I rode out of the hunt alone in the evening, in a jogging droshky. It was still eight miles to the house; my kind trotting mare ran briskly along the dusty road, snoring occasionally and moving her ears; the tired dog, as if tied, did not lag a step behind the rear wheels. The storm was approaching. Ahead, a huge purple cloud rose slowly from behind the forest; long gray clouds were rushing over me and towards me; the rakits stirred and babbled uneasily. The stifling heat was suddenly replaced by a damp chill; the shadows thickened quickly. I hit the horse with the reins, went down into a ravine, got over a dry stream, all overgrown with vines, climbed the mountain and entered the forest. The road wound in front of me between dense hazel bushes, already filled with darkness; I moved forward with difficulty. The tremors jumped over the solid roots of century-old oaks and lindens, which incessantly crossed deep longitudinal ruts - the tracks of cart wheels; my horse began to stumble. A strong wind suddenly roared in the heights, the trees raged, large drops of rain pounded sharply, slapped on the leaves, lightning flashed, and a thunderstorm broke out. The rain poured down in streams. I rode at a walk and was soon forced to stop: my horse got stuck, I did not see a zigi. Somehow I took refuge in a wide bush. Hunched over and wrapping my face, I patiently awaited the end of the storm, when suddenly, with a flash of lightning, a tall figure seemed to me on the road. I began to gaze intently in that direction - the same figure seemed to have grown out of the ground beside my droshky.

Who are you?

I'm the forester here.

I named myself.

I know! Are you going home?

Home. Yes, you see what a thunderstorm ...

White lightning flashed the forester from head to foot; a crackling and short thunderclap rang out immediately after her. The rain poured with a vengeance.

It won't pass soon, 'the forester continued.

What to do!

I’ll probably take you to my hut, ”he said abruptly.

Do me a favor.

Please, sit.

He went up to the horse's head, took it by the bridle and pulled it out of its place. We set off. I held on to the pillow of the droshky, which swayed "like a shuttle in the sea," and called the dog. My poor mare slapped her feet heavily in the mud, slipped, stumbled; the forester swayed in front of the shafts to the right and to the left, like a ghost. We drove for a long time; finally my guide stopped: "Here we are at home, master," he said in a calm voice. The gate creaked, several puppies barked in unison. I raised my head and in the light of lightning I saw a small hut in the middle of a vast courtyard surrounded by a fence. A dim light shone from one window. The forester led the horse to the porch and knocked on the door. "Now, now!" - a thin voice rang out, the stamping of bare feet was heard, the bolt snapped, and a girl of about twelve, in a shirt, belted with a strap, with a lantern in her hand, appeared on the threshold.

Shine a light on the master, ”he said to her,“ and I'll put your droshky under the shed.

The girl looked at me and went to the hut. I followed her.

The forester's hut consisted of one room, smoky, low and empty, without shelves and partitions. A tattered sheepskin coat hung on the wall. A single-barreled rifle lay on the bench, and a pile of rags lay in the corner; two large pots stood by the stove. Luchina burned on the table, flaring up sadly and extinguishing. In the very middle of the hut there was a cradle tied to the end of a long pole. The girl turned off the lantern, sat down on a tiny bench and began to swing the cradle with her right hand, straighten the torch with her left. I looked around - my heart ached: it is not fun to enter a peasant hut at night. The baby in the cradle was breathing heavily and quickly.

Are you alone here? - I asked the girl.

One, ”she said barely audibly.

Are you a forester's daughter?

Lesnikova, - she whispered.

The door snapped shut, and the forester stepped, bending his head, across the threshold. He lifted the lantern from the floor, walked over to the table and lit the lamp.

Tea, not used to the torch? - he said and shook his curls.

I looked at him. Rarely have I seen such a fellow. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and handsomely built. His mighty muscles protruded from beneath his wet dress shirt. A black curly beard half covered his stern and courageous face; small brown eyes peered out boldly from under the broad eyebrows that were fused together. He put his hands lightly on his hips and stopped in front of me.

I thanked him and asked his name.

My name is Thomas, - he answered, - and I am nicknamed Biryuk.

Are you Biryuk?

I looked at him with redoubled curiosity. From my Yermolai and others, I often heard stories about the forester Biryuk, whom all the surrounding peasants feared like fire. According to them, there has never been such a master of his craft in the world: “The bundles of brushwood will not let them take away; at any time, even at midnight, it will fall like snow on your head, and you don’t think to resist - you say, strong and dexterous like a devil ... And nothing can take him: neither wine nor money; does not go to any bait. More than once good people were going to squeeze him out of the light, but no - it is not given. "

This is how the neighboring peasants spoke about Biryuk.

So you are Biryuk, - I repeated, - I, brother, have heard about you. They say you don't give anyone a go.

I am doing my job, ”he answered gloomily,“ I don’t have to eat the master’s bread for nothing.

He took an ax from his belt, sat down on the floor and began to prick a splinter.

Al you have no mistress? I asked him.

No, - he answered and swung the ax forcefully.

Died, know?

No… yes… she's dead, ”he added and turned away.

I fell silent; he raised his eyes and looked at me.

