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CHAPTER
V
Nicholas
Rostov meanwhile remained at his post, waiting for the wolf. By
the
way the hunt approached and receded, by the cries of the dogs
whose
notes
were familiar to him, by the way the voices of the huntsmen
approached,
receded, and rose, he realized what was happening at the
copse.
He knew that young and old wolves were there, that the hounds had
separated
into two packs, that somewhere a wolf was being chased, and
that
something had gone wrong. He expected the wolf to come his way
any
moment.
He made thousands of different conjectures as to where and from
what
side the beast would come and how he would set upon it. Hope
alternated
with despair. Several times he addressed a prayer to God that
the
wolf should come his way. He prayed with that passionate and
shamefaced
feeling with which men pray at moments of great excitement
arising
from trivial causes. "What would it be to Thee to do this for
me?"
he said to God. "I know Thou art great, and that it is a sin to
ask
this
of Thee, but for God's sake do let the old wolf come my way and
let
Karay
spring at it--in sight of 'Uncle' who is watching from over
there-
-and
seize it by the throat in a death grip!" A thousand times during
that
half-hour Rostov cast eager and restless glances over the edge of
the
wood, with the two scraggy oaks rising above the aspen
undergrowth
and
the gully with its water-worn side and "Uncle's" cap just visible
above
the bush on his right.
"No,
I shan't have such luck," thought Rostov, "yet what wouldn't it
be
worth!
It is not to be! Everywhere, at cards and in war, I am always
unlucky."
Memories of Austerlitz and of Dolokhov flashed rapidly and
clearly
through his mind. "Only once in my life to get an old wolf, I
want
only that!" thought he, straining eyes and ears and looking to
the
left
and then to the right and listening to the slightest variation of
note
in the cries of the dogs.
Again
he looked to the right and saw something running toward him
across
the
deserted field. "No, it can't be!" thought Rostov, taking a deep
breath,
as a man does at the coming of something long hoped for. The
height
of happiness was reached--and so simply, without warning, or
noise,
or display, that Rostov could not believe his eyes and remained
in
doubt for over a second. The wolf ran forward and jumped heavily
over
a
gully that lay in her path. She was an old animal with a gray back
and
big
reddish belly. She ran without hurry, evidently feeling sure that
no
one
saw her. Rostov, holding his breath, looked round at the borzois.
They
stood or lay not seeing the wolf or understanding the situation.
Old
Karay had turned his head and was angrily searching for fleas,
baring
his yellow teeth and snapping at his hind legs.
"Ulyulyulyu!"
whispered Rostov, pouting his lips. The borzois jumped up,
jerking
the rings of the leashes and pricking their ears. Karay finished
scratching
his hindquarters and, cocking his ears, got up with quivering
tail
from which tufts of matted hair hung down.
"Shall
I loose them or not?" Nicholas asked himself as the wolf
approached
him coming from the copse. Suddenly the wolf's whole
physiognomy
changed: she shuddered, seeing what she had probably never
seen
before--human eyes fixed upon her--and turning her head a little
toward
Rostov, she paused.
"Back
or forward? Eh, no matter, forward..." the wolf seemed to say to
herself,
and she moved forward without again looking round and with a
quiet,
long, easy yet resolute lope.
"Ulyulyu!"
cried Nicholas, in a voice not his own, and of its own accord
his
good horse darted headlong downhill, leaping over gullies to head
off
the wolf, and the borzois passed it, running faster still.
Nicholas
did
not hear his own cry nor feel that he was galloping, nor see the
borzois,
nor the ground over which he went: he saw only the wolf, who,
increasing
her speed, bounded on in the same direction along the hollow.
The
first to come into view was Milka, with her black markings and
powerful
quarters, gaining upon the wolf. Nearer and nearer... now she
was
ahead of it; but the wolf turned its head to face her, and
instead
of
putting on speed as she usually did Milka suddenly raised her
tail
and
stiffened her forelegs.
"Ulyulyulyulyu!"
shouted Nicholas.
The
reddish Lyubim rushed forward from behind Milka, sprang
impetuously
at
the wolf, and seized it by its hindquarters, but immediately
jumped
aside
in terror. The wolf crouched, gnashed her teeth, and again rose
and
bounded forward, followed at the distance of a couple of feet by
all
the
borzois, who did not get any closer to her.
"She'll
get away! No, it's impossible!" thought Nicholas, still shouting
with
a hoarse voice.
"Karay,
ulyulyu!..." he shouted, looking round for the old borzoi who
was
now his only hope. Karay, with all the strength age had left him,
stretched
himself to the utmost and, watching the wolf, galloped heavily
aside
to intercept it. But the quickness of the wolf's lope and the
borzoi's
slower pace made it plain that Karay had miscalculated.
Nicholas
could already see not far in front of him the wood where the
wolf
would certainly escape should she reach it. But, coming toward
him,
he
saw hounds and a huntsman galloping almost straight at the wolf.
There
was still hope. A long, yellowish young borzoi, one Nicholas did
not
know, from another leash, rushed impetuously at the wolf from in
front
and almost knocked her over. But the wolf jumped up more quickly
than
anyone could have expected and, gnashing her teeth, flew at the
yellowish
borzoi, which, with a piercing yelp, fell with its head on the
ground,
bleeding from a gash in its side.
