The best story from the hunter's notes. Hunter Ivan Turgenev. My neighbor Radilov

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The stories are combined into one cycle. The narration is told in the first person.

Khor and Kalinich

One day, while hunting in the Kaluga region, I met the local gentleman Polutkin. He loved hunting just like me. Polutkin made an offer to live on his estate. The road was long, so it was decided to stop by one of the landowner’s men, Khor. He was not at home. Khor lived in a separate house with six sons and was distinguished by his prosperity. In the morning we went hunting, taking with us the cheerful peasant Kalinich, without whom Polutkin could not imagine hunting. The next day I hunted alone. I went to stay with Khor. I stayed there for three days and learned that Khor and Kalinich were good friends. I became very attached to them, but I had to leave.

Ermolai and the miller's wife

I went hunting with my neighbor's serf Ermolai. He was quite carefree; Ermolai had few responsibilities. This hunter was married, but practically never appeared in his dilapidated hut. We hunted all day, and in the evening we decided to stop for the night in a mill. At night I woke up from a quiet conversation. Arina, who was a miller, talked with Ermolai. She told her story about how she served with Count Zverkov. His wife, having learned about Arina’s pregnancy from Petrushka’s footman, exiled the girl to the village. The footman himself was sent to become a soldier. In the village, Arina married a miller, and her child died.

Raspberry water

I went hunting again one August day. The heat made me thirsty, and I reached a source called “Raspberry Water”. Not far from the key I decided to lie down in the shade. Two old men were fishing nearby. One of them was Stepushka. Nothing was known about his past. Stepushka practically didn’t talk to anyone. The other fisherman was Mikhailo Savelyev. He was a freedman and served as a butler for a tradesman. I decided to talk to them. Savelyev talked about his former master, the count. Suddenly we saw a peasant walking. He was returning from Moscow, where he asked his master to reduce the rent that his now deceased son was paying for him. The master kicked him out. The traveler lamented that there was nothing more to take from him. After some time, we each went in our own direction.

County doctor

One day, returning home after a hunt, I felt sick. I stopped at a hotel, from where I sent for a doctor. He told me his story. One day he was called to the sick daughter of a landowner outside the city. The doctor arrived at the scene and saw a beautiful 20-year-old girl. The doctor was imbued with her situation and even experienced feelings. The doctor decided to stay until the patient got better. The family accepted him as one of their own. Gradually, the doctor realized that the girl could not cope with the disease. He spent the last three nights with her. The girl died. The doctor then married the daughter of a merchant with a good dowry.

My neighbor Radilov

Ermolai and I went hunting in the linden garden. As it turned out, its owner was a local landowner Radilov. When we met, he invited me to have dinner with him. The landowner lived with his mother and sister, his deceased wife. A week after lunch, news reached me that Radilov had left with his sister-in-law, leaving behind his elderly mother.

Odnodvorets Ovsyannikov

I met Ovsyannikov while visiting Radilov. Ovsyannikov was a representative of the old generation with the manners of a wealthy merchant. His neighbors showed him respect. Ovsyannikov lived with his wife, but without children. He was respected by his neighbors. When we met with him, we talked about hunting, about new noble morals, about another neighbor Stepan Komov. Then the Oryol landowner Franz Lejeune, who came to visit Ovsyannikov, joined us.

Lgov

One day Ermolai and I went to the village of Lgov to hunt game. There were a large number of ducks on the large Lgov pond. We decided to take a boat from the village for greater convenience. On the way we met a young man, Vladimir. Along the way, I learned his story: the fellow traveler was a freedman, he communicated with us in very refined expressions. In Lgov we took a boat, albeit an old one, the cracks had to be covered with tow. We had a great time hunting, the boat was full of ducks. But as it turned out, the boat leaked. And suddenly it sank. We were able to leave the overgrown pond only in the late afternoon.

Bezhin meadow

While hunting in the Tula province, I got a little lost. Walking by the stars, I came to a wide meadow called Bezhin. There were fires burning on it, there were children there, they were herding horses in the night. I lay down from fatigue and began to listen to their conversation. One of them told about a brownie at a factory where the boy had to spend the night. Another admitted that he saw a mermaid in the trees in the forest. Some sound was suddenly heard from the direction of the thicket. A pack of dogs ran there, followed by one of the boys. When he returned, he said that there were wolves nearby. The conversations stopped only in the morning.

