Russian fiction -- Translations into English; Short stories, Russian -- Translations into English
"Until spring we young colts lived in separate cells with our dams;
only occasionally, when the snow on the roof of the sheds began to
melt in the sun, they would let us out into the wide yard, spread with
fresh straw. There for the first time I became acquainted with all my
kin, near and remote. There I saw how from different doors issued all
the famous mares of that time with their colts. There was the old
Holland mare, Mushka, sired by Smetankin, Krasnukha, the saddle-horse
Dobrokhotíkha, all celebrities at that time. All gathered together
there with their colts, walked up and down in the sunshine, rolled over
on the fresh straw, and sniffed of each other like ordinary horses.
"I cannot even now forget the sight of that paddock, full of the
beauties of that day. It may seem strange to you to think of me as
ever having been young and frisky, but I used to be. This very same
Viazopúrikha was there then, a yearling, whose mane had just been
cut,[8]--a kind, jolly, frolicsome little horse. But let it not be
taken as unkindly meant when I say, that, though she is now considered
a rarity among you on account of her pedigree, then she was only one of
the meanest horses of that stud. She herself will corroborate this.
"Though my coat of many colors had been displeasing to the men, it
was exceedingly attractive to all the horses. They all stood round
me, expressing their delight, and frisking with me. I even began to
forget the words of the men about my hide, and felt happy. But I soon
experienced the first sorrow of my life, and the cause of it was my
dam. As soon as it began to thaw, and the swallows chirped on the roof,
and the spring made itself felt more and more in the air, my dam began
to change in her behavior toward me.
"Her whole character was transformed. Suddenly, without any reason,
she began to frisk, galloping around the yard, which certainly did not
accord with her dignified growth; then she would pause and consider,
and begin to whinny; then she would bite and kick her sister mares;
then she began to smell of me, and neigh with dissatisfaction; then
trotting out into the sun she would lay her head across the shoulder
of my two-year-old sister Kúpchika, and long and earnestly scratch her
back, and push me away from nursing her. One time the equerry came,
commanded the halter to be put on her, and they led her out of the
paddock. She whinnied; I replied to her, and darted after her, but she
would not even look at me. The groom Taras seized me in both arms, just
as they shut the door on my mother's retreating form.
"I struggled, threw the groom on the straw; but the door was closed,
and I only heard my mother's whinnying growing fainter and fainter.
And in this whinnying I perceived that she called not for me, but I
perceived a very different expression. In reply to her voice, there was
heard in the distance a mighty voice.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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