torn, and held in his hand a stout staff. As he entered he smote this

  staff upon the floor, and, contracting his brows and opening his mouth

  to its fullest extent, laughed in a dreadful, unnatural way. He had lost

  the sight of one eye, and its colourless pupil kept rolling about and

  imparting to his hideous face an even more repellent expression than it

  otherwise bore.

  "Hullo, you are caught!" he exclaimed as he ran to Woloda with little

  short steps and, seizing him round the head, looked at it searchingly.

  Next he left him, went to the table, and, with a perfectly serious

  expression on his face, began to blow under the oil-cloth, and to make

  the sign of the cross over it, "O-oh, what a pity! O-oh, how it hurts!

  They are angry! They fly from me!" he exclaimed in a tearful choking

  voice as he glared at Woloda and wiped away the streaming tears with his

  sleeve. His voice was harsh and rough, all his movements hysterical and

  spasmodic, and his words devoid of sense or connection (for he used no

  conjunctions). Yet the tone of that voice was so heartrending, and his

  yellow, deformed face at times so sincere and pitiful in its expression,

  that, as one listened to him, it was impossible to repress a mingled

  sensation of pity, grief, and fear.

  This was the idiot Grisha. Whence he had come, or who were his parents,

  or what had induced him to choose the strange life which he led, no

  one ever knew. All that I myself knew was that from his fifteenth year

  upwards he had been known as an imbecile who went barefooted both in

  winter and summer, visited convents, gave little images to any one who

  cared to take them, and spoke meaningless words which some people took

  for prophecies; that nobody remembered him as being different; that at,

  rare intervals he used to call at Grandmamma's house; and that by some

  people he was said to be the outcast son of rich parents and a pure,

  saintly soul, while others averred that he was a mere peasant and an

  idler.

  At last the punctual and wished-for Foka arrived, and we went

  downstairs. Grisha followed us sobbing and continuing to talk nonsense,

  and knocking his staff on each step of the staircase. When we entered

  the drawing-room we found Papa and Mamma walking up and down there, with

  their hands clasped in each other's, and talking in low tones. Maria

  Ivanovna was sitting bolt upright in an arm-chair placed at tight angles

  to the sofa, and giving some sort of a lesson to the two girls sitting

  beside her. When Karl Ivanitch entered the room she looked at him for a

  moment, and then turned her eyes away with an expression which seemed to

  say, "You are beneath my notice, Karl Ivanitch." It was easy to see from

  the girls' eyes that they had important news to communicate to us as

  soon as an opportunity occurred (for to leave their seats and approach

  us first was contrary to Mimi's rules). It was for us to go to her

  and say, "Bon jour, Mimi," and then make her a low bow; after which we

  should possibly be permitted to enter into conversation with the girls.

  What an intolerable creature that Mimi was! One could hardly say a word

  in her presence without being found fault with. Also whenever we wanted

  to speak in Russian, she would say, "Parlez, donc, francais," as though

  on purpose to annoy us, while, if there was any particularly nice

  dish at luncheon which we wished to enjoy in peace, she would keep on

  ejaculating, "Mangez, donc, avec du pain!" or, "Comment est-ce que vous

  tenez votre fourchette?" "What has SHE got to do with us?" I used to

  think to myself. "Let her teach the girls. WE have our Karl Ivanitch." I

  shared to the full his dislike of "certain people."

  "Ask Mamma to let us go hunting too," Katenka whispered to me, as she

  caught me by the sleeve just when the elders of the family were making a

  move towards the dining-room.

  "Very well. I will try."

  Grisha likewise took a seat in the dining-room, but at a little table

  apart from the rest. He never lifted his eyes from his plate, but kept

  on sighing and making horrible grimaces, as he muttered to himself:

  "What a pity! It has flown away! The dove is flying to heaven! The stone

  lies on the tomb!" and so forth.

  Ever since the morning Mamma had been absent-minded, and Grisha's

  presence, words, and actions seemed to make her more so.

  "By the way, there is something I forgot to ask you," she said, as she

  handed Papa a plate of soup.

  "What is it?"

  "That you will have those dreadful dogs of yours tied up. They nearly

  worried poor Grisha to death when he entered the courtyard, and I am

  sure they will bite the children some day."

  No sooner did Grisha hear himself mentioned that he turned towards our

  table and showed us his torn clothes. Then, as he went on with his meal,

  he said: "He would have let them tear me in pieces, but God would not

  allow it! What a sin to let the dogs loose--a great sin! But do not beat

  him, master; do not beat him! It is for God to forgive! It is past now!"

  "What does he say?" said Papa, looking at him gravely and sternly. "I

  cannot understand him at all."

  "I think he is saying," replied Mamma, "that one of the huntsmen set

  the dogs on him, but that God would not allow him to be torn in pieces.