Kasyan with a beautiful sword

The coachman was driving me home one hot summer day. Ahead, the coachman saw a funeral procession, we hastened to overtake the convoy to avoid signs. But the cart broke down, and the procession reached us. Having reached the settlement, we changed the cart's axle. A local old man, Kasyan, agreed to take me to the hunting spot. The old man was considered by many to be a holy fool; he sometimes practiced herbal medicine. The hunt was not successful, we returned to the village and immediately went home with the coachman Erofey.

Mayor

Almost next door to my estate is the house of Arkady Pavlovich Penochkin, a young landowner and retired military man. He is distinguished by his special education among the local nobles. I don’t visit him often, because I don’t feel comfortable in his house. Once Penochkin, having learned that I was going to Ryabovo, decided to go with me. His goal was the village of Shipilovka, where the mayor Sofron, whom he praised, lived. When meeting him, the mayor complained to Penochkin about the lack of land and the increase in arrears. When I had already left them for Ryabov to hunt, I learned from a peasant friend that Shipilovka belonged to Penochkin only on paper, and the mayor was in charge.

Office

During my hunt, it started to rain coldly. And I had to stop in the nearest village. The largest house housed the headman's office. The chief clerk's name was Nikolai Eremeich. Instructions and orders for the mayor and headman passed through the office, but all the papers were signed by the owner of the village, Losnyakova. After a short sleep, I witnessed a quarrel between Nikolai Eremeich and paramedic Pavel. He accused the clerk of various obstacles to his marriage with his bride Tatyana. Later I learned that Losnyakova sent Tatyana into exile, and kept the clerk and paramedic with her.

Biryuk

In the evening he returned from another hunt. I took shelter from the bad weather under a wide bush. On the road I noticed a local forester who took me to his house. There I saw a 12-year-old girl and a baby in a cradle. The hut was very poor. People called the forester Biryuk. He had a broad figure and an unwavering face. It turned out that his wife ran away with someone else, leaving their small children. When the rain stopped, we went out into the yard. Suddenly the sound of an ax was heard in the forest, the forester ran there. Biryuk grabbed the wet man. I was ready to pay for Biryuk to let him go. And suddenly this stern man took pity and freed the frightened peasant.

Two landowners

I would like to introduce you to two landowners with whom I had the opportunity to hunt. The first, retired major Vyacheslav Khvalynsky. A kind but bad owner. Lives alone and tries not to remember the past. The other one, Mardarii Stegunov, on the contrary, has a cheerful disposition, although he also lives a bachelor’s life. Having visited them, I realized how different people are.

Death

With Ardalion Mikhailovich, my neighbor, we went hunting. He agreed on the condition that we stop by his Chaplygino estate. An oak forest was being cut down there, and we soon found ourselves at the site. There, quite unexpectedly, a falling tree crushed Maxim, who served as a contractor, to death. Death brought back my memories and brought up unpleasant feelings.

The cycle of stories “Notes of a Hunter” by Turgenev was published in 1847 – 1851 in the Sovremennik magazine. The book was published as a separate edition in 1852. The main character of the collection, on whose behalf the story is told, is a young gentleman, hunter Pyotr Petrovich, he travels to nearby villages and retells his impressions about the life of Russian landowners, peasants, and describes the picturesque nature.

Main characters

Pyotr Petrovich (narrator)- a young gentleman, hunter, the main character of the collection, the story is told on his behalf. He travels to nearby villages and retells his impressions about the life of Russian landowners and peasants, and describes the picturesque nature.

Ermolai- a hunter, a “carefree and good-natured” man of 45 years old, who belonged to Pyotr Petrovich’s neighbor - “a landowner of the old style.” He delivered grouse and partridges to the master's kitchen, hunted with the narrator; was married, but treated his wife rudely.

Khor and Kalinich

The narrator meets a hunter - a small Kaluga landowner Polutykin. On the way to Polutykin, they stop by a peasant landowner, Khor, who has been living with his children in a lonely estate in the forest for 25 years. The next day, while hunting, the narrator meets another man of Polutykin and Khor’s friend, Kalinich. The narrator spends three days with the rationalist Khor, comparing him with the dreamy Kalinich. Kalinich kept an apiary, got along with animals, “stood closer to nature,” while Khor was “toward people, to society.”

