THE OLD COUNT, whose hunting establishment had always been kept up on a large scale, had now handed it all over to his son's care, but on that day, the 15th of September, being in excellent spirits he prepared to join the expedition. Within an hour the whole party was before the porch. When Natasha and Petya said something to Nikolay he walked by them with a stern and serious air, betokening that he had no time to waste on trifles. He looked over everything to do with the hunt, sent a pack of hounds and huntsmen on ahead to cut off the wolf from behind, got on his chestnut Don horse, and whistling to the dogs of his leash, he set off across the threshing-floor to the field leading to the Otradnoe preserve. The old count's horse, a sorrel gelding, with a white mane and tail, called Viflyanka, was led by the count's groom; he was himself to drive straight in a light gig to the spot fixed for him to stand.
Fifty-four hounds were led out under the charge of six whippers-in and grooms. Of huntsmen, properly speaking, there were taking part in the hunt eight men besides the members of the family, and more than forty greyhounds ran behind them, so that with the hounds in leashes there were about a hundred and thirty dogs and twenty persons on horseback.
Every dog knew its master and its call. Every man in the hunt knew his task, his place, and the part assigned him. As soon as they had passed beyond the fence, they all moved without noise or talk, lengthening out along the road and the field to the Otradnoe forest.
The horses stepped over the field as over a soft carpet, splashing now and then into pools as they crossed the road. The foggy sky still seemed falling imperceptibly and regularly down on the earth; the air was still and warm, and there was no sound but now and then the whistle of a huntsman, the snort of a horse, the clack of a whip, or the whine of a dog who had dropped out of his place. When they had gone a verst, five more horsemen accompanied by dogs appeared out of the mist to meet the Rostovs. The foremost of them was a fresh, handsome old man with large, grey moustaches.
“Good-day, uncle,” said Nikolay as the old man rode up to him.
“All's well and march!…I was sure of it,” began the man addressed as uncle. He was not really the Rostovs' uncle, but a distant relative, who had a small property in their neighbourhood.
‘I was sure you couldn't resist, and a good thing you have come out. All's well and quick march.” (This was the uncle's favorite saying.) “You had better attack the preserve at once, for my Girtchilk brought me word that the Ilagins are out with their hounds at Korniky; they'll snatch the litter right under your noses.”
“That's where I'm going. Shall we join the packs?” asked Nikolay.
The hounds were joined into one pack, and the uncle and Nikolay rode on side by side.
Natasha, muffled up in a shawl which did not hide her eager face and shining eyes, galloped up to them, accompanied by Petya, who kept beside her, and Mihailo, the huntsman and groom, who had been told to look after her. Petya was laughing and switching and pulling his horse. Natasha sat her raven Arabtchick with grace and confidence and controlled him with an easy and steady hand.
The uncle looked with disapproval at Petya and Natasha. He did not like a mixture of frivolity with the serious business of the hunt.
“Good-day, uncle; we're coming to the hunt too!” shouted Petya.
“Good-day, good-day, and mind you don't ride down the dogs,” said the uncle sternly.
“Nikolenka, what a delightful dog Trunila is! he knew me,” said Natasha of her favourite dog.
“In the first place, Trunila's not a dog, but a wolf-hound,” thought Nikolay. He glanced at his sister trying to make her feel the distance that lay between them at that moment. Natasha understood it.
“Don't imagine we shall get in anybody's way, uncle,” said Natasha.
“We'll stay in our right place and not stir from it.”
“And you'll do well, little countess,” said the uncle. “Only don't fall off your horse,” he added, “or you'd never get on again—all's well, quick march!”
The Otradnoe preserve came into sight, an oasis of greenness, two hundred and fifty yards away. Rostov, settling finally with the uncle from what point to set the dogs on, pointed out to Natasha the place where she was to stand, a place where there was no chance of anything running out, and went round to close in from behind above the ravine.
“Now, nephew, you're on the track of an old wolf,” said the uncle; “mind he doesn't give you the slip.”
“That's as it happens,” answered Rostov. “Karay, hey!” he shouted, replying to the uncle's warning by this call to his dog. Karay was an old, misshapen, muddy-coloured hound, famous for attacking an old wolf unaided. All took their places.
