched them. The two friends were not a bit like each other. Khor was an emphatic sort of man, practical, an administrator, hard-headed; Kalinych, on the other hand, belonged in the company of idealists, romantics, men of lofty enthusiasms and lofty dreams. Khor understood the realities of life – that is to say, he had built a home for himself, saved up some money, arranged things satisfactorily with his master and other responsible authorities; whereas Kalinych walked about in bast sandals and got by somehow or other. Khor had raised a large, obedient and united family; whereas Kalinych had at one time had a wife, of whom he was terrified, and no children. Khor could see through my friend Poluty-kin; whereas Kalinych simply wors
hipped his master. Khor loved Kalinych and would always give him protection; Kalinych loved and respected Khor. Khor spoke little, gave only occasional chuckles and kept his thoughts to himself; whereas Kalinych would express himself heatedly, although he never sang like a nightingale as the lively factory man is liable to… But he possessed certain innate talents which Khor himself was willing to recognize; he could charm away bleeding, terror and rages, and he could cure worms; bees obeyed him because of his light touch. While I was there Khor asked him to lead a newly purchased horse into the stables, and Kalinych fulfilled the old sceptic’s request conscientiously and with pride. Kalinych was closer to nature, whereas Khor was closer to people and society; Kalinych never liked thinking things out for himself and believed everything blindly, whereas Khor had reached a high pitch of irony in his attitude to life. He had seen much, knew much, and I learned a lot from him.