Ivan Sergeevich Turgenev

I rode out of the hunt alone in the evening, in a jogging droshky. It was still eight miles to the house; my kind trotting mare ran briskly along the dusty road, snoring occasionally and moving her ears; the tired dog, as if tied, did not lag a step behind the rear wheels. The storm was approaching. Ahead, a huge purple cloud rose slowly from behind the forest; long gray clouds were rushing over me and towards me; the rakits stirred and babbled uneasily. The stifling heat was suddenly replaced by a damp chill; the shadows thickened quickly. I hit the horse with the reins, went down into a ravine, got over a dry stream, all overgrown with vines, climbed the mountain and entered the forest. The road wound in front of me between dense hazel bushes, already filled with darkness; I moved forward with difficulty. The tremors jumped over the solid roots of century-old oaks and lindens, which incessantly crossed deep longitudinal ruts - the tracks of cart wheels; my horse began to stumble. A strong wind suddenly roared in the heights, the trees raged, large drops of rain pounded sharply, slapped on the leaves, lightning flashed, and a thunderstorm broke out. The rain poured down in streams. I rode at a walk and was soon forced to stop: my horse got stuck, I did not see a zigi. Somehow I took refuge in a wide bush. Hunched over and wrapping my face, I patiently awaited the end of the storm, when suddenly, with a flash of lightning, a tall figure seemed to me on the road. I began to gaze intently in that direction - the same figure seemed to have grown out of the ground beside my droshky.

Who are you?

I'm the forester here.

I named myself.

I know! Are you going home?

Home. Yes, you see what a thunderstorm ...

White lightning flashed the forester from head to foot; a crackling and short thunderclap rang out immediately after her. The rain poured with a vengeance.

It won't pass soon, 'the forester continued.

What to do!

I’ll probably take you to my hut, ”he said abruptly.

Do me a favor.

Please, sit.

He went up to the horse's head, took it by the bridle and pulled it out of its place. We set off. I held on to the pillow of the droshky, which swayed "like a shuttle in the sea," and called the dog. My poor mare slapped her feet heavily in the mud, slipped, stumbled; the forester swayed in front of the shafts to the right and to the left, like a ghost. We drove for a long time; finally my guide stopped: "Here we are at home, master," he said in a calm voice. The gate creaked, several puppies barked in unison. I raised my head and in the light of lightning I saw a small hut in the middle of a vast courtyard surrounded by a fence. A dim light shone from one window. The forester led the horse to the porch and knocked on the door. "Now, now!" - a thin voice rang out, the stamping of bare feet was heard, the bolt snapped, and a girl of about twelve, in a shirt, belted with a strap, with a lantern in her hand, appeared on the threshold.

Shine a light on the master, ”he said to her,“ and I'll put your droshky under the shed.

The girl looked at me and went to the hut. I followed her.

The forester's hut consisted of one room, smoky, low and empty, without shelves and partitions. A tattered sheepskin coat hung on the wall. A single-barreled rifle lay on the bench, and a pile of rags lay in the corner; two large pots stood by the stove. Luchina burned on the table, flaring up sadly and extinguishing. In the very middle of the hut there was a cradle tied to the end of a long pole. The girl turned off the lantern, sat down on a tiny bench and began to swing the cradle with her right hand, straighten the torch with her left. I looked around - my heart ached: it is not fun to enter a peasant hut at night. The baby in the cradle was breathing heavily and quickly.

Are you alone here? - I asked the girl.

One, ”she said barely audibly.

Are you a forester's daughter?

Lesnikova, - she whispered.

The door snapped shut, and the forester stepped, bending his head, across the threshold. He lifted the lantern from the floor, walked over to the table and lit the lamp.

Tea, not used to the torch? - he said and shook his curls.

I looked at him. Rarely have I seen such a fellow. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and handsomely built. His mighty muscles protruded from beneath his wet dress shirt. A black curly beard half covered his stern and courageous face; small brown eyes peered out boldly from under the broad eyebrows that were fused together. He put his hands lightly on his hips and stopped in front of me.

I thanked him and asked his name.

My name is Thomas, - he answered, - and I am nicknamed Biryuk.

Are you Biryuk?

I looked at him with redoubled curiosity. From my Yermolai and others, I often heard stories about the forester Biryuk, whom all the surrounding peasants feared like fire. According to them, there has never been such a master of his craft in the world: “The bundles of brushwood will not let them take away; at any time, even at midnight, it will fall like snow on your head, and you don’t think to resist - you say, strong and dexterous like a devil ... And nothing can take him: neither wine nor money; does not go to any bait. More than once good people were going to squeeze him out of the light, but no - it is not given. "

This is how the neighboring peasants spoke about Biryuk.

So you are Biryuk, - I repeated, - I, brother, have heard about you. They say you don't give anyone a go.

I am doing my job, ”he answered gloomily,“ I don’t have to eat the master’s bread for nothing.

He took an ax from his belt, sat down on the floor and began to prick a splinter.

Al you have no mistress? I asked him.

No, - he answered and swung the ax forcefully.

Died, know?

No… yes… she's dead, ”he added and turned away.

I fell silent; he raised his eyes and looked at me.

She ran away with a passer-by, ”he said with a cruel smile. The girl looked down; the child woke up and screamed; the girl went to the cradle. “Come on, give it to him,” said Biryuk, thrusting the soiled horn into her hand. “So I threw him, too,” he continued in an undertone, pointing to the child. He walked to the door, stopped, and turned around.

You, tea, sir, ”he began,“ you won’t eat our bread, but I’m besides bread ...

I'm not hungry.

Well, as you know. I would put a samovar for you, but I have no tea ... I'll go and see what your horse is.

He went out and slammed the door. I looked around another time. The hut seemed to me even sadder than before. The bitter scent of cold smoke made me breath unpleasantly. The girl did not budge and did not raise her eyes; from time to time she pushed the cradle, timidly brought her down shirt down over her shoulder; her bare legs hung without moving.

What is your name? I asked.

A snail, ”she said, drooping her sad face even more.