The old count, who knew his son's ardour in the hunt, hurried to avoid being late, and the whippers-in had hardly reached the place when Count Ilya Andreitch, with a cheerful face, and flushed and quivering cheeks, drove up with his pair of raven horses, over the green field to the place left for him. Straightening his fur coat and putting on his hunting appurtenances, he mounted his sleek, well-fed, quiet, good-humoured Viflyanka, who was turning grey like himself. The horses with the gig were sent back. Count Ilya Andreitch, though he was at heart no sportsman, knew well all the rules of sport. He rode into the edge of the thicket of bushes, behind which he was standing, picked up the reins, settled himself at his ease in the saddle, and, feeling that he was ready, looked about him smiling.
Near him stood his valet, Semyon Tchekmar, a veteran horseman, though now heavy in the saddle. Tchekmar held on a leash three wolfhounds of a special breed, spirited hounds, though they too had grown fat like their master and his horse. Two other keen old dogs were lying beside them not in a leash. A hundred paces further in the edge of the copse stood another groom of the count's, Mitka, a reckless rider and passionate sportsman. The count had followed the old custom of drinking before hunting a silver goblet of spiced brandy; he had had a slight lunch and after that half a bottle of his favourite bordeaux.
Count Ilya Andreitch was rather flushed from the wine and the drive; his eyes, covered by moisture, were particularly bright, and sitting in the saddle wrapped up in his fur coat, he looked like a baby taken out for a drive.
After seeing after his duties, Tchekmar, with his thin face and sunken cheeks, looked towards his master, with whom he had lived on the best of terms for thirty years. Perceiving that he was in a genial humour, he anticipated a pleasant chat. A third person rode circumspectly—he had no doubt been cautioned—out of the wood, and stood still behind the count. This personage was a grey-bearded old man, wearing a woman's gown and a high, peaked cap. It was the buffoon, Nastasya Ivanovna.
“Well, Nastasya Ivanovna,” whispered the count, winking at him, “you only scare off the game, and Danilo will give it you.”
“I wasn't born yesterday,” said Nastasya Ivanovna.
“Sh!” hissed the count, and he turned to Semyon. “Have you seen Natalya Ilyinitchna?” he asked Semyon. “Where is she?”
“Her honour's with Pyotr Ilyitch, behind the high grass at Zharvry,” answered Semyon, smiling. “Though she is a lady, she has a great love for the chase.”
“And you wonder at her riding, Semyon,…eh?” said the count, “for a man even it wouldn't be amiss!”
“Who wouldn't wonder! So daring, so smart!”
“And where's Nikolasha? Above the Lyadovsky upland, eh?” the count asked still in a whisper.
“Yes, sir. His honour knows where he had best stand. He knows the ins and outs of hunting, so that Danilo and I are sometimes quite astonished at him,” said Semyon, who knew how to please his master.
“He's a good, clever sportsman, eh? And what do you say to his riding, eh?”
“A perfect picture he is! How he drove the fox out of the Zavarzinsky thicket the other day. He galloped down from the ravine, it was a sight—the horse worth a thousand roubles, and the rider beyond all price. Yes, you would have to look a long while to find his match!”
“To look a long while…” repeated the count, obviously regretting that Semyon's praises had come to so speedy a termination. “A long while,” he repeated, turning back the skirt of his coat and looking for his snuff-box.
“The other day they were coming out from Mass in all their glory, Mihail Sidoritch…” Semyon stopped short, hearing distinctly in the still air the rush of the hounds, with no more than two or three dogs giving tongue. With his head on one side, he listened, shaking a warning finger at his master. “They're on the scent of the litter…” he whispered; “they have gone straight toward Lyadovsky upland.”
The count, with a smile still lingering on his face, looked straight before him along the path, and did not take a pinch from the snuff-box he held in his hand. The hounds' cry was followed by the bass note of the hunting cry for a wolf sounded on Danilo's horn. The pack joined the first three dogs, and the voices of the hounds could be heard in full cry with the peculiar note which serves to betoken that they are after a wolf. The whippers-in were not now hallooing, but urging on the hounds with cries of “Loo! loo! loo!” and above all the voices rose the voice of Danilo, passing from a deep note to piercing shrillness. Danilo's voice seemed to fill the whole forest, to pierce beyond it, and echo far away in the open country.