Ermolai and the miller's wife

The narrator went with the hunter Ermolai on a night hunt. Ermolai was a 45-year-old man who belonged to the narrator’s neighbor - “a landowner of the old style.” A man delivered grouse and partridges to the master's kitchen. Ermolai was married, but treated his wife rudely. The hunters decided to spend the night in the mill. When the men were sitting by the fire, the miller's wife Arina came to them. Ermolai invited her to visit him, promising to kick his wife out. The narrator recognized the miller's wife as a girl whom the master had once taken from her family and taken to St. Petersburg to serve as his servant. Arina said that the miller bought her.

Raspberry water

On a hot day, while hunting, the narrator went down to the Raspberry Water spring. Not far away, by the river, he saw two old men - Shumikha’s Stepushka, a poor rootless man, and Mikhail Savelyev, nicknamed Fog. The narrator met Stepushka at the gardener Mitrofan's. The narrator joined the men. Fog remembered his late count, who loved to organize holidays. A man, Vlas, who approached them, said that he had gone to Moscow to see the master so that he could reduce his rent, but the master refused. The quitrent must be paid, but Vlas has nothing, and his hungry wife is waiting for him at home.

County doctor

One autumn the narrator fell ill - a fever caught him in a hotel in a provincial town. The doctor prescribed him treatment. The men started talking. The doctor told how he treated a girl of about twenty, Alexandra Andreevna, for a fatal illness. The girl did not recover for a long time and during this time mutual sympathy arose between them. Before her death, Alexandra told her mother that they were engaged. After some time, the doctor married a merchant's daughter.

My neighbor Radilov

Once, while hunting partridges with Ermolai, the narrator discovered an abandoned garden. Its owner turned out to be the landowner Radilov, the narrator’s neighbor. He invited the hunters to dine. The owner introduced the guests to his mother, the former landowner Fyodor Mikheich, the sister of his late wife Olya. At dinner, the narrator could not “discover a passion” for anything in his neighbor. Over tea, the owner recalled his wife’s funeral; how he lay in a Turkish hospital with a rotten fever. The narrator noted that any misfortune can be endured. A week later, the narrator learned that Radilov had gone somewhere with his sister-in-law, leaving his mother.

Odnodvorets Ovsyannikov

Luka Petrovich Ovsyannikov is a plump, tall man of about 70 years old. He reminded the narrator of “Russian boyars of pre-Petrine times.” He lived with his wife and did not pretend to be a nobleman or landowner. The narrator met him at Radilov's. During the conversation, Ovsyannikov recalled the past, the narrator’s grandfather - how he took a wedge of land from them; how I was in Moscow and saw the nobles there. Odnodvorets noted that now the nobles, although they have “learned all the sciences,” but “don’t understand the affairs of the present.”

Lgov

Once Ermolai suggested that the narrator go to Lgov, a large steppe village on a swampy river. A local hunter, Vladimir, a freed servant, joined them to help. He knew how to read and write, studied music, and expressed himself elegantly. To get the boat, Vladimir went to Suchok, the master’s fisherman. Suchok said that he managed to work for various gentlemen as a coachman, a cook, a coffee shop worker, an actor, a Cossack woman, and a gardener. The men went out to hunt ducks. The boat began to leak a little and at some point capsized. Ermolai found a ford and soon they were warming up in the hay barn.

Bezhin meadow

The narrator was returning from hunting in the evening and got lost in the twilight. Suddenly he came to a “huge plain” called “Bezhin Meadow”. Peasant children sat near two fires, guarding a herd of horses. The narrator joined them. The boys told stories about the brownie, the mermaid, the goblin, the late master, beliefs about parental Saturday, and other folk tales about “evil spirits.” Pavlusha went to get water, and when he returned he said that it seemed to him as if the drowned man was calling him from under the water. That same year, the boy was killed by falling from a horse.

Kasyan with a Beautiful Sword

The narrator and his coachman were returning from hunting when they met a funeral train - they were burying Martyn the carpenter. The narrator's cart broke down, they somehow got to the nearest settlements. Here the narrator met the holy fool Kasyan, a “dwarf of about fifty” nicknamed Blokha. Kasyan gave him his cart, and then went hunting with the narrator.

