War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy [323]
And if being in the room like that seemed improper and burdensome to Danilo, having any sort of dealings with a young lady seemed simply impossible to him. He lowered his eyes and hurried out, as if it had nothing to do with him, trying not to injure the young lady somehow accidentally.
IV
The old count, who had always maintained an enormous hunt, having now handed the whole hunt over to his son’s keeping, on that day of the fifteenth of September, feeling quite cheered up, made ready to go with them.
An hour later the entire hunt was at the porch. Nikolai, with a stern and serious air, showing that it was no time for bothering with trifles, walked past Natasha and Petya as they were telling him something. He examined all parts of the hunt, sent a pack and some hunters ahead to circle around, mounted his chestnut Don stallion, and whistling up the dogs of his pack, set out across the threshing floor to the field leading to the Otradnoe reserve. The old count’s horse, a sorrel gelding named Viflyanka, was led by the count’s groom; the count himself was to drive directly to the covert assigned to him in a little droshky.
In all, fifty-four hounds were led out under six kennelmen and whippers-in. Besides the gentlemen, there were eight borzoi handlers, around whom roamed more than forty borzois, so that, with the gentlemen’s packs, there were about a hundred and thirty dogs in the field and twenty mounted hunters.
Each dog knew its master and its name. Each hunter knew his task, place, and purpose. As soon as they went beyond the fence, everybody, with no noise or talk, spread out evenly and calmly along the road and field leading to the Otradnoe woods.
As over a plush carpet, the horses walked over the field, splashing in puddles now and then as they crossed the roads. The misty sky went on imperceptibly and evenly descending to earth; the air was still, warm, soundless. Now and then came the whistle of a hunter, the snort of a horse, the crack of a whip, or the squeal of a hound strayed from its place.
They had not yet ridden a mile when the Rostov hunt was met by another five riders with dogs emerging from the mist. At their head rode a fresh, handsome old man with big gray mustaches.
“Greetings, uncle!” said Nikolai, when the old man rode up to him.
“Right you are!…I just knew,” the uncle began (he was a distant relation, a none-too-wealthy neighbor of the Rostovs), “I just knew you wouldn’t stay home, and it’s a good thing you didn’t. Right you are!” (This was the uncle’s favorite saying.) “Take the reserve at once, because my Girchik told me the Ilagins are at Korniki with their hunt. They’ll snatch the litter—right you are!—straight out from under your nose.”
“That’s where I’m going. Shall we combine the packs?” asked Nikolai. “Combine…”
The hounds were united into a single pack, and the uncle and Nikolai rode side by side. Natasha, wrapped in shawls, from which her lively face peeked out with its bright eyes, galloped up to them, accompanied by Petya, who never left her side, and Mikhailo, a hunter and riding master, who was assigned to look after her. Petya laughed at something, and whipped and pulled his horse. Natasha adroitly and confidently sat her black Arabchik and with a sure hand effortlessly reined him in.
The uncle glanced disapprovingly at Petya and Natasha. He did not like combining play with the serious business of hunting.
“Greetings, uncle, we’re coming, too,” cried Petya.
“If it’s greetings, it’s greetings, but don’t go trampling the dogs,” the uncle said sternly.
“Nikolenka, what a lovely dog Trunila is! He recognized me,” Natasha said of her favorite hound.
“First of all, Trunila’s not a dog, he’s a bloodhound,” thought Nikolai, and he glanced sternly at his sister, trying to make her feel the distance that should separate them at that moment. Natasha understood it.
“Don’t think we’ll get in anybody’s way, uncle,” said Natasha. “We’ll stay in our places and not move.”
“And a good thing, too, little countess,