hunter notes

Chapter 50 Chertopkhanov and Nedobyskin (1)
One hot afternoon in summer, I came back from hunting in a carriage, and Ermolai dozed off next to me.The sleeping dogs lay at our feet as if they were dead, wandering around with the car.The coachman frequently drove the gadflies off the horses with his whip.The white earth smoke flew behind the car like a light cloud.We drove into the forest.The road conditions were poor, and the wheels often hit bushes.Yermolay shook himself up and looked around... "Hey!" he said, "there may be grouse here. Let's get out of the car." We stopped the car and walked to the messy place.My dog ​​freaked out a nest of birds.I fired a gun and was about to reload it when suddenly there was a loud rustling sound from the side, and a man on horseback pushed aside the branches and came towards me. "Excuse me," he said in a disrespectful voice, "how can you hunt here, sir?" The stranger spoke very quickly, intermittently, and with an accent.I looked at him, I hadn't seen anyone like this before.Imagine, dear reader, a small man with fair hair, a rosacea, and an extremely long fiery red mustache.A pointed Persian hat with a dark red cloth top was worn on the top of the head, and the brim of the hat reached to the eyebrows.He wore a worn yellow jacket with a black cotton velvet ammunition pouch on his shoulders, and here and there bands of faded silver;A thin, protruding sorrel horse galloped desperately under him; two lean, crooked bolzayas sauntered beside the horse's hooves.The face, look, voice, and every movement of the horseman expressed a bold bravery and an arrogance never seen before; his pale blue, melancholy eyes rolled around like a drunk; Looking at the sky, puffing out his cheeks, snoring in his nose, trembling all over his body, as if he was too powerful-like a cockroach.he asked again.

"I didn't know hunting was forbidden here," I replied. "Sir," he went on, "you are on my estate." "Well, I'll go at once." "Excuse me," he said, "are you a nobleman?" I gave my name. "Oh, please go hunting. I am a nobleman myself, and I am happy to serve you... My name is Ponteley Chertopkhanov." He bowed, cried, and twitched the horse's neck. a whip.The horse shook its head, kicked off its hind legs, and dashed aside, stepping on a dog's foot.The dog howled shrilly, and Tsartopkhanov, annoyed, muttered, struck the horse on the head between the ears with his hand, jumped down to the ground, and looked at the dog. spit on the wound, kicked the dog in the stomach to order it not to bark, then grabbed the horse's mane and put one foot in the stirrup.The horse raised its head, raised its tail, and rushed sideways into the jungle.He followed it hopping on one foot, finally got on the saddle, waved his whip and blew the horn, and galloped away.I was curious about the sudden appearance of Qiertophanov. Before I could react, suddenly a burly man about 40 years old rode a small black horse and walked out of the forest without any movement. .He stood still, took off his green fur cap from his head, and asked me in a soft voice: Did you see a man riding a sorrel horse?I answered him yes.

"Which way is this gentleman going?" he continued in the same voice, without putting on his hat.

"This way." "Thank you."

He clicked his lips, kicked the horse's belly with both feet, and walked towards the direction I indicated with small steps.I watched him until his horned hat disappeared behind the branches.The new stranger looked nothing like the man before him in appearance.His face was enormous, with a shy, kindly, reserved expression.The nose is also very broad, and it is full of veins, which shows that he is more restless.His head was bald in front and tufted in hazel curls in the back.A pair of small eyes seem to be cut out of reed leaves, cute and charming.The rosy lips smiled sweetly.He wore a frock-coat with a stiff collar and brass buttons, clean though it had been worn for a long time; his woolen trousers hung high; Belly.

"Do you know this man?" I asked Yermolay. "This? It's Tikhon Ivanitch Nedobyskin, who lives with Chertopkhanov's." "Why, who is he?"

"There is no money, but Tsartopkhanov is also a poor man."