Seeing that the narrator was shooting birds for fun, Blokha said that “it is a great sin to show blood to the world.” Kasyan himself was engaged in catching nightingales and treating them with herbs. The coachman said that Blokha sheltered the orphan Annushka.

Mayor

The narrator is visiting the young landowner Arkady Pavlych Penochkin. Penochkin had a good education, was known as an enviable groom, and was “strict but fair” with his subjects. However, the narrator visited him reluctantly. The men go to the village of Penochkin Shipilovka. The mayor Sofron Yakovlich was in charge of everything there. At first glance, things in the village were going well. However, the mayor, without the knowledge of the landowner, traded land and horses, abused the peasants, and was the actual owner of the village.

Office

To escape the rain, the narrator stopped in the nearest village, in the “main master's office.” He was told that this was the estate of Mrs. Losnyakova Elena Nikolaevna, 7 people work in the office, and the lady herself manages everything. By chance, the narrator overheard a conversation - the merchants pay the chief clerk Nikolai Eremeich before concluding a deal with the lady herself. Eremeich, in order to take revenge on the paramedic Pavsh for unsuccessful treatment, forbade Pavel’s fiancée Tatyana to get married. After a while, the narrator learned that the lady had exiled Tatyana.

Biryuk

The narrator is caught in the forest by a severe thunderstorm. He decides to wait out the bad weather, but a local forester comes up and takes him to his house. Forester Foma, nicknamed Biryuk, lived with his twelve-year-old daughter in a small hut. The forester's wife ran away with the tradesman long ago, leaving him with two children. When the rain stopped, Biryuk followed the sound of the ax and caught the thief who was chopping down the forest. The thief turned out to be a poor man. He first asked to be released, and then began to scold Biryuk, calling him a “beast.” The narrator was going to protect the poor man, but Biryuk, although angry, let the thief go.

Two landowners

The narrator introduces readers to two landowners with whom he often hunted. “Retired Major General Vyacheslav Illarionovich Khvalynsky” is a man “in adulthood, in his prime,” kind, but cannot treat poor and unofficial nobles as equals and a bad master, reputed to be a miser; loves women very much, but is not married.

Mardarii Apollonych Stegunov is his complete opposite - “a hospitable man and a buffoon”, lives in the old way. The peasants, although the master punished them, believed that he was doing everything right and such a master as theirs “you wouldn’t find in the whole province.”

Lebedyan

About five years ago the narrator found himself in Lebedyan “at the very collapse of the fair.” After lunch, I found young Prince N. in a coffee shop with retired lieutenant Khlopakov. Khlopakov knew how to live off his rich friends.

The narrator went to see the horses at the horse dealer Sitnikov. He offered horses at too high a price, and when Prince N. arrived, he completely forgot about the narrator. The narrator went to the famous breeder Chernobay. The breeder praised his horses, but sold the narrator a “scorched and lame” horse, and then did not want to take it back.

Tatyana Borisovna and her nephew

Tatyana Borisovna is a woman in her 50s, a free-thinking widow. She lives constantly on her small estate and rarely hangs out with other landowners. About 8 years ago I gave shelter to the son of my late brother Andryusha, who loved to draw. The woman’s acquaintance, college adviser Benevolensky, who “burned with a passion for art,” without knowing anything about it, took the talented boy to St. Petersburg. After the death of his patron, Andryusha returned to his aunt. He has completely changed, lives on his aunt’s income, says that he is a talented artist, but is not going to St. Petersburg again.

Death

The narrator goes to the forest cutting site with his neighbor Ardalion Mikhailovich. One of the men was crushed to death by a tree. After what he saw, the narrator thought that the Russian man “dies as if he were performing a ritual: coldly and simply.” The narrator recalled how another neighbor of his “in the village, a man was burned in a barn.” How a man in a village hospital, having learned that he might die, went home to give the last orders about the housework. I remembered the last days of my student friend Avenil Sorokoumov. I remembered how the landowner was dying and tried to pay the priest “for her waste.”

Singers

The narrator, escaping the heat, enters the Prytynny tavern, which belonged to Nikolai Ivanovich. The narrator witnesses a singing competition between “the best singer in the neighborhood,” Yashka-Turk, and a rower. The rower sang a dance song, and those present sang along with him. Yashka performed a mournful song, and “a Russian, truthful, ardent soul sounded and breathed in him.” The narrator's eyes welled up with tears. Yashka won the competition. The narrator, so as not to spoil the impression, left. The tavern's visitors celebrated Yashka's victory until late at night.

