lay quietly inside his own special travelling case and never bothered me at all.” She laughed a little at her own description. “He was always a patient child even then,” she added quietly and fell silent for a moment.
“You canТt imagine,” she went on again, “how beautiful were our woods when there were only the horses running along the roads and nothing was spoiled. The snowdrifts sparkled in the sun, slowly turning to a pale rose as the short day closed in. How enchanting were the encrusted trees, and the branches of the birches like fine silver lace, shimmering in the pale sunlight! In those days there were no thundering trains in our parts to frighten the wild animals. We saw so many of them Ч foxes, mink, the black-tailed little ermine scampering across the road. The blue-grey squirrels came out of their hiding places when the sun shone brightly and danced on the heavy laden branches of the pines, scattering the powdery snow around them.”
These were the bright patches that sustained them as they journeyed on in their kibitka across the frozen marshes, rivers, woods and bare plains in conditions that would have tried the most hardened traveller, let alone a young, pregnant woman. Only those who have experienced such a journey by sledge can possibly conceive the discomfort of the restricted space inside the kibitka, to be endured for hours on end between the stations scattered far and wide, the lack of sanitationї the primitive conditions in the stations and above all the bitter onslaught of the elements. Anna Dimitrievna, who had seen the ravages caused by frostbite, was constantly scanning her daughterТs face for the white tell-tale spots and rubbing her cheeks. The food in the baskets becarnЃ frozen and between each station they had to take out the roasted partridges which they had brought with them, and hold them under their arms to thaw them out. Once they reached a station, the partridges were cut up and heated in the stove. There was always a boiling samovar, tea and bread provided. They would rest for a short time while the horses were being changed and then take to the road again. Time was precious and could not be wasted, for they never knew what might be in front of them.
The Russian is born to snow and frost. It is part of his being, especially in the north, but even to him there is a limit of endurance. One day the troika set off in brilliant sunshine for a station a long way off. As they travelled, the temperature began to drop until it fell to such a level that a crow, frozen in mid-flight, dropped like a stone from the sky.
That kind of frost was rare even in our parts. Everything became very still. The two hooded figures in front barely moved. No one spoke. It was difficult to breathe. Nostrils and eyelids kept sticking and breath turned to ice on the shawls pulled over their faces. The two women clung to each other for warmth. A thick rime like a shroud came down enveloping them all and obscuring the signposts. Only StepanТs intuition kept them on the road. The horses also were suffering. Snorting and throwing their heads, they were fighting for breath. Stepan was forced to climb down and clear their nostrils of ice. The intense cold can dull the mind and just as they were reaching the dangerous stage when a somnolent indifference to their fate was setting in, the dark mass of the station came out of the mist.
It was impossible to thaw out quickly the food frozen into a solid mass, but the woman in the cottage brought out of the stove a big earthenware pot of baked buckwheat and warm milk. She placed a boiling samovar and a newly baked loaf of black bread on the table.
The cottage boasted a “gornitza” Ч a bedroom-cum-sitting room, reserved only for special guests and rarely used by the family. It was clean and humbly furnished. There was an ikon hanging in a corner and a lampada Ч
the small perpetual light, in front of it. On the painted floor was a hand-made rug, but pride
“You canТt imagine,” she went on again, “how beautiful were our woods when there were only the horses running along the roads and nothing was spoiled. The snowdrifts sparkled in the sun, slowly turning to a pale rose as the short day closed in. How enchanting were the encrusted trees, and the branches of the birches like fine silver lace, shimmering in the pale sunlight! In those days there were no thundering trains in our parts to frighten the wild animals. We saw so many of them Ч foxes, mink, the black-tailed little ermine scampering across the road. The blue-grey squirrels came out of their hiding places when the sun shone brightly and danced on the heavy laden branches of the pines, scattering the powdery snow around them.”
These were the bright patches that sustained them as they journeyed on in their kibitka across the frozen marshes, rivers, woods and bare plains in conditions that would have tried the most hardened traveller, let alone a young, pregnant woman. Only those who have experienced such a journey by sledge can possibly conceive the discomfort of the restricted space inside the kibitka, to be endured for hours on end between the stations scattered far and wide, the lack of sanitationї the primitive conditions in the stations and above all the bitter onslaught of the elements. Anna Dimitrievna, who had seen the ravages caused by frostbite, was constantly scanning her daughterТs face for the white tell-tale spots and rubbing her cheeks. The food in the baskets becarnЃ frozen and between each station they had to take out the roasted partridges which they had brought with them, and hold them under their arms to thaw them out. Once they reached a station, the partridges were cut up and heated in the stove. There was always a boiling samovar, tea and bread provided. They would rest for a short time while the horses were being changed and then take to the road again. Time was precious and could not be wasted, for they never knew what might be in front of them.
The Russian is born to snow and frost. It is part of his being, especially in the north, but even to him there is a limit of endurance. One day the troika set off in brilliant sunshine for a station a long way off. As they travelled, the temperature began to drop until it fell to such a level that a crow, frozen in mid-flight, dropped like a stone from the sky.
That kind of frost was rare even in our parts. Everything became very still. The two hooded figures in front barely moved. No one spoke. It was difficult to breathe. Nostrils and eyelids kept sticking and breath turned to ice on the shawls pulled over their faces. The two women clung to each other for warmth. A thick rime like a shroud came down enveloping them all and obscuring the signposts. Only StepanТs intuition kept them on the road. The horses also were suffering. Snorting and throwing their heads, they were fighting for breath. Stepan was forced to climb down and clear their nostrils of ice. The intense cold can dull the mind and just as they were reaching the dangerous stage when a somnolent indifference to their fate was setting in, the dark mass of the station came out of the mist.
It was impossible to thaw out quickly the food frozen into a solid mass, but the woman in the cottage brought out of the stove a big earthenware pot of baked buckwheat and warm milk. She placed a boiling samovar and a newly baked loaf of black bread on the table.
The cottage boasted a “gornitza” Ч a bedroom-cum-sitting room, reserved only for special guests and rarely used by the family. It was clean and humbly furnished. There was an ikon hanging in a corner and a lampada Ч
the small perpetual light, in front of it. On the painted floor was a hand-made rug, but pride
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