to drink tea in a wood and on the grass and where none else had ever

  drunk tea before seemed to us a treat beyond expressing.

  When Turka arrived at the little clearing where the carriage was

  halted he took Papa's detailed instructions as to how we were to divide

  ourselves and where each of us was to go (though, as a matter of fact,

  he never acted according to such instructions, but always followed his

  own devices). Then he unleashed the hounds, fastened the leashes to

  his saddle, whistled to the pack, and disappeared among the young birch

  trees the liberated hounds jumping about him in high delight, wagging

  their tails, and sniffing and gambolling with one another as they

  dispersed themselves in different directions.

  "Has anyone a pocket-handkerchief to spare?" asked Papa. I took mine

  from my pocket and offered it to him.

  "Very well. Fasten it to this greyhound here."

  "Gizana?" I asked, with the air of a connoisseur.

  "Yes. Then run him along the road with you. When you come to a little

  clearing in the wood stop and look about you, and don't come back to me

  without a hare."

  Accordingly I tied my handkerchief round Gizana's soft neck, and set off

  running at full speed towards the appointed spot, Papa laughing as he

  shouted after me, "Hurry up, hurry up or you'll be late!"

  Every now and then Gizana kept stopping, pricking up his ears, and

  listening to the hallooing of the beaters. Whenever he did this I was

  not strong enough to move him, and could do no more than shout, "Come

  on, come on!" Presently he set off so fast that I could not restrain

  him, and I encountered more than one fall before we reached our

  destination. Selecting there a level, shady spot near the roots of a

  great oak-tree, I lay down on the turf, made Gizana crouch beside me,

  and waited. As usual, my imagination far outstripped reality. I fancied

  that I was pursuing at least my third hare when, as a matter of fact,

  the first hound was only just giving tongue. Presently, however, Turka's

  voice began to sound through the wood in louder and more excited tones,

  the baying of a hound came nearer and nearer, and then another, and then

  a third, and then a fourth, deep throat joined in the rising and falling

  cadences of a chorus, until the whole had united their voices in one

  continuous, tumultuous burst of melody. As the Russian proverb expresses

  it, "The forest had found a tongue, and the hounds were burning as with

  fire."

  My excitement was so great that I nearly swooned where I stood. My lips

  parted themselves as though smiling, the perspiration poured from me in

  streams, and, in spite of the tickling sensation caused by the drops as

  they trickled over my chin, I never thought of wiping them away. I felt

  that a crisis was approaching. Yet the tension was too unnatural to

  last. Soon the hounds came tearing along the edge of the wood, and

  then--behold, they were racing away from me again, and of hares there

  was not a sign to be seen! I looked in every direction and Gizana did

  the same--pulling at his leash at first and whining. Then he lay down

  again by my side, rested his muzzle on my knees, and resigned himself to

  disappointment. Among the naked roots of the oak-tree under which I was

  sitting. I could see countless ants swarming over the parched grey earth

  and winding among the acorns, withered oak-leaves, dry twigs, russet

  moss, and slender, scanty blades of grass. In serried files they kept

  pressing forward on the level track they had made for themselves--some

  carrying burdens, some not. I took a piece of twig and barred their way.

  Instantly it was curious to see how they made light of the obstacle.

  Some got past it by creeping underneath, and some by climbing over it. A

  few, however, there were (especially those weighted with loads) who were

  nonplussed what to do. They either halted and searched for a way round,

  or returned whence they had come, or climbed the adjacent herbage, with

  the evident intention of reaching my hand and going up the sleeve of my

  jacket. From this interesting spectacle my attention was distracted by

  the yellow wings of a butterfly which was fluttering alluringly before

  me. Yet I had scarcely noticed it before it flew away to a little

  distance and, circling over some half-faded blossoms of white clover,

  settled on one of them. Whether it was the sun's warmth that delighted

  it, or whether it was busy sucking nectar from the flower, at all events

  it seemed thoroughly comfortable. It scarcely moved its wings at all,

  and pressed itself down into the clover until I could hardly see

  its body. I sat with my chin on my hands and watched it with intense

  interest.

  Suddenly Gizana sprang up and gave me such a violent jerk that I nearly

  rolled over. I looked round. At the edge of the wood a hare had just

  come into view, with one ear bent down and the other one sharply

  pricked. The blood rushed to my head, and I forgot everything else as

  I shouted, slipped the dog, and rushed towards the spot. Yet all was in

  vain. The hare stopped, made a rush, and was lost to view.