I rode out of the hunt alone in the evening, in a jogging droshky. It was still eight miles to the house; my kind trotting mare ran briskly along the dusty road, snoring occasionally and moving her ears; the tired dog, as if tied, did not lag a step behind the rear wheels. The storm was approaching. Ahead, a huge purple cloud rose slowly from behind the forest; long gray clouds were rushing over me and towards me; the rakits stirred and babbled uneasily. The stifling heat was suddenly replaced by a damp chill; the shadows thickened quickly. I hit the horse with the reins, went down into a ravine, got over a dry stream, all overgrown with vines, climbed the mountain and entered the forest. The road wound in front of me between dense hazel bushes, already filled with darkness; I moved forward with difficulty. The tremors jumped over the solid roots of century-old oaks and lindens, which incessantly crossed deep longitudinal ruts - the tracks of cart wheels; my horse began to stumble. A strong wind suddenly roared in the heights, the trees raged, large drops of rain pounded sharply, slapped on the leaves, lightning flashed, and a thunderstorm broke out. The rain poured down in streams. I rode at a walk and was soon forced to stop: my horse got stuck, I did not see a zigi. Somehow I took refuge in a wide bush. Hunched over and wrapping my face, I patiently awaited the end of the storm, when suddenly, with a flash of lightning, a tall figure seemed to me on the road. I began to gaze intently in that direction - the same figure seemed to have grown out of the ground beside my droshky.

Who are you?

I'm the forester here.

I named myself.

I know! Are you going home?

Home. Yes, you see what a thunderstorm ...

White lightning flashed the forester from head to foot; a crackling and short thunderclap rang out immediately after her. The rain poured with a vengeance.

It won't pass soon, 'the forester continued.

What to do!

I’ll probably take you to my hut, ”he said abruptly.

Do me a favor.

Please, sit.

He went up to the horse's head, took it by the bridle and pulled it out of its place. We set off. I held on to the pillow of the droshky, which swayed "like a shuttle in the sea," and called the dog. My poor mare slapped her feet heavily in the mud, slipped, stumbled; the forester swayed in front of the shafts to the right and to the left, like a ghost. We drove for a long time; finally my guide stopped: "Here we are at home, master," he said in a calm voice. The gate creaked, several puppies barked in unison. I raised my head and in the light of lightning I saw a small hut in the middle of a vast courtyard surrounded by a fence. A dim light shone from one window. The forester led the horse to the porch and knocked on the door. "Now, now!" - a thin voice rang out, the stamping of bare feet was heard, the bolt snapped, and a girl of about twelve, in a shirt, belted with a strap, with a lantern in her hand, appeared on the threshold.

Shine a light on the master, ”he said to her,“ and I'll put your droshky under the shed.

The girl looked at me and went to the hut. I followed her.

The forester's hut consisted of one room, smoky, low and empty, without shelves and partitions. A tattered sheepskin coat hung on the wall. A single-barreled rifle lay on the bench, and a pile of rags lay in the corner; two large pots stood by the stove. Luchina burned on the table, flaring up sadly and extinguishing. In the very middle of the hut there was a cradle tied to the end of a long pole. The girl turned off the lantern, sat down on a tiny bench and began to swing the cradle with her right hand, straighten the torch with her left. I looked around - my heart ached: it is not fun to enter a peasant hut at night. The baby in the cradle was breathing heavily and quickly.

Are you alone here? - I asked the girl.

One, ”she said barely audibly.

Are you a forester's daughter?

Lesnikova, - she whispered.

The door snapped shut, and the forester stepped, bending his head, across the threshold. He lifted the lantern from the floor, walked over to the table and lit the lamp.

Tea, not used to the torch? - he said and shook his curls.

I looked at him. Rarely have I seen such a fellow. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and handsomely built. His mighty muscles protruded from beneath his wet dress shirt. A black curly beard half covered his stern and courageous face; small brown eyes peered out boldly from under the broad eyebrows that were fused together. He put his hands lightly on his hips and stopped in front of me.

I thanked him and asked his name.

My name is Thomas, - he answered, - and I am nicknamed Biryuk.

Are you Biryuk?

I looked at him with redoubled curiosity. From my Yermolai and others, I often heard stories about the forester Biryuk, whom all the surrounding peasants feared like fire. According to them, there has never been such a master of his craft in the world: “The bundles of brushwood will not let them take away; at any time, even at midnight, it will fall like snow on your head, and you don’t think to resist - you say, strong and dexterous like a devil ... And nothing can take him: neither wine nor money; does not go to any bait. More than once good people were going to squeeze him out of the light, but no - it is not given. "

This is how the neighboring peasants spoke about Biryuk.

So you are Biryuk, - I repeated, - I, brother, have heard about you. They say you don't give anyone a go.

I am doing my job, ”he answered gloomily,“ I don’t have to eat the master’s bread for nothing.

He took an ax from his belt, sat down on the floor and began to prick a splinter.

Al you have no mistress? I asked him.

No, - he answered and swung the ax forcefully.

Died, know?

No… yes… she's dead, ”he added and turned away.

I fell silent; he raised his eyes and looked at me.

She ran away with a passer-by, ”he said with a cruel smile. The girl looked down; the child woke up and screamed; the girl went to the cradle. “Come on, give it to him,” said Biryuk, thrusting the soiled horn into her hand. “So I threw him, too,” he continued in an undertone, pointing to the child. He walked to the door, stopped, and turned around.

You, tea, sir, ”he began,“ you won’t eat our bread, but I’m besides bread ...

I'm not hungry.

Well, as you know. I would put a samovar for you, but I have no tea ... I'll go and see what your horse is.

