A Sportsman's Sketches, Volume 2: Works of Ivan Turgenev, Volume 2Turgenev, Ivan Sergeevich
General
A Sportsman's Sketches, Volume 2: Works of Ivan Turgenev, Volume 2
Turgenev, Ivan Sergeevich
Country life -- Russia -- Fiction; Peasants -- Russia -- Fiction; Russia -- Social life and customs -- Fiction
They dragged the coach out of the shed and were busy about it and the
horses for an hour and a half; first they let out the traces, which were
of cord, then pulled them too tight again! Both brothers were very much
set on harnessing the 'roan' in the shafts, because 'him can do best
going down-hill'; but Filofey decided for 'the shaggy one.' So the
shaggy one was put in the shafts accordingly.
They heaped the coach up with hay, put the collar off the lame
shaft-horse under the seat, in case we might want to fit it on to the
horse to be bought at Tula.... Filofey, who had managed to run home and
come back in a long, white, loose, ancestral overcoat, a high sugar-loaf
cap, and tarred boots, clambered triumphantly up on to the box. I took
my seat, looking at my watch: it was a quarter past ten. Yermolaï did
not even say good-bye to me--he was engaged in beating his
Valetka--Filofey tugged at the reins, and shouted in a thin, thin voice:
'Hey! you little ones!'
His brothers skipped away on both sides, lashed the trace-horses under
the belly, and the coach started, turned out of the gates into the
street, the shaggy one tried to turn off towards his own home, but
Filofey brought him to reason with a few strokes of the whip, and
behold! we were already out of the village, and rolling along a fairly
even road, between close-growing bushes of thick hazels.
It was a still, glorious night, the very nicest for driving. A breeze
rustled now and then in the bushes, set the twigs swinging and died away
again; in the sky could be seen motionless, silvery clouds; the moon
stood high and threw a bright light on all around. I stretched myself on
the hay, and was just beginning to doze... but I remembered the
'awkward place,' and started up.
'I say, Filofey, is it far to the ford?'
'To the ford? It'll be near upon seven miles.'
'Seven miles!' I mused. 'We shan't get there for another hour. I can
have a nap meanwhile. Filofey, do you know the road well?' I asked
again.
'Surely; how could I fail to know it? It's not the first time I've
driven.'
He said something more, but I had ceased to listen.... I was asleep.
I was awakened not, as often happens, by my own intention of waking in
exactly an hour, but by a sort of strange, though faint, lapping,
gurgling sound at my very ear. I raised my head....
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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