Petr Petrovich Karataev

Five years ago, the narrator, staying at a post house, met a small nobleman, Pyotr Petrovich Karataev. He went to Moscow to serve and shared his story. The man fell in love with the serf Matryona and wanted to ransom her, but the lady refused. Karataev stole Matryona. But one day, to “show off,” Matryona went to the lady’s village and ran into the master’s cart. They recognized the girl and wrote a complaint against Karataev. To pay off, he went into debt. Feeling sorry for Peter, Matryona herself returned to the master. A year later, the narrator met Karataev in Moscow in a billiard room. He sold the village and looked disappointed in life.

Date

The narrator fell asleep in a birch grove, hiding in the shade of the trees. When I woke up, I saw a young peasant girl Akulina sitting nearby. The “spoiled” valet of a rich master, Viktor Alexandrych, came to her. The valet said he was leaving tomorrow, so they wouldn't see each other next year. The girl burst into tears, but Victor treated her indifferently. When the valet left, the narrator wanted to console the girl, but she ran away in fear.

Hamlet of Shchigrovsky district

During one of the trips, the narrator spent the night with the landowner and hunter Alexander Mikhailych G***. The narrator could not sleep and his roommate told him his story. He was born in the Kursk province, then entered the university and joined a circle. At the age of 21 he went to Berlin, fell in love with the daughter of a professor he knew, but ran away. He wandered around Europe for two years and returned to his village. He married the daughter of a widowed neighbor. Having been widowed, he served in the provincial town. Now I realized that he was an unoriginal and insignificant person. Instead of introducing himself, he told the narrator to call him “Hamlet of the Shchigrovsky district.”

Tchertophanov and Nedolyuskin

Returning from a hunt, the narrator met two friends - Pantel Eremeich Tchertopkhanov and Tikhon Ivanovich Nedolyuskin. Nedolyuskin lived with Tchertopkhanov. Panteley was known as a proud man, a bully, and did not communicate with his fellow villagers.

Nedolyuskin’s father, after serving in the army, achieved nobility and gave his son a job as an official in the chancellery. After his death, the lazy and gentle Tikhon was a majordomo, a parasite, and a half-butler, half-jester.

The lady bequeathed the village to Nedolyuskin. The men became friends when Tchertop-hanov saved him from the bullying of the other heirs of the lady.

The end of Tchertopkhanov

Tchertopkhanov was abandoned by his beloved Masha two years ago. As soon as he survived this, Nedolyuskin died. Tchertopkhanov sold the estate he inherited from a friend and ordered a beautiful statue for Nedolyuskin’s grave. Once Tchertop-hanov saw men beating a Jew. For his salvation, the Jew gave him a horse, but Panteleimon promised to pay 250 rubles for it. Patelemon got used to the horse, calling him Malek-Adele, but the animal was stolen. Tchertop-hanov spent a year traveling in search of a horse. He returned with the horse, but they gave him arguments that it was not Malek-Adel. Panteleimon let the horse go into the forest, but it returned. Then Tchertopkhanov shot the animal, and then drank for a whole week and died.

Living relics

In rainy weather, Ermolai and the narrator stopped at the farm of the narrator’s mother. In the morning, in the apiary, the narrator was called by Lukerya, a woman 28–29 years old, a former beauty who now looked like a mummy. About 6-7 years ago she accidentally fell and after that she began to dry out and wither away. The narrator offered to take her to the hospital, but the woman refused. Lukerya recounted her dreams to Pyotr Petrovich: in one, she dreamed that “Christ himself” came to meet her, calling her his bride; and in the other, her own death, which did not want to take her.

From the farm foreman, the narrator learned that Lukerya is called “Living Relics.” A few weeks later the woman died.

Knocking

The narrator and the peasant Filofey were traveling to Tula to buy some shot. On the way, the cart fell into the river - the conductor dozed off. After they got out of the water, the narrator fell asleep and woke up to the sound of the cart and the clatter of hooves. Felofei with the words: “It’s knocking!” , said that these were robbers. Soon they were overtaken by drunken men, one of them ran up to the narrator’s cart, asked for money for his hangover, and the company left. The narrator saw a cart of men in Tula near a tavern. Afterwards, Ermolai said that on the night of their trip, a merchant was robbed and killed on the same road.

