A LIVING RELIC
’O native land of long suffering,
Land of the Russian people.’
F. TYUTCHEV.
A French proverb says that ’a dry fisherman
and a wet hunter are a sorry sight.’ Never
having had any taste for fishing, I cannot decide what
are the fisherman’s feelings in fine bright
weather, and how far in bad weather the pleasure derived
from the abundance of fish compensates for the unpleasantness
of being wet. But for the sportsman rain is a
real calamity. It was to just this calamity that
Yermolai and I were exposed on one of our expeditions
after grouse in the Byelevsky district. The rain
never ceased from early morning. What didn’t
we do to escape it? We put macintosh capes almost
right over our heads, and stood under the trees to
avoid the raindrops.... The waterproof capes,
to say nothing of their hindering our shooting, let
the water through in the most shameless fashion; and
under the trees, though at first, certainly, the rain
did not reach us, afterwards the water collected on
the leaves suddenly rushed through, every branch dripped
on us like a waterspout, a chill stream made its way
under our neck-ties, and trickled down our spines....
This was ‘quite unpleasant,’ as Yermolai
expressed it. ’No, Piotr Petrovitch,’
he cried at last; ’we can’t go on like
this....There’s no shooting to-day. The
dogs’ scent is drowned. The guns miss fire....Pugh!
What a mess!’
‘What’s to be done?’ I queried.
’Well, let’s go to Aleksyevka. You
don’t know it, perhaps—there’s
a settlement of that name belonging to your mother;
it’s seven miles from here. We’ll
stay the night there, and to-morrow....’
‘Come back here?’
’No, not here....I know of some places beyond
Aleksyevka...ever so much better than here for grouse!’
I did not proceed to question my faithful companion
why he had not taken me to those parts before, and
the same day we made our way to my mother’s
peasant settlement, the existence of which, I must
confess, I had not even suspected up till then.
At this settlement, it turned out, there was a little
lodge. It was very old, but, as it had not been
inhabited, it was clean; I passed a fairly tranquil
night in it.
The next day I woke up very early. The sun had
only just risen; there was not a single cloud in the
sky; everything around shone with a double brilliance—the
brightness of the fresh morning rays and of yesterday’s
downpour. While they were harnessing me a cart,
I went for a stroll about a small orchard, now neglected
and run wild, which enclosed the little lodge on all
sides with its fragrant, sappy growth. Ah, how
sweet it was in the open air, under the bright sky,
where the larks were trilling, whence their bell-like
notes rained down like silvery beads! On their
wings, doubtless, they had carried off drops of dew,
and their songs seemed steeped in dew. I took
my cap off my head and drew a glad deep breath....
On the slope of a shallow ravine, close to the hedge,
could be seen a beehive; a narrow path led to it, winding
like a snake between dense walls of high grass and
nettles, above which struggled up, God knows whence
brought, the pointed stalks of dark-green hemp.