  How confused I felt when at that moment Turka stepped from the

  undergrowth (he had been following the hounds as they ran along the

  edges of the wood)! He had seen my mistake (which had consisted in my

  not biding my time), and now threw me a contemptuous look as he said,

  "Ah, master!" And you should have heard the tone in which he said it! It

  would have been a relief to me if he had then and there suspended me to

  his saddle instead of the hare. For a while I could only stand miserably

  where I was, without attempting to recall the dog, and ejaculate as I

  slapped my knees, "Good heavens! What a fool I was!" I could hear the

  hounds retreating into the distance, and baying along the further side

  of the wood as they pursued the hare, while Turka rallied them with

  blasts on his gorgeous horn: yet I did not stir.

  VIII -- WE PLAY GAMES

  THE hunt was over, a cloth had been spread in the shade of some young

  birch-trees, and the whole party was disposed around it. The butler,

  Gabriel, had stamped down the surrounding grass, wiped the plates in

  readiness, and unpacked from a basket a quantity of plums and peaches

  wrapped in leaves.

  Through the green branches of the young birch-trees the sun glittered

  and threw little glancing balls of light upon the pattern of my napkin,

  my legs, and the bald moist head of Gabriel. A soft breeze played in

  the leaves of the trees above us, and, breathing softly upon my hair and

  heated face, refreshed me beyond measure. When we had finished the

  fruit and ices, nothing remained to be done around the empty cloth, so,

  despite the oblique, scorching rays of the sun, we rose and proceeded to

  play.

  "Well, what shall it be?" said Lubotshka, blinking in the sunlight and

  skipping about the grass, "Suppose we play Robinson?"

  "No, that's a tiresome game," objected Woloda, stretching himself lazily

  on the turf and gnawing some leaves, "Always Robinson! If you want to

  play at something, play at b
uilding a summerhouse."

  Woloda was giving himself tremendous airs. Probably he was proud of

  having ridden the hunter, and so pretended to be very tired. Perhaps,

  also, he had too much hard-headedness and too little imagination

  fully to enjoy the game of Robinson. It was a game which consisted of

  performing various scenes from The Swiss Family Robinson, a book which

  we had recently been reading.

  "Well, but be a good boy. Why not try and please us this time?" the

  girls answered. "You may be Charles or Ernest or the father, whichever

  you like best," added Katenka as she tried to raise him from the ground

  by pulling at his sleeve.

  "No, I'm not going to; it's a tiresome game," said Woloda again, though

  smiling as if secretly pleased.

  "It would be better to sit at home than not to play at ANYTHING,"

  murmured Lubotshka, with tears in her eyes. She was a great weeper.

  "Well, go on, then. Only, DON'T cry; I can't stand that sort of thing."

  Woloda's condescension did not please us much. On the contrary, his

  lazy, tired expression took away all the fun of the game. When we sat

  on the ground and imagined that we were sitting in a boat and either

  fishing or rowing with all our might, Woloda persisted in sitting with

  folded hands or in anything but a fisherman's posture. I made a remark

  about it, but he replied that, whether we moved our hands or not, we

  should neither gain nor lose ground--certainly not advance at all, and I

  was forced to agree with him. Again, when I pretended to go out hunting,

  and, with a stick over my shoulder, set off into the wood, Woloda only

  lay down on his back with his hands under his head, and said that he

  supposed it was all the same whether he went or not. Such behaviour and

  speeches cooled our ardour for the game and were very disagreeable--the

  more so since it was impossible not to confess to oneself that Woloda

  was right, I myself knew that it was not only impossible to kill birds

  with a stick, but to shoot at all with such a weapon. Still, it was

  the game, and if we were once to begin reasoning thus, it would become

  equally impossible for us to go for drives on chairs. I think that even

  Woloda himself cannot at that moment have forgotten how, in the long

  winter evenings, we had been used to cover an arm-chair with a shawl

  and make a carriage of it--one of us being the coachman, another one the

  footman, the two girls the passengers, and three other chairs the trio

  of horses abreast. With what ceremony we used to set out, and with what

  adventures we used to meet on the way! How gaily and quickly those long

  winter evenings used to pass! If we were always to judge from reality,

  games would be nonsense; but if games were nonsense, what else would

  there be left to do?

  IX -- A FIRST ESSAY IN LOVE

  PRETENDING to gather some "American fruit" from a tree, Lubotshka

  suddenly plucked a leaf upon which was a huge caterpillar, and throwing

  the insect with horror to the ground, lifted her hands and sprang away

  as though afraid it would spit at her. The game stopped, and we crowded

  our heads together as we stooped to look at the curiosity.

