A Sportsman's Notebook

by Ivan Turgenev

  Sidor went out.

  “You . . . bear!” muttered the head clerk after him, and he shook his head and applied himself again to his abacus.

  Suddenly there were cries of “Kuprya, Kuprya! You can’t do down Kuprya!” coming from the street and from the porch, and a few moments later there came into the office a short, consumptive-looking man with an extremely long nose, great, immobile eyes, and a very arrogant manner. He wore an old, tattered coat of the color known as Adelaide (or, in our part of the world, “odelloid”), with a velveteen collar and tiny buttons. He was carrying a bundle of faggots on his shoulder. Around him jostled five house-servants, shouting: “Kuprya! You can’t do down Kuprya! Kuprya’s the new boiler-man, boiler-man!” But the man in the coat with the velveteen collar paid not the slightest attention to the uproar of his companions and kept an absolutely straight face. With measured steps he crossed to the stove, threw down his burden, straightened himself, brought a snuff-box out of his back pocket, opened his eyes wide and took a large pinch of grated trefoil mixed with ashes.

  At the entry of this noisy mob, the fat fellow had begun by frowning and rising from his seat; but, on seeing the cause of the commotion, he smiled and merely told them not to shout, as there was a sportsman asleep in the next room.

  “What sportsman?” asked two people at once.

  “A gentleman.”

  “Oh!”

  “Let them shout their heads off,” said the man in the velvet collar, spreading out his hands. “What do I care, so long as they keep their hands off me? I’m the new boiler-man.”

  “Boiler-man! Boiler-man!” the mob repeated joyously.

  “It was the lady’s orders,” he continued, shrugging his shoulders. “But just you wait . . . you’ll be swineherds yet. But the fact that I’m a tailor, a good one, apprenticed to the best master-tailors in Moscow, and that I’ve made uniforms for generals—that no one can take away from me. What are you so proud of, anyway? . . . Eh? You’re just so many drones, so many sluggards, that’s all you are. If I get my freedom, I shan’t die of hunger, I shan’t fall by the wayside. If I get my passport, I shall pay in a good rent and satisfy my masters. But what will happen to you? You’ll fall by the wayside, you’ll just die like flies, and that’s the truth!”

  “That’s a fine story,” interrupted a pock-marked, white-lashed youth with a red cravat and tattered elbows. “You’ve been out on a passport, but the masters have never seen a copeck of rent from you and you’ve never earned so much as half a copeck for yourself: it was all you could do to drag yourself back home, and you’ve worn the same little coat ever since.”

  “Well, what of it, Konstantin Narkizich?” rejoined Kupryan. “A man falls in love and then he’s dead and done for. You just live as long as I have before you judge me.”

  “And what have you chosen to fall in love with? A proper monster!”

  “No, don’t say that, Konstantin Narkizich.”

  “Who are you talking to, anyway? Why, I saw her; last year, in Moscow, I saw her with my own eyes.”

  “Last year she was a bit under the weather, and that’s a fact,” observed Kupryan.

  “No, gentlemen, listen,” said, in an offhand casual voice, a tall, thin man with a pimply face and curled, oiled hair, doubtless a valet. “Just let Kupryan Afanasich sing us his song. Now, Kupryan Afanasich, begin away!”

  “Yes, yes!” took up the others. “Quite right, Alexandra!—That’s finished Kuprya off, hasn’t it just? . . . Sing, Kuprya! . . . Good for Alexandra!” (Serving folk often use feminine forms in an endearing sense when talking about a man.) “Sing!”

  “This is no place for singing,” rejoined Kupryan firmly, “this is the Estate Office.”

  “What has that to do with you? Are you aiming at becoming a clerk yourself?” answered Konstantin roughly, with a laugh. “That must be it.”

  “Everything depends on the masters’ pleasure,” observed the poor fellow.

  “You see, you see what he’d like to become, you see the sort of chap he is! Ooh! ooh! ah!”

  They all burst out laughing and some of them started jumping about. The one who roared loudest of all was a lad of about fifteen, probably the son of some aristocrat of the servant world: he wore a waistcoat with bronze buttons and a lilac-colored cravat and had already managed to grow a pot-belly.

  “But listen, tell us, Kuprya,” began Nikolai Eremeich complacently; he was evidently amused and mollified: “It’s no fun to be boiler-man? It isn’t, eh?”

