‘Them there meadows are named after Saint Yegor,’ he said, turning to me. ‘And beyond ‘em there’ll be the Grand Duke’s. You’ll not see any other meadows the likes of these in the whole of Russia. There’s real beauty for you!’ The shaft-horse snorted and shook its mane. ‘The Lord be with you!’ Filofey declared gravely in a low voice. ‘There’s real beauty for you!’ he repeated and sighed, but went on to make a protracted clearing of his throat. ‘Soon the haymaking’ll be beginning, and they’ll rake in a whole heap of hay from them meadows. And there’s a whole lot offish in them ponds. Such bream you’ve never seen,’ he added in a singsong. ‘That’s what life’s worth living for!’
Suddenly he raised his hand.
‘Hey, look over there! On the other side of the lake, isn’t that a heron standing there? Can that be a heron catching fish at night? Blast it, it’s a bough of a tree, sticking up, not a heron! I made a muck of that one! It’s the moon fools you.’
So we travelled on and on. Then the meadowlands came to an end, and woodlands and ploughed fields appeared; to one side there twinkled two or three lights of a village. There still remained about two miles to the main road, and I drifted off to sleep.
Again, I did not wake of my own accord. On this occasion I was roused by the voice of Filofey.
‘Master… Hey, master!’
I raised myself up. The carriage was standing on a level place in the very centre of the main road. His face turned to me from the box with wide open eyes (I was astonished, because I had not imagined that he had such big eyes), Filofey was whispering meaningfully and mysteriously:
‘There’s a clattering!… A clattering!’
‘What are you talking about!’
‘I say there’s a clattering. Lean outside and listen. Do you hear it?’
I stuck my head out of the carriage and held my breath – I did, in fact, hear somewhere very far off behind us a faint, intermittent clattering, as of turning wheels.
‘D’you hear it?’ Filofey repeated.
‘Yes, I do,’ I answered. ‘It sounds like a carriage on the road.’
‘But don’t you hear it! Listen… there! The bells… and also a whistling… Hear it? Take your cap off and you’ll be able to hear it better.’
I did not take my cap off, but bent my ear to the sound.
‘Well, yes… perhaps so. What about it?’
Filofey turned to face the horses.
‘It’s a cart on its way, travelling light, with iron-shod wheels,’ he said and took up the reins. ‘There’s bad people travelling in it, master. Hereabouts, around Tula, there’s many people up to no good.’
‘What nonsense! What makes you suppose they’re bound to be bad people?’
‘I am telling you the truth. With bells on ‘em… and in an empty cart… Who else would it be?’
‘Well, then, is it far yet to go to Tula?’
‘It’ll still be ‘bout ‘leven miles and there’s none living round these parts.’
‘Well, let’s get a move on. There’s no need to loiter about.’
Filofey gave a wave of his whip and the carriage once more rolled on its way.
Although I gave no credence to Filofey, I was still not able to get to sleep. And what if he was, indeed, telling the truth? An unpleasant feeling stirred within me. I sat up in the carriage – for until this time I had been lying down – and began looking about on either side of me. While I had been sleeping a light mist had gathered – not a ground mist but one that obscured the sky. It stood high up in the sky and the moon hung in it like a whitish blur, as if surrounded by smoke. Everything up in the sky had grown blurred and confused, but closer to the earth, it was clearer. All around there was a flat, despondent landscape: all fields and more fields with here and there a bush or a ravine – and then more fields, chiefly lying fallow and dotted with patches of weed. It was empty and dead. I only wished that a quail would cry.
We drove for about half an hour. Filofey all the while waved his whip and smacked his lips, but neither he nor I exchanged a single word. Then we ascended a slight rise in the terrain, Filofey stopped the three horses and announced at once:
‘There’s the clattering… it’s clattering, master!’
I again stuck my head out of the carriage, but it would have been just as well if I had stayed under the hood of the carriage so clearly now, although still far off, could be heard the clatter of the cartwheels, people whistling, the jingling of harness bells and even the thud of horses’ hoofs. I even thought I could hear singing and laughter. The wind, it is true, was coming from that direction, but there was no doubt that these strange travellers had grown a mile or more closer to us.
