“Now let us see how fast you can go!” I said to the lad sitting with a professional air on the box of the sledge. He wore a sheepskin coat with the wool inside, and such stiff gloves that he could hardly bring two fingers together to clutch the coin I offered him.
“Very good, Sir. Gee up, my beauties!” said the lad. Then he turned to me and said, “Now, Sir, just you hold on; there’s a hill coming where I shall let the horses go.” The hill was a steep descent to the Volga, along which the track passed in winter.
He did indeed let the horses go. As they galloped down the hill, the sledge, instead of moving decently forwards, banged like a cracker from side to side of the road. The driver was intensely pleased; and I confess that I, being a Russian, enjoyed it no less.
In this fashion I drove into the year 1838—the best and brightest year of my life. Let me tell you how I saw the New Year in.
§2
About eighty versts from Nizhni, my servant Matthew and I went into a post-house to warm ourselves. The frost was keen, and it was windy as well. The post-master, a thin and sickly creature who aroused my compassion, was writing out a way-bill, repeating each letter as he wrote it, and making mistakes all the same. I took off my fur coat and walked about the room in my long fur boots. Matthew warmed himself at the red-hot stove, the post-master muttered to himself, and the wooden clock on the wall ticked with a feeble, jerky sound.
“Look at the clock, Sir,” Matthew said to me; “it will strike twelve immediately, and the New Year will begin.” He glanced half-enquiringly at me and then added, “I shall bring in some of the things they put on the sledge at Vyatka.” Without waiting for an answer, he hurried off in search of the bottles and a parcel.
Matthew, of whom I shall say more in future, was more than a servant—he was my friend, my younger brother. A native of Moscow, he had been handed over to our old friend Sonnenberg, to learn the art of bookbinding, about which Sonnenberg himself knew little enough; later, he was transferred to my service.
I knew that I should have hurt Matthew by refusing, and I had really no objection myself to making merry in the post-house. The New Year is itself a stage in life’s journey.
He brought in a ham and champagne.