I sunk into a sound sleep. When Alyoshka awoke me by punching me in
the leg, and I opened my eyes, it was morning. It seemed even colder
than it had been during the night. There was nothing to be seen but
snow; but a strong dry wind still swept the powdery snow across the
field, and especially under the hoofs of the horses, and the runners of
the sledge. The sky on the right toward the east was of a deep purple
color, but the bright reddish-orange rays of the sunrise kept growing
more and more clearly defined in it; above our heads, between the
hurrying white clouds, scarcely tinged as yet, gleamed the sickly blue
of the sky; in the west the clouds were bright, light, and fluctuating.
Everywhere around, as far as the eye could see, lay the snow, white and
deep, in sharply defined strata. Everywhere could be seen gray hillocks
where lay the fine, dry, powdery snow. Nothing was to be seen,--not
even the shadow of a sledge, nor of a human being, nor of a beast.
The outline and color of the driver's back, and of the horses, began
to stand out clear and sharp against the white background. The rim of
Ignashka's dark-blue cap, his collar, his hair, and even his boots,
were white. The sledge was perfectly covered. The whole right side and
the mane of the brown shaft-horse were plastered with snow. The legs of
my off-horse were thick with it up to the knee, and the whole of the
shaggy right flank had the same sticky covering. The tassel leaped up
and down in some sort of rhythm, the structure of which it would not be
easy to represent; and the off-horse also kept to it in her gait: only
by the gaunt belly rising and sinking, and by the hanging ears, could
it be seen how tired she was.
Only one new object attracted the attention: this was a verst-post,
from which the snow had been blown away, leaving it clear to the
ground, and making a perfect mountain on one side; while the wind was
still sweeping it across, and drifting it from one side to the other.
It was odd to me to think that we had gone the whole night without
change of horses, not knowing for twelve hours where we were, and not
coming to our destination, and yet not really missing the road. Our
bells seemed to sound more cheerful than ever. Ignat buttoned his coat
up, and began to shout again. Behind us snorted the horses, and jingled
the bells, of the troïka that carried the little old man and the
mentor; but the one who was asleep had wandered away from us somewhere
on the steppe.
After going half a verst farther, we came upon the fresh, and as yet
unobliterated, traces of a sledge and troïka; and occasionally drops of
blood, caused by the whip on the horses' side, could be seen.
"That was Filipp. See, he's got in ahead of us," said Ignashka.
And here appears a little house with a sign, alone by itself, near the
road, standing in the midst of the snow which covers it almost to the
roof. Near the inn stands a troïka of gray horses, their hair rough
with sweat, with wide-spread legs and drooping heads. At the door, the
snow is shovelled away, and the shovel is standing in it; but it still
falls from the roof, and the roaring wind whirls the snow around.
Out from the door at the sound of our bells comes a big ruddy,
red-headed driver, with a glass of wine in his hand, and shouts
something. Ignashka turns to me, and asks permission to stop. Then for
the first time I fairly see his face.