  “Well, Nikolai Eremeich,” said Kupryan, “you’re now head clerk, certainly; there’s no question about that, admittedly; but even you have been in disgrace in your time and lived in a peasant’s cabin.”

  “You be careful and don’t forget yourself in front of me,” the fat man interrupted him irritably. “They’re laughing at you for the fool that you are; a fool like you ought to appreciate it, and be thankful, when anyone takes notice of—a fool like you.”

  “The words just slipped off my tongue, Nikolai Eremeich. I’m sorry . . .”

  “Even if they did . . .”

  The door opened and a page ran in.

  “Nikolai Eremeich, the lady wants to see you.”

  “Who is with the lady?” he asked the page.

  “Axinya Nikitishna and a merchant from Venyovo.”

  “I shall come at once. But you, my friends,” he continued in a voice that carried conviction, “you’d better go somewhere else with your newly-promoted boiler-man, otherwise the German might turn up and he’d complain at once.”

  The fat fellow straightened the hair on his head, coughed in his hand, which was almost completely hidden by the sleeve of his coat, buttoned up his coat, and set off to see the lady, straddling his legs widely as he walked. After waiting a moment, the whole throng moved away after him, Kupryan with them. Only my old acquaintance the duty-clerk remained behind. He made as if to trim some pens, but dropped off to sleep where he sat. Some flies immediately took advantage of the opportunity and crawled over his mouth. A mosquito sat on his forehead, spread out its legs methodically, and slowly plunged the whole length of its sting into the soft flesh. The same red-whiskered head as before again appeared round the door, stared hard, then entered the office, with a tolerably hideous body attached to it.

  “Fedyushka! always asleep!” said the head.

  The duty-clerk opened his eyes and got up from his chair.

  “Has Nikolai Eremeich gone to see the lady?”

  “Yes, Vasily Nikolaich, he has.”

  Oho! I thought, here he is, the head cashier.

  The head cashier began to pace up and down the room, in fact he prowled rather than paced, and his whole demeanor resembled a cat’s. From his shoulders hung an old black frock-coat, with very narrow tails; he kept one hand at his breast, but with the other he fidgeted away at his high, tight horsehair cravat, and turned his head intently from side to side. He wore goatskin shoes without a squeak in them and stepped out very softly.

  “Yagushkin the landowner was asking after you to-day,” added the duty-clerk.

  “H’m, he was, was he? What did he say, exactly?”

  “He said that he was coming to Tyutyurev this evening and would wait for you there. He said he wanted to talk with Vasily Nikolaich on business, but on what business he didn’t say. Vasily Nikolaich will know, he said.”

  “H’m!” rejoined the head cashier, and went over to the window.

  “Hey, is Nikolai Eremeich in the office?” said a loud voice in the passage, and a tall man, evidently angry, with irregular but expressive, bold features, and reasonably tidily dressed, strode across the threshold.

  “Isn’t he here?” he asked with a quick look around.

  “Nikolai Eremeich is with the lady,” answered the cashier. “Tell me what I can do for you, Pavel Andreich; you can tell me. . . . What do you want?”

  “What do I want? You want to know what I want?” The cashier gave a nervous nod.

  “I want
to teach him a lesson, the worthless pot-belly, the low tale-bearer that he is. . . . I’ll teach him to tell tales!”

  Pavel threw himself down in a chair.

  “What on earth is the matter, Pavel Andreich? Calm yourself. . . . Aren’t you ashamed? Don’t forget who you are speaking about!” whispered the cashier.

  “Who, indeed? What do I care if they have made him head clerk? A fine fellow, indeed, they’ve found for the job! They’ve let the goat loose among the cabbages, with a vengeance!”

  “That’ll do, Pavel, that’ll do! Enough of that . . . what nonsense are you talking?”

  “So Foxy Sly-Boots is wagging his tail, is he! . . . I’ll wait for him,” said Pavel with feeling, and he thumped his hand on the table. “Ah, here comes his worship,” he added, looking out of the windows. “Talk of the devil. And welcome back!” He got up.

  Nikolai Eremeich came into the office. His face radiated satisfaction, but at the sight of Pavel he showed a certain confusion.

  “Good day, Nikolai Eremeich,” said Pavel significantly, moving slowly to meet him. “Good day.”

