They wheeled my carriage out from under its awning and spent an hour and a half getting it and the horses ready, first letting out the harness straps and then pulling them far too tight … Both brothers were very keen to harness up ‘the roan one’ because ‘him’ll get down the hills better’, but Filofey decided on a horse he called ‘Shaggy’, so Shaggy it was that was put between the shafts.
They loaded the carriage up with hay, and put the lame shaft horse’s collar under the seat in case it needed to be used on a new horse, if we bought one in Tula. Filofey had managed to run home and come back wearing his father’s long white overcoat, a tall cap and tarred boots, and now he climbed majestically onto the box. I got into the carriage and looked at my watch: ten fifteen. Yermolay didn’t even say goodbye to me, but just set about beating his dog Valetka. Filofey flicked the reins and called out ‘Gee up, my little ones!’ in a faint, thin voice. His brothers leapt up to tap the two trace horses on the belly, and the carriage moved off. As it turned out of the gates into the road, Shaggy tried to make off homewards, but Filofey dissuaded him with a few lashes of his whip, and in a moment we had left the village behind and were bowling along a smooth road through a dense avenue of bushy hazels.
It was a blissfully quiet night, perfect for travelling. Sometimes the wind rustled through the bushes and set the branches moving; then it would die away completely. Here and there, silvery clouds hung motionless in the sky. The moon was high overhead, casting a brilliant light over the landscape. I stretched out on the hay and was about to fall asleep … until I gave a start as I remembered the ‘tricky’ place.
‘Say, Filofey—how far to the ford?’
‘The ford? It’ll be about eight versts.’
‘Eight versts,’ I thought. ‘We won’t be there for an hour or more. I could take a little nap.’
‘Filofey, do you know the road well?’ I asked again.
‘Why shouldn’t I know it? It’s not my first time …’
He went on, but I didn’t hear him. I was asleep.
*
I woke after exactly an hour—not because I’d made up my mind to do it (though that often happens). I was woken by a strange sound, a sort of quiet lapping and gurgling, right by my ear. I raised my head …
What on earth had happened? I was lying in the carriage as before, but all around it, and not more than a foot below the sides, was an expanse of smooth water, gleaming in the moonlight, shimmering and trembling with tiny ripples. Up in front, sitting like a statue on the box, with his head drooping and his back bowed, was Filofey; and ahead of him, rising up out of the rolling waters, was the arch of the yoke and the backs and heads of our horses. It was all so still and noiseless, as if we were in an enchanted kingdom, or in a dream, a magical dream … What could have happened? I glanced back under the carriage hood … Why, we were right in the middle of the river! The bank was all of thirty paces behind us!
‘Filofey!’ I cried out.
‘Yes, what is it?’
‘What do you mean, what is it? For heaven’s sake! Where have we got to?’
‘In the river.’
‘Yes, I can see we’re in the river. Another minute and we’ll be underwater. Is this how you cross a ford? Eh? You’re fast asleep, Filofey! Answer me!’
‘I’ve gone a bit wrong,’ said my driver. ‘I went too far over to one side. Now we’ve got to wait.’
‘What do you mean, got to wait? What on earth are we waiting for?’
‘Just to let Shaggy take a look around. When he sets off, that’s the way we’ve got to go.’
I raised myself up on the hay. The shaft horse’s head was hanging motionless over the water. All you could see in the bright moonlight was one of his ears giving a tiny twitch backwards and forwards.
‘But he’s asleep himself, your Shaggy!’
‘No he’s not,’ replied Filofey. ‘He’s just sniffing the water now.’ And once again silence descended, save for the faint lapping of the water. I fell into a daze myself.
The moonlight, and the night, and the river—and us in the middle of it …
‘What’s that croaking sound?’ I asked.
‘That? That’s ducklings in the rushes … unless it’s snakes.’
All of a sudden the shaft horse shook his head and pricked up his ears; then he gave a snort, and started moving.
