On a stuffy summer day, I was returning from hunting in a shaking cart. Suddenly my coachman became worried. Looking ahead, I saw that a funeral wagon was crossing our path. It was a bad omen, and the coachman began to urge the horses on in order to have time to pass in front of the convoy. We hadn't even gone a hundred paces when our cart's axle broke. Meanwhile, the dead man caught up with us. The coachman Yerofey said that they were burying Martin the carpenter.

Step by step, we got to Yudin's settlements to buy a new axle there. There was not a soul in the settlements. Finally I saw a man sleeping in the middle of the yard in the very sun, and I woke him up. I was struck by his appearance. He was a dwarf of about 50 with a swarthy, wrinkled face, small brown eyes, and a cap of thick, curly, black hair. His body was frail, and his eyes were unusually strange. His voice was surprisingly young and tender in a feminine way. The coachman called him Kasyan

After much persuasion, the old man agreed to take me to the cuts. Erofey harnessed Kasyanov's horse, and we set off. In the office, I quickly bought an axle and went deep into the cuts, hoping to hunt black grouse. Kasyan followed me. It was not for nothing that he was nicknamed the Flea: he walked very nimbly, plucked some herbs and looked at me with a strange look.

Not having come across a single brood, we entered the grove. I lay down on the grass. Suddenly Kasyan spoke to me. He said that the domestic creature was determined by God for man, and it is a sin to kill a forest creature. The old man's speech did not sound like a man, it was a solemn and strange language. I asked Kasyan what he did for a living. He replied that he did not work well, but that he was catching nightingales for human pleasure. He was a literate man, he had no family. Sometimes Kasyan treated people with herbs, and in the district he was considered a holy fool. They moved them from Krasivaya Mechi about 4 years ago, and Kasyan missed his native places. Taking advantage of his special position, Kasyan went around half of Russia.

Suddenly Kasyan shuddered, peering intently into the thicket of the forest. I looked around and saw a peasant girl in a blue sarafan and with a wicker box on her arm. The old man affectionately called her, calling her Alyonushka. When she came closer, I saw that she was older than I thought, about 13 or 14 years old. She was small and thin, slender and agile. The pretty girl was strikingly similar to Kasyan: the same sharp features, movements and sly look. I asked if it was his daughter. With feigned carelessness, Kasyan replied that she was his relative, while passionate love and tenderness were visible in his whole appearance.

The hunt failed, and we returned to the settlements, where Yerofey was waiting for me with the axis. Approaching the courtyard, Kasyan said that it was he who took the game away from me. I have not been able to convince him of the impossibility of this. An hour later I left, leaving Kasyan some money. On the way, I asked Yerofey what kind of person Kasyan was. The coachman said that at first Kasyan and his uncles went to the cart, and then he left it and began to live at home. Yerofey denied that Kasyan knew how to heal, although he himself was cured of scrofula. Alyonushka was an orphan, she lived with Kasyan. He doted on her soul and was going to teach literacy.

We stopped several times to wet the axle, which was getting hot from friction. It was already quite late when we returned home.

KASYAN WITH A BEAUTIFUL SWORD

(from the collection of short stories "Notes of a hunter")

The narrator returns from hunting. On the way, he meets a funeral train: they carry a coffin. “The coachman drove the horses: he wanted to warn this train. To meet a dead person on the road is a bad omen. After a while, the axle broke. The coachman was very gloomy. He said it was all because they had met a dead man.

Meanwhile, the funeral procession overtook them. The author and the coachman took off their hats. The coachman said that they were burying Martin the carpenter, he had a fever. A few days ago the manager sent for the doctor, but did not find him at home.

The coachman somehow fixed the breakdown, after which they got to Yudin's settlements. There were only six low huts. The author did not find anyone in two houses. Only in the courtyard did he see a sleeping man. At first the hunter thought that the boy was sleeping on the ground, came up and began to wake him up. When the man woke up, his appearance struck the narrator: “Imagine a dwarf of about fifty with a small, swarthy and wrinkled face, a sharp nose, brown, barely noticeable eyes and curly, thick black hair, which, like a hat on a mushroom, sat wide on his tiny head. The whole body was extremely frail and thin, and it is absolutely impossible to put into words how unusual and strange his look was.