Forest and steppe

The narrator reflects that “hunting with a gun and a dog is beautiful in itself.” Describes the beauty of nature at dawn, the view that opens before the hunter, how “pleasant it is to wander through the bushes at dawn.” How gradually it becomes hot. Having descended to the bottom of the ravine, the hunter quenches his thirst with water from the spring, and then rests in the shade of the trees. Suddenly a thunderstorm begins, after which “it smells like strawberries and mushrooms.” Evening comes, the sun sets, the hunter returns home. Both the forest and the steppe are good at any time of the year. "But it's time to end<…>In spring it’s easy to part ways, in spring even the happy are drawn into the distance...”

Conclusion

In the collection of stories “Notes of a Hunter,” Turgenev portrays simple Russian serfs, showing their high moral and ethical qualities. The author exposes the moral impoverishment of Russian landowners, leading to the idea of protest against serfdom. After the abolition of serfdom in Russia, Alexander II asked Turgenev to be told that the essays played a big role in making his decision to free the peasants.

We recommend not limiting yourself to reading a brief retelling of “Notes of a Hunter,” but evaluating the cycle of stories by Ivan Sergeevich Turgenev in its entirety.

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I have a neighbor, a young owner and a young hunter. One fine July morning I went to see him on horseback with a proposal to go black grouse hunting together. He agreed. “Just,” he says, “let’s go to see my little things, to Zusha; By the way, I’ll watch Chaplygino; do you know my oak forest? I’m having it cut down.” - “Let’s go.” He ordered the horse to be saddled, put on a green frock coat with bronze buttons depicting boars' heads, a game bag embroidered with garus, a silver flask, threw a brand new French gun on his shoulder, turned around in front of the mirror, not without pleasure, and called his dog Esperance, given to him by his cousin, an old maid with an excellent heart, but without hair. We set off. My neighbor took with him the tenth Arkhip, a fat and squat man with a square face and antediluvian developed cheekbones, and a recently hired manager from the Baltic provinces, a young man of about nineteen, thin, blond, slightly blind, with drooping shoulders and a long neck, Mr. Gottlieb von- der-Koka. My neighbor himself recently took possession of the estate. He inherited it from his aunt, State Councilor Kardoi-Katayeva, an unusually fat woman who, even lying in bed, moaned pitifully for a long time. We entered the "little things". “Wait for me here in the clearing,” said Ardalion Mikhailych (my neighbor), turning to his companions. The German bowed, got off his horse, took a book out of his pocket, it seemed a novel by Johanna Schopenhauer, and sat down under a bush; Arkhip remained in the sun and did not move for an hour. We circled the bushes and did not find a single brood. Ardalion Mikhailych announced that he intended to go into the forest. That day I myself couldn’t believe in the success of the hunt: I also trudged after him. We returned to the clearing. The German noticed the page, stood up, put the book in his pocket and sat down, not without difficulty, on his scanty, defective mare, which squealed and kicked at the slightest touch; Arkhip perked up, jerked both reins at once, swung his legs and finally moved his stunned and crushed horse from its place. We went.
The forest of Ardalion Mikhailych was familiar to me from childhood. Together with my French tutor M. Désiré Fleury, a kind man (who, however, almost ruined my health forever by forcing me to drink Leroy’s medicine in the evenings), I often went to Chaplygino. This entire forest consisted of some two or three hundred huge oak and ash trees. Their stately, mighty trunks gleamed magnificently against the golden-transparent green of hazel and rowan trees; rising higher, they were harmoniously drawn on the clear azure and there they were already spreading their wide, knotty branches like a tent; hawks, falcons, and kestrels whistled over the motionless treetops, pileated woodpeckers pounded hard on the thick bark; the sonorous song of the blackbird suddenly rang out through the dense foliage, following the iridescent cry of the oriole; below, in the bushes, robins, siskins and warblers chirped and sang; finches ran nimbly along the paths; the white hare crept along the edge of the forest, carefully “crutching”; a red-brown squirrel briskly jumped from tree to tree and suddenly sat down, raising its tail above its head. In the grass, near the tall anthills, under the light shadow of the beautiful carved fern leaves, violets and lilies of the valley bloomed, russula, capillary, milk mushrooms, oak mushrooms, and red fly agarics grew; on the lawns, between the wide bushes, there were red strawberries... And what a shadow there was in the forest! In the heat of the day, at noon, it’s a real night: silence, smell, freshness... I had a fun time in Chaplygin, and that’s why, I admit, it was not without a sad feeling that I now entered the forest that was too familiar to me.

