hunter notes

Chapter 7 Berry Spring (2)
Stabushka handed me the cage. "How are you, Stabushka?" I asked him.

"No...no...no...no...it's nothing, sir, it's all right." Stubuschka replied dully, as if there was a weight on his tongue.

"How is Mitrofan?" "Very well, sir." He turned his face away.

"It's not easy to take the bait." "Fog" spoke. "It's too hot, and the fish are resting in the shade of the trees... Help me get a bait, Stabushka." (Strobushka takes out a worm, puts it in his hand, and claps Twice, put it on the hook, spit a few mouthfuls, and handed it to Mist.) Thank you, Stabushka... Sir, you," he went on to me, "hunting?"

"Yes." "Well... is your hunting dog British or Newfoundland?" The old man likes to take the opportunity to show off his talents, as if to say: "We are also people who have seen the world!" "I don't know It's a great breed." "Well...do you also use hunting dogs that can catch wild animals?" "I have two teams." "Fog" smiled slightly and shook his head.

"It's true: some people like dogs, but some people don't want them when they give them to them. According to my superficial opinion, keeping dogs is mainly for face... Everything should be beautiful: horses should be beautiful, and dogs should be beautiful. A man ought to be handsome, and everything. The late count—hope he goes to heaven!—was not really a hunter, but he kept dogs, and went hunting once or twice a year. Dressed in gold and silver The dog-watchers in red-trimmed coats assembled in the yard and blew their horns; when the count came out, they led the horses to the count; the count mounted, and the leader of the hunters put the count's feet into the stirrups Here, take off your hat, wrap the reins of the horse in it, and present it. His lordship whipped his whip, and the dog-watchers shouted in unison, and went out of the house. The stable boy followed the count, and tied the master's two dogs with silk ribbons. , Just take care of it like this... This stable boy is riding proudly on the Cossack saddle, his face is full of red, his big eyes are moving around cleverly... Of course there will be many guests at that time. It is entertainment and polite... Ah, yo, Gone, man!" he said suddenly, pulling at the rod.

"I heard that the count lived a very rich life, did he?" I asked.The old man spat on the bait and cast the hook. "Of course, he was a great man. He was often visited by distinguished people from Petersburg. They usually wore light blue ribbons and sat at the table to eat. The count really knows how to entertain. Sometimes he calls me, 'fog ,' said he, 'I want some live sturgeon to-morrow, and have it done for me, do you hear?' 'Yes, my lord.' Embroidered coat, wig, walking stick, perfume, fine toilet water, snuff-box , Large oil paintings, all bought directly from Paris. The count held a banquet-oh my god, it was amazing! Conductor, but this German is very arrogant. If he wants to eat at the same table with his master, His Excellency will send him away. He said, my orchestra can play music without a conductor. Of course, this is the authority of the master. Jump Start dancing, and it's going on until daybreak, all Exxesz and Matradur... oh... oh... oh... the guy's hooked! (The old man pulls a small bass out of the water .) Take it, Stabushka.—the lord is a lord, after all,” the old man continued, throwing the hook again, “and he is very kind. Sometimes he hits you—but not soon. Remember. Just one thing: the foster concubines. Oh, the concubines, God knows! They're the ones who broke him. You know they're almost all picked from the low class. But what else do they have? Unsatisfied? But no, even if you gave them all the most precious things in Europe! But, why can’t you live as you want?——This is the master’s own business... But it’s always wrong to go bankrupt One of them in particular, a woman called Akulina. Now she is dead—to Heaven! She is an ordinary girl, the daughter of Sitov's chieftain, and a shrew! Earl's mouth. He's completely captivated by her. She sent my nephew to the army because he sprinkled some cocoa on her new dress...and many more. Eh...just Anyway, it was a good time!" The old man sighed deeply, said the last sentence again, then lowered his head and stopped talking.

"According to me, your master is very strict, right?" After a moment of silence, I began to speak.

"That was the fashion then, sir." The old man shook his head and retorted. "There is no such phenomenon now." I looked at him and said so.

