‘He was telling me how one of the huntsmen set the dogs on him, on purpose, so he says, “Wanted them to bite him to death but God would not allow it,” and he asks you not to punish the man for it.’

‘Oh, so that’s it!’ said papa. ‘How does he know I intended to punish the man? You know I’m not over-fond of fellows like this,’ he continued in French, ‘but this one I particularly dislike, and no doubt…’

‘Oh, don’t say that, my dear,’ mamma interrupted, as if she were frightened at something. ‘What do you know about them?’

‘I should think I have had opportunity and to spare to study the species – enough of them come to you, and they are all after the same pattern. It’s everlastingly the same story…’

I could see that mamma held an entirely different opinion but did not want to argue the point.

‘Pass me a patty, please,’ she said. ‘Are they good today?’

‘No, it makes me angry,’ went on papa, picking up a patty but holding it at such a distance that mamma could not reach it. ‘No, it makes me angry when I see sensible, educated people letting themselves be deceived!’

And he struck the table with his fork.

‘I asked you to give me a patty,’ she repeated, holding out her hand.

‘The police are quite right,’ continued papa, drawing his hand back, ‘to put such people under arrest. All they are good for is to upset certain individuals whose nerves are not strong as it is,’ he added with a smile, seeing that mamma did not like the conversation at all, and he handed her the patty.

‘I have only one remark to make to you on the subject: it is difficult to believe that a man who in spite of his sixty years goes barefoot winter and summer and under his clothes wears chains weighing over seventy pounds, which he never takes off, and who has more than once declined a comfortable life with everything found – it is difficult to believe that such a man does all this out of laziness.

‘As to their predictions,’ she added with a sigh, after a few moments’ silence, ‘je suis payée pour y croire:1 I think I have told you how Kiryushka prophesied my father’s death to him to the very day and hour.’

‘Oh, what have you gone and done to me!’ said papa, smiling and putting his hand up to his mouth on the side where Mimi was sitting. (When he did this I always listened with all my ears, expecting something funny.) ‘Why did you remind me of his feet? I looked at them and now I shan’t be able to eat a thing.’

Dinner was nearly over. Lyuba and Katya kept winking at us, fidgeting in their chairs and generally evincing extreme restlessness. The winking signified, ‘Why don’t you ask them to take us out hunting?’ I nudged Volodya with my elbow. Volodya nudged me and finally, summoning up his courage, explained, first in a timid voice, then firmly and loudly, that as we were going away that day we should like the girls to come to the hunt with us, in the wagonette. After a short consultation among the grown-ups the question was decided in our favour and, what was better still, mamma said that she would accompany us herself.

6 • PREPARATIONS FOR THE HUNT

During dessert Yakov was sent for and orders were given about the carriage, the dogs and the saddle-horses – all in great detail, each horse being mentioned by name. Volodya’s horse was lame; papa said one of the hunters was to be saddled for him. The word ‘hunter’ sounded strange in mamma’s ears: she imagined that a hunter must be some sort of ferocious beast that would certainly bolt and kill Volodya. Despite the assurances of papa and Volodya, who declared with wonderful bravado that it was nothing, and that he liked a horse to run away, poor mamma continued to protest that she would be in torment the whole outing.

After dinner the grown-ups went to the study to drink coffee, while we scampered out into the garden to scrape our feet along the paths, which were covered with fallen yellow leaves, and to talk. We began about Volodya riding a hunter, and said what a shame it was that Lyuba did not run as fast as Katya, and what fun it would be if we could see Grisha’s chains, and so forth; but we said nothing about our having to part. Our conversation was interrupted by the clatter of the approaching carriage, with a serf-boy perched on each of the springs. Behind the trap rode the hunt-servants with the dogs, and behind them the coachman, Ignat, on the horse intended for Volodya, and leading my ancient Kleper by the bridle. We rushed to the fence where we could see all these interesting things, and then, shrieking and stamping, we flew upstairs to dress, and to dress so as to look as much like huntsmen as possible. One of the best ways to do this was to tuck one’s trousers inside one’s boots. We set to work without losing a moment, making haste to complete the operation and run out on to the steps, there to feast our eyes on the hounds and the horses and to have a chat with the hunt-servants.

The day was hot. White, fantastic clouds had been hovering all the morning on the horizon; then a light breeze drove them closer and closer together until at times they obscured the sun. But it was evident that for all their menacing blackness they were not destined to gather into a storm and spoil our last day’s pleasure. Towards evening they began to disperse again: some grew paler, lengthened out and fled to the horizon; others, just overhead, changed into transparent white scales; only one large black cloud lingered in the east. Karl Ivanych always knew where any cloud would go: he declared that this cloud would go to Maslovka, that there would be no rain, and that the weather would be lovely.

Foka, in spite of his advanced years, ran down the steps most nimbly and quickly, and called out: ‘Drive up!’ and, planting his feet far apart, took his stand in the middle of the entrance between the lowest step and the place where the coachman was to halt, his posture that of a man who had no need to be reminded of his duties. The ladies came out and after a brief discussion as to who should sit on which side, and who should hold on to whom (though I didn’t think there was any need to hold on), they took their seats, opened their parasols and drove off. As the wagonette moved off mamma pointed to the hunter and asked the coachman with a voice that trembled:

‘Is that the horse for Vladimir Petrovich?’1

When the coachman said it was she waved her hand and turned away. I was frantic with impatience: I clambered on to my horse’s back (I was just tall enough to see out between his ears) and proceeded to perform various evolutions in the courtyard.

‘Mind you don’t ride over the hounds, sir,’ said one of the huntsmen.

‘Never fear, I am not out for the first time,’ I replied haughtily.

Volodya mounted the ‘hunter’, not without some quaking in spite of his unflinching character, and asked several times as he patted the animal:

‘Is he gentle?’

He looked very well on horseback – like a grown-up man. His thighs in their tight trousers sat so well on the saddle that I felt envious – especially as, so far as I could judge by my shadow, I was far from presenting so fine an appearance.

And now we heard papa’s footsteps on the stairs; the kennel-man rounded up the hounds; the huntsmen with the borzoi dogs called them in and mounted their horses. The groom led a horse up to the steps; papa’s leash of dogs who had been lying about in various picturesque attitudes rushed to him.