Anyone who happened to move from the Bolkhov district to Zhizdrinsky was probably struck by the sharp difference between the breed of people in the Oryol province and the Kaluga breed. The Oryol peasant is short, stooped, gloomy, looks from under his brows, lives in crappy aspen huts, goes to corvée, does not engage in trade, eats poorly, wears bast shoes; Kaluga obrok peasant lives in spacious pine huts, is tall, looks bold and cheerful, has a clean and white face, sells oil and tar, and wears boots on holidays. The Oryol village (we are talking about the eastern part of the Oryol province) is usually located among plowed fields, near a ravine, somehow turned into a dirty pond. Apart from a few willow trees, always ready to serve, and two or three skinny birches, you won’t see a tree for a mile around; hut is stuck to hut, the roofs are covered with rotten straw... The Kaluga village, on the contrary, is mostly surrounded by forest; the huts stand freer and straighter, covered with planks; the gates are tightly locked, the fence in the backyard is not scattered and has not fallen out, it does not invite every passing pig to visit... And it is better for the hunter in the Kaluga province. In the Oryol province, the last forests and areas will disappear in five years, and there are no traces of swamps; in Kaluga, on the contrary, the clearings stretch for hundreds, the swamps for dozens of miles, and the noble bird of the black grouse has not yet disappeared, there is a good-natured great snipe, and the busy partridge with its impetuous takeoff amuses and frightens the shooter and the dog.

While visiting the Zhizdra district as a hunter, I came across a field and met one Kaluga small landowner, Polutykin, a passionate hunter and, therefore, an excellent person. True, he had some weaknesses: for example, he wooed all the rich brides in the province and, having been refused his hand and his house, with a contrite heart he confided his grief to all his friends and acquaintances, and continued to send sour peaches as gifts to the brides’ parents and other raw produce of his garden; loved to repeat the same joke, which, despite Mr. Polutykin’s respect for his merits, absolutely never made anyone laugh; praised the works of Akim Nakhimov and the story Pinnu; stuttered; called his dog Astronomer; instead of however spoke anyway and started a French kitchen in his house, the secret of which, according to his cook, was a complete change in the natural taste of each dish: this artist’s meat tasted like fish, fish like mushrooms, pasta like gunpowder; but not a single carrot fell into the soup without taking the form of a rhombus or trapezoid. But, with the exception of these few and insignificant shortcomings, Mr. Polutykin was, as already said, an excellent person.

On the very first day of my acquaintance with Mr. Polutykin, he invited me to his place for the night.

“It will be about five miles to me,” he added, “it’s a long walk; Let's go to Khor first. (The reader will allow me not to convey his stutter.)

-Who is Khor?

- And my man... He’s not far from here.

We went to see him. In the middle of the forest, in a cleared and developed clearing, stood the lonely estate of Khorya. It consisted of several pine log houses connected by fences; In front of the main hut there was a canopy supported by thin posts. We entered. We were met by a young guy, about twenty, tall and handsome.

- Ah, Fedya! Khor at home? - Mr. Polutykin asked him.

“No, Khor left for the city,” answered the guy, smiling and showing a row of teeth white as snow. - Would you like to pawn the cart?

- Yes, brother, a cart. Bring us some kvass.

