Works of Ivan Turgenev (Illustrated) (276 page)

‘Get on with you, sea - drake! What should he be angry about? He’s a good - natured gentleman. You see, he’ll give me something to drink. Hey, master, give a poor scoundrel a dram! Won’t I drink it!’ he added, shrugging his shoulder up to his ear, and grating his teeth.

I could not help smiling, gave him a copper, and told Kondrat to drive on.

‘Much obliged, your honour,’ Efrem shouted after us in soldierly fashion. ‘And you’ll know, Kondrat, for the future from whom to learn manners. Faint heart never wins; ‘tis boldness gains the day. When you come back, come to my place, d’ye hear? There’ll be drinking going on three days at home; there’ll be some necks broken, I can tell you; my wife’s a devil of a woman; our yard’s on the side of a precipice…. Ay, magpie, have a good time till your tail gets pinched.’ And with a sharp whistle, Efrem plunged into the bushes.

‘What sort of man is he?’ I questioned Kondrat, who, sitting in the front, kept shaking his head, as though deliberating with himself.

‘That fellow?’ replied Kondrat, and he looked down. ‘That fellow?’ he repeated.

‘Yes. Is he of your village?’

‘Yes, he’s a Svyatoe man. He’s a fellow…. You wouldn’t find the like of him, if you hunted for a hundred miles round. A thief and cheat — good Lord, yes! Another man’s property simply, as it were, takes his eye. You may bury a thing underground, and you won’t hide it from him; and as to money, you might sit on it, and he’d get it from under you without your noticing it.’

‘What a bold fellow he is!’

‘Bold? Yes, he’s not afraid of any one. But just look at him; he’s a beast by his physiognomy; you can see by his nose.’ (Kondrat often used to drive with gentlemen, and had been in the chief town of the province, and so liked on occasion to show off his attainments.) ‘There’s positively no doing anything with him. How many times they’ve taken him off to put him in the prison! — it’s simply trouble thrown away. They start tying him up, and he’ll say, “Come, why don’t you fasten that leg? fasten that one too, and a little tighter: I’ll have a little sleep meanwhile; and I shall get home before your escort.” And lo and behold! there he is back again, yes, back again, upon my soul! Well as we all about here know the forest, being used to it from childhood, we’re no match for him there. Last summer he came at night straight across from Altuhin to Svyatoe, and no one had ever been known to walk it — it’ll be over thirty miles. And he steals honey too; no one can beat him at that; and the bees don’t sting him. There’s not a hive he hasn’t plundered.’

‘I expect he doesn’t spare the wild bees either?’

‘Well, no, I won’t lay a false charge against him. That sin’s never been observed in him. The wild bees’ nest is a holy thing with us. A hive is shut in by fences; there’s a watch kept; if you get the honey — it’s your luck; but the wild bee is a thing of God’s, not guarded; only the bear touches it.’

‘Because he is a bear,’ remarked Yegor.

‘Is he married?’

‘To be sure. And he has a son. And won’t he be a thief too, the son! He’s taken after his father. And he’s training him now too. The other day he took a pot with some old coppers in it, stolen somewhere, I’ve no doubt, went and buried it in a clearing in the forest, and went home and sent his son to the clearing. “Till you find the pot,” says he, “I won’t give you anything to eat, or let you into the place.” The son stayed the whole day in the forest, and spent the night there, but he found the pot. Yes, he’s a smart chap, that Efrem. When he’s at home, he’s a civil fellow, presses every one; you may eat and drink as you will, and there’ll be dancing got up at his place and merry - making of all sorts. And when he comes to the meeting — we have a parish meeting, you know, in our village — well, no one talks better sense than he does; he’ll come up behind, listen, say a word as if he chopped it off, and away again; and a weighty word it’ll be, too. But when he’s about in the forest, ah! that means trouble! We’ve to look out for mischief. Though, I must say, he doesn’t touch his own people unless he’s in a fix. If he meets a Svyatoe man: “Go along with you, brother,” he’ll shout, a long way away; “the forest devil’s upon me: I shall kill you!” — it’s a bad business!’

‘What can you all be thinking about? A whole district can’t get even with one man?’

‘Well, that’s just how it is, any way.’

‘Is he a sorcerer, then?’

‘Who can say! Here, some days ago, he crept round at night to the deacon’s near, after the honey, and the deacon was watching the hive himself. Well, he caught him, and in the dark he gave him a good hiding. When he’d done, Efrem, he says to him: “But d’you know who it is you’ve been beating?” The deacon, when he knew him by his voice, was fairly dumfoundered.

