He buried himself again in his feather-bed, and the
next morning, when they came to wake me, he was no
longer in the room. He had left before daylight.
TCHERTOP-HANOV AND NEDOPYUSKIN
One hot summer day I was coming home from hunting
in a light cart; Yermolai sat beside me dozing and
scratching his nose. The sleeping dogs were jolted
up and down like lifeless bodies under our feet.
The coachman kept flicking gadflies off the horses
with his whip. The white dust rose in a light
cloud behind the cart. We drove in between bushes.
The road here was full of ruts, and the wheels began
catching in the twigs. Yermolai started up and
looked round.... ‘Hullo!’ he said;
’there ought to be grouse here. Let’s
get out.’ We stopped and went into the
thicket. My dog hit upon a covey. I took
a shot and was beginning to reload, when suddenly
there was a loud crackling behind me, and a man on
horseback came towards me, pushing the bushes apart
with his hands. ‘Sir... pe-ermit me to
ask,’ he began in a haughty voice, ’by
what right you are—er—shooting
here, sir?’ The stranger spoke extraordinarily
quickly, jerkily and condescendingly. I looked
at his face; never in my life have I seen anything
like it. Picture to yourselves, gentle readers,
a little flaxen-haired man, with a little turn-up red
nose and long red moustaches. A pointed Persian
cap with a crimson cloth crown covered his forehead
right down to his eyebrows. He was dressed in
a shabby yellow Caucasian overcoat, with black velveteen
cartridge pockets on the breast, and tarnish silver
braid on all the seams; over his shoulder was slung
a horn; in his sash was sticking a dagger. A
raw-boned, hook-nosed chestnut horse shambled unsteadily
under his weight; two lean, crook-pawed greyhounds
kept turning round just under the horse’s legs.
The face, the glance, the voice, every action, the
whole being of the stranger, was expressive of a wild
daring and an unbounded, incredible pride; his pale-blue
glassy eyes strayed about with a sideway squint like
a drunkard’s; he flung back his head, puffed
out his cheeks, snorted and quivered all over, as though
bursting with dignity—for all the world
like a turkey-cock. He repeated his question.
‘I didn’t know it was forbidden to shoot
here,’ I replied.
‘You are here, sir,’ he continued, ‘on
my land.’
‘With your permission, I will go off it.’
‘But pe-ermit me to ask,’ he rejoined,
’is it a nobleman I have the honour of addressing?’
I mentioned my name.
’In that case, oblige me by hunting here.
I am a nobleman myself, and am very pleased to do
any service to a nobleman.... And my name is Panteley
Tchertop-hanov.’ He bowed, hallooed, gave
his horse a lash on the neck; the horse shook its
head, reared, shied, and trampled on a dog’s
paws. The dog gave a piercing squeal. Tchertop-hanov
boiled over with rage; foaming at the mouth, he struck