A free book is posted on this page of the site Biryuk the author whose name is Turgenev Ivan Sergeevich... On the site you can either download the free book Biryuk in RTF, TXT, FB2 and EPUB formats, or read the online e-book Ivan Sergeevich Turgenev - Biryuk, and without registration and without SMS.

The size of the archive with the book Biryuk is 22.62 KB

Zmiy
“I.S. Turgenev. "Notes of a Hunter" ": People's Asveta; Minsk; 1977
annotation
“Rarely were two difficult-to-combine elements combined to such an extent, in such a complete balance: sympathy for humanity and artistic feeling,” F.I. Tyutchev. The cycle of essays "Notes of a Hunter" was mainly formed over five years (1847-1852), but Turgenev continued to work on the book. Turgenev added three more to twenty-two of his early essays in the early 1870s. About two dozen more plots remained in the sketches, plans and testimonies of contemporaries.
The naturalistic descriptions of the life of pre-reform Russia in the Hunter's Notes 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 background for almost every story. Poetry and prose, light and shadows are intertwined here in unique, bizarre images.
Ivan Sergeevich Turgenev
TIRYUK
I rode out of the hunt alone in the evening, in a jogging droshky. It was still eight miles to the house; my kind trotting mare ran briskly along the dusty road, snoring occasionally and moving her ears; the tired dog, as if tied, did not lag a step behind the rear wheels. The storm was approaching. Ahead, a huge purple cloud rose slowly from behind the forest; long gray clouds were rushing over me and towards me; the rakits stirred and babbled uneasily. The stifling heat was suddenly replaced by a damp chill; the shadows thickened quickly. I hit the horse with the reins, went down into a ravine, got over a dry stream, all overgrown with vines, climbed the mountain and entered the forest. The road wound in front of me between dense hazel bushes, already filled with darkness; I moved forward with difficulty. The tremors jumped over the solid roots of century-old oaks and lindens, which incessantly crossed deep longitudinal ruts - the tracks of cart wheels; my horse began to stumble. A strong wind suddenly roared in the heights, the trees raged, large drops of rain pounded sharply, slapped on the leaves, lightning flashed, and a thunderstorm broke out. The rain poured down in streams. I rode at a walk and was soon forced to stop: my horse got stuck, I did not see a zigi. Somehow I took refuge in a wide bush. Hunched over and wrapping my face, I patiently awaited the end of the storm, when suddenly, with a flash of lightning, a tall figure seemed to me on the road. I began to gaze intently in that direction - the same figure seemed to have grown out of the ground beside my droshky.
- Who is this? a sonorous voice asked.
- And who are you?
“I'm the forester here.
I named myself.
- Oh, I know! Are you going home?
- Home. Yes, you see what a thunderstorm ...
- Yes, a thunderstorm, - answered the voice.
White lightning flashed the forester from head to foot; a crackling and short thunderclap rang out immediately after her. The rain poured with a vengeance.
“It won't pass soon,” the forester continued.
- What to do!
“I’ll probably take you to my hut,” he said abruptly.
- Do me a favor.
- Please, sit.
He went up to the horse's head, took it by the bridle and pulled it out of its place. We set off. I held on to the pillow of the droshky, which swayed "like a shuttle in the sea," and called the dog. My poor mare slapped her feet heavily in the mud, slipped, stumbled; the forester swayed in front of the shafts to the right and to the left, like a ghost. We drove for a long time; finally my guide stopped: "Here we are at home, master," he said in a calm voice. The gate creaked, several puppies barked in unison. I raised my head and in the light of lightning I saw a small hut in the middle of a vast courtyard surrounded by a fence. A dim light shone from one window. The forester led the horse to the porch and knocked on the door. "Now, now!" - a thin voice rang out, the stamping of bare feet was heard, the bolt snapped, and a girl of about twelve, in a shirt, belted with a strap, with a lantern in her hand, appeared on the threshold.
- Shine a light on the master, - he said to her, - and I'll put your droshky under the shed.
The girl looked at me and went to the hut. I followed her.
The forester's hut consisted of one room, smoky, low and empty, without shelves and partitions. A tattered sheepskin coat hung on the wall. A single-barreled rifle lay on the bench, and a pile of rags lay in the corner; two large pots stood by the stove. Luchina burned on the table, flaring up sadly and extinguishing. In the very middle of the hut there was a cradle tied to the end of a long pole. The girl turned off the lantern, sat down on a tiny bench and began to swing the cradle with her right hand, straighten the torch with her left. I looked around - my heart ached: it is not fun to enter a peasant hut at night. The baby in the cradle was breathing heavily and quickly.
- Are you alone here? - I asked the girl.
“One,” she said barely audibly.
- Are you a forester's daughter?
“Lesnikova,” she whispered.
The door snapped shut, and the forester stepped, bending his head, across the threshold. He lifted the lantern from the floor, walked over to the table and lit the lamp.
