we could perceive the smell of the place--the smell of smoke and tar
and sheep-and distinguish the sound of voices, footsteps, and carts. The
bells on our horses began to ring less clearly than they had done in
the open country, and on both sides the road became lined with
huts--dwellings with straw roofs, carved porches, and small red or green
painted shutters to the windows, through which, here and there, was a
woman's face looking inquisitively out. Peasant children clad in smocks
only stood staring open-eyed or, stretching out their arms to us, ran
barefooted through the dust to climb on to the luggage behind, despite
Philip's menacing gestures. Likewise, red-haired waiters came darting
around the carriages to invite us, with words and signs, to select their
several hostelries as our halting-place.
Presently a gate creaked, and we entered a courtyard. Four hours of rest
and liberty now awaited us.
II. THE THUNDERSTORM
The sun was sinking towards the west, and his long, hot rays were
burning my neck and cheeks beyond endurance, while thick clouds of dust
were rising from the road and filling the whole air. Not the slightest
wind was there to carry it away. I could not think what to do. Neither
the dust-blackened face of Woloda dozing in a corner, nor the motion of
Philip's back, nor the long shadow of our britchka as it came bowling
along behind us brought me any relief. I concentrated my whole attention
upon the distance-posts ahead and the clouds which, hitherto dispersed
over the sky, were now assuming a menacing blackness, and beginning to
form themselves into a single solid mass.
From time to time distant thunder could be heard--a circumstance which
greatly increased my impatience to arrive at the inn where we were
to spend the night. A thunderstorm always communicated to me an
inexpressibly oppressive feeling of fear and gloom.
Yet we were still ten versts from the next village, and in the meanwhile
the large purple cloudbank--arisen from no one knows where--was
advancing steadily towards us. The sun, not yet obscured, was picking
out its fuscous shape with dazzling light, and marking its front with
grey stripes running right down to the horizon. At intervals, vivid
lightning could be seen in the distance, followed by low rumbles which
increased steadily in volume until they merged into a prolonged roll
which seemed to embrace the entire heavens. At length, Vassili got up
and covered over the britchka, the coachman wrapped himself up in
his cloak and lifted his cap to make the sign of the cross at each
successive thunderclap, and the horses pricked up their ears and
snorted as though to drink in the fresh air which the flying clouds were
outdistancing. The britchka began to roll more swiftly along the dusty
road, and I felt uneasy, and as though the blood were coursing more
quickly through my veins. Soon the clouds had veiled the face of
the sun, and though he threw a last gleam of light to the dark and
terrifying horizon, he had no choice but to disappear behind them.
Suddenly everything around us seemed changed, and assumed a gloomy
aspect. A wood of aspen trees which we were passing seemed to be all
in a tremble, with its leaves showing white against the dark lilac
background of the clouds, murmuring together in an agitated manner. The
tops of the larger trees began to bend to and fro, and dried leaves
and grass to whirl about in eddies over the road. Swallows and
white-breasted swifts came darting around the britchka and even passing