Filofey and I exchanged looks. All he did was to tilt his hat from the back of his head on to his brow and at once, crouching over the reins, started whipping up the horses. They broke into a gallop, but they were unable to gallop for long and settled once again into a trot. Filofey continued to lash at them. For we simply had to get away!
I could not explain to myself why, this time, after having at first rejected Filofey’s suspicions, I now suddenly felt convinced that those travelling in our wake were in fact bad people. There was nothing new to be heard: the same jingling bells, the same clatter of an unladen cart, the same whistling, the same vague clamour… But now, I was no longer ready to doubt. Filofey couldn’t be wrong!
About another twenty minutes went by. Towards the end of these twenty minutes there grew audible above the clatter and rumble of our own carriage another clattering and another rumbling.
‘Stop, Filofey!’ I said. ‘It doesn’t matter – it’ll have to come to an end some time!’
Filofey called a cowardly halt. The horses stopped instantly, as if glad of the opportunity of resting.
Good heavens! By this time the harness bells were simply thundering at our very backs, the cart was roaring and rattling, the people whistling and shouting and singing, the horses snorting and beating the earth with their hoofs… They’d caught up with us!
‘Glo-o-ory be!’ Filofey uttered in a soft voice, elongating the syllables, and after clicking his tongue irresolutely, started urging on the horses. But at that instant there was a loud tearing sound, a roaring and thundering – and an outsized rickety cart, pulled by three wiry horses, overtook us like a whirlwind, swerving sharply, galloped on beyond us and at once slowed down to a walking pace, blocking the road.
‘That’s the way robbers do it,’ Filofey whispered.
I confess that a chill tremor seized my heart. I started peering tensely into the semi-darkness of the mist-veiled light of the moon. The cart in front of us contained – not exactly lying, not exactly in sitting positions – six men in peasant shirts and open cloth coats; two of them were hatless; huge, booted legs hung dangling between the cart’s side supports, arms flopped up and down, bodies shaken against each other. It was clearly a case of a cart-load of drunks. Some were bellowing the first thing that came into their heads at the tops of their voices; one of them was whistling very piercingly and clearly; another was using foul language; and a giant of a man in a sheepskin coat was sitting on the box and driving. They went along at walking pace as though paying no attention to us.
What could we do? We drove along behind them also at walking pace, despite ourselves. For about a quarter of a mile we travelled in this fashion. The waiting was sheer torment. There was no way of saving or defending ourselves, in such a situation. There were six of them, and I didn’t even have a stick! Turn the shafts round? They’d catch up with us at once. I recalled the line from Zhukovsky (where he is speaking about the murder of Field Marshal Kamensky):
The robber’s axe, despiséd thing…1
Or if they didn’t use an axe, then they’d throttle you with a dirty piece of rope and hurl you into a ditch to croak and beat about like a hare caught in a snare… The whole thing was foul!
All the while they continued to travel at walking pace and paid no attention to us.
‘Filofey,’ I
whispered, ‘try going to the right and see if you can get past them.’
Filofey tried. He went to the right, but they at once went to the right as well and it was impossible to pass them. Filofey tried again, going to the left this time, but here again they wouldn’t let him pass the cart. They even laughed. So they were not going to let us pass.
‘Exactly like robbers,’ Filofey muttered to me over his shoulder.
‘What are they waiting for?’ I asked, also in a whisper.
‘Up there ahead of us, in a hollow, there’s a little bridge over a stream – that’s where they’ll do for us! That’s where they always do it – close to bridges. We’re in for it, master, plain as anything!’ he added with a sigh. ‘They’ll surely not let us get away alive. ’Cos the main thing for ’em’s to have water to hide the remains in. What’s worrying me, master, is that my three horses’ll be lost and won’t be passed on to my brothers.’
I should have been amazed at the way Filofey could be worried about his horses at such a time, but I must confess that I didn’t have much thought for him. ‘Surely they’re not going to kill us?’ I went on repeating to myself. ‘What for? I’ll give them everything I’ve got with me.’