- Tea, are you not used to the torch? - he said and shook his curls.
I looked at him. Rarely have I seen such a fellow. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and handsomely built. His mighty muscles protruded from beneath his wet dress shirt. A black curly beard half covered his stern and courageous face; small brown eyes peered out boldly from under the broad eyebrows that were fused together. He put his hands lightly on his hips and stopped in front of me.
I thanked him and asked his name.
- My name is Foma, - he answered, - and nicknamed Biryuk.
- Are you Biryuk?
I looked at him with redoubled curiosity. From my Yermolai and others, I often heard stories about the forester Biryuk, whom all the surrounding peasants feared like fire. According to them, there has never been such a master of his craft in the world: “The bundles of brushwood will not let them take away; at any time, even at midnight, it will fall like snow on your head, and you don’t think to resist - you say, strong and dexterous like a devil ... And nothing can take him: neither wine nor money; does not go to any bait. More than once good people were going to squeeze him out of the light, but no - it is not given. "
This is how the neighboring peasants spoke about Biryuk.
- So you are Biryuk, - I repeated, - I, brother, have heard about you. They say you don't give anyone a go.
“I’m doing my job,” he answered gloomily, “you don’t have to eat the master’s bread for nothing.”
He took an ax from his belt, sat down on the floor and began to prick a splinter.
- Al you have no mistress? I asked him.
“No,” he answered and swung his ax violently.
- She died, know?
“No… yes… she died,” he added and turned away.
I fell silent; he raised his eyes and looked at me.
“I ran away with a passer-by,” he said with a cruel smile. The girl looked down; the child woke up and screamed; the girl went to the cradle. “Come on, give it to him,” said Biryuk, thrusting the soiled horn into her hand. “So I threw him, too,” he continued in an undertone, pointing at the child. He walked to the door, stopped and turned around.
“You, tea, master,” he began, “you won’t eat our bread, but I’m besides bread ...
- I'm not hungry.
- Well, as you know. I would put a samovar for you, but I have no tea ... I'll go and see what your horse is.
He went out and slammed the door. I looked around another time. The hut seemed to me even sadder than before. The bitter scent of cold smoke made me breath unpleasantly. The girl did not budge and did not raise her eyes; from time to time she pushed the cradle, timidly brought her down shirt down over her shoulder; her bare legs hung without moving.
- What is your name? I asked.
“A snail,” she said, drooping her sad face even more.
The forester entered and sat down on the bench.
- The thunderstorm is passing, - he remarked after a short silence, - if you order, I will escort you out of the forest.
I wake up. Biryuk took the gun and examined the shelf.
- What is this for? I asked.
- And in the forest they play pranks ... At the Mare's Upper a tree is cut down, - he added in response to my questioning gaze.
- What can you hear from here?
- You can hear it from the yard.
We went out together. The rain has stopped. In the distance, heavy masses of clouds still crowded, occasionally long lightning flashed; but above our heads we could already see here and there a dark blue sky, stars twinkling through the liquid, rapidly flying clouds. Sketches of trees, splashed with rain and agitated by the wind, began to emerge from the gloom. We began to listen. The forester took off his cap and looked down. "In ... here," he said suddenly and held out his hand, "see what kind of night you have chosen." I heard nothing but the noise of the leaves. Biryuk led the horse out from under the shed. "And so I, perhaps," he added aloud, "and I miss him." - "I'll go with you ... do you want?" “Okay,” he answered, and pulled the horse back, “we’ll catch him in spirit, and there I’ll escort you. Let's go. "
We went: Biryuk was in front, I was behind him. God knows how he knew the way, but he stopped only occasionally, and then in order to listen to the sound of the ax. “See,” he muttered through clenched teeth, “do you hear? do you hear? " - "Yes where?" Biryuk shrugged his shoulders. We went down into the ravine, the wind died down for a moment - the measured blows clearly reached my ears. Biryuk glanced at me and shook his head. We walked further along wet ferns and nettles. A dull and prolonged hum was heard.
- Fell ... - muttered Biryuk.
Meanwhile, the sky continued to clear; in the forest it was a little brighter. We finally got out of the ravine. Wait here, ”the forester whispered to me, bent down and, raising his gun up, disappeared between the bushes. I began to listen with tension. Through the constant sound of the wind, I fancied faint sounds not far away: the ax gently knocked on the branches, the wheels squeaked, the horse snorted ... “Where? stop! " - suddenly thundered the iron voice of Biryuk. Another voice screamed pitifully, like a hare ... A struggle began. “You lie, you lie, you lie,” Biryuk insisted breathlessly, “you won’t leave ...” I rushed in the direction of the noise and ran, stumbling at every step, to the place of the battle. By the felled tree, on the ground, the forester was swarming; he held the thief under him and twisted his sash around his back. I went. Biryuk got up and put him on his feet. I saw a man, wet, in rags, with a long disheveled beard. A trashy horse, half covered with an angular matting, stood right there along with the cart. The forester did not say a word; the man was also silent and only shook his head.