After listening for a few seconds in silence, the count and his groom felt certain that the hounds had divided into two packs: one, the larger, was going off into the distance, in particularly hot cry; the other part of the pack was moving along the forest past the count, and it was with this pack that Danilo's voice was heard urging the dogs on. The sounds from both packs melted into unison and broke apart again, but both were getting further away. Semyon sighed and stooped down to straighten the leash, in which a young dog had caught his leg. The count too sighed, and noticing the snuff-box in his hand, he opened it and took a pinch.
“Back!” cried Semyon to the dog, which had poked out beyond the bushes. The count started, and dropped the snuff-box. Nastasya Ivanovna got off his horse and began picking it up.
The count and Semyon watched him. All of a sudden, as so often happens, the sound of the hunt was in an instant close at hand, as though the baying dogs and Danilo's cries were just upon them.
The count looked round, and on the right he saw Mitka, who was staring at the count with eyes starting out of his head. Lifting his cap, he pointed in front to the other side.
“Look out!” he shouted in a voice that showed the words had long been fretting him to be uttered. And letting go the dogs, he galloped towards the count.
The count and Semyon galloped out of the bushes, and on their left they saw a wolf. With a soft, rolling gait it moved at a slow amble further to their left into the very thicket in which they had been standing. The angry dogs whined, and pulling themselves free from the leash, flew by the horses' hoofs after the wolf.
The wolf paused in his flight; awkwardly, like a man with a quinsy, he turned his heavy-browed head towards the dogs, and still with the same soft, rolling gait gave one bound and a second, and, waving its tail, disappeared into the bushes. At the same instant, with a cry like a wail, there sprang desperately out of the thicket opposite one hound, then a second and a third, and all the pack flew across the open ground towards the very spot where the wolf had vanished. The bushes were parted behind the dogs, and Danilo's brown horse, dark with sweat, emerged from them. On its long back Danilo sat perched up and swaying forward. He had no cap on his grey hair, that fluttered in disorder above his red, perspiring face.
“Loo! loo! loo!…” he was shouting. When he caught sight of the count, there was a flash like lightning in his eyes.
“B—!” he shouted, using a brutally coarse term of abuse and menacing the count with his lifted whip. “Let the wolf slip!…sportsmen indeed!” And as though scorning to waste more words on the confused and frightened count, he lashed the moist and heavy sides of his brown gelding with all the fury that had been ready for the count, and flew off after the dogs. The count stood like a man who has been thrashed, looking about him and trying to smile and call for Semyon to sympathise with his plight. But Semyon was not there; he had galloped round to cut the wolf off from the forest. The greyhounds, too, were running to and fro on both sides. But the wolf got off into the bushes, and not one of the party succeeded in coming across him.