  The head clerk made no answer. In the doorway appeared the face of the merchant.

  “Why don’t you do me the favor of answering?” continued Pavel. “Anyway, no . . . no . . .” he added. “That’s not the way; you’ll gain nothing by shouting and cursing. You’d do much better to tell me civilly, Nikolai Eremeich, what you’re chasing me around for, and why you’re out to ruin me. Well, speak, man, speak out.”

  “This is not the place for an explanation between us,” rejoined the head clerk, not without agitation. “Nor the time either. But I’m certainly surprised at one thing: what has given you the idea that I am out to ruin you or that I am chasing you round? And anyway, how could I do so? You don’t work with me in the office.”

  “No, indeed,” answered Pavel. “That would be the last straw. But what’s the point of pretending, Nikolai Eremeich? You understand what I mean.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “You do.”

  “Before God, I don’t.”

  “Taking God’s name in vain into the bargain. If it comes to that, tell me: have you no fear of God? Then, why don’t you let the poor girl alone? What d’you want from her?”

  “Who are you talking about, Pavel Andreich?” asked the fat one in feigned astonishment.

  “Oho, he doesn’t know, eh? I’m talking about Tatyana. You should fear God—and not seek revenge. You ought to be ashamed of yourself—you, a married man with children of my own size, whereas I am not after anything else. . . . I want to get married: I am going about it the honorable way.”

  “But how am I to blame, Pavel Andreich? The lady doesn’t allow you to get married; she is our mistress, and that’s her will! How do I come into it?”

  “How do you come into it? I suppose you have never come to any agreement with that old witch of a housekeeper? I suppose you have never told her any tales, eh? You’ve not brought up every kind of trumped-up story against a defenseless girl? I suppose it had nothing to do with your kind help that she was moved from the laundry to the scullery? That she was beaten, and punished by being made to wear slops? . . . You ought to be ashamed of yourself, an old man like you! Why, a palsy might take you at any moment. . . . You’ll have to answer for it to God.”

  “That’s right, Pavel Andreich, roar your head off. . . . Are you going to go on roaring like that for much longer, do you think?”

  Pavel exploded.

  “What? you dare to threaten me?” he said furiously. “You think I am afraid of you? No, my friend, you’re not dealing with anyone like that! What have I got to be afraid of? . . . I can earn my bread anywhere. But it’s a different story with you! All you can do is live here and tell tales and steal. . . .”

  “He’s got a fine idea of himself,” interrupted the clerk, who was also beginning to lose patience. “A plain hospital orderly, a wretched little medico; but to listen to him—phew! what an important person he must be!”

  “Yes, a hospital orderly, but without him your worship would now be rotting in the graveyard. . . . And an evil spirit it was that made me cure him,” he added, through his teeth.

  “So you cured me? No, you wanted to poison me, you made me drink aloes,” asserted the clerk.

  “What of it, if aloes were the only thing which could have an effect on you?”

  “Aloes are forbidden by the Board of Health,” continued Nikolai. “I’ll lodge a complaint against you yet. . . . You wanted to do me in, and that’s the truth! But the Lord didn’t let you.”

  “That’ll do, gentlemen, that’ll do,” began the cashier.

  “Hold your tongue!” shouted the clerk. “He wanted to poison me! D’you understand what I say?”

  “As if I needed to. . . . Listen, Nikolai Eremeich,” began Pavel desperately. “I’m asking you for the last time . . . you’ve driven me further than I can bear. Leave us alone, d’you hear? or else, by God, no good will come of it to one or the other of us, I can promise you that.”

  The fat one lost all control. “I’m not afraid of you,” he shouted: “Do you hear, you milk-sop! I’ve settled accounts with your father in my time; I broke his horns too—let that be an example to you, and look out for yourself!”

  “Don’t you start on my father, Nikolai Eremeich, don’t you start on that!”

  “Get out! Who are you to lay down the law to me?”

  “I tell you, don’t you start on that!”

  “But I tell you, don’t you forget yourself. . . . However necessary you may think you are to the lady, if she has got to choose between us two—it won’t be you that keeps his place, my little dove! No one has got the right to sedition, so look out!” Pavel was trembling with fury. “And as for the girl Tatyana, it serves her right. . . . You wait, there’s more trouble coming to her yet!”