"Karay?
Old fellow!..." wailed Nicholas.
Thanks
to the delay caused by this crossing of the wolf's path, the old
dog
with its felted hair hanging from its thigh was within five paces
of
it.
As if aware of her danger, the wolf turned her eyes on Karay,
tucked
her
tail yet further between her legs, and increased her speed. But
here
Nicholas
only saw that something happened to Karay--the borzoi was
suddenly
on the wolf, and they rolled together down into a gully just in
front
of them.
That
instant, when Nicholas saw the wolf struggling in the gully with
the
dogs, while from under them could be seen her gray hair and
outstretched
hind leg and her frightened choking head, with her ears
laid
back (Karay was pinning her by the throat), was the happiest
moment
of
his life. With his hand on his saddlebow, he was ready to
dismount
and
stab the wolf, when she suddenly thrust her head up from among
that
mass
of dogs, and then her forepaws were on the edge of the gully. She
clicked
her teeth (Karay no longer had her by the throat), leaped with a
movement
of her hind legs out of the gully, and having disengaged
herself
from the dogs, with tail tucked in again, went forward. Karay,
his
hair bristling, and probably bruised or wounded, climbed with
difficulty
out of the gully.
"Oh
my God! Why?" Nicholas cried in despair.
"Uncle's"
huntsman was galloping from the other side across the wolf's
path
and his borzois once more stopped the animal's advance. She was
again
hemmed in.
Nicholas
and his attendant, with "Uncle" and his huntsman, were all
riding
round the wolf, crying "ulyulyu!" shouting and preparing to
dismount
each moment that the wolf crouched back, and starting forward
again
every time she shook herself and moved toward the wood where she
would
be safe.
Already,
at the beginning of this chase, Daniel, hearing the ulyulyuing,
had
rushed out from the wood. He saw Karay seize the wolf, and
checked
his
horse, supposing the affair to be over. But when he saw that the
horsemen
did not dismount and that the wolf shook herself and ran for
safety,
Daniel set his chestnut galloping, not at the wolf but straight
toward
the wood, just as Karay had run to cut the animal off. As a
result
of this, he galloped up to the wolf just when she had been
stopped
a second time by "Uncle's" borzois.
Daniel
galloped up silently, holding a naked dagger in his left hand and
thrashing
the laboring sides of his chestnut horse with his whip as if
it
were a flail.
Nicholas
neither saw nor heard Daniel until the chestnut, breathing
heavily,
panted past him, and he heard the fall of a body and saw Daniel
lying
on the wolf's back among the dogs, trying to seize her by the
ears.
It was evident to the dogs, the hunters, and to the wolf herself
that
all was now over. The terrified wolf pressed back her ears and
tried
to rise, but the borzois stuck to her. Daniel rose a little, took
a
step, and with his whole weight, as if lying down to rest, fell on
the
wolf,
seizing her by the ears. Nicholas was about to stab her, but
Daniel
whispered, "Don't! We'll gag her!" and, changing his position,
set
his foot on the wolf's neck. A stick was thrust between her jaws
and
she
was fastened with a leash, as if bridled, her legs were bound
together,
and Daniel rolled her over once or twice from side to side.
With
happy, exhausted faces, they laid the old wolf, alive, on a
shying
and
snorting horse and, accompanied by the dogs yelping at her, took
her
to
the place where they were all to meet. The hounds had killed two
of
the
cubs and the borzois three. The huntsmen assembled with their
booty
and
their stories, and all came to look at the wolf, which, with her
broad-browed
head hanging down and the bitten stick between her jaws,
gazed
with great glassy eyes at this crowd of dogs and men surrounding
her.
When she was touched, she jerked her bound legs and looked wildly
yet
simply at everybody. Old Count Rostov also rode up and touched
the
wolf.
"Oh,
what a formidable one!" said he. "A formidable one, eh?" he asked
Daniel,
who was standing near.
"Yes,
your excellency," answered Daniel, quickly doffing his cap.
The
count remembered the wolf he had let slip and his encounter with
Daniel.
"Ah,
but you are a crusty fellow, friend!" said the count.
For
sole reply Daniel gave him a shy, childlike, meek, and amiable
smile.
CHAPTER
VI
The
old count went home, and Natasha and Petya promised to return
very
soon,
but as it was still early the hunt went farther. At midday they
put
the hounds into a ravine thickly overgrown with young trees.
Nicholas
standing in a fallow field could see all his whips.
Facing
him lay a field of winter rye, there his own huntsman stood alone
in
a hollow behind a hazel bush. The hounds had scarcely been loosed
before
Nicholas heard one he knew, Voltorn, giving tongue at intervals;
other
hounds joined in, now pausing and now again giving tongue. A
moment
later he heard a cry from the wooded ravine that a fox had been
found,
and the whole pack, joining together, rushed along the ravine
toward
the ryefield and away from Nicholas.
He
saw the whips in their red caps galloping along the edge of the
ravine,
he even saw the hounds, and was expecting a fox to show itself
at
any moment on the ryefield opposite.
The
huntsman standing in the hollow moved and loosed his borzois, and
Nicholas
saw a queer, short-legged red fox with a fine brush going hard
across
the field. The borzois bore down on it.... Now they drew close to
the
fox which began to dodge between the field in sharper and
sharper
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