- Let him go, - I whispered in Biryuk's ear, - I will pay for the tree.
Biryuk silently took the horse by the withers with his left hand; with his right he held the thief by the belt: "Well, turn around, crow!" he said sternly. “Take the hatchet over there,” muttered the man. "Why would he disappear!" - said the forester and raised the ax. We went. I walked behind ... The rain began to sprinkle again and soon poured down streams. With difficulty we got to the hut. Biryuk threw the horse he had caught in the middle of the yard, led the peasant into the room, loosened the knot of the sash and put him in a corner. The girl who had fallen asleep by the stove jumped up and with silent fright began to look at us. I sat down on the bench.
- Eck it, what he watered, - the forester remarked, - we will have to wait. Would you like to lie down?
- Thanks.
- I would, for your grace, locked it in a closet, - he continued, pointing at the peasant - yes, you see, a bolt ...
“Leave him here, don’t touch him,” I interrupted Biryuka.
The man glanced at me from under his brows. Inwardly, I promised myself that I would free the poor man by all means. He sat motionless on the bench. In the light of the lantern, I could make out his drunken, wrinkled face, hanging yellow eyebrows, restless eyes, thin limbs ... The girl lay down on the floor at his very feet and fell asleep again. Biryuk was sitting at the table with his head resting on his hands. A grasshopper was screaming in the corner ... rain pounded on the roof and slid down the windows; we were all silent.
“Foma Kuzmich,” the peasant suddenly spoke in a deaf and broken voice, “ah, Foma Kuzmich.
- What do you want?
- Let go.
Biryuk did not answer.
- Let go ... from hunger ... let go.
- I know you, - the forester objected sullenly, - your whole settlement is like that - a thief on a thief.
- Let go, - the peasant kept repeating, - the clerk ... ruined, how ... let go!
- Ruined! .. Steal is not a trace of anyone.
- Let go, Foma Kuzmich ... do not destroy. Yours, you know, will get stuck in how.
Biryuk turned away. The peasant was twitching, as if he was beating with a fever. He shook his head and breathed unevenly.
- Let go, - he repeated with sad despair, - let go, by God, let go! I will pay, in what way, by God. By God, from hunger ... children, squeak, you know. Cool, in how, it is necessary.
- And you still do not go to steal.
- A little horse, - the man continued, - a little horse, at least her ... one belly is ... let go!
- They say you can't. I, too, am a bonded person: they will charge me. You also do not have to pamper.
- Let go! Need, Foma Kuzmich, need, as it is ... let him go!
- I know you!
- Let go!
- Eh, what's the deal with you; sit still, or else with me, you know? Can't you see what, sir?
The poor man looked down ... Biryuk yawned and laid his head on the table. The rain did not stop. I was waiting for what would happen.
The man suddenly straightened up. His eyes lit up and his face flushed. "Come on, eat, on, choke on, on," he began, screwing up his eyes and lowering the corners of his lips, "on, accursed murderer: drink Christian blood, drink ..."
The forester turned around.
- I tell you, you, Asian, bloodsucker, you!
- Are you drunk, or what, that you decided to swear? the forester spoke in amazement. - Have you lost your mind, or what?
- Drunk! .. not for your money, accursed murderer, beast, beast, beast!
- Oh, you ... yes, I will! ..
“What’s to me?” All is one - to disappear; Where will I go without a horse? Hit one end; that with hunger, that so - everything is one. Disappear everything: wife, children - kill everything ... But wait until you, we'll get there!
Biryuk got up.
- Hit, hit, - the man picked up in a fierce voice, - hit, on, on, hit ... (The girl hastily jumped up from the floor and stared at him.) Hit! hit!
- Silence! - the forester thundered and took two steps.
- Full, full, Thomas, - they shouted, - leave him ... God be with him.
“I won’t be silent,” the unfortunate man continued. - All is one - to die. You are a murderer, beast, there is no death on you ... But wait, you will not reign for long! will tighten your throat, wait!
Biryuk grabbed him by the shoulder ... I rushed to help the peasant ...
- Don't touch it, sir! the forester shouted at me.
I would not have been afraid of his threat and had already reached out my hand; but, to my extreme amazement, he pulled the sash off the peasant's elbows in one turn, grabbed him by the collar, pulled his hat over his eyes, opened the door and pushed him out.
- Go to hell with your horse, - he shouted after him, - but look, another time with me! ..
He returned to the hut and began to dig in the corner.
“Well, Biryuk,” I said at last, “you surprised me: you, I see, are a fine fellow.
- Eh, fullness, sir, - he interrupted me with annoyance, - if you please just tell me. Yes, I’ll see you out better, ”he added,“ you know you cannot wait out the rain ...
In the courtyard the wheels of a peasant cart began to clatter.
- See, I trudged off! - he muttered, - yes I have it! ..
Half an hour later, he said goodbye to me at the edge of the forest.