Meanwhile, the little bridge continued to grow closer, becoming all the while more clearly visible.
Suddenly there were piercing shouts and the trio of horses drawing the cart literally wound themselves up, dashed forwards and, having galloped to the little bridge, stopped dead as if rooted to the spot a little to one side of the road. My heart quite simply sank within me.
‘Oh, Filofey, my good fellow,’ I declared, ‘you and I’re going to our deaths. Forgive me if I’ve been the cause of it all.’
‘What fault is it of yours, master! One can’t escape one’s fate! Hey there, shaggy one, faithful horse o’ mine,’ said Filofey, addressing the shaft-horse, ‘move on, there’s a good chap! Perform a final service for me! It’s all the same… O Lord! Bless us!’
And he sent his three horses off at a trot.
We began to approach the little bridge, began to approach the motionless, threatening cart… As if intentionally, everyone in it had grown quiet. Not so much as a whisper! In just the same way a pike, a hawk, any predator becomes quite still as its prey draws close. We drew level with the cart. Suddenly the giant in the sheepskin coat jumped down from it and came straight towards us!
He said not a word to Filofey, but Filofey at once reined in the horses. Our carriage came to a stop.
The giant placed both hands on the doors of the carriage and, leaning his tousled head forward and screwing up his mouth in a grin, uttered in a soft, level voice and factory dialect the following speech:
‘Guv’nor, sir, we’re on our way from a real good party, a wedding party. We’ve married off one of our mates, see. Put him to bed, real and proper. They’re all young lads ‘ere, a bit wild – we’ve downed a lot, but haven’t got nuthin’ for the hair of the dog, see. So maybe it’ll be your pleasure you’ll let us have just a little bit o’ small change, so as there’ll be a round for each of us? We’d drink your health, sir, and raise a toast to your highness. But if it isn’t to your liking -don’t get mad at us!’
‘What’s this?’ I asked myself. ‘A joke? Is he putting one over?’
The giant continued to stand there, his head lowered. At that moment the moon broke through the mist and lit up his face. It wore a grin, the face did, a grin of the eyes and lips. But there was nothing threatening to be discerned in it, except that it seemed to be literally on its guard, and the man’s teeth were so large and white…
‘With pleasure I’ll… here, take this,’ I said in a hurry and, having extracted my purse from my pocket, took out two silver roubles; at that time silver coins were still in circulation in Russia. ‘Here it is, if that’ll be enough.’
‘Mighty thankful!’ the giant barked out in military fashion and his large fingers instantly seized from my hands – not the whole purse, but only the two roubles. ‘Mighty thankful!’ He shook back his hair and ran to the cart.
‘Lads!’ he shouted. ‘The guv’nor in the carriage’s given us two roubles!’ The rest of them at once made a fine uproar. The giant tumbled on to his box.
‘The best o’ luck to you!’
And that was all we saw of them! The horses started away, the cart thundered off uphill – it flashed into sight once more against the dark line of horizon dividing the earth from the sky, sank from view and disappeared. Soon even the clattering and shouting and jingling bells were no longer audible.
Deathly silence reigned.
Filofey and I did not come to our senses immediately.
‘You’re a right joker, you are!’ he said eventually and, removing his hat, began to make the sign of the cross. ‘A right joker, that’s for sure,’ he added and turned to me, radiant with joy. ‘But he must’ve been a good chap, that’s for sure. Gee-up, gee-up, my pretties! Get wheeling! You’ll be whole! We’ll all be whole! He didn’t let us pass, you see, ’cos he was driving the horses. A right joker that lad was! Gee-up, gee-up, get along there! God’s speed to you!’
I did not say anything, but I began to feel much happier. ‘We’ll be whole!’ I repeated to myself and spread myself out in the hay. ‘We got off cheaply!’ I was even a little ashamed of having recalled the line from Zhukovsky.
Suddenly, a thought occurred to me:
‘Filofey!’