"Then why does he live at his place?" "They're good friends, the two of them are together everywhere they go...really in rompers..." We walked out of the jungle.Suddenly two cochaya hounds next to us were fighting, and a fat snow rabbit jumped into the already tall oat field.Several Konchaya and Bolzaya hounds came out of the woods with him, and Thartopkhanov himself rushed out after the dogs.He made no sound, gave no orders to the dogs to give chase; he was panting and dying of exhaustion; sometimes there were staccato, meaningless noises from his open mouth; he galloped wildly. Then, he beat the unfortunate horse with the whip desperately.The Bolzaya dog caught up with the snow hare... The snow hare paused, turned quickly, ran in front of Yermolay, and disappeared into the bushes... The Bolzaya hound and it missed up. "Run-run, run-run!" the distracted hunter yelled incoherently, "Brother, do me a favor!" Yermolay fired a shot... The wounded snow hare was lying on the flat dry grass , jumped up and howled miserably in the teeth of the attacking hounds.The chaya hounds all ran over immediately.

Tsertopkhanov jumped off his horse, swung his dagger, ran quickly to the dogs, muttered angrily, grabbed the rabbit they had seized, and then, twitching his whole face, drove the dagger into the rabbit's neck until only the hilt was exposed... After inserting it, he started to cluck and yell.Tikhon Ivanitch appeared at the edge of the wood. "Cack-cluck-cluck-clack-clack!" Tsertopkhanov called again... "cluck-clack," echoed his companion calmly.

"Summer is not suitable for hunting," I said to Chertopkhanov, pointing to the ruined oats.

"This is my field," Tschertopkhanov replied anxiously.He cut off the rabbit's feet, hung the carcass on the horse's belt, and gave the feet to the dogs to eat. "My friend, I've exhausted your ammunition," he said to Yermolay, according to the hunting rules, "and you, sir," he said to me again in that unemotional voice, "thank you, too. gone."

He is riding a horse. "Please... I forgot... What's your name?" I gave my name. "I am very glad to have made your acquaintance. If you have the opportunity, you are welcome to my house..." Then he said angrily: "Where is that Formka, Tikhon Ivanitch? Where did he go when he was a rabbit?"

"His horse is gone," replied Tikhon Ivanitch, smiling. "Gone? Albasan gone? Hey, bah! . . . Where is he, where is he?" "Over there, behind the woods."

Tsertopkhanov whipped the horse in the side and walked away.Tikhon Ivanitch bowed to me twice—once for himself and once for his companion, and then, with small steps, walked slowly into the wood.

These two gentlemen greatly interested me.... On what basis was this indestructible friendship formed between two persons of completely different natures?I started visiting.What I have found is as follows.

Ponteley Yeremech Chertopkhanov was well known in the neighborhood as a smug man, a condescending and reckless man of the first class.He was not in the army for a long time, and because of "unpleasant incidents", he was resigned in the name of what people called "a hen is not a bird" at that time.He came from a wealthy family, his ancestors lived well, according to the customs of steppe dwellers, that is to say, all guests are treated equally, they are given a drink to their hearts content, and the coachman of the guests distributes oats for every three horses , with musicians, singers, helpers, and pets at home, entertaining everyone with wine and ale on festivals, and in winter with his own horses and heavy carts to Moscow.Sometimes they have no income for a long time and rely on poultry to make ends meet.Pontely Yeremitch's father's estate was running out, and in his hands he had spent it to his heart's content. On his deathbed, all that he left to his only son, Pontely, was The mortgaged village of Bessonnovo, 35 male serfs, 76 female serfs, and 14.25 dessia acres of uncultivated land on the Koloboro Dafa Wasteland, but no information about this land was found in the historical records. deed paper.The ancestor was ruined in a very strange way indeed, and it was "economic calculation" that ruined him.As a rule of thumb, nobles could not rely on merchants, townspeople, and similar "robbers," as he called them.He started many handicraft workshops in his hometown. "Respectable and cheap," he often praised, "that's economic calculation!" He never gave up this fatal attitude, and it was this kind of thinking that bankrupted him.And yet he thus gets the joy of the period!All his innovations were implemented.On one occasion, among his various inventions, he had built a huge family carriage from his own idea, which was so heavy that he invited all the farm horses and their owners from every family in the whole village, I asked them to drag it together, but it fell apart on the first slope.Yeremy Lukich (Pontieri's father was named Yereme Lukić) ordered a monument to be erected on this slope, but he did not regret it at all.He once again wanted to develop a chapel, of course he designed it himself.He took all the woods of the woods as material, and laid the foundation--a big one!It is actually the same foundation as the large chapel in the province.He braced the perimeter and began to build the cupola, which failed.He rebuilt the dome, but repeatedly failed.The third time he built, the dome failed for the third time.My Yeremy Lukic thought to himself: something is wrong...someone must be making trouble there on purpose...and gave the order: whip all the old women.Those who should be beaten have been whipped, but the cupola still cannot be built.So he began to rebuild houses for farmers according to new ideas, all derived from economic calculations.He gathered every three farmers together in a triangle, and set up a pole in the center, and placed a painted starling cage and a flag on the pole.He basically came up with a new idea every day: sometimes he used burdock leaves for cooking, sometimes he cut off the horse’s tail hair to flick the flies for his servants, sometimes he planned to use nettles to weave cloth, and mushrooms to feed pigs... But he not only He only loves to engage in economic reforms, and he also pays attention to the welfare of his subordinates.Once he read in the "Moscow Times" an article by the Kharkov landowner Heluek Khrubelsky about the moral consciousness of peasants in ordinary life, and immediately issued an order: All peasants This article by the landowners of Kharkov must be immediately memorized.The farmers have read the articles well.The master asked them if they understood the meaning of this.The butler replied: "Why don't you understand!" At this moment, in order to maintain order and facilitate economic calculations, he ordered all his subordinates to be numbered and identified by numbers.When meeting the owner, everyone should say hello: "I am No. X!" The owner responded: "You go!"