“Well, my good friend,” says Efrem, “you won’t get off so easily for this.” The deacon fell down at his feet. “Take,” says he, “what you please.” “No,” says he. “I’ll take it from you at my own time and as I choose.” And what do you think? Since that day the deacon’s as though he’d been scalded; he wanders about like a ghost. “It’s taken,” says he, “all the heart out of me; it was a dreadful, powerful saying, to be sure, the brigand fastened upon me.” That’s how it is with him, with the deacon.’

‘That deacon must be a fool,’ I observed.

‘A fool? Well, but what do you say to this? There was once an order issued to seize this fellow, Efrem. We had a police commissary then, a sharp man. And so a dozen chaps went off into the forest to take Efrem. They look, and there he is coming to meet them…. One of them shouts, “Here he is, hold him, tie him!” But Efrem stepped into the forest and cut himself a branch, two fingers’ thickness, like this, and then out he skips into the road again, looking so frightful, so terrible, and gives the command like a general at a review: “On your knees!” All of them fairly fell down. “But who,” says he, “shouted hold him, tie him? You, Seryoga?” The fellow simply jumped up and ran … and Efrem after him, and kept swinging his branch at his heels…. For nearly a mile he stroked him down. And afterwards he never ceased to regret: “Ah,” he’d say, “it is annoying I didn’t lay him up for the confession.” For it was just before St. Philip’s day. Well, they changed the police commissary soon after, but it all ended the same way.’

‘Why did they all give in to him?’

‘Why! well, it is so….’

‘He has frightened you all, and now he does as he likes with you.’

‘Frightened, yes…. He’d frighten any one. And he’s a wonderful hand at contrivances, my goodness, yes! I once came upon him in the forest; there was a heavy rain falling; I was for edging away…. But he looked at me, and beckoned to me with his hand like this. “Come along,” says he, “Kondrat, don’t be afraid. Let me show you how to live in the forest, and to keep dry in the rain.” I went up to him, and he was sitting under a fir - tree, and he’d made a fire of damp twigs: the smoke hung about in the fir - tree, and kept the rain from dripping through. I was astonished at him then. And I’ll tell you what he contrived one time’ (and Kondrat laughed); ‘he really did do a funny thing. They’d been thrashing the oats at the thrashing - floor, and they hadn’t finished; they hadn’t time to rake up the last heap; well, they ‘d set two watch - men by it for the night, and they weren’t the boldest - hearted of the chaps either. Well, they were sitting and gossiping, and Efrem takes and stuffs his shirt - sleeves full of straw, ties up the wrist - bands, and puts the shirt up over his head. And so he steals up in that shape to the thrashing - floor, and just pops out from behind the corner and gives them a peep of his horns. One chap says to the other: “Do you see?” “Yes,” says the other, and didn’t he give a screech all of a sudden … and then the fences creaked and nothing more was seen of them. Efrem shovelled up the oats into a bag and dragged it off home. He told the story himself afterwards. He put them to shame, he did, the chaps…. He did really!’

Kondrat laughed again. And Yegor smiled. ‘So the fences creaked and that was all?’ he commented. ‘There was nothing more seen of them,’ Kondrat assented. ‘They were simply gone in a flash.’

We were all silent again. Suddenly Kondrat started and sat up.

‘Eh, mercy upon us!’ he ejaculated; ‘surely it’s never a fire!’

‘Where, where?’ we asked.

‘Yonder, see, in front, where we ‘re going…. A fire it is! Efrem there, Efrem — why, he foretold it! If it’s not his doing, the damned fellow!…’

I glanced in the direction Kondrat was pointing. Two or three miles ahead of us, behind a green strip of low fir saplings, there really was a thick column of dark blue smoke slowly rising from the ground, gradually twisting and coiling into a cap - shaped cloud; to the right and left of it could be seen others, smaller and whiter.

A peasant, all red and perspiring, in nothing but his shirt, with his hair hanging dishevelled about his scared face, galloped straight towards us, and with difficulty stopped his hastily bridled horse.

‘Mates,’ he inquired breathlessly, ‘haven’t you seen the foresters?’

‘No, we haven’t. What is it? is the forest on fire?’

‘Yes. We must get the people together, or else if it gets to Trosnoe …’

The peasant tugged with his elbows, pounded with his heels on the horse’s sides…. It galloped off.

