The first news with which my valet, Prokofy, greeted me (he regarded
himself as the seignorial huntsman) was that there was an immense
number of wild snipe on the wing, and that in the birch-copse near
Eskovo (Harlov’s property), especially, they were simply swarming. I
had three hours before me till dinner-time. I promptly seized my gun
and my game-bag, and with Prokofy and a setter-dog, hastened to the
Eskovo copse. We certainly did find a great many wild snipe there,
and, firing about thirty charges, killed five. As I hurried homewards
with my booty, I saw a peasant ploughing near the roadside. His horse
had stopped, and with tearful and angry abuse he was mercilessly
tugging with the cord reins at the animal’s head, which was bent on
one side. I looked attentively at the luckless beast, whose ribs were
all but through its skin, and, bathed in sweat, heaved up and down
with convulsive, irregular movements like a blacksmith’s bellows. I
recognised it at once as the decrepit old mare, with the scar on her
shoulder, who had served Martin Petrovitch so many years.
‘Is Mr. Harlov living?’ I asked Prokofy. The chase had so completely
absorbed us, that up to that instant we had not talked of anything.
‘Yes, he’s alive. Why?’
‘But that’s his mare, isn’t it? Do you mean to say he’s sold her?’
‘His mare it is, to be sure; but as to selling, he never sold her. But
they took her away from him, and handed her over to that peasant.’
‘How, took it? And he consented?’
‘They never asked his consent. Things have changed here in your
absence,’ Prokofy observed. With a faint smile in response to my look
of amazement; ‘worse luck! My goodness, yes! Now Sletkin’s master, and
orders every one about.’
‘But Martin Petrovitch?’
‘Why, Martin Petrovitch has become the very last person here, you may
say. He’s on bread and water,--what more can one say? They’ve crushed
him altogether. Mark my words; they’ll drive him out of the house.’
The idea that it was possible to _drive_ such a giant had never entered
my head. ‘And what does Zhitkov say to it?’ I asked at last. ‘I suppose
he’s married to the second daughter?’
‘Married?’ repeated Prokofy, and this time he grinned all over his
face. ‘They won’t let him into the house. “We don’t want you,” they
say; “get along home with you.” It’s as I said; Sletkin directs every
one.’
‘But what does the young lady say?’
‘Evlampia Martinovna? Ah, master, I could tell you … but you’re
young--one must think of that. Things are going on here that are … oh!…
oh!… oh! Hey! why Dianka’s setting, I do believe!’
My dog actually had stopped short, before a thick oak bush which
bordered a narrow ravine by the roadside. Prokofy and I ran up to the
dog; a snipe flew up out of the bush, we both fired at it and missed;
the snipe settled in another place; we followed it.
The soup was already on the table when I got back. My mother scolded
me. ‘What’s the meaning of it?’ she said with displeasure; ‘the very
first day, and you keep us waiting for dinner.’ I brought her the wild
snipe I had killed; she did not even look at them. There were also
in the room Souvenir, Kvitsinsky, and Zhitkov. The retired major was
huddled in a corner, for all the world like a schoolboy in disgrace.
His face wore an expression of mingled confusion and annoyance; his
eyes were red.… One might positively have imagined he had recently been
in tears. My mother remained in an ill humour. I was at no great pains
to surmise that my late arrival did not count for much in it. During
dinner-time she hardly talked at all. The major turned beseeching
glances upon her from time to time, but ate a good dinner nevertheless.
Souvenir was all of a shake. Kvitsinsky preserved his habitual
self-confidence of demeanour.
‘Vikenty Osipitch,’ my mother addressed him, ‘I beg you to send a
carriage to-morrow for Martin Petrovitch, since it has come to my
knowledge that he has none of his own. And bid them tell him to come
without fail, that I desire to see him.’
Kvitsinsky was about to make some rejoinder, but he restrained himself.
‘And let Sletkin know,’ continued my mother, ‘that I command him to
present himself before me.… Do you hear? I com … mand!’
‘Yes, just so … that scoundrel ought----’ Zhitkov was beginning in a
subdued voice; but my mother gave him such a contemptuous look, that he
promptly turned away and was silent.
‘Do you hear? I command!’ repeated my mother.
‘Certainly, madam,’ Kvitsinsky replied submissively but with dignity.
‘Martin Petrovitch won’t come!’ Souvenir whispered to me, as he came
out of the dining-room with me after dinner. ‘You should just see
what’s happened to him! It’s past comprehension! It’s come to this,
that whatever they say to him, he doesn’t understand a word! Yes!
They’ve got the snake under the pitch-fork!’
And Souvenir went off into his revolting laugh.