I rode out of the hunt alone in the evening, in a jogging droshky. It was still eight miles to the house; my kind trotting mare ran briskly along the dusty road, snoring occasionally and moving her ears; the tired dog, as if tied, did not lag a step behind the rear wheels. The storm was approaching. Ahead, a huge purple cloud rose slowly from behind the forest; long gray clouds were rushing over me and towards me; the rakits stirred and babbled uneasily. The stifling heat was suddenly replaced by a damp chill; the shadows thickened quickly. I hit the horse with the reins, went down into a ravine, got over a dry stream, all overgrown with vines, climbed the mountain and entered the forest. The road wound in front of me between dense hazel bushes, already filled with darkness; I moved forward with difficulty. The tremors jumped over the solid roots of century-old oaks and lindens, which incessantly crossed deep longitudinal ruts - the tracks of cart wheels; my horse began to stumble. A strong wind suddenly roared in the heights, the trees raged, large drops of rain pounded sharply, slapped on the leaves, lightning flashed, and a thunderstorm broke out. The rain poured down in streams. I rode at a walk and was soon forced to stop: my horse got stuck, I did not see a zigi. Somehow I took refuge in a wide bush. Hunched over and wrapping my face, I patiently awaited the end of the storm, when suddenly, with a flash of lightning, a tall figure seemed to me on the road. I began to gaze intently in that direction - the same figure seemed to have grown out of the ground beside my droshky.
- Who is this? a sonorous voice asked.
- And who are you?
“I'm the forester here.
I named myself.
- Oh, I know! Are you going home?
- Home. Yes, you see what a thunderstorm ...
- Yes, a thunderstorm, - answered the voice.
White lightning flashed the forester from head to foot; a crackling and short thunderclap rang out immediately after her. The rain poured with a vengeance.
“It won't pass soon,” the forester continued.
- What to do!
“I’ll probably take you to my hut,” he said abruptly.
- Do me a favor.
- Please, sit.
He went up to the horse's head, took it by the bridle and pulled it out of its place. We set off. I held on to the pillow of the droshky, which swayed "like a shuttle in the sea," and called the dog. My poor mare slapped her feet heavily in the mud, slipped, stumbled; the forester swayed in front of the shafts to the right and to the left, like a ghost. We drove for a long time; finally my guide stopped: "Here we are at home, master," he said in a calm voice. The gate creaked, several puppies barked in unison. I raised my head and in the light of lightning I saw a small hut in the middle of a vast courtyard surrounded by a fence. A dim light shone from one window. The forester led the horse to the porch and knocked on the door. "Now, now!" - a thin voice rang out, the stamping of bare feet was heard, the bolt snapped, and a girl of about twelve, in a shirt, belted with a strap, with a lantern in her hand, appeared on the threshold.
- Shine a light on the master, - he said to her, - and I'll put your droshky under the shed.
The girl looked at me and went to the hut. I followed her.
The forester's hut consisted of one room, smoky, low and empty, without shelves and partitions. A tattered sheepskin coat hung on the wall. A single-barreled rifle lay on the bench, and a pile of rags lay in the corner; two large pots stood by the stove. Luchina burned on the table, flaring up sadly and extinguishing. In the very middle of the hut there was a cradle tied to the end of a long pole. The girl turned off the lantern, sat down on a tiny bench and began to swing the cradle with her right hand, straighten the torch with her left. I looked around - my heart ached: it is not fun to enter a peasant hut at night. The baby in the cradle was breathing heavily and quickly.
- Are you alone here? - I asked the girl.
“One,” she said barely audibly.
- Are you a forester's daughter?
“Lesnikova,” she whispered.
The door snapped shut, and the forester stepped, bending his head, across the threshold. He lifted the lantern from the floor, walked over to the table and lit the lamp.
- Tea, are you not used to the torch? - he said and shook his curls.
I looked at him. Rarely have I seen such a fellow. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and handsomely built. His mighty muscles protruded from beneath his wet dress shirt. A black curly beard half covered his stern and courageous face; small brown eyes peered out boldly from under the broad eyebrows that were fused together. He put his hands lightly on his hips and stopped in front of me.
I thanked him and asked his name.
- My name is Foma, - he answered, - and nicknamed Biryuk.
- Are you Biryuk?
I looked at him with redoubled curiosity. From my Yermolai and others, I often heard stories about the forester Biryuk, whom all the surrounding peasants feared like fire. According to them, there has never been such a master of his craft in the world: “The bundles of brushwood will not let them take away; at any time, even at midnight, it will fall like snow on your head, and you don’t think to resist - you say, strong and dexterous like a devil ... And nothing can take him: neither wine nor money; does not go to any bait. More than once good people were going to squeeze him out of the light, but no - it is not given. "
This is how the neighboring peasants spoke about Biryuk.
- So you are Biryuk, - I repeated, - I, brother, have heard about you. They say you don't give anyone a go.
“I’m doing my job,” he answered gloomily, “you don’t have to eat the master’s bread for nothing.”
He took an ax from his belt, sat down on the floor and began to prick a splinter.
- Al you have no mistress? I asked him.
“No,” he answered and swung his ax forcefully.
- She died, know?
“No… yes… she died,” he added, and turned away.
I fell silent; he raised his eyes and looked at me.
“I ran away with a passer-by,” he said with a cruel smile. The girl looked down; the child woke up and screamed; the girl went to the cradle. “Come on, give it to him,” said Biryuk, thrusting the soiled horn into her hand. “So I threw him, too,” he continued in an undertone, pointing at the child. He walked to the door, stopped and turned around.
“You, tea, master,” he began, “you won’t eat our bread, but I’m besides bread ...
- I'm not hungry.
- Well, as you know. I would put a samovar for you, but I have no tea ... I'll go and see what your horse is.
He went out and slammed the door. I looked around another time. The hut seemed to me even sadder than before. The bitter scent of cold smoke made me breath unpleasantly. The girl did not budge and did not raise her eyes; from time to time she pushed the cradle, timidly brought her down shirt down over her shoulder; her bare legs hung without moving.
- What is your name? I asked.
“A snail,” she said, drooping her sad face even more.
The forester entered and sat down on the bench.
- The thunderstorm is passing, - he remarked after a short silence, - if you order, I will escort you out of the forest.
I wake up. Biryuk took the gun and examined the shelf.
- What is this for? I asked.
- And in the forest they play naughty ... At the Mare's Upper a tree is cut down, - he added in response to my questioning look.
- What can you hear from here?
- You can hear it from the yard.