老伯爵一向经营大规模的狩猎业，现今他把一切业务转交给儿子管理，这一天，九月十五号，老伯爵快活起来，也想亲自去狩猎。
过了一个钟头，所有参加狩猎的人都来到台阶的近旁。尼古拉露出严肃认真的样子，表示现在哪有闲工夫去料理琐碎的事，娜塔莎与彼佳正在和他讲话，他却顾不得这么许多，便从他们身边走过去了。他把参加狩猎的各个小组察看了一遍，先行派出一群猎犬和猎人前去围猎，他就骑着一匹枣红色的顿河种马，对他自己的一群猎犬打着唿哨，经过打谷场，向通往奥特拉德诺耶禁伐区的田野出发了。伯爵的马夫牵着老伯爵骑的一匹叫做维夫梁卡的白鬃白尾的枣红色骟马；他本人乘坐一辆轻便马车径直地向兽径驰去。
猎犬共计五十四头，由六名猎犬训练管理人、看管猎犬的猎人带领。除开主人之外，有八名灵狸看管人，由他们带领四十多头灵狸，这些灵狸连同主人的几群猎犬，约计有一百三十头猎犬，二十名骑马的猎人，都朝着田野的方向出发。
每只猎犬都认识主人，知道自己的名字。每个猎人都知道自己应做的事情、围猎的地点和他所承担的任务。大伙儿刚刚走出菜园子，就停止说话，寂然无声，有条不紊地、从容不迫地沿着通往奥特拉德诺耶森林的大道和田野拉长距离，散开了。
马群就像在毛皮地毯上行走那样，沿着田野前进，当它们走过大路时，偶尔踩进了水洼，发出啪嗒啪嗒的响声。雾霭弥漫的天空，仍旧不知不觉地、不疾不徐地向地面拉下来；天空中一片沉寂，而且和暖，无声无息。有时可以听见猎人的唿哨声，马的响鼻声，或者是离开原地乱走的猎犬刺耳的吠声。
当他们走了一俄里左右的时候，有五个带着猎犬的骑士从那雾霭中出现，他们向罗斯托夫的那帮猎人迎面走来。一位精力充沛、胡髭斑白、五官端正的老人在前面骑行。
“大叔，您好。”当那老人驰近尼古拉时，尼古拉说。
“正当的事情，走吧！……我本来就晓得。”大叔开腔了（这是罗斯托夫的远亲，不富裕的邻人），我本来就晓得，你忍不住了，你就去打猎，好得很。正当的事情，走吧！（这是大叔爱说的俗话。）你马上占领禁伐区，其实我的吉尔奇克向我禀告了，伊拉金一家带着一帮猎人盘踞在科尔尼克；正当的事情，走吧！他们会从你们鼻子底下端走一窝狼仔的。”
“我也要到那里去，怎么，我们把猎犬合在一起吧？”尼古拉问道，“把猎犬合在一起……”
他们把猎犬合成一大群了，大叔和尼古拉并辔而行。娜塔莎骑马走到他们跟前，她裹着头巾，那张兴奋的脸孔、一对闪闪发亮的眼睛从头巾下面露出来了。彼佳、猎人米哈伊尔、保姆派来照应她的驯马师，都不离寸步地陪伴着她。彼佳不知为什么而笑，为什么鞭打自己的马，不住地拉缰绳。娜塔莎熟练而自信地骑在一匹黑色的阿拉伯马上，用一只可以信赖的手毫不费劲地把马勒住了。
大叔用不赞同的目光望了望彼佳和娜塔莎。他不喜欢把嬉戏和打猎这件严肃认真的事情混为一谈。
“大叔，您好，我们也要走。”彼佳喊道。
“您好，您好，可是别把猎犬压坏了。”大叔厉声地说。
“尼古连卡，多么好看的猎犬‘特鲁尼拉'！它认出我了。”
娜塔莎谈到她那只心爱的猎犬。
“第一，特鲁尼拉不是普通的狗，而是一只公猎犬。”尼古拉想了一下，严肃地朝他妹妹瞥了一眼，竭力地使她感觉到，在这个瞬间需要保持他们之间的距离。娜塔莎明白这一点。
“大叔，您不要以为我们会阻碍他人，”娜塔莎说，“我们要待在原地不动。”
“伯爵小姐，这很好，”大叔说，“不过别从马上摔下来，”他补充说，“正当的事情，走吧！可是您没有什么可以扶手的东西。”