  Therefore he begs you not to punish the man."

  "Oh, is that it?" said Papa, "How does he know that I intended to

  punish the huntsman? You know, I am not very fond of fellows like this,"

  he added in French, "and this one offends me particularly. Should it

  ever happen that--"

  "Oh, don't say so," interrupted Mamma, as if frightened by some thought.

  "How can you know what he is?"

  "I think I have plenty of opportunities for doing so, since no lack of

  them come to see you--all of them the same sort, and probably all with

  the same story."

  I could see that Mamma's opinion differed from his, but that she did not

  mean to quarrel about it.

  "Please hand me the cakes," she said to him, "Are they good to-day or

  not?"

  "Yes, I AM angry," he went on as he took the cakes and put them where

  Mamma could not reach them, "very angry at seeing supposedly reasonable

  and educated people let themselves be deceived," and he struck the table

  with his fork.

  "I asked you to hand me the cakes," she repeated with outstretched hand.

  "And it is a good thing," Papa continued as he put the hand aside, "that

  the police run such vagabonds in. All they are good for is to play upon

  the nerves of certain people who are already not over-strong in

  that respect," and he smiled, observing that Mamma did not like the

  conversation at all. However, he handed her the cakes.

  "All that I have to say," she replied, "is that one can hardly believe

  that a man who, though sixty years of age, goes barefooted winter and

  summer, and always wears chains of two pounds' weight, and never

  accepts the offers made to him to live a quiet, comfortable life--it is

  difficult to believe that such a man should act thus out of laziness."

  Pausing a moment, she added with a s
igh: "As to predictions, je suis

  payee pour y croire, I told you, I think, that Grisha prophesied the

  very day and hour of poor Papa's death?"

  "Oh, what HAVE you gone and done?" said Papa, laughing and putting his

  hand to his cheek (whenever he did this I used to look for something

  particularly comical from him). "Why did you call my attention to his

  feet? I looked at them, and now can eat nothing more."

  Luncheon was over now, and Lubotshka and Katenka were winking at us,

  fidgeting about in their chairs, and showing great restlessness. The

  winking, of course, signified, "Why don't you ask whether we too may go

  to the hunt?" I nudged Woloda, and Woloda nudged me back, until at last

  I took heart of grace, and began (at first shyly, but gradually with

  more assurance) to ask if it would matter much if the girls too were

  allowed to enjoy the sport. Thereupon a consultation was held among the

  elder folks, and eventually leave was granted--Mamma, to make things

  still more delightful, saying that she would come too.

  VI -- PREPARATIONS FOR THE CHASE

  During dessert Jakoff had been sent for, and orders given him to have

  ready the carriage, the hounds, and the saddle-horses--every detail

  being minutely specified, and every horse called by its own particular

  name. As Woloda's usual mount was lame, Papa ordered a "hunter" to be

  saddled for him; which term, "hunter" so horrified Mamma's ears, that

  she imagined it to be some kind of an animal which would at once run

  away and bring about Woloda's death. Consequently, in spite of all

  Papa's and Woloda's assurances (the latter glibly affirming that it was

  nothing, and that he liked his horse to go fast), poor Mamma continued

  to exclaim that her pleasure would be quite spoilt for her.

  When luncheon was over, the grown-ups had coffee in the study, while

  we younger ones ran into the garden and went chattering along the

  undulating paths with their carpet of yellow leaves. We talked about

  Woloda's riding a hunter and said what a shame it was that Lubotshka,

  could not run as fast as Katenka, and what fun it would be if we could

  see Grisha's chains, and so forth; but of the impending separation

  we said not a word. Our chatter was interrupted by the sound of the

  carriage driving up, with a village urchin perched on each of its

  springs. Behind the carriage rode the huntsmen with the hounds, and

  they, again, were followed by the groom Ignat on the steed intended

  for Woloda, with my old horse trotting alongside. After running to

  the garden fence to get a sight of all these interesting objects, and

  indulging in a chorus of whistling and hallooing, we rushed upstairs to

  dress--our one aim being to make ourselves look as like the huntsmen as

  possible. The obvious way to do this was to tuck one's breeches inside

  one's boots. We lost no time over it all, for we were in a hurry to run

  to the entrance steps again there to feast our eyes upon the horses and

  hounds, and to have a chat with the huntsmen. The day was exceedingly

  warm while, though clouds of fantastic shape had been gathering on the

  horizon since morning and driving before a light breeze across the sun,

  it was clear that, for all their menacing blackness, they did not

  really intend to form a thunderstorm and spoil our last day's pleasure.

  Moreover, towards afternoon some of them broke, grew pale and elongated,

  and sank to the horizon again, while others of them changed to the

  likeness of white transparent fish-scales. In the east, over Maslovska,

  a single lurid mass was louring, but Karl Ivanitch (who always seemed to

  know the ways of the heavens) said that the weather would still continue

  to be fair and dry.

