hunter notes

Chapter 33
But the smoke from the tobacco started to blind me.After hearing Khlobakov's cry and the prince's laugh, I went back to my room.There, on a narrow, worn-out bristle-cushioned couch with a high, curved back, my waiter had made me a bed.

The next day I went from door to door to see horses, starting with the famous dealer Sitnikov.I went through the wicket into a sandy yard.The stable door was open, and before it stood the proprietor himself, a tall, stout man of slightly older age, in a rabbit-skin coat with a high lapel.When he saw me, he came slowly to meet me, held his hat up with both hands for a moment, and said in a low voice:
"Ah, hello. Are you here to see the horse?" "Yes, let me see the horse." "What kind of horse do you want?" "Show me what you have."

"Okay, okay." We went into the stable.A few pugs lying on the hay stood up, wagging their tails, and ran towards us; an old bearded goat walked away reluctantly; three grooms in dirty leather jackets silently bow to us.On the right and left, in the stalls a little above the ground, there are about 30 healthy and clean horses.There were pigeons flying around on the crossbar, cooing.

"What do you buy horses for? Passengers or studs?" Sitnikov asked me.

"To be used as a ride, and as a stallion." "I know, I know, I know," said the horse dealer, "Petya, bring the ermine out to show this gentleman. "We went out into the yard. "Do you want me to move you a stool to sit on?... No?... Then please go ahead."

The horse screeched on the boards, the whip cracked, and Petya, a pockmarked, dark-faced man of about forty, jumped out of the stable with a healthy, clean gray mare. He came out, let him stand up on his hind feet, took him to run around the yard twice, and then nimbly reined him in and stopped him at a place for people to watch horses.The ermine straightened up, panted hissingly, raised its tail, turned its head, and glanced at us.

"This guy has trained so well!" I thought to myself. "Let it go, let it go," said Sitnikov, looking at me without blinking. "What do you think?" he asked me at last. "The horse is not bad, but the front legs are not very strong." "The legs are solid!" replied Sitnikov with great certainty, "and the buttocks... you see... as wide as a bed, You can even sleep on it."

"The hooves are a bit long." "Where are they? No way! Let him run, Petya, let him run, trot, trot, trot...don't let him jump." Petya took the ermine again. Run around the yard.Neither of us spoke. "Okay, take her back," said Sitnikov, "and bring us the eagle." The eagle was a Dutch stallion as black as a beetle, with drooping hips and a lean body. It does look better than an ermine.It belongs to the kind of horse that the hunters call "rolling, chopping, and captivating". It can also be said that when walking, the front feet kick to the left and right, and rarely move forward.Middle-aged merchants are fond of these horses, because they run like the imposing gait of a smart waiter.When you go out for a stroll after dinner, it is perfect to ask this kind of horse to pull the cart alone.They walked grandly, with stooped necks, and eagerly pulled crude buggies carrying coachmen immobilized with fullness, rich merchants suffering from heartburn, and lavender and Fat businessman wife in turban.I don't even care about this eagle.Sitnikov pulled a few more horses to show me... Finally, a gray and spotty Voyekov stallion made my eyes shine.I couldn't help but patted its neck happily.Sitnikov immediately pretended to be calm.

"So, does it pull well?" I asked. (When you talk about a horse that can run a long way, you don't usually talk about how well it runs.) "It pulls well." The horse dealer replied unhurriedly. "Can you try it?..." "Of course, hey, Kuzya, harness this horse." The horse trainer Kuzya is an expert in this field. He drove the horse in front of us on the street. I ran back and forth two or three times.The horse ran with ease, with a firm gait, no swaying of the hips, free movement of the feet, an upturned tail, and a steady walk.

"How do you sell this horse?" Sitnikov set a high price.We were haggling on the street, when suddenly a stagecoach, drawn by three horses coordinated with each other, galloped from the corner of the street and stopped proudly at the gate of Sitnikov's house.In this stately hunting carriage sat the prince, and Khlobakov sat beside him.Let Cragg drive...so majestic!As if you could drive a car through your earrings, dude!The two maroon side horses are petite and cute, with black eyes and black legs, they are full of energy, and they move so vigorously and nimbly.As long as there is a whistling sound, it will run away!The dark brown shaft horse held its head high like a swan, stood on its legs as firmly as Mount Tai, shook its head constantly, squinted its eyes proudly...it's so good!Tsar Ivan Vasilyevich traveled in such a luxurious and beautiful carriage on Easter! "Your Excellency! Welcome!" Sitnikov shouted happily.The prince jumped out of the carriage, and with some difficulty Khlobakov climbed out from the other side.

"How do you do, brother... do you have a horse?" "Your Excellency, of course! Come in... Petya, bring out the peacock! Then bring out the admiration. Your business, sir," he continued with me. , "We'll decide later... Formka, bring a stool to your lord."

From a special stable which I had not noticed before, Petya led the peacock.The tall, crimson horse had all four feet in the air.Sitnikov actually turned his head and narrowed his eyes.

"Woo, Lela Callion!" cried Khlobakov joyfully. "Remsa (I love this)."

The Duke smiled.It was not an easy task to hold the peacock. Instead, it dragged the groom around the yard and finally pushed it against the wall.It gasped, trembled, and cowered, but Sitnikov was not reconciled, and threatened it with a whip.

"What are you looking at? I'll take you! Woo!" said the horse dealer with friendly threats, admiring his horse with great pride.

"How?" asked the Duke.

"Adults want to buy, press 5000." "3000."

