Leo Tolstoy

by Anna Karenina (tr Richard Pevear, Larissa Volokhonsky) (Penguin Classics) (epub)

  ‘Well, then make it the way you were told!’ Levin shouted, getting up on the cart. ‘Drive! Hold the dogs, Filipp!’

  Levin, having left all his family and farming cares behind, now experienced such a strong sense of the joy of life and expectation that he did not want to talk. Besides, he had that feeling of concentrated excitement that every hunter experiences as he nears the place of action. If anything concerned him now, it was only the questions of whether they would find anything in the Kolpeno marsh, how Laska would perform in comparison with Krak and how successful his own shooting would be that day. What if he disgraced himself in front of the new man? What if Oblonsky outshot him? – also went through his head.

  Oblonsky had similar feelings and was also untalkative. Only Vasenka Veslovsky kept cheerfully talking away. Listening to him now, Levin was ashamed to remember how unfair he had been to him yesterday. Vasenka was indeed a nice fellow, simple, good–natured and very cheerful. If Levin had met him while still a bachelor, he would have become friends with him. He found his holiday attitude towards life and his sort of loose–mannered elegance slightly disagreeable. As if he considered himself lofty and unquestionably important for having long fingernails and a little hat and the rest that went with it; but that could be excused on account of his kind–heartedness and decency. Levin liked in him his good upbringing, his excellent pronunciation of French and English, and the fact that he was a man of his own world.

  Vasenka was extremely taken with the left outrunner, a Don Steppe horse. He kept admiring it.

  ‘How good it must be to gallop over the steppe on a steppe horse! Eh? Am I right?’ he said.

  He imagined there was something wild and poetic in riding a steppe horse, though nothing came of it; but his naivety, especially combined with his good looks, sweet smile, and gracefulness of movement, was very attractive. Either because Veslovsky’s nature was sympathetic to him, or because he was trying to find everything good in him in order to redeem yesterday’s sin, Levin enjoyed being with him.

  Having gone two miles, Veslovsky suddenly discovered that his cigars and wallet were missing and did not know whether he had lost them or left them on the table. There were three hundred and seventy roubles in his wallet, and it could not be left like that.

  ‘You know what, Levin, I’ll ride back on this Don outrunner. That will be splendid. Eh?’ he said, preparing to mount up.

  ‘No, why?’ replied Levin, who reckoned that Vasenka must weigh no less than two hundred pounds. ‘I’ll send my coachman.’

  The coachman went on the outrunner, and Levin drove the pair himself.

  IX

  ‘Well, what’s our itinerary? Tell us all about it,’ said Stepan Arkadyich.

  ‘The plan is the following: right now we’re going as far as Gvozdevo.[1] In Gvozdevo there’s a marsh with great snipe on the near side, and beyond Gvozdevo there are wonderful snipe marshes, with occasional great snipe. It’s hot now, but we’ll arrive towards evening (it’s twelve miles) and do the evening field. We’ll spend the night, and tomorrow we’ll go to the big marsh.’

  ‘And there’s nothing on the way?’

  ‘There is, but that would delay us, and it’s hot. There are two nice spots, though it’s not likely there’ll be anything.’

  Levin himself would have liked to stop at those spots, but they were close to home, he could do them any time, and they were small – three men would have no room to shoot. And so it was with some duplicity that he said it was not likely there would be anything. Coming to the small marsh, he was going to pass by, but the experienced hunter’s eye of Stepan Arkadyich at once spotted rushes that were visible from the road.

  ‘Won’t we try there?’ he said, pointing to the marsh.

  ‘Levin, please! how splendid!’ Vasenka Veslovsky started begging, and Levin had to consent.

  No sooner had they stopped than the dogs, vying with each other, were already racing for the marsh.

  ‘Krak! Laska!…’

  The dogs came back.

  ‘It’s too small for three. I’ll stay here,’ said Levin, hoping they would find nothing but the lapwings that had been stirred up by the dogs and, swaying as they flew, wept plaintively over the marsh.

  ‘No! Come on, Levin, let’s go together!’ called Vasenka.

  ‘It’s really too small. Here, Laska! Here! You don’t need two dogs, do you?’

  Levin stayed by the wagonette and watched the hunters with envy. They went all around the marsh. Except for a water hen and some lapwings, one of which Vasenka bagged, there was nothing there.

  ‘So you see, it wasn’t that I grudged you this marsh,’ said Levin, ‘it was just a loss of time.’

  ‘No, it was fun all the same. Did you see?’ said Vasenka Veslovsky, awkwardly getting up on the cart with his gun and the lapwing in his hands. T bagged this one nicely! Isn’t it true? Well, how soon will we get to the real place?’