  In spite of his advanced years, it was in quite a sprightly manner that

  Foka came out to the entrance steps, to give the order "Drive up."

  In fact, as he planted his legs firmly apart and took up his station

  between the lowest step and the spot where the coachman was to halt,

  his mien was that of a man who knew his duties and had no need to be

  reminded of them by anybody. Presently the ladies, also came out, and

  after a little discussions as to seats and the safety of the girls (all

  of which seemed to me wholly superfluous), they settled themselves in

  the vehicle, opened their parasols, and started. As the carriage was,

  driving away, Mamma pointed to the hunter and asked nervously "Is that

  the horse intended for Vladimir Petrovitch?" On the groom answering

  in the affirmative, she raised her hands in horror and turned her head

  away. As for myself, I was burning with impatience. Clambering on to

  the back of my steed (I was just tall enough to see between its ears), I

  proceeded to perform evolutions in the courtyard.

  "Mind you don't ride over the hounds, sir," said one of the huntsmen.

  "Hold your tongue. It is not the first time I have been one of the

  party." I retorted with dignity.

  Although Woloda had plenty of pluck, he was not altogether free from

  apprehensions as he sat on the hunter. Indeed, he more than once asked

  as he patted it, "Is he quiet?" He looked very well on horseback--almost

  a grown-up young man, and held himself so upright in the saddle that I

  envied him since my shadow seemed to show that I could not compare with

  him in looks.

  Presently Papa's footsteps sounded on the flagstones, the whip collected

  the hounds, and the huntsmen mounted their steeds. Papa's horse came up

  in charge of a groom, the hounds of his particular leash sprang up from

  their picturesque attitudes to fawn upon him, and Milka, in a collar

  studded with beads, came bounding joyfully from behind his heels to

  greet and sport with the other dogs. Finally, as soon as Papa had

  mounted we rode away.

  VII -- THE HUNT

  AT the head of the cavalcade rode Turka, on a hog-backed roan. On his

  head he wore a shaggy cap, while, with a magnificent horn slung across

  his shoulders and a knife at his belt, he looked so cruel and inexorable

  that one would have thought he was going to engage in bloody strife with

  his fellow men rather than to hunt a small animal. Around the hind legs

  of his horse the hounds gambolled like a cluster of checkered, restless

  balls. If one of them wished to stop, it was only with the greatest

  difficulty that it could do so, since not only had its leash-fellow

  also to be induced to halt, but at once one of the huntsmen would wheel

  round, crack his whip, and shout to the delinquent,

  "Back to the pack, there!"

  Arrived at a gate, Papa told us and the huntsmen to continue our way

  along the road, and then rode off across a cornfield. The harvest was at

  its height. On the further side of a large, shining, yellow stretch of

  cornland lay a high purple belt of forest which always figured in my

  eyes as a distant, mysterious region behind which either the world ended

  or an uninhabited waste began. This expanse of corn-land was dotted with

  swathes and reapers, while along the lanes where the sickle had passed

  could be seen the backs of women as they stooped among the tall, thick

  grain or lifted ar
mfuls of corn and rested them against the shocks. In

  one corner a woman was bending over a cradle, and the whole stubble was

  studded with sheaves and cornflowers. In another direction shirt-sleeved

  men were standing on waggons, shaking the soil from the stalks of

  sheaves, and stacking them for carrying. As soon as the foreman (dressed

  in a blouse and high boots, and carrying a tally-stick) caught sight of

  Papa, he hastened to take off his lamb's-wool cap and, wiping his red

  head, told the women to get up. Papa's chestnut horse went trotting

  along with a prancing gait as it tossed its head and swished its tail

  to and fro to drive away the gadflies and countless other insects which

  tormented its flanks, while his two greyhounds--their tails curved like

  sickles--went springing gracefully over the stubble. Milka was always

  first, but every now and then she would halt with a shake of her head

  to await the whipper-in. The chatter of the peasants; the rumbling of

  horses and waggons; the joyous cries of quails; the hum of insects as

  they hung suspended in the motionless air; the smell of the soil and

  grain and steam from our horses; the thousand different lights and

  shadows which the burning sun cast upon the yellowish-white cornland;

  the purple forest in the distance; the white gossamer threads which were

  floating in the air or resting on the soil-all these things I observed

  and heard and felt to the core.

  Arrived at the Kalinovo wood, we found the carriage awaiting us

  there, with, beside it, a one-horse waggonette driven by the butler--a

  waggonette in which were a tea-urn, some apparatus for making ices, and

  many other attractive boxes and bundles, all packed in straw! There was

  no mistaking these signs, for they meant that we were going to have tea,

  fruit, and ices in the open air. This afforded us intense delight, since