  Pavel threw himself forward with fists raised, and the clerk fell heavily to the floor.

  “Put him in irons, put him in irons,” groaned Nikolai Eremeich. . . .

  I will not take it upon myself to describe the end of this scene. Even as it is, I am afraid I may have offended the reader’s feelings.

  The same day I returned home. A week later, I learned that Mrs. Loznyakova had kept both Pavel and Nikolai on in her service, but sent away the girl Tatyana: it seemed that her services were not required.

  The Bear

  ONE EVENING I WAS RETURNING ALONE FROM SHOOTING IN MY racing drozhky. I was still eight versts from home; my good trotting mare was going smartly along the dusty road, snorting and fidgeting her ears from time to time; my tired dog maintained a position within a pace of the rear wheels, as if fastened to them. A thunderstorm was approaching. Ahead of me a huge lilac-colored storm-cloud slowly rose from behind a forest; long gray clouds floated above me and towards me; there was an anxious stir and murmur among the willows. The stifling heat suddenly gave way to a moist chill; swiftly the shadows gathered. I flicked the horse with the reins, went down into a ravine, crossed a dry stream-bed, completely overgrown with willow bushes, climbed a hill, and entered a forest. Ahead of me the road wound between thick clumps of hazel, already plunged in darkness; I made progress with difficulty. The drozhky jolted over the hard roots of hundred-year-old oaks and limes, which kept on intersecting the deep ruts left by cartwheels; my mare began to stumble. All of a sudden, high above me, a strong wind whistled, the trees swayed violently, heavy rain-drops splashed and smacked sharply on the leaves, lightning flashed, and the storm burst. Rain fell in rivers. I drove on at a walk, and was soon compelled to stop: my mare was stuck, and I could see not an inch ahead of me. Somehow or other I found shelter under a spreading bush. Huddled together, with my face covered, I was patiently awaiting the end of the downpour, when, suddenly, in a flash of lightning, I thought I saw a tall figure on the road. I began staring that way—and the figure started right up out of the ground beside my drozhky.

  “Who’s there?” asked a resonant voice.
<
br />   “Who are you?”

  “I’m the forester here.”

  I told him my name.

  “Oh, I know! Are you on the way home?”

  “Yes. But what a storm! . . .”

  “A storm, certainly,” answered the voice.

  A white lightning-flash lit up the forester from head to foot; a short, crackling thunder-clap followed immediately after. The rain came sluicing down with redoubled force.

  “It’ll be some time passing,” continued the forester.

  “What can I do about it?”

  “If you like, I’ll show you the way to my cabin,” he said abruptly.

  “I’d be much obliged.”

  “If you’ll keep your seat . . .” He went to the mare’s head, took hold of the bridle, and pulled. We began to move. I held on to the cushion of the drozhky, which was tossing like a coracle on the high seas, and called my dog. The poor mare splashed heavily about in the mud, slithered, and stumbled; in front of the shafts, the forester swayed about to right and to left like a spectre. We drove on for some way; at length my guide halted. “Here we are, sir, we’re home,” he said calmly. A gate squeaked, and several puppies set up a friendly barking. I lifted my head, and saw, illuminated by the lightning, a small cabin in the middle of a spacious yard surrounded by a fence. From the one little window a light glowed faintly. The forester led the mare up to the porch and knocked on the door. “Coming, coming!” said a faint little voice; there was a patter of bare feet, a bolt screamed, and a girl of about twelve, in a little shift tied together with list, appeared on the threshold with a lantern in her hand.

  “Light the way for the gentleman,” he said to her, “and I will put the drozhky into the shed.”

  The girl glanced at me and went into the cabin. I followed her in.

  The forester’s cabin consisted of a single room, soot-blackened, low, and empty, without any smaller chambers or partitions. A tattered sheepskin coat hung on the wall. On a bench lay a single-barrelled gun, in a corner was an untidy pile of rags; two big pots stood beside the stove. A splinter of wood burned on the table, flaring and dying lugubriously. Right in the middle of the cabin hung a cradle attached to the end of a long pole. The girl put out the lantern, sat down on a tiny stool, and began with her right hand to swing the cradle and with her left to trim the splinter. I looked round and my heart sank within me: visiting a peasant’s cabin at night is cheerless indeed. The child in the cradle was breathing heavily and fast.