He glanced at me. "It's better now, of course," he said vaguely, casting the hook far out.

We sat under the shade of the tree, but it was also very hot under the shade.The dull and hot air seemed to be stagnant, and the hot face waited sadly for the wind, but there was no wind.The sun hung hot in the dark blue sky.On the bank directly opposite to us, there is a yellow oat field, and wormwood grows in some places, but not a single ear of wheat shakes.A little lower, a farmer's horse stood in the river with the water up to his knees, lazily wagging his wet tail; The ground sank to the bottom, leaving waves in its wake.Grasshoppers croaked in the scorched grass, quails croaked softly; harriers soared steadily over the wilderness, occasionally stopping in one place, flapping their wings briskly, and spreading their tails into a fan shape.Forced by the heat, we sat motionless.Suddenly from the valley behind us there was a sound of someone walking down the spring.I looked back and saw a dusty farmer about 50 years old, wearing a shirt, straw sandals, a wicker basket and a coat on his shoulders.He came to the spring, drank greedily, and stood up.

"Ah, it's Vlas!" "Mist" looked at him and called, "Hello, old man. Where are you from?"

"Hello, Mihailo Savelyev," said the peasant, coming up to us, "I come from afar."

"Where have you been?" Fog asked him. "To the master in Moscow." "What's the matter?"

"Go ask him." "Ask for something."

"Ask him to reduce the labor rent, or change me to a labor rent system, and move to another place. My son is dead, and now I can't handle it alone."

"Your son is dead?" "Dead." The farmer was silent for a while, and then continued, "He used to be a coachman in Moscow, and he has been paying the rent for me." "Then you are now Was it rented by an agent?"

"Yes." "And what did your master say?"

"What does your lord say? I'm kicked out! 'How can you come right into my place? The steward is in charge of these things, you,' said he, 'to tell the steward . . . that I move you to Where are you going? You, first pay off the agency rent you owe.' He almost got angry."

"So did you come back?" "Come back. I was about to ask if there was anything left of my son when he died, but I couldn't find out. I said to his master, 'Philip is My son.' But he said to me, 'How do I know who you are? Besides, he has left nothing and owes me a debt.' So I came back."

The farmer told us all this with a smile, as if talking about someone else's business.But there were tears in his little puckered eyes, and his lips trembled.

"So do you have a plan now? Go home?" "Where else can I go? I have to go home. My wife is probably starving now." "Then you can... that..." Si Jobuschka spoke suddenly, but couldn't continue, so he started to play with the bait in the can. "Then you want to go to the butler?" "Fog" continued, looking at Stabushka in surprise. "What am I going to do with him?... I still owe rent. My son was sick for a year before he died, and he didn't even pay his own rent... But I'm not worried, they can't ask me for anything... ...Hey, my friend, no matter how clever you are, I won't care if you're useless! (The farmer laughs.) However clever he may be, Kim Tsiryan Semyonitch, ..."

Vlas laughed again. "But? It's not a good thing, brother Vlas," said Fog slowly.

"Why not? No..." (Volas' voice paused.) "It's too hot," he went on, wiping his face with his sleeve.

"Who's your master?" I said.

"Count Varylian Petrovich xxx." "Pyotr Ilyich's son?" "Yes," answered "Mist," "the late Pyotr Ilyich took the village of Vlas in his lifetime. Leave it to him." "Is he in good health?"

"He is in good health, thank God," said Vlas, "ruddy and flushed."

"Ah, sir," continued Fog to me, "it would be all right to move near Moscow, but if he's sent here he'll have to pay rent."

"How much is the rent for one?" "Ninety-five rubles for one," said Vlas.

"Here, listen, and there is very little land, all of which are the owner's woods." "Besides, I heard that the woods have also been sold." The farmer said. "Here, listen! ... Stabushka, give me a bait ... Eh, Stabushka? What are you doing, are you asleep?" Stabushka shuddered suddenly.The farmer sat down beside us.We are silent again.Someone on the other side sang a sad song... My poor Vlas was sad... After half an hour we parted.

(End of this chapter)