However, no matter how much he paid attention to order and practiced economic calculations, Yeremy Lukić gradually fell into embarrassment.At first he mortgaged the villages in his name, and later sold them; only the ancestral home, the village with an unfinished chapel, was sold by the public, but fortunately not in Yeremy Luki Strange was alive—he must have been intolerable—and two weeks after his death.Fortunately he was able to die in his own home, in his own bed, surrounded by his loved ones, under the care of his own physician; but all that remained of poor Bontierre was a village of Besson-Novo.

By the time Pontierre learned of his father's bedridden news, he had already taken office, at the climax of the aforementioned "unpleasant incident".He is only 19 years old.He has never left the family since he was a child and has always been brought up by his mother.His mother, a good-natured but mindless woman named Vasilisa Vasilyevna, had raised him to be a pet and playboy.She did everything for him, and Eremy Lukitch was so absorbed in his work that he had no time for it.He did once teach his son with his own hands to pronounce the letter рцы (erze) for him as арцы (arze), but at that time Yeremy Lukich took it to heart because one of his Beloved dog crashed into tree and died.But Vasilisa Vasilyevna's arrangement for Ponteley's education was limited to one successful practice: she took great pains to find a teacher for him—a retired soldier from Alsace named Bill Kopp Husband's.Till her deathbed she was terribly frightened at the sight of the governess.She thought: "Oh, if he doesn't agree, I'm dead! What can I do? Where can I get a better governess? This one was poached from the neighbor's house with great difficulty!" Bill Kopf is a smart guy who immediately takes advantage of his status and gets drunk all day long, in a coma.Bontieri finished his "discipline" and went to work.By this time Vasissa Vasilyevna had died.She died suddenly half a year before the move. She dreamed of a man in white riding a bear with the words "Anti-Christ" on his chest.Yeremy Lukić soon followed his wife.

As soon as Pontellier heard the news of his father's illness, he rode home as fast as he could, but he did not catch up with his father.When this filial son suddenly changed from a rich man to a penniless man, how he couldn't believe it!Few people could accept such a drastic change.Then Bontieri became irritable and ruthless.He had been a man of integrity, generosity, and kindness, though savage, and was now a man of impertinence and recklessness; The attitude of everyone was very abnormal, even to the local authorities, he said: "I am a hereditary nobleman." Once the police chief came into his house without taking off his hat and was almost shot by him.Of course, the authorities are not willing to let it go, and let him know how powerful the authorities are from time to time.However, people were still a little afraid of him, because he had a very bad temper, and he would fight each other without saying a word.Others objected slightly, and Ertopkhanov's eyes were different, and his voice became intermittent... "Ah-yah-yah-yah-yah," he yelled, "I'm desperate! "... just going crazy!He is also a self-cleaning person, and has never been contaminated with any bad things.Even so, no one visits him... Despite this, he is kind-hearted, and even has his own peculiarities: he loves to fight against injustice; he tries to protect his farmers. "What?" he said, beating his head madly. "Those who want to disrespect me, those who offend me? Unless I'm not Tsertopkhanov..."

(End of this chapter)