“Gentlemen, let us dissect the marmot,” suggested Nekrichikhvostov,1 clerk to the marshal of the nobility.
So the hunters sat down in the grass, took out their penknives, and began to dissect the creature.
“I can’t find anything in this marmot,” Nekrichikhvostov complained when the marmot had been cut to ribbons. “It doesn’t have a heart. It has entrails, though. Know what, gentlemen? Let us go on to the marshes. What can we shoot here? Quail isn’t game. We ought to be going after woodcock and snipe. Shall we go?”
The hunters rose and wandered lazily in the direction of their carriages. When they were close to the carriages, they fired a volley at the local pigeons and killed one.
“Tallyho! Your Excellency! Yegorich!” shouted the members of the second group when they caught sight of the first group sitting down and resting.
The general and Yegor Yegorich looked round. The second group were waving their caps.
“What on earth are you doing that for?” Yegor Yegorich shouted.
“Success! We’ve killed a bustard! Come quickly!”
The first group simply refused to believe they had killed a bustard and went straight off to the carriages. Once inside the carriages, they decided to leave the quail in peace and agreed to follow an itinerary which would take them three miles farther on—into the marshes.
“I get all burned up when I’m hunting,” the general confided to the doctor when the troikas had brought them a mile or so away from the hayfield. “I get all burned up! I wouldn’t spare my own father! Please forgive an old man, eh?”
“Hm.”
“Sweet old rogue,” Yegor Yegorich whispered into the doctor’s ear. “He says that because it’s the fashion nowadays to marry off your daughter to a doctor. He’s a sly excellency, he is! Hee-hee-hee!…”
“We’re coming to the wide-open spaces,” Vanya said.
“So we are. Plenty of ’em.”
“What’s that?”
“Gentlemen, where is Bolva?” Mange said, wondering where he had gone.
They all stared at one another.
“He must have been in the other troika,” Yegor Yegorich suggested, and he began shouting: “Gentlemen, is Bolva with you?”
“No, he’s not,” Kardamonov shouted back.
The hunters pondered the matter.
“Devil take him,” the general decided. “We’re not going to turn back for him!”
“Really, we ought to go back, Your Excellency. He’s not strong. He’ll die without water. He couldn’t walk that far.”
“He could if he wanted to.”
“It would kill the old man. He’s ninety years old!”
“Nonsense!”
When they came to the marshes, our hunters pulled long faces. The marshes were crowded with other hunters: it was therefore hardly worth their while to emerge from their carriages. After a little thought they decided to go on a little farther to the state forest.
“What will you shoot there?” the doctor asked.
“Thrushes, orioles, maybe some grouse …”
“That’s all very well, but what will my poor patients be doing in the meantime? Why did you bring me along, Yegor Yegorich? Why? Why?”
The doctor sighed and scratched the back of his neck. When they came to the first parcel of forest, they got out of their carriages and fell to discussing who should go left, who right.
“Know what, gentlemen?” Nekrichikhvostov suggested. “In view of the law, or should we say the guiding principles, of nature, the game won’t leave us in the lurch. Hm. The game won’t leave us in the lurch. So I suggest we fortify ourselves before anything else! A nip of wine, and vodka, and caviar, and sturgeon won’t do any harm. Right here on the grass! What do you think, doctor? You know best—you’re a medical man. Shouldn’t we fortify ourselves?”
Nekrichikhvostov’s suggestion was accepted. Avvakum and Firs spread out two rugs, and round these were arranged the bottles and sacks full of food. Yegor Yegorich sliced the sausages, cheese, and sturgeon, while Nekrichikhvostov opened the bottles and Mange cut the bread. The hunters licked their lips and lay down on the rugs.
“Come, come, Your Excellency … Let us each have a little …”
The hunters ate and drank. The doctor immediately poured himself another drink and drank it down. Vanya followed his example.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if there were wolves here,” Kardamonov announced after a period of deep meditation, throwing a sidelong glance at the forest.
The hunters pondered, discussed the matter at length, and at the end of ten minutes came to the conclusion that one might be quite safe in saying there were no wolves.
“Well, now, shall we have another? Drink up, eh? Yegor Yegorich, what are you staring at?”