Kondrat, too, whipped up his pair. We drove straight towards the smoke, which was spreading more and more widely; in places it suddenly grew black and rose up high. The nearer we moved to it, the more indefinite became its outlines; soon all the air was clouded over, there was a strong smell of burning, and here and there between the trees, with a strange, weird quivering in the sunshine, gleamed the first pale red tongues of flame.

‘Well, thank God,’ observed Kondrat, ‘it seems it’s an overground fire.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Overground? One that runs along over the earth. With an underground fire, now, it’s a difficult job to deal. What’s one to do, when the earth’s on fire for a whole yard’s depth? There’s only one means of safety — digging ditches, — and do you suppose that’s easy? But an overground fire’s nothing. It only scorches the grasses and burns the dry leaves! The forest will be all the better for it. Ouf, though, mercy on us, look how it flares!’

We drove almost up to the edge of the fire. I got down and went to meet it. It was neither dangerous nor difficult. The fire was running over the scanty pine - forest against the wind; it moved in an uneven line, or, to speak more accurately, in a dense jagged wall of curved tongues. The smoke was carried away by the wind. Kondrat had told the truth; it really was an overground fire, which only scorched the grass and passed on without finishing its work, leaving behind it a black and smoking, but not even smouldering, track. At times, it is true, when the fire came upon a hole filled with dry wood and twigs, it suddenly and with a kind of peculiar, rather vindictive roar, rose up in long, quivering points; but it soon sank down again and ran on as before, with a slight hiss and crackle. I even noticed, more than once, an oak - bush, with dry hanging leaves, hemmed in all round and yet untouched, except for a slight singeing at its base. I must own I could not understand why the dry leaves were not burned. Kondrat explained to me that it was owing to the fact that the fire was overground, ‘that’s to say, not angry.’ ‘But it’s fire all the same,’ I protested. ‘Overground fire,’ repeated Kondrat. However, overground as it was, the fire, none the less, produced its effect: hares raced up and down with a sort of disorder, running back with no sort of necessity into the neighbourhood of the fire; birds fell down in the smoke and whirled round and round; horses looked back and neighed, the forest itself fairly hummed — and man felt discomfort from the heat suddenly beating into his face….

‘What are we looking at?’ said Yegor suddenly, behind my back. ‘Let’s go on.’

‘But where are we to go?’ asked Kondrat.

‘Take the left, over the dry bog; we shall get through.’

We turned to the left, and got through, though it was sometimes difficult for both the horses and the cart.

The whole day we wandered over the Charred Wood. At evening — the sunset had not yet begun to redden in the sky, but the shadows from the trees already lay long and motionless, and in the grass one could feel that chill that comes before the dew — I lay down by the roadside near the cart in which Kondrat, without haste, was harnessing the horses after their feed, and I recalled my cheerless reveries of the day before. Everything around was as still as the previous evening, but there was not the forest, stifling and weighing down the spirit. On the dry moss, on the crimson grasses, on the soft dust of the road, on the slender stems and pure little leaves of the young birch - trees, lay the clear soft light of the no longer scorching, sinking sun. Everything was resting, plunged in soothing coolness; nothing was yet asleep, but everything was getting ready for the restoring slumber of evening and night - time. Everything seemed to be saying to man: ‘Rest, brother of ours; breathe lightly, and grieve not, thou too, at the sleep close before thee.’ I raised my head and saw at the very end of a delicate twig one of those large flies with emerald head, long body, and four transparent wings, which the fanciful French call ‘maidens,’ while our guileless people has named them ‘bucket - yokes.’ For a long while, more than an hour, I did not take my eyes off her. Soaked through and through with sunshine, she did not stir, only from time to time turning her head from side to side and shaking her lifted wings … that was all. Looking at her, it suddenly seemed to me that I understood the life of nature, understood its clear and unmistakable though, to many, still mysterious significance. A subdued, quiet animation, an unhasting, restrained use of sensations and powers, an equilibrium of health in each separate creature — there is her very basis, her unvarying law, that is what she stands upon and holds to. Everything that goes beyond this level, above or below — it makes no difference — she flings away as worthless. Many insects die as soon as they know the joys of love, which destroy the equilibrium. The sick beast plunges into the thicket and expires there alone: he seems to feel that he no longer has the right to look upon the sun that is common to all, nor to breathe the open air; he has not the right to live; — and the man who from his own fault or from the fault of others is faring ill in the world — ought, at least, to know how to keep silence.