‘What is it?’
‘Are you married?’
‘I am.’
‘And have you children?’
‘I have.’
‘How is it you didn’t think of them? You worried about the horses, but what about your wife and children?’
‘What would’ve been the good of worrying about them? After all, they wouldn’t have fallen into the hands of thieves. Still I had them in mind all the time, and I still do… sure I do.’ Filofey paused. ‘It may be, ’cos of them, the good Lord had mercy on the two of us.’
‘And what if they turned out to be robbers after all?’
‘How’s that to be known? D’you think it’s possible to get inside another’s soul, eh? Another’s soul sure is a mystery. It’s always best to be on God’s side. No… I keep my family always… Gee-up, gee-up, my pretties! God’s speed!’
It was almost quite light by the time we began to approach Tula. I lay in the oblivion of a half sleep.
‘Master,’ Filofey said to me suddenly, ‘take a look over there! That’s them standing by the tavern – and there’s their cart.’
I raised my head – true enough, it was them; and their cart and horses. All of a sudden the familiar giant in the sheepskin coat appeared on the threshold of the drinking house.
‘Guv’nor!’ he exclaimed, waving his cap. ‘It’s your money we’re drinking! But as for the driver,’ he added, giving a nod of the head towards Filofey, ‘you most likely had a fright, eh?’
‘Highly divertin’ fellow,’ remarked Filofey, driving a good fifty yards on beyond the tavern.
Finally we reached Tula. I purchased some shot, also some tea and spirits, and I even procured a horse from the dealer friend of mine. At midday we set off on our return journey. Travelling past the place where we had first heard the clattering of the cart behind us, Filofey, who, having had a drink in Tula, turned out to be a man of extremely garrulous disposition (he even regaled me with fairy-tales) – travelling past that place, Filofey suddenly burst out laughing.
‘Remember, master how I kept on saying to you: There’s a clattering… a clattering, hear it, clatter-clatter?’
He made several sweeping, dismissive gestures with his hand. The word ‘clattering’ seemed to be a source of special amusement to him.
That evening we got back to his village.
I informed Yermolay of what had occurred to us. Being in a sober condition, he expressed no sympathy, simply grunted – whether approvingly or scornfully he did not know himself, or so I believe. But a couple of days later he took
pleasure in letting me know that on the very same night Filofey and I had been travelling to Tula, and on the very same road, some merchant or other had been robbed and killed. At first I did not believe this news. But later I had occasion to change my mind, the truth of it being confirmed for me by the local police-officer who had galloped up to attend the investigations. Was it not perhaps from this ‘wedding’ that our ‘wild ones’ had been returning, and was this not the ‘mate’ that, as the jocular giant expressed it, they had been putting to bed real and proper? I remained in Filofey’s village another five days or so. It happened that each time I met him I would ask him:
‘There’s a clattering, eh, a clattering?’
‘A divertin’ fellow,’ he would answer me each time and burst out laughing.
FOREST AND STEPPE
… Little by little he felt his desire harden,
Drawing him back to the village and shady garden,
Where lindens stood in stately dark magnificence,
And lilies of the valley spread their virgin fragrance,
Where round-shouldered willows by the weir,
Bend in a row above the water clear,
Where a stout oak grows above the fat-eared wheat,
Where hemp and nettles make the air smell sweet…
He was drawn back to those broad fields so lush,
Where the earth like velvet is so black and plush,
So that, no matter where you may direct your eye,
Everywhere is a rustling of soft waves of rye,
And through transparent clouds, so round and white,
Fall heavy beams of sunshine’s golden light;
There is it good…
(From a poem consigned to the flames)
THE reader, perhaps, has already had enough of my Sketches, but I hasten to allay his fears with the promise that they are to be limited to these printed extracts; and yet, in making my farewell, I must say a few words about the sport of hunting.
Hunting with a gun and a dog is a delight in itself, für sich, as they used to say in the past. But let us suppose that you are not a born hunter, though you still love nature; in that case, you can hardly fail to envy the lot of your brother hunters… Pray listen a while.