在莫约一百俄丈远的地方可以看得见奥特拉德诺耶禁伐区这座孤林了，数名猎犬训练管理人快要走到这个地方。罗斯托夫和大叔终于议定从那里放出猎犬，并且指定娜塔莎站在那个决不能跑动的地方，于是他朝着围猎的方向走去。
“喂，贤侄，一只大狼由你来对付呢，”大叔说，“说好啦，别追失了。”
“碰上什么算什么，”罗斯托夫回答，“卡拉伊，走吧！”他喊了一声，这一声召唤用以回答大叔的话。卡拉伊是一只难看的、一身乱毛的老公狗，它因单独地捕获一只大狼而闻名。
大伙儿各就各位。
老伯爵知道他儿子在狩猎之时火气很大，便赶快驶来，省得迟到，在猎犬训练管理人还没有走到围捕的地方，伊利亚·安德烈伊奇就已经乘坐两匹乌雅驾的马车，欢天喜地，红光满面，腮帮给震得不住地颠动，马车驶过翠绿的田野，到达留给他的一条兽径。他弄平皮袄，装备好猎用的工具，骑上他那匹像他一样毛色斑白、膘肥光滑，驯顺善良的“维夫梁卡”。马车已被送回原地。伊利亚·安德烈伊奇伯爵虽然并非醉心于狩猎业的猎人，但是他却熟谙狩猎规章，他驰向灌木林边沿地带，在那儿停步，他用两手将缰绳左右分开握住，在鞍子上坐定，觉得自己准备就绪，面露微笑，向四周环顾一下。
名叫谢苗·切克马尔的仆役，老猎人，但是身体变得很笨重的人站在他身旁。切克马尔用皮带牵着三只勇猛的，但是也像主人和马一样肥大的捕狼的猎犬。两只未系皮带的很灵的老狗在地上躺着。伯爵的另外一名马夫站在百步以外的树林边缘上。米季卡是个无所顾忌的骑手和入迷的猎手。伯爵依照老习惯在狩猎前喝了一银盅猎人喝的烧酒，就着一点小菜喝了半瓶他喜欢喝的波尔多酒。
伊利亚·安德烈伊奇由于骑马和饮酒已经有点脸红了，他的眼睛蒙上薄薄一层湿气，显得分外明亮，他裹着一件皮袄，骑在马鞍上，那副样子就像打点他这个小孩去游逛似的。
那个消瘦的两颊深陷的切克马尔弄好了他自己的事情，不住地瞅着主人，他和主人和睦相处已有三十年了，他明了主人的愉快心情，等待他跟他愉快地谈话。还有个第三者（看来他是个有学问的人）从树林后面小心翼翼地走来，他在伯爵后面停步。此人是个髯须斑白的老头，他身穿女人的外衣，头戴高顶帽，这就是名叫纳斯塔西娅·伊万诺夫娜的侍从丑角。
“喂，纳斯塔西娅·伊万诺夫娜，”伯爵向他递了个眼色，用耳语说，“你只会把野兽轰出洞来，丹尼洛要给你个厉害瞧。”
“我本人……不比别人笨……”纳斯塔西娅·伊万诺夫娜说。
“嘘！”伯爵发出嘘嘘声后又把脸朝着谢苗。
“你看见娜塔莉娅·伊利尼奇娜（娜塔莎的尊称）么？”他问谢苗。“她在哪里？”
“她和彼得·伊利奇（彼佳的尊称）站在扎罗夫草地附近。”谢苗微露笑容说。“也是女子，打起猎来可很出色。”
“她骑起马来，你会感到惊奇，谢苗……怎样？”伯爵说，“即使是男人也不过如此！”
“怎么不令人惊奇？非常勇敢，非常灵活！”
“尼古拉沙（尼古拉的爱称）在哪儿？在利亚多夫斯克高地上吗？”伯爵用耳语问道。
“是的，老爷。他知道他该呆在什么地方。他擅长骑马，我和丹尼洛有时候也感到惊讶。”谢苗说，他知道怎样才能使主人满意。
“他很会骑马，是吗？骑在马上是啥样子？”
“真要画张图画来说明一下！前几天他从扎瓦尔津斯克草地跟踪追逐一只狐狸。他开始越过许多障碍，多么可怕啊——一匹马值得一千卢布，而骑手是无价之宝！这样呱呱叫的小伙子哪里去找！”
“哪里去找……”伯爵重复地说，显然他感到遗憾，谢苗竟然很快就把话说完了。“哪里去找，”他说道，一面撩起皮袄的下摆，一面取出鼻烟壶。