‘Go-go-go-go-o-o!’ Filofey suddenly yelled at the top of his voice, rising up on the box and waving his whip in the air. The carriage gave a jolt and lurched forward across the current—and carried on, bumping and swaying … At first it looked as if we were going down, sinking deeper into the water; but after two or three jolts and plunges the expanse of water around us seemed to have suddenly fallen away … Down and down it went, as the carriage rose out of it—and now the wheels came into view, and the horses’ tails; and at last, scattering powerful great splashes like sheaves of diamond drops—no, not diamond, sapphire drops—glittering on all sides of us in the pale light of the moon—the horses pulled gamely together, heaved out onto the sandy riverbank, and then set off uphill, with their gleaming wet legs flashing in turn, one after the other.
‘What’s Filofey going to say now?’ I wondered. ‘Will it be “I was right all along!”—or something like that?’ But he said nothing. And so I, too, felt it unnecessary to scold him for his carelessness. I stretched out on the hay and tried to get to sleep again.
But I couldn’t sleep—not because I hadn’t tired myself out hunting today, nor because my recent alarm had chased sleep away, but because we were now passing through some very beautiful country. Broad, rolling, grassy flood plains, many little meadows, ponds and streams; creeks choked with tangles of osiers—the real Russian countryside, that we Russians love so well—like the lands that our heroes traversed in ancient times, on their way to shoot white swans or grey ducks. Our track wound along in a yellowish ribbon, our horses were running effortlessly on, and I was so lost in admiration that I could not shut my eyes. It was all flowing past me so gently and evenly, under the friendly moon above. Even Filofey felt the spell.
‘These meadows, they’re called Saint Yegor’s,’ he told me. ‘And beyond them, those’ll be Grand Duke’s; there’s no meadows like these in all Russia … Lovely, they are!’ The shaft horse snorted and shook itself. ‘Lord bless you!’ murmured Filofey solemnly under his breath. ‘Lovely!’ he repeated, with a deep sigh followed by a series of grunts. ‘Soon the haymaking’ll begin, and the loads of hay they’ll cut around here, you wouldn’t believe! And them creeks, they’re full of fish, too. The bream—wonderful!’ he added in a lilting voice. ‘What I mean—you just wish you’d never have to die!’
Suddenly he raised an arm.
‘Hey! Look over there! On that lake! Isn’t that a heron standing there? Catching fish, even at night? Oh my, no, that’s a branch, not a heron at all. Put my foot in it, didn’t I? That moon makes a fool of you.’
We drove on and on … And here the meadows came to an end, and little thickets appeared, and ploughed fields; a hamlet to one side of us showed us two or three winking lights … only five versts more till the main road. I fell asleep.
Once again I didn’t wake of my own accord. This time it was Filofey’s voice that roused me.
‘Mister! Hey, mister!’
I sat up. The carriage had stopped on a patch of flat ground right in the middle of the main road. Filofey had turned round from the box to face me, his eyes wide open (I was surprised to see what very large eyes he had), and said in an impressive, mysterious whisper:
‘That rattling! … The rattling!’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I said—the rattling! Bend your head down and listen. Can you hear it?’
I leaned my head out of the carriage, held my breath—and sure enough, somewhere far, far behind us I could hear a soft intermittent rattling sound, like rolling wheels.
‘Hear it?’ repeated Filofey.
‘Well, yes,’ I said. ‘There’s some
carriage coming along.’
‘But can’t you hear … Sssshh! There—jingling bells … and whistling … Hear it? Take off your cap, you’ll hear better.’
I didn’t take off my cap, but I listened hard.
‘Well, yes … perhaps. But so what?’
Filofey turned back to face the horses.
‘That’s a cart coming … empty, with iron rims on its wheels,’ he said, gathering up the reins. ‘That’s bad people coming, mister. They get up to all sorts of tricks hereabouts, round Tula. A load of mischief.’
‘What rubbish! What makes you so sure it’s got to be bad people?’
‘I know what I’m saying. Jingling bells … and an empty cart … Who else could it be?’
‘Well … is it far to Tula?’
‘It’ll be another fifteen versts. And there’s no houses round here.’