"How can that be done, my lord, please forgive me..." "That's all, 3000, Lela Kalioon," Khlobakov went on.

I left without waiting for the deal to close.Turning the corner at the end of the street, I saw a small gray house with a large sheet of paper pasted on the door.A horse was drawn with a pen on the paper, its tail was like a chimney, and its neck was long and thin, under the horse's hoof, it was written in ancient characters:
Horses of various coats are sold here, and the horses here are transported to the Lebesky market from the famous steppe stud farm of the Tangbov landowner Anastasey Ivanich Chernobay.This kind of horse has a beautiful body, well-trained and perfect, and a gentle temperament.Dear buyers, please contact directly with Anastasey Ivanych himself.In the absence of Anastasey Ivanitch, it is also possible to contact the driver Nassar Kubshkin.Dear buyers, please patronize the elderly!

I stopped.Let me see, I thought, the horses of Mr. Chernobyl's excellent stud farm.

I tried to go in through the wicket, but the wicket was strangely closed.I will knock on the door.

"Who? . . . the buyer?" a woman shrieked. "buyer."

"In a moment, sir, here we come."

The door opened, and I saw a woman in her fifties, without a hat, wearing boots and an unbuttoned leather jacket.

"Guest, please come in, I'll call Anastasy Ivanitch at once... Nassar, hello, Nassar!"

"What's the matter?" The voice of a 70-year-old man came faintly from the stable.

"Get the horse ready, the buyer is coming." The old woman ran into the house.

"Buyer, buyer," Nassar replied dissatisfied, "I'm washing their tails, and I haven't finished washing them yet."

"Oh, what a beautiful place!" I thought. "Hello, sir, welcome." A nice neutral voice slowly came from behind me.I looked back: standing in front of me was an old man who was neither fat nor thin, wearing a long blue coat, with gray hair, a pair of light blue eyes, and an amiable smile on his face.

"Would you like a horse? Yes, sir, yes . . . Why don't you come to me and have a cup of tea first?"

I declined. "Okay, then please go ahead, sir, please don't mind, I follow the old fashion. (Mr. Ernobai speaks in a calm manner, and pronounces all o in the sound of ó.) So, everything here is very good. Simple... Nassar, hello, Nassar." He didn't yell loudly, but just dragged his voice out.

Nassar, a wrinkled little old man with a hooked nose and a sharp beard, appeared at the stable door.

"Sir, what kind of horse do you want?" Mr. Chernobai then asked. "Cheaper ones, for covered carriages."

"Yes... yes, yes... Nassar, Nassar, show me the gray gelding, you know, the one on the outside, and the date with the white spot on the forehead The red horse, or another maroon horse, the one that Mei gave birth to, do you know which one it is?"

Nassar went to the stables to lead the horses. "Just pull them out by the bridle like this," Mr. Chernobyl called after him. "Here I am, sir," he went on, looking into my face with clear and kind eyes, "not like those horse dealers--they are abominable! They use all kinds of ginger, and salt, wine grains, These are really hell!... But here, everything you can find is true, and there is no fraud."

The horse was brought out.None of them satisfied me. "Well, take them home," said Anastasey Ivanitch, "and show us the others." The other horses were brought out.In the end I settled on one with a lower price.We started haggling.Mr. Ernobai is not impatient, speaks very cautiously, and solemnly calls God to be a witness, which makes it impossible for me not to "patronize the elderly".I paid the deposit.

"Well, then," said Anastasy Ivanitch, "let me, according to the traditional custom, put the horse in your skirt with the bridle wrapped around it... because the horse , you will thank me... what a young horse it is! how strong it is... never used... from the steppes! it will do with any harness."

He made the sign of the sign of the cross, put the hem of his coat over his hand, took the reins, and handed me the horse.

"The horse is yours now... Would you like a cup of tea?"

"No, thank you, I should go."

"Will you please . . . tell my coachman to take the horse with you now?"

"Hey, if it's convenient, send it now."

"Yes, dear, yes... Vasili, come, Vasili, go with Monsieur. Send the horses and collect the money. Well, good-bye, sir, and good luck."

"Good-bye, Anastasey Ivanitch." The horse was brought to my house.The next day it was discovered that it was a lame horse with emphysema.I tried to harness it to the car, but it backed up.Beat it with a whip, and it loses its temper, kicks it, and lies down on the ground.I will go to Mr. Chernobhi at once.I asked:
"at home?"

"At home." "What are you doing," I said, "you sold me a horse with emphysema."

"With emphysema?...No way!"

"Still lame, and very stubborn."

"Lame? No, your coachman must have accidentally hurt it... I swear to God..."

"Actually, I think, Anastasey Ivanitch, that you should take the horse back."

"No, sir, I'm sorry. Once the horse is out of the yard, it can't be taken back. You should have seen it clearly beforehand." I suddenly realized that I had to obey my fate, and walked away with a smile.Fortunately, I didn't pay too much for this lesson.After two or three days, I left.A week later, I passed Lepeki on my way home again.I met almost the same people in the coffee-room, and saw the duke playing billiards again.But Mr Khlobakov's fortunes have changed dramatically.A flaxen-haired junior officer took his place, and he was the Duke's favourite.The poor retired lieutenant tried his witticism again in front of me—thinking it might be as flattering as ever—but instead of laughing, the Duke frowned and shrugged his shoulders.Mr. Khlobakov hung his head, cowered, crept into a corner of the room, and silently began to fill his pipe. . . .

(End of this chapter)