The chief came, and Kornilov handed him the paper and asked what should be done. The clerk ran through it hastily, and then said a question must be asked of the Crown Court and instructions given to the inspector of rural police.
“What instructions?”
The clerk seemed puzzled; at last he said that, though it was difficult to state them on the spot, it was easy to write them down.
“There is a chair; will you be good enough to write now?”
The clerk took a pen, wrote rapidly and confidently, and soon produced the two documents.
The Governor took them and read them through; he read them through again; he could make nothing of them. “Well,” he used to say afterwards, “I saw that it really was in the form of an answer to the original document; so I plucked up courage and signed it. The answer gave entire satisfaction; I never heard another word about it.”
§9
The announcement of my transference to Vladímir arrived before Christmas. My preparations were quickly made, and I started off.
I said a cordial good-bye to society at Vyatka; in that distant town I had made two or three real friends among the young merchants. They vied with one another in showing sympathy and friendship for the outcast. Several sledges accompanied me to the first stopping-place, and, in spite of my protests, a whole cargo of eatables and drinkables was placed on my conveyance. Next day I reached Yaransk.
After Yaransk the road passes through endless pine-forests. There was moonlight and hard frost as my small sledge slid along the narrow track. I have never since seen such continuous forests. They stretch all the way to Archangelsk, and reindeer occasionally find their way through them to the Government of Vyatka. Most of the wood is suitable for building purposes. The fir-trees seemed to file past my sledge like soldiers; they were remarkably straight and high, and covered with snow, under which their black needles stuck out like bristles. I fell asleep and woke again—and there were the armies of the pines still marching past at a great rate, and sometimes shaking off the snow. There are small clearings where the horses are changed; you see a small house half-hidden in the trees and the horses tethered to a tree-trunk, and hear their bells jingling; a couple of native boys in embroidered shirts run out, still rubbing their eyes; the driver has a dispute with the other driver in a hoarse alto voice; then he calls out “All right!” and strikes up a monotonous song—and the endless procession of pine-trees and snow-drifts begins again.