  Suddenly the horses gave a start. Levin hit his head against the barrel of somebody’s gun and a shot rang out. So it seemed to Levin, but in fact the shot came first. The thing was that Vasenka Veslovsky, while uncocking the hammers, had his finger on one trigger as he eased off the other. The shot struck the ground, doing no one any harm. Stepan Arkadyich shook his head and laughed reproachfully at Veslovsky. But Levin did not have the heart to reprimand him. First, any reproach would seem to be caused by the danger he had escaped and the bump swelling on his forehead; and second, Veslovsky began by being so naively upset and then laughed so good–naturedly and enthusiastically at the general commotion that it was impossible not to laugh with him.

  When they drove up to the second marsh, which was quite big and was bound to take a long time, Levin tried to persuade them not to go in, but Veslovsky again insisted. Again, since the marsh was narrow, Levin, as a hospitable host, stayed by the carriages.

  Krak made straight for the hummocks. Vasenka Veslovsky was the first to run after the dog. And before Stepan Arkadyich had time to get close, a great snipe had already flown up. Veslovsky missed and the snipe landed in an unmowed meadow. This snipe was left to Veslovsky. Krak found it again, pointed, Veslovsky shot it and went back to the carriages.

  ‘Now you go and I’ll stay with the horses,’ he said.

  Hunter’s envy was beginning to take hold of Levin. He handed the reins to Veslovsky and went into the marsh.

  Laska, who had long been squealing pitifully and complaining at the injustice, rushed ahead, straight to some trusty hummocks, familiar to Levin, where Krak had not yet gone.

  ‘Why don’t you stop her?’ cried Stepan Arkadyich.

  ‘She won’t scare them,’ replied Levin, delighted with the dog and hurrying after her.

  Laska’s search became more serious the closer she came to the familiar hummocks. A small marsh bird distracted her only for an instant. She made one circle in front of the hummocks, began another, suddenly gave a start and froze.

  ‘Here, here, Stiva!’ cried Levin, feeling his heart pounding faster, and it was as if some latch had suddenly opened in his strained hearing, and sounds, losing all measure of distance, began to strike him haphazardly but vividly. He heard Stepan Arkadyich’s footsteps and took them for the distant clatter of horses, heard the crunching sound made by the corner of a hummock that he tore off with its roots as he stepped on it and took the sound for the flight of a great snipe. He also heard, not far behind him, some splashing in the water which he could not account for.

  Picking his way, he moved towards the dog.

  ‘Flush it!’

  Not a great snipe but a snipe tore up from under the dog. Levin followed it with his gun, but just as he was taking aim, that same noise of splashing water increased, came nearer, and was joined by the strangely loud voice of Veslovsky shouting something. Levin saw that he was aiming his gun behind the snipe, but he fired anyway.

  After making sure he had missed, Levin turned round and saw that the horses and cart were no longer on the road but in the swamp.
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  Veslovsky, anxious to see the shooting, had driven into the swamp and mired the horses.

  ‘What the devil got into him!’ Levin said to himself, going back to the mired cart. ‘Why did you drive in here?’ he said drily and, calling the coachman, started freeing the horses.

  Levin was vexed because his shooting had been disturbed, and because his horses were stuck in the mud, and above all because neither Stepan Arkadyich nor Veslovsky helped him and the coachman to unharness the horses and get them out, neither of them having the slightest understanding of harnessing. Saying not a word in reply to Vasenka’s assurances that it was quite dry there, Levin silently worked with the coachman to free the horses. But then, getting into the heat of the work, and seeing how diligently and zealously Veslovsky pulled the cart by the splash–board, so that he even broke it off, Levin reproached himself for being too cold towards him under the influence of yesterday’s feeling, and tried to smooth over his dryness by being especially amiable. When everything was put right and the cart was back on the road, Levin ordered lunch to be served.

  ‘Bon appétit – bonne conscience! Ce poulet va tomber jusqu’au fond de mes bottes.’* Vasenka, merry again, joked in French as he finished a second chicken. ‘So, now our troubles are over; now everything’s going to go well. Only, for my sins I ought to sit on the box. Isn’t that right? Eh? No, no, I’m an Automedon.[2] You’ll see how I get you there!’ he said, not letting go of the reins when Levin asked him to let the coachman drive. ‘No, I must redeem my sins, and I feel wonderful on the box.’ And he drove on.

  Levin was a bit afraid that he would wear out the horses, especially the chestnut on the left, whom he was unable to control; but he involuntarily yielded to his merriment, listened to the romances that Veslovsky, sitting on the box, sang along the way, or to his stories and his imitation of the proper English way of driving a four–in–hand; and after lunch, in the merriest spirits, they drove on to the Gvozdevo marsh.

  X

  Vasenka drove the horses at such a lively pace that they reached the marsh too early, while it was still hot.

  Having arrived at the serious marsh, the main goal of the trip, Levin involuntarily thought about how to get rid of Vasenka and move about unhindered. Stepan Arkadyich obviously wished for the same thing, and Levin saw on his face the preoccupied expression that a true hunter always has before the start of a hunt and a certain good–natured slyness all his own.

  ‘How shall we proceed? I see it’s an excellent marsh, and there are hawks,’ said Stepan Arkadyich, pointing at two big birds circling over the sedge. ‘Where there are hawks, there must be game as well.’