We entered the hut. Not a single Suzdal painting covered the clean log walls; in the corner, in front of a heavy image in a silver frame, a lamp glowed; the linden table had recently been scraped and washed; there were no frisky Prussians wandering between the logs or along the window jambs, no brooding cockroaches hiding. The young guy soon appeared with a large white mug filled with good kvass, a huge slice of wheat bread and a dozen pickles in a wooden bowl. He put all these supplies on the table, leaned against the door and began looking at us with a smile. Before we had time to finish our snack, the cart was already knocking in front of the porch. We left. A boy of about fifteen, curly-haired and red-cheeked, sat as a coachman and had difficulty holding a well-fed piebald stallion. Around the cart stood about six young giants, very similar to each other and to Fedya. “All children of Khorya!” - Polutykin noted. “All the Ferrets,” said Fedya, who followed us out onto the porch, “and not all of them: Potap is in the forest, and Sidor has gone to the city with old Horem... Look, Vasya,” he continued, turning to the coachman, “in spirit Somchi: You’re taking the master. Just be careful during the pushes: you’ll spoil the cart and disturb the master’s womb!” The rest of the Ferrets grinned at Fedya's antics. “Put in the Astronomer!” – Mr. Polutykin exclaimed solemnly. Fedya, not without pleasure, lifted the forcedly smiling dog into the air and placed it on the bottom of the cart. Vasya gave the reins to the horse. We drove off. “This is my office,” Mr. Polutykin suddenly told me, pointing to a small low house, “would you like to come in?” - “If you please.” “It’s been abolished now,” he noted, getting down, “but everything is worth seeing.” The office consisted of two empty rooms. The watchman, a crooked old man, came running from the backyard. “Hello, Minyaich,” said Mr. Polutykin, “where is the water?” The crooked old man disappeared and immediately returned with a bottle of water and two glasses. “Taste it,” Polutykin told me, “I have good, spring water.” We drank a glass each, and the old man bowed to us from the waist. “Well, now it seems we can go,” my new friend remarked. “In this office I sold four acres of forest to the merchant Alliluyev at a bargain price.” We got into the cart and half an hour later we were driving into the courtyard of the manor's house.

“Tell me, please,” I asked Polutykin at dinner, “why does Khor live separately from your other men?”

- But here’s why: he’s a smart guy. About twenty-five years ago his hut burned down; So he came to my late father and said: they say, let me, Nikolai Kuzmich, settle in your swamp in the forest. I will pay you a good rent. - “Why do you need to settle in a swamp?” - “Yes, that’s right; Only you, father, Nikolai Kuzmich, don’t use me for any work, but give me the rent you know.” - “Fifty rubles a year!” - “If you please.” - “Yes, I have no arrears, look!” - “It is known, without arrears...” So he settled in the swamp. From then on he was nicknamed Khorem.

- Well, did you get rich? – I asked.

- Got rich. Now he’s paying me a hundred rubles in rent, and I’ll probably throw in some extra. I’ve told him more than once: “Pay off, Khor, hey, pay off!..” And he, the beast, assures me that there is nothing; there is no money, they say... Yes, no matter how it is!..

The next day, immediately after tea, we went hunting again. Driving through the village, Mr. Polutykin ordered the coachman to stop at a low hut and loudly exclaimed: “Kalinich!” “Now, father, now,” a voice came from the yard, “I’m tying up my bast shoe.” We went at a walk; outside the village a man of about forty, tall, thin, with a small head bent back, caught up with us. It was Kalinich. I liked his good-natured dark face, marked here and there with rowan berries, at first sight. Kalinich (as I learned later) every day went hunting with the master, carried his bag, sometimes his gun, noticed where the bird landed, got water, picked strawberries, built huts, ran behind the droshky; Without him, Mr. Polutykin could not take a step. Kalinich was a man of the most cheerful, meek disposition, constantly sang in a low voice, looked carefree in all directions, spoke slightly through his nose, smiling, narrowed his light blue eyes and often took his thin, wedge-shaped beard with his hand. He walked slowly, but with long steps, lightly supporting himself with a long and thin stick. During the day he spoke to me more than once, served me without servility, but watched the master as if he were a child. When the unbearable midday heat forced us to seek shelter, he took us to his apiary, in the very depths of the forest. Kalinich opened a hut for us, hung with bunches of dry fragrant herbs, laid us down on fresh hay, and he put a kind of bag with a net on our heads, took a knife, a pot and a firebrand and went to the apiary to cut out honeycombs for us. We washed down the clear, warm honey with spring water and fell asleep to the monotonous buzz of bees and the chatty babble of leaves.

On the very first day of my acquaintance with Mr. Polutykin, he invited me to his place for the night.

“It will be about five miles to me,” he added, “it’s a long walk; Let's go to Khor first. (The reader will allow me not to convey his stutter.)

-Who is Khor?

- And my man... He’s not far from here.

- Ah, Fedya! Khor at home? - Mr. Polutykin asked him.

“No, Khor left for the city,” answered the guy, smiling and showing a row of teeth white as snow. - Would you like to pawn the cart?

- Yes, brother, a cart. Bring us some kvass.