“You shoot heavenly birds, I suppose?.., forest animals?.. And it’s not a sin for you to kill God’s birds, shed innocent blood?”

The dwarf says he has no axis. Then he's going to take the hunters to where the axis can be found. The dwarf approaches the coachman. He greets, calling the dwarf Kasyanushka. He calls the coachman Erofei.

The coachman says that Martin the carpenter has died. Kasyan, learning about this, shuddered. The coachman reproaches Kasyan for not curing Martyn. He says: "After all, you, they say, are treating, you are a doctor." It was evident that the coachman "made fun, mocked the old man."

The author watches Kasyan with interest. He is very agile, on the road he remains silent. Answers questions very reluctantly. After some time, the travelers reached the office, in which there were two young clerks. The author bought an axle from them. Then they went to the forest.

The hunter was very interested in the dwarf. He talks to birds, collects herbs, constantly muttering something under his breath. Repeatedly Kasyan reproaches the hunter for killing birds. Kasyan calls the killing of birds a sin. The author asks if it is not a sin to kill fish. The old man replies that “the fish is a dumb creature, its blood is cold”, that it “does not feel”, and the blood is “a holy thing”.

The author asks Kasyan how he lives. He replies that he lives, "as the Lord commands." For example, the nightingale catches, but does not kill them, because "death will take its toll." We are talking about Martyn the carpenter, who recently died. The author says: “... I heard my coachman ask you why, they say, why didn’t you cure Martyn? Can you heal?"

Kasyan says that "everything is from God." Of course, there are herbs and flowers that help. But help is not always possible. In addition, he found out about Martin's illness late.

However, the old man believes that "to whom it is written as it should be." “No, what kind of person does not live on earth, the sun does not warm him like another, and bread is not for the future, - as if something is calling him away ...” Further, Kasyan says that he himself comes from Krasivaya Mechi, village about a hundred miles from here, They moved here four years ago. Kasyan talks about the beauty of his native places. He would be glad to see his homeland.

Kasyan himself "went" a lot - to Simbirsk, and to Moscow, and to the Oka-nurse, and to the Volga-mother. He saw a lot of people, went to different places. Kasyan says: "There is no justice in a person ...".

After returning to the settlements, Kasyan admits that it was he who "took" all the game to the master. The author does not believe this. The coachman repaired the axle. After that, the narrator was about to leave with him. Kasyan sees them off unfriendly. The coachman is dissatisfied with the fact that neither kvass nor cucumbers could be found in the village.

On a stuffy summer day, I was returning from hunting in a shaking cart. Suddenly my coachman became worried. Looking ahead, I saw that a funeral wagon was crossing our path. It was a bad omen, and the coachman began to urge the horses on in order to have time to pass in front of the convoy. We hadn't even gone a hundred paces when our cart's axle broke. Meanwhile, the dead man caught up with us. The coachman Yerofey said that they were burying Martin the carpenter.

Step by step, we got to Yudin's settlements to buy a new axle there. There was not a soul in the settlements. Finally I saw a man sleeping in the middle of the yard in the very sun, and I woke him up. I was struck by his appearance. He was a dwarf of about 50 with a swarthy, wrinkled face, small brown eyes, and a cap of thick, curly, black hair. His body was frail, and his eyes were unusually strange. His voice was surprisingly young and tender in a feminine way. The coachman called him Kasyan

After much persuasion, the old man agreed to take me to the cuts. Erofey harnessed Kasyanov's horse, and we set off. In the office, I quickly bought an axle and went deep into the cuts, hoping to hunt black grouse. Kasyan followed me. It was not for nothing that he was nicknamed the Flea: he walked very nimbly, plucked some herbs and looked at me with a strange look.