“前几天他在日祷后从教堂走出来，胸前戴满了勋章，米哈伊尔·西多雷奇……”谢苗还没把话说完，就听见沉寂的空中清晰地传来两三只猎犬追捕野兽的嗥叫和别的猎犬的随声吠叫。他低下头，倾听起来，现出威吓的样子，沉默地向伯爵暗示。“跟踪找到狼窝啦……”他轻言细语地说，“有人带领着大家干脆在利亚多夫斯克高地追捕去了。”
伯爵忘了收敛起脸上的微笑，向他前面的副林带远眺，手里拿着鼻烟壶，并没有闻它。紧接着犬吠之后，可以听见丹尼洛用以追狼的低沉的角笛声；另一群猎犬和头三只猎犬走在一起，于是听见猎犬时高时低地吠叫，其中夹杂着别的猎犬的特殊的呼应声，这一声声呼应就可作为追捕豺狼的吠声的标志。猎犬训练管理人已不催促猎犬追捕野兽，而是发出口令，叫猎犬抓住野兽。在这一片呼唤声中，尤以丹尼洛时而低沉、时而刺耳的呼声清晰可闻。丹尼洛的声音仿佛充满整个森林，从森林后面传出来，响彻了遥远的田野。
伯爵和他的马夫沉默地倾听几秒钟，深信猎犬已分成两群，其中一群为数较多，嗥叫得特别厉害，它们渐渐走开了；另一部分猎犬沿着森林从伯爵身旁疾驰起来，在这群猎犬中可以听见丹尼洛催促猎犬抓住野兽的喊声。这两队猎人追捕野兽的喊声汇合起来，抑扬婉转，但是这两种喊声都渐渐离得远了。谢苗叹了一口气，俯下身子把绊住小公犬的一条腿的皮带弄平，伯爵也叹了一口气，看见自己手中的鼻烟壶，把它打开来，掏出一撮鼻烟。
“向后转！”谢苗对越过森林边沿的公犬喊了一声。伯爵颤抖了一下，扔掉鼻烟壶。纳斯塔西娅·伊万诺夫娜翻身下马，把鼻烟壶捡起来。
伯爵和谢苗望着他。忽然间，追赶野兽的喊声一刹那传到近边来了，这是打猎时常有的情形，仿佛吠叫的一张张狗嘴和丹尼洛催促猎狗抓住野兽的喊声快要在他们面前出现。
伯爵回头一望，从右面望见米季卡，米季卡瞪大眼睛瞧着伯爵，举起他的帽子，把另一侧的前方指给他看。
“你来卫护吧！”他喊叫起来，那嗓音听来他憋了很久，以致这个词不禁要脱口而出。他于是放出猎犬，向伯爵那个方向疾驰去了。
伯爵和谢苗从森林边沿疾驰而出，从左面望见一只狼，这只狼有点儿摇摇晃晃，悄悄地从他们左边跳到他们所站的森林边沿。几只凶恶的猎犬尖叫了一声，挣脱了皮带，从几匹马的脚旁向豺狼飞跑起来。
狼暂时不跑了，就像患了咽喉炎那样，笨拙地把它那前额高的头转向猎犬，仍然有点儿摇摇晃晃，突然跳了一两下，躲进森林边缘不见了。就在那个时刻有一只、又一只、第三只猎犬发出啼哭似的哀鸣惘然若失地从对面的森林边缘跳出来，整整一群猎犬沿着田野，沿着豺狼穿过（跑过）的地方跑起来了。紧随猎犬之后，榛子灌木分开了，丹尼洛那匹栗色的、由于出汗而变得乌黑的马出现了。丹尼洛没有戴帽子，露出蓬乱的白发，通红的脸上淌着热汗，他缩作一团，微微向前俯着身子，骑在长长的马背上。
“我来呼唤猎犬抓住野兽，我来呼唤猎犬抓住野兽！……”他喊道。当他看见伯爵的时候，他的眼中闪出了电光。
“啊！……”他向伯爵举起短柄长鞭，威吓道。
“放走了狼啊！……什么猎人啊！”他好像没有跟局促不安的胆战心惊的伯爵交谈，对伯爵怀恨在心，用力鞭挞一下栗色骟马那凹陷的汗湿的肋部，跟在猎犬后面疾驰去了。伯爵仿佛受到惩罚似的，站立着，向四下张望，竭力地露出微笑，藉以获得谢苗对他处境的怜惜。但是谢苗已经不在那里了；他骑马绕过灌木林，截捕豺狼，不让它走进森林中。灵狸看管人也从两旁拦截野兽，但是这只狼经过灌木林走了，没有一个猎人截住它。
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