  * A good appetite means a good conscience! This chicken is going to drop right to the bottom of my boots [that is, go down very well].

  ‘So you see, gentlemen,’ said Levin, pulling up his boots and examining the percussion caps on his gun with a slightly glum expression. ‘You see that sedge?’ He pointed to a little black–green island showing dark against the huge, half–mowed wet meadow that stretched to the right side of the river. ‘The swamp begins there, right in front of us, where it’s greener. From there it goes to the right, where those horses are; it’s hummocky and there are great snipe; and then around the sedge to that alder grove over there and right up to the mill. See, where that creek is. That’s the best spot. I once shot seventeen snipe there. We’ll split up in two directions with the two dogs and meet there at the mill.’

  ‘Well, who goes right and who left?’ asked Stepan Arkadyich. ‘It’s wider to the right, the two of you go that way, and I’ll go left,’ he said as if casually.

  ‘Excellent! We’ll outshoot him. Well, let’s go, let’s go!’ Vasenka picked up.

  Levin could not but consent, and they went their separate ways.

  As soon as they entered the marsh, both dogs began searching together and drew towards a rusty spot. Levin knew this searching of Laska’s, cautious and vague; he also knew the spot and was expecting a wisp of snipe.

  ‘Walk beside me, Veslovsky, beside me!’ he said in a muted voice to his comrade, who was splashing behind him through the water, and the direction of whose gun, after the accidental shot by the Kolpeno marsh, involuntarily interested him.

  ‘No, I don’t want to hamper you, don’t think about me.’

  But Levin could not help remembering Kitty’s words as he parted from her: ‘See that you don’t shoot each other.’ The dogs came closer and closer, passing by each other, each following its own thread; the expectation was so intense that the sucking of his own boot as he pulled it out of the rusty water sounded to Levin like the call of a snipe, and he tightened his grip on the stock of his gun.

  ‘Bang! bang!’ rang out by his ear. It was Vasenka shooting at a flock of ducks that was circling above the swamp, far out of range, and just then came flying over the hunters. Levin had barely turned to look when a snipe screeched, then another, a third, and some eight more rose one after the other.

  Stepan Arkadyich brought one down just as it was about to start zigzagging and the snipe fell like a lump into the mire. Oblonsky unhurriedly aimed at another that was still flying low towards the sedge, and that snipe dropped; it could be seen thrashing about in the mowed sedge, beating its unhurt wing, white underneath.

  Levin was not so lucky: his first snipe was too close when he fired, and he missed; he aimed at it again as it flew up, but just then another flew out from under his feet and distracted him, and he missed a second time.

  While they were reloading their guns another snipe rose, and Vesiovsky, who had had time to reload, sent another two charges of small shot over the water. Stepan Arkadyich picked up his snipe and glanced at Levin with shining eyes.

  ‘Well, let’s split up now,’ said Stepan Arkadyich, and, limping slightly on his left leg and holding his gun ready, he whistled to his dog and went off in one direction. Levin and Vesiovsky went in the other.

  It always happened with Levin that when the first shots were unsuccessful, he would become angry, vexed, and shoot badly all day. That was happening now. There were a great many snipe. Snipe kept flying up from under the dog, from under the hunters’ feet, and Levin might have recovered; but the more shots he fired, the more he disgraced himself in front of Vesiovsky, who merrily banged away, in and out of range, hit nothing and was not the least embarrassed by it. Levin rushed, could not control himself, became more and more feverish and finally reached the point of shooting almost without hope of hitting anything. Even Laska seemed to understand it. She began searching more lazily and glanced back at the hunters as if in perplexity or reproach. Shots came one after another. Powder smoke hung about the hunters, yet in the big, roomy net of the hunting bag there were only three small, light snipe. And of those one had been shot by Vesiovsky and another by them both. Meanwhile, along the other side of the swamp, the infrequent but, as it seemed to Levin, significant shots of Stepan Arkadyich rang out, followed almost each time by: ‘Fetch, Krak, fetch!’

  This upset Levin still more. Snipe kept circling in the air over the sedge. Screeching close to the ground and croaking higher up came ceaselessly from all sides; snipe flushed out earlier raced through the air and alighted just in front of the hunters. Not two but dozens of hawks, whimpering, circled over the marsh.

  Having gone through the greater part of the marsh, Levin and Vesiovsky reached a place where the muzhiks’ meadow was divided into long strips running down to the sedge, marked out here by trampled strips, there by thin rows of cut grass. Half of these strips had already been mowed.

  Though there was little hope of finding as many in the unmowed grass as in the mowed, Levin had promised to meet Stepan Arkadyich and went further on down the mowed and unmowed strips with his companion.

  ‘Hey, hunters!’ one of the muzhiks, sitting by an unhitched cart, shouted to them. ‘Come and have a bite with us! Drink a glass!’

  Levin turned.

  ‘Come on, it’s all right!’ a merry, bearded muzhik with a red face
shouted, baring his white teeth and raising a glittering green bottle in the sun.