  I peeped over Katenka's shoulder as she was trying to lift the

  caterpillar by placing another leaf in its way. I had observed before

  that the girls had a way of shrugging their shoulders whenever they were

  trying to put a loose garment straight on their bare necks, as well as

  that Mimi always grew angry on witnessing this manoeuvre and declared

  it to be a chambermaid's trick. As Katenka bent over the caterpillar she

  made that very movement, while at the same instant the breeze lifted the

  fichu on her white neck. Her shoulder was close to my lips, I looked at

  it and kissed it. She did not turn round, but Woloda remarked without

  raising his head, "What spooniness!" I felt the tears rising to my eyes,

  and could not take my gaze from Katenka. I had long been used to her

  fair, fresh face, and had always been fond of her, but now I looked at

  her more closely, and felt more fond of her, than I had ever done or

  felt before.

  When we returned to the grown-ups, Papa informed us, to our great joy,

  that, at Mamma's entreaties, our departure was to be postponed until

  the following morning. We rode home beside the carriage--Woloda and

  I galloping near it, and vieing with one another in our exhibition of

  horsemanship and daring. My shadow looked longer now than it had done

  before, and from that I judged that I had grown into a fine rider. Yet

  my complacency was soon marred by an unfortunate occurrence. Desiring

  to outdo Woloda before the audience in the carriage, I dropped a little

  behind. Then with whip and spur I urged my steed forward, and at the

  same time assumed a natural, graceful attitude, with the intention of

  whooting past the carriage on the side on which Katenka was seated. My

  only doubt was whether to halloo or not as I did so. In the event, my

  infernal horse stopped so abruptly when just level with the carriage

  horses that I was pitched forward on to its neck and cut a very sorry

  figure!

  X -- THE SORT OF MAN MY FATHER WAS

  Papa was a gentleman of the last century, with all the chivalrous

  character, self-reliance, and gallantry of the youth of that time. Upon

  the men of the present day he looked with a contempt arising partly from

  inborn pride and partly from a secret feeling of vexation that, in this

  age of ours, he could no longer enjoy the influence and success which

  had been his in his youth. His two principal failings were gambling and

  gallantry, and he had won or lost, in the course of his career, several

  millions of roubles.

  Tall and of imposing figure, he walked with a curiously quick, mincing

  gait, as well as had a habit of hitching one of his shoulders. His eyes

  were small and perpetually twinkling, his nose large and aquiline, his

  lips irregular and rather oddly (though pleasantly) compressed, his

  articulation slightly defective and lisping, and his head quite bald.

  Such was my father's exterior from the days of my earliest recollection.

  It was an exterior which not only brought him success and made him a

  man a bonnes fortunes but one which pleased people of all ranks and

  stations. Especially did it please those whom he desired to please.

  At all junctures he knew how to take the lead, for, though not deriving

  from the highest circles of society, he had always mixed with them, and

  knew how to win their respect. He possessed in the highest degree that

  measure of pride and self-confidence which, without giving offence,

  maintains a man in the opinion of the world. He had much originality,

  as well as the ability to use it in such a way that it benefited him as

  much as actual worldly position or fortune could have done. Nothing in

  the universe could surprise him, and though not of eminent attainments

  in life, he seemed born to have acquired them. He understood so

  perfectly how to make both himself and others forget and keep at

  a distance the seamy side of life, with all its petty troubles

  and vicissitudes, that it
was impossible not to envy him. He was a

  connoisseur in everything which could give ease and pleasure, as well

  as knew how to make use of such knowledge. Likewise he prided himself on

  the brilliant connections which he had formed through my mother's family

  or through friends of his youth, and was secretly jealous of any one of

  a higher rank than himself--any one, that is to say, of a rank higher

  than a retired lieutenant of the Guards. Moreover, like all ex-officers,

  he refused to dress himself in the prevailing fashion, though he attired

  himself both originally and artistically--his invariable wear being

  light, loose-fitting suits, very fine shirts, and large collars and

  cuffs. Everything seemed to suit his upright figure and quiet, assured

  air. He was sensitive to the pitch of sentimentality, and, when reading

  a pathetic passage, his voice would begin to tremble and the tears to

  come into his eyes, until he had to lay the book aside. Likewise he was

  fond of music, and could accompany himself on the piano as he sang the

  love songs of his friend A-- or gipsy songs or themes from operas;

  but he had no love for serious music, and would frankly flout received

  opinion by declaring that, whereas Beethoven's sonatas wearied him and

  sent him to sleep, his ideal of beauty was "Do not wake me, youth"

  as Semenoff sang it, or "Not one" as the gipsy Taninsha rendered that

  ditty. His nature was essentially one of those which follow public

  opinion concerning what is good, and consider only that good which the

  public declares to be so. [It may be noted that the author has said

  earlier in the chapter that his father possessed "much originality."]

  God only knows whether he had any moral convictions. His life was so

  full of amusement that probably he never had time to form any, and was

  too successful ever to feel the lack of them.

  As he grew to old age he looked at things always from a fixed point