‘Well then, get on as quick as you can, best not hang about.’
Filofey waved his whip, and the carriage rolled on again.
*
I didn’t believe Filofey, but I couldn’t get back to sleep. Supposing he was right, after all? An ominous feeling stirred inside me. I sat up in the carriage—till then I had been lying down—and looked out first to one side and then the other. A light mist had blown in while I slept—not over the ground but over the sky. It hung there, high overhead, with the moon a pale smudge behind it, as though seen through smoke. Everything had grown darker and more indistinct, though nearer the ground the visibility was better. The countryside around was flat and dreary—fields, and more fields, the odd shrub here and there, gullies and more fields, and patches of mist, and an occasional clump of weeds. A desolate, lifeless scene! Not even a quail calling!
We had been driving about half an hour. Filofey kept waving his whip and clicking his tongue, but neither of us said a word. Now we were climbing uphill … Filofey stopped the team and instantly said:
‘Rattling, mister! That rattling!’
I leaned out of the carriage again—but I could have stayed under the awning, for I could hear it very clearly now, though it was still a long way off. There was the sound of the cartwheels, and men whistling, and the jingle of little bells, and the horses’ very hoof beats. I even imagined I could hear singing and laughter. The wind, it was true, was blowing from that direction, but there was no doubt that these unknown travellers had gained a whole verst on us, if not two.
Filofey and I glanced at each other. Then he just shifted his hat forward over his forehead, leaned over the reins and at once set to whipping up the horses. They galloped ahead, but they couldn’t gallop for long, and soon slowed to a trot again. Filofey went on whipping them. We had to get away!
I had no idea why I now suddenly became convinced that Filofey, whose fears I had not shared before, was right, and that there really were bad people following behind … There was nothing new to hear—the same jingling bells, the same rattling of the empty cart, the same whistling and jumble of noises … but now I had no doubt. Filofey couldn’t be wrong!
Another twenty minutes or so went by … And by the end of those twenty minutes, we could clearly hear, over the rattling and rumbling of our own carriage, the rattling and rumbling of the other …
‘Pull up, Filofey!’ I said. ‘It’s no use—it won’t make any difference now.’
Filofey uttered a timid ‘Whoa there!’ and the horses drew up at once, as if relieved to be able to rest.
Heavens above! Those bells were jangling right behind us, the cart rattling and bumping over the road, and the people whistling, shouting and singing, and their horses snorting and stamping on the ground …
They had caught us up!
‘A-a-all up with us,’ muttered Filofey slowly under his breath. He gave a half-hearted click of his tongue to get the horses going again; but at that very instant there was a sudden rushing, roaring, tearing noise, and a huge wide cart drawn by three wiry horses swerved sharply round our carriage, swept ahead and immediately slowed to a walk, blocking the road in front.
‘A regular bandits’ trick,’ whispered Filofey.
I must confess that I felt a chill at my heart … I stared hard into the half-darkness, where the moonlight was obscured by mist. Half sitting, half sprawling in the cart ahead of us were some six men in shirts and open rough coats, two of them bareheaded; the men’s big booted legs were dangling over the cart sides, their arms rising and falling aimlessly, their bodies swaying … No doubt about it, these people were all drunk. Some were bellowing meaningless words at the tops of their voices, one was giving shrill, piercing whistles, another was cursing and swearing. A giant in a sheepskin jacket was sitting in the driver’s seat holding the reins. They drove on at a walking pace, seemingly taking no notice of us.
What could we do? We followed on behind, also at a walk … willy-nilly. And so we advanced a few hundred yards. The waiting was torture … Should we run away? Or make a stand? … But what chance did we have? There were six of them, and I didn’t even have a stick. Should we turn the carriage back? But they’d catch up with us in no time. I remembered a line from Zhukovsky’s poem (where he describes the murder of Field Marshal Kamensky):
… The highwayman’s foul axe …
Or else—throttled with a filthy rope … tossed into a ditch … and you’ll struggle and choke there like a rabbit in a snare …
No, it wasn’t looking good!