We went out together. The rain has stopped. In the distance, heavy masses of clouds still crowded, occasionally long lightning flashed; but above our heads we could already see here and there a dark blue sky, stars twinkling through the liquid, rapidly flying clouds. Sketches of trees, splashed with rain and agitated by the wind, began to emerge from the gloom. We began to listen. The forester took off his cap and looked down. "In ... here," he said suddenly and held out his hand, "see what kind of night you have chosen." I heard nothing but the noise of the leaves. Biryuk led the horse out from under the shed. "And so I, perhaps," he added aloud, "and I miss him." - "I'll go with you ... do you want?" “Okay,” he answered, and pulled the horse back, “we’ll catch him in spirit, and there I’ll escort you. Let's go. "
We went: Biryuk was in front, I was behind him. God knows how he knew the way, but he stopped only occasionally, and then in order to listen to the sound of the ax. “See,” he muttered through clenched teeth, “do you hear? do you hear? " - "Yes where?" Biryuk shrugged his shoulders. We went down into the ravine, the wind died down for a moment - the measured blows clearly reached my ears. Biryuk glanced at me and shook his head. We walked further along wet ferns and nettles. A dull and prolonged hum was heard.
- Fell ... - muttered Biryuk.
Meanwhile, the sky continued to clear; in the forest it was a little brighter. We finally got out of the ravine. Wait here, ”the forester whispered to me, bent down and, raising his gun up, disappeared between the bushes. I began to listen with tension. Through the constant sound of the wind, I fancied faint sounds not far away: the ax gently knocked on the branches, the wheels squeaked, the horse snorted ... “Where? stop! " - suddenly thundered the iron voice of Biryuk. Another voice screamed pitifully, like a hare ... A struggle began. “You lie, you lie, you lie,” Biryuk insisted breathlessly, “you won’t leave ...” I rushed in the direction of the noise and ran, stumbling at every step, to the place of the battle. By the felled tree, on the ground, the forester was swarming; he held the thief under him and twisted his sash around his back. I went. Biryuk got up and put him on his feet. I saw a man, wet, in rags, with a long disheveled beard. A trashy horse, half covered with an angular matting, stood right there along with the cart. The forester did not say a word; the man was also silent and only shook his head.
- Let him go, - I whispered in Biryuk's ear, - I will pay for the tree.
Biryuk silently took the horse by the withers with his left hand; with his right he held the thief by the belt: "Well, turn around, crow!" he said sternly. “Take the hatchet over there,” muttered the man. "Why would he disappear!" - said the forester and raised the ax. We went. I walked behind ... The rain began to sprinkle again and soon poured down streams. With difficulty we got to the hut. Biryuk threw the horse he had caught in the middle of the yard, led the peasant into the room, loosened the knot of the sash and put him in a corner. The girl who had fallen asleep by the stove jumped up and with silent fright began to look at us. I sat down on the bench.
- Eck it, what he watered, - the forester remarked, - we will have to wait. Would you like to lie down?
- Thanks.
- I would, for your grace, locked it in a closet, - he continued, pointing at the peasant - yes, you see, a bolt ...
“Leave him here, don’t touch him,” I interrupted Biryuka.
The man glanced at me from under his brows. Inwardly, I promised myself that I would free the poor man by all means. He sat motionless on the bench. In the light of the lantern, I could make out his drunken, wrinkled face, hanging yellow eyebrows, restless eyes, thin limbs ... The girl lay down on the floor at his very feet and fell asleep again. Biryuk was sitting at the table with his head resting on his hands. A grasshopper was screaming in the corner ... rain pounded on the roof and slid down the windows; we were all silent.
“Foma Kuzmich,” the peasant suddenly spoke in a deaf and broken voice, “ah, Foma Kuzmich.
- What do you want?
- Let go.
Biryuk did not answer.
- Let go ... from hunger ... let go.
- I know you, - the forester objected sullenly, - your whole settlement is like that - a thief on a thief.
- Let go, - the peasant kept repeating, - the clerk ... ruined, how ... let go!
- Ruined! .. Steal is not a trace of anyone.
- Let go, Foma Kuzmich ... do not destroy. Yours, you know, will get stuck in how.
Biryuk turned away. The peasant was twitching, as if he was beating with a fever. He shook his head and breathed unevenly.
- Let go, - he repeated with sad despair, - let go, by God, let go! I will pay, in what way, by God. By God, from hunger ... children, squeak, you know. Cool, in how, it is necessary.
- And you still do not go to steal.
- A little horse, - the man continued, - a little horse, at least her ... one belly is ... let go!
- They say you can't. I, too, am a bonded person: they will charge me. You also do not have to pamper.
- Let go! Need, Foma Kuzmich, need, as it is ... let him go!
- I know you!
- Let go!
- Eh, what's the deal with you; sit still, or else with me, you know? Can't you see what, sir?
The poor man looked down ... Biryuk yawned and laid his head on the table. The rain did not stop. I was waiting for what would happen.
The man suddenly straightened up. His eyes lit up and his face flushed. "Come on, eat, on, choke on, on," he began, screwing up his eyes and lowering the corners of his lips, "on, accursed murderer: drink Christian blood, drink ..."
The forester turned around.
- I tell you, you, Asian, bloodsucker, you!
- Are you drunk, or what, that you decided to swear? the forester spoke in amazement. - Have you lost your mind, or what?
- Drunk! .. not for your money, accursed murderer, beast, beast, beast!
- Oh, you ... yes, I will! ..
“What’s to me?” All is one - to disappear; Where will I go without a horse? Hit one end; that with hunger, that so - everything is one. Disappear everything: wife, children - kill everything ... But wait until you, we'll get there!
Biryuk got up.
- Hit, hit, - the man picked up in a fierce voice, - hit, on, on, hit ... (The girl hastily jumped up from the floor and stared at him.) Hit! hit!
- Silence! - the forester thundered and took two steps.
- Full, full, Thomas, - they shouted, - leave him ... God be with him.
“I won’t be silent,” the unfortunate man continued. - All is one - to die. You are a murderer, beast, there is no death on you ... But wait, you will not reign for long! will tighten your throat, wait!
Biryuk grabbed him by the shoulder ... I rushed to help the peasant ...
- Don't touch it, sir! the forester shouted at me.
I would not have been afraid of his threat and had already reached out my hand; but, to my extreme amazement, he pulled the sash off the peasant's elbows in one turn, grabbed him by the collar, pulled his hat over his eyes, opened the door and pushed him out.
- Go to hell with your horse, - he shouted after him, - but look, another time with me! ..
He returned to the hut and began to dig in the corner.
“Well, Biryuk,” I said at last, “you surprised me: you, I see, are a fine fellow.
- Eh, fullness, sir, - he interrupted me with annoyance, - if you please just tell me. Yes, I’ll see you out better, ”he added,“ you know you cannot wait out the rain ...
In the courtyard the wheels of a peasant cart began to clatter.
- See, I trudged off! - he muttered, - yes I have it! ..
Half an hour later, he said goodbye to me at the edge of the forest.