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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
shame-faced 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.
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