Not having come across a single brood, we entered the grove. I lay down on the grass. Suddenly Kasyan spoke to me. He said that the domestic creature was determined by God for man, and it is a sin to kill a forest creature. The old man's speech did not sound like a man, it was a solemn and strange language. I asked Kasyan what he did for a living. He replied that he did not work well, but that he was catching nightingales for human pleasure. He was a literate man, he had no family. Sometimes Kasyan treated people with herbs, and in the district he was considered a holy fool. They moved them from Krasivaya Mechi about 4 years ago, and Kasyan missed his native places. Taking advantage of his special position, Kasyan went around half of Russia.

Suddenly Kasyan shuddered, peering intently into the thicket of the forest. I looked around and saw a peasant girl in a blue sarafan with a wicker box on her arm. The old man affectionately called her, calling her Alyonushka. When she came closer, I saw that she was older than I thought, about 13 or 14 years old. She was small and thin, slender and agile. The pretty girl was strikingly similar to Kasyan: the same sharp features, movements and sly look. I asked if it was his daughter. With feigned carelessness, Kasyan replied that she was his relative, while passionate love and tenderness were visible in his whole appearance.

The hunt failed, and we returned to the settlements, where Yerofey was waiting for me with the axis. Approaching the yard, Kasyan said that it was he who took the game away from me. I have not been able to convince him of the impossibility of this. An hour later I left, leaving Kasyan some money. On the way, I asked Yerofey what kind of person Kasyan was. The coachman said that at first Kasyan and his uncles went to the cart, and then he left it and began to live at home. Erofey denied that Kasyan knew how to heal, although he himself was cured of scrofula. Alyonushka was an orphan, she lived with Kasyan. He doted on her soul and was going to teach literacy.

We stopped several times to wet the axle, which was getting hot from friction. It was already quite late when we returned home.

Option 2

One summer I was returning from a hunt in a jogging cart. The coachman and I noticed that a funeral procession was about to cross our path. Since such an event is a bad omen, the driver drove the horses faster in order to have time to slip through the funeral wagon. Such a zealous gallop could not stand the axle of our cart and broke. The dead man overtook us, and we learned that they were burying a carpenter.

In order to buy a new axle, we went on foot to Yudin settlements. It seemed that there were no people in the settlement, but then I noticed a man sleeping in the sun. The man looked very unusual, he looked like an elderly dwarf, his body was not distinguished by strength, and his voice was gentle, almost feminine. The coachman said that the man's name was Kasyan.

I managed to persuade the old man to take me to an office where I could buy an axle for a cart. I also agreed with Kasyan that he would show me the way to the cuts, where it would be possible to hunt game. Kasyan agreed, but after escorting me to my destination, he did not leave, and followed me. I heard that Kasyan was nicknamed “a flea” and now I saw why: he moved with unusual agility and plucked herbs and flowers at the same time.

When we had already arrived at the hunting place, and I ambushed the game, Kasyan began to tell me that it was a sin to kill forest animals, because God had appointed domestic creatures for human use. Kasyan spoke somehow solemnly. I asked the dwarf what he does and Kasyan replied that he catches nightingales for the rich, and sometimes heals people from various injuries. In the province, he is considered a holy fool.

Then we noticed a pretty girl in a blue sundress, in her hand she carried a basket. Kasyan called her Alyonushka. The girl came closer, and it became clear that she was already thirteen years old and she looked very much like Kasyan. I asked the dwarf if this was his daughter, and he answered with mock casualness that she was just a relative.

My hunt failed, so we returned to the settlement. The coachman had already fitted the axle to the cart, and we were about to leave. In forgiveness, Kasyan told me that it was precisely this that had taken the animals away from me.

(No ratings yet)

Other writings:

1. Kasyan Ostudny Siberian village during collectivization. Kadushkin Fedot, with overwork, breaks out into the middle peasants. At the end of the twenties, he has a fairly decent farm: almost two dozen sheep, six horses, cows with a bull. Moreover, it also has equipment - a locomobile, a threshing machine. Naturally, Read More ......
2. Lgov Once Yermolai suggested that I go to Lgov to hunt ducks. Lgov is a large village on the marshy river Rosote. About 5 versts from Lgov, this river turns into a wide pond overgrown with thick reeds. There were countless Read More ......
3. Ovsyannikov's Odnodvorets Ovsyannikov was a plump, tall man, about 70 years old, with a face resembling that of Krylov. In dress and manner he looked like a wealthy merchant. With his importance, intelligence, laziness, perseverance and straightforwardness, he reminded me of the Russian boyars of pre-Petrine times. It was one Read More......
4. Raspberry water On a hot August day I happened to be hunting. With difficulty I got to the spring called “Raspberry Water”, which spouts from the high bank of the Ista, got drunk and lay down in the shade. Not far from me sat two old men and fished. Read More ......
5. Biryuk I was driving alone from hunting in the evening, in a cross-country droshky. On the way I was caught by a strong thunderstorm. Somehow I buried myself under a wide bush and patiently waited for the end of the bad weather. Suddenly, with a flash of lightning, I saw a tall figure on the road. It turned out to be the local Read More ......
6. Khor and Kalinich The difference between the appearance and life of the peasants of the Oryol and Kaluga provinces is striking. The Oryol muzhik is short, round-shouldered, gloomy, lives in aspen huts, goes to corvee and wears bast shoes. The Kaluga quitrent peasant lives in spacious pine huts, is tall, looks Read More ......
7. My Neighbor Radilov One autumn, Yermolai and I were hunting woodcocks in an abandoned linden garden, of which there are many in the Oryol province. It turned out that this garden belonged to the landowner Radilov. He invited me to dinner, and I had no choice but to agree. Read More ......
8. Two landowners Let me introduce you to two landowners with whom I often hunted. The first of them is retired Major General Vyacheslav Illarionovich Khvalynsky. Tall and once slender, he was no longer decrepit. True, the once correct features of his face Read More ......

Summary of Kasyan with Beautiful Swords Turgenev

“Rarely have two difficult-to-combine elements united to such a degree - in such a complete balance: sympathy for humanity and artistic feeling,” - F.I. Tyutchev. The cycle of essays "Notes of a Hunter" basically took shape over five years (1847-1852) - but Turgenev continued to work on the book. Turgenev added three more to twenty-two early essays in the early 1870s. About two dozen stories remained in sketches, plans and testimonies of contemporaries.

Naturalistic descriptions of the life of pre-reform Russia in the "Notes of a Hunter" develop into reflections on the mysteries of the Russian soul. The peasant world grows into myth and opens up into nature, which turns out to be a necessary backdrop for almost every story. Poetry and enlightenment - light and shadows are intertwined here in unique, bizarre images.

Additional Information

• Read:
  
• Download:
  

Random excerpt from the book:

My coachman carefully put the tavlinka into his pocket, pulled his hat over his eyebrows, without the help of his hands, with one movement of his head, and thoughtfully climbed onto the box.

Where are you? I asked him, not without amazement.

If you please, sit down, - he answered calmly and picked up the reins.

Yes, how are we going?

Let's go, sir.

Yes axle...

Feel free to sit down.

Yes the shaft is broken...

She broke, she broke; well, we’ll get to the settlements ... at a step, that is. Here, behind the grove to the right, there are settlements, they are called Yudins.

And you think we'll get there?

My coachman did not deign to answer me.

I'd rather walk, I said.

Whatever, with…

And he waved his whip. The horses set off.

We really got to the settlements, although the right front wheel was barely holding on and was spinning in an unusually strange way. On one hillock it nearly fell off; but my coachman shouted at him in an angry voice, and we descended safely.

Yudin's settlements consisted of six low and small huts, which had already managed to twist on one side, although they were probably put up recently: not all of the yards were surrounded by wattle fences. Driving into these settlements, we did not meet a single living soul; not even chickens were visible on the street, not even dogs; only one, black, with a short tail, hurriedly jumped out of a completely dry trough in our presence, where thirst must have driven her, and immediately, without barking, rushed headlong under the gate. I went into the first hut, opened the door to the passage, called out to the hosts - no one answered me. I clicked again: a hungry meow came from behind another door. I pushed her with my foot: a thin cat darted past me, green eyes flashing in the darkness. I stuck my head into the room, looked: dark, smoky and empty. I went to the courtyard, and there was no one there ... In the fence, a calf lowed; a lame gray goose hobbled a little to one side. I moved into the second hut - and there was not a soul in the second hut. I'm in the yard...