They carried on at a walking pace, taking no notice of us.
‘Filofey,’ I whispered, ‘try driving to the right a bit, see if you can get past.’
Filofey tried, and bore to the right—but the others bore to the right too, and there was no way we could overtake.
Then he had another try, and bore to the left … but once again they stopped him getting past … They even laughed. So they weren’t going to let us by.
‘Robbers sure enough,’ Filofey whispered over his shoulder.
‘So what are they waiting for?’ I whispered back.
‘Over ahead, there’s a hollow, and a bridge over a stream … That’s where they’ll get us! That’s what they always do … by a bridge. We’re well and truly done for, mister!’ he sighed. ‘They’ll never let us go alive—the main thing for them is—wrap it all up and no one the wiser! One thing I’m sorry about, mister: this is the end of my three horses, and my brothers’ll never get them.’
I almost wondered at Filofey, fretting about his horses at a moment like this; but I must confess I didn’t have much thought to spare for him either … ‘Will they really kill us?’ I wondered over and over again. ‘What for? When I’ll give them all I’ve got anyway?’
The bridge was getting closer and closer, clearer and clearer ahead of us …
Suddenly we heard loud whoops, their three horses reared up, raced forward, and stopped short when they reached the bridge, standing stock still just off the road. My heart sank.
‘Oh, Filofey, brother,’ I said, ‘you and I are going to our deaths. Forgive me for bringing you to such a sorry end.’
‘No fault of yours, mister! There’s no escaping our fate. Well now, Shaggy, you faithful little horse of mine,’ he went on, talking to the shaft horse, ‘get along now! Do one last thing for me! What does it matter now? … Lord give us your blessing!’
And he drove his three horses on at a trot.
We were nearing the bridge now, and that ominous, motionless cart … And all those men had fallen silent, as if on purpose. Not a sound! Just the way a pike, or a hawk, or any beast of prey, holds itself still when their quarry draws near. Here we were, level with the cart … and suddenly the giant in the sheepskin jacket leapt down and made straight for us!
He didn’t say a word to Filofey, who instinctively pulled back on the reins. Our carriage stopped.
The giant placed both hands on our doors, leaned his unkempt head forward, bared his teeth in a grin, and spoke in a quiet, unhurried voice, with a drawl like a factory hand:
‘Your Honour, sir, we’re on our w
ay home from a fine feast, a wedding; we’ve just married off a young man of ours, and seen him put to bed. All our lads are brave young daredevils, and there’s been a great deal drunk, and now we’ve nothing to clear our heads with. So wouldn’t Your Honour be so good and gracious as to spare us a little money, just a trifle, to buy our lads a half-bottle each? We’d remember Your Honour with it, and drink your health. But if you can’t help us, well—don’t hold it against us!’
‘What’s all this?’ I wondered. ‘Is he taunting us? Mocking us?’
The giant still stood there, with his head bowed. At that very moment the moon emerged from the mist and lit up his face. There was a grin on that face—on his lips, and in his eyes too. But there was no hint of a threat … it was just a very alert and expectant face … and his teeth were so big and so white …
‘My pleasure … here you are …’ I said hurriedly, pulling my purse out of my pocket and picking out two silver roubles—silver coins were still circulating in Russia back then. ‘Here, will this do?’
‘Much obliged!’ barked the giant in a soldierly voice, while his thick fingers whisked the money away—not the whole purse, just those two roubles. ‘Much obliged!’ He tossed back his hair and ran to the cart.
‘Hey, boys!’ he cried, ‘His Honour this traveller here has spared us two silver roubles!’ The rest of them burst into loud guffaws. The giant clambered back onto his seat …
‘Look after yourselves!’
And they were gone! The horses dashed off, the cart rumbled uphill—we glimpsed it once more on a dark patch of ground on the skyline; then it vanished over the horizon and was seen no more.
And the rattling, and shouting, and the jingling bells, all faded away too …
A deathly silence descended.
*
Filofey and I took some time to come to ourselves.
Love and Youth Page 12