So, without losing any time, I packed what was necessary for the trip, sent at once for the post-horses, and ran to communicate the bad news to my partner. As I anticipated, she was much startled, but by giving her the most solemn promises that I would return coûte que coûte in time for the ball, at eight o’clock the next evening, I succeeded in calming her.
As I have mentioned before, it was in the beginning of winter, so I traveled in a sleigh. I left Ladoga at half-past six in the evening, and arrived at my destination about three o’clock in the morning, without any accident. Ordering at the post station a samovar, I made tea for myself, drank several cups, gave orders that I should be aroused at six in the morning, and without undressing, wrapped myself in my fur cloak, and, pushing under my head my leather traveling pillow, fell asleep on the station sofa.
I was aroused punctually as I had ordered at six, and after the blessing of Russia—the samovar—had fulfilled its morning duty, I hastened to mine. As I said, I had fully decided to rid my hands of the unwelcome business in a very few hours, but I counted without my host. Some individuals who were called as witnesses, but had not in view a wedding hop, arrived late, and the village authorities, who could not guess the reason of my feverish zeal in the Czar’s service, moved and acted with the habitual slowness and apathy of the Russian peasant. In short, it was already one o’clock in the afternoon when the last document was duly signed, witnessed, and packed in my portfolio. I rushed into my furs and through the door, before which the trojka had been standing for more than an hour, the horses and the jamszczyk shivering with the cold, and the bells tinkling.
I threw myself into the low, spacious sleigh, well filled with straw, and shouted to the jamszczyk:
“Poszol!” (Go.)
A promise of one ruble if he would make the next station, a distance of sixteen versts, in one hour, did not fail to produce the desired effect. The horses, stimulated by the wild shouts of the jamszczyk, and by the whip, on the end of which stuck the promised ruble, ran, as the French say, ventre à terre, and the next village was reached at but seven minutes past two.
The day was clear, but a strong northwester, blowing fiercely, made the air bitterly cold. Snow having fallen some few days previously, the road was excellent, and my only fear was that I might fail to find horses at some station. In this case there would be no help. Every one, even the Governor-general himself, if he arrives unexpectedly, must wait till the return of the first span, and till the regulation two hours for feeding the exhausted beasts passes away. But, trusting to my good luck, and still more to the secret prayers of my partner in the mazurka, I drove such gloomy anticipations as far as possible from my mind.
The starosta met me at the door of the station, which was at the same time his house, invited me to enter and to warm myself with a cup of tea. I declined, and having no heart to ask the question dreaded by each traveler: “Are the horses at hand?” said that I was in a great hurry and wished to go at once. He said, “All right!” and I entered the room resolving to be polite and patient, knowing by experience that in many cases politeness and patience produce more effect than shouting and commands. Besides this, I was sure my former driver would not fail to tell his comrades that I was a “good fare.” Scarcely ten minutes had passed when the starosta came in, announcing: “The horses are ready.”
With a light heart I hurried out, but my satisfaction was a little checked by seeing that instead of three horses there were only two. I asked the starosta for the reason, and received the answer that all the jamsczyks were out, and that he would send his own boy, whom he could not risk with a trojka. At the same moment a little bit of a chap came out of the izba. He was not more than twelve years old, but looked bright and smart: he was dressed in the full costume of a genuine jamszczyk, and held in his hand his short whip, which he snapped with the air of a connoisseur. Approaching the horses deliberately, he walked round them, and imitating in every movement an old jamszczyk, he began to examine and to try by shaking the different parts of the harness, showing an especial fondness for the big bell hanging over the head of the horse in the shafts. He was evidently convincing himself that everything was in order for the event—so important for him—of driving a real officer with a star on his cap, instead of a simple peasant-delegate. Meanwhile the starosta helped me into the sleigh, seated me on my leather cushion, and piled heaps of straw round my legs and feet, pressing it so that it was impossible for me to move. As the cold was increasing, I abandoned myself to his tender care, which I could but consider as a mark of atonement for the missing third horse.
Everything being ready, I said “Go!” and the little boy, faithful to the end to the great rôle he was performing, took off his big cap, crossed himself hastily thrice—as every Russian does before any important, doubtful or dangerous occasion—seized the reins, threw himself coquettishly on the front edge of the sleigh, leaving his short legs hanging out, and in the manner of a well-bred jamszczyk, turned toward me his merry face, without disturbing his acrobatic posture, and asked, “Are you ready, sir?”