In the very middle of the brightly lit yard, on the very, as they say, in the sun, lay, facing the ground and covering his head with a coat, as it seemed to me, a boy. A few paces from him, near a bad cart, stood, under a thatched awning, a thin horse in a tattered harness. Sunlight, falling in streams through the narrow openings of the dilapidated mantle, was full of small bright spots of her shaggy red-bay hair. Immediately, in a tall birdhouse, the starlings were chatting, looking down from their airy house with calm curiosity. I went up to the sleeping man, started to wake him up ...

He raised his head, saw me, and immediately jumped to his feet... “What, what do you need? what?" he muttered sleepily.

I did not immediately answer him: I was so struck by his appearance. Imagine a dwarf in his fifties with a small, swarthy and wrinkled face, a pointed nose, brown, barely noticeable eyes, and curly, thick black hair that, like a hat on a mushroom, sat wide on his tiny head. His whole body was extremely frail and thin, and it is absolutely impossible to convey in words how unusual and strange his look was.

What do you need? he asked me again.

On a stuffy summer day, I was returning from hunting in a shaking cart. Suddenly my coachman became worried. Looking ahead, I saw that a funeral wagon was crossing our path. It was a bad omen, and the coachman began to urge the horses on in order to have time to pass in front of the convoy. We hadn't even gone a hundred paces when our cart's axle broke. Meanwhile, the dead man caught up with us. The coachman Yerofey said that they were burying Martin the carpenter.

Step by step, we got to Yudin's settlements to buy a new axle there. There was not a soul in the settlements. Finally I saw a man sleeping in the middle of the yard in the very sun, and I woke him up. I was struck by his appearance. He was a dwarf of about 50 with a swarthy, wrinkled face, small brown eyes, and a cap of thick, curly, black hair. His body was frail, and his eyes were unusually strange. His voice was surprisingly young and tender in a feminine way. The coachman called him Kasyan

After much persuasion, the old man agreed to take me to the cuts. Erofey harnessed Kasyanov's horse, and we set off. In the office, I quickly bought an axle and went deep into the cuts, hoping to hunt black grouse. Kasyan followed me. It was not for nothing that he was nicknamed the Flea: he walked very nimbly, plucked some herbs and looked at me with a strange look.

Not having come across a single brood, we entered the grove. I lay down on the grass. Suddenly Kasyan spoke to me. He said that the domestic creature was determined by God for man, and it is a sin to kill a forest creature. The old man's speech did not sound like a man, it was a solemn and strange language. I asked Kasyan what he did for a living. He replied that he did not work well, but that he was catching nightingales for human pleasure. He was a literate man, he had no family. Sometimes Kasyan treated people with herbs, and in the district he was considered a holy fool. They moved them from Krasivaya Mechi about 4 years ago, and Kasyan missed his native places. Taking advantage of his special position, Kasyan went around half of Russia.

Suddenly Kasyan shuddered, peering intently into the thicket of the forest. I looked around and saw a peasant girl in a blue sarafan and with a wicker box on her arm. The old man affectionately called her, calling her Alyonushka. When she came closer, I saw that she was older than I thought, about 13 or 14 years old. She was small and thin, slender and agile. The pretty girl was strikingly similar to Kasyan: the same sharp features, movements and sly look. I asked if it was his daughter. With feigned carelessness, Kasyan replied that she was his relative, while passionate love and tenderness were visible in his whole appearance.

The hunt failed, and we returned to the settlements, where Yerofey was waiting for me with the axis. Approaching the courtyard, Kasyan said that it was he who took the game away from me. I have not been able to convince him of the impossibility of this. An hour later I left, leaving Kasyan some money. On the way, I asked Yerofey what kind of person Kasyan was. The coachman said that at first Kasyan and his uncles went to the cart, and then he left it and began to live at home. Yerofey denied that Kasyan knew how to heal, although he himself was cured of scrofula. Alyonushka was an orphan, she lived with Kasyan. He doted on her soul and was going to teach literacy.

We stopped several times to wet the axle, which was getting hot from friction. It was already quite late when we returned home.