from that very day the chief interest, the chief occupation, the chief pleasure in the life of tchertop-hanov, was malek-adel. he loved him as he had not loved even masha; he became more attached to him than even to nedopyuskin. and what a horse it was! all fire--simply explosive as gunpowder--and stately as a boyar! untiring, enduring, obedient, whatever you might put him to; and costing nothing for his keep; he'd be ready to nibble at the ground under his feet if there was nothing else. when he stepped at a walking pace, it was like being lulled to sleep in a nurse's arms; when he trotted, it was like rocking at sea; when he galloped, he outstripped the wind! never out of breath, perfectly sound in his wind. sinews of steel: for him to stumble was a thing never recorded! to take a ditch or a fence was nothing to him--and what a clever beast! at his master's voice he would run with his head in the air; if you told him to stand still and walked away from him, he would not stir; directly you turned back, a faint neigh to say, 'here i am.' and afraid of nothing: in the pitch-dark, in a snow-storm he would find his way; and he would not let a stranger come near him for anything; he would have had his teeth in him! and a dog dare never approach him; he would have his fore-leg on his head in a minute! and that was the end of the beast. a horse of proper pride, you might flourish a switch over him as an ornament--but god forbid you touched him! but why say more?--a perfect treasure, not a horse!
if tchertop-hanov set to describing his malek-adel, he could not find words to express himself. and how he petted and pampered him! his coat shone like silver--not old, but new silver--with a dark polish on it; if one passed one's hand over it, it was like velvet! his saddle, his cloth, his bridle--all his trappings, in fact, were so well-fitted, in such good order, so bright--a perfect picture! tchertop-hanov himself--what more can we say?--with his own hands plaited his favourite's forelocks and mane, and washed his tail with beer, and even, more than once, rubbed his hoofs with polish. sometimes he would mount malek-adel and ride out, not to see his neighbours--he avoided them, as of old--but across their lands, past their homesteads... for them, poor fools, to admire him from a distance! or he would hear that there was to be a hunt somewhere, that a rich landowner had arranged a meet in some outlying part of his land: he would be off there at once, and would canter in the distance, on the horizon, astounding all spectators by the swiftness and beauty of his horse, and not letting any one come close to him. once some hunting landowner even gave chase to him with all his suite; he saw tchertop-hanov was getting away, and he began shouting after him with all his might, as he galloped at full speed: 'hey, you! here! take what you like for your horse! i wouldn't grudge a thousand! i'd give my wife, my children! take my last farthing!'
tchertop-hanov suddenly reined in malek-adel. the hunting gentleman flew up to him. 'my dear sir!' he shouted, 'tell me what you want? my dear friend!'
'if you were the tsar,' said tchertop-hanov emphatically (and he had never heard of shakespeare), 'you might give me all your kingdom for my horse; i wouldn't take it!' he uttered these words, chuckled, drew malek-adel up on to his haunches, turned him in the air on his hind legs like a top or teetotum, and off! he went like a flash over the stubble. and the hunting man (a rich prince, they said he was) flung his cap on the ground, threw himself down with his face in his cap, and lay so for half an hour.
and how could tchertop-hanov fail to prize his horse? was it not thanks to him, he had again an unmistakable superiority, a last superiority over all his neighbours?
