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 in front of the forelegs of the
horses. While rooks, despite their outstretched wings, were laid,
as it were, on their keels by the wind. Finally, the leather
apron which covered us began to flutter about and to beat against
the sides of the conveyance.
The lightning flashed right into the britchka as, cleaving the
obscurity for a second, it lit up the grey cloth and silk galloon
of the lining and Woloda's figure pressed back into a corner.
Next came a terrible sound which, rising higher and higher, and
spreading further and further, increased until it reached its
climax in a deafening thunderclap which made us tremble and hold
our breaths. "The wrath of God"--what poetry there is in that
simple popular conception!
The pace of the vehicle was continually increasing, and from
Philip's and Vassili's backs (the former was tugging furiously at
the reins) I could see that they too were alarmed.
Bowling rapidly down an incline, the britchka cannoned violently
against a wooden bridge at the bottom. I dared not stir and
expected destruction every moment.
Crack! A trace had given way, and, in spite of the ceaseless,
deafening thunderclaps, we had to pull up on the bridge.
Leaning my head despairingly against the side of the britchka, I
followed with a beating heart the movements of Philip's great
black fingers as he tied up the broken trace and, with hands and
the butt-end of the whip, pushed the harness vigorously back into
its place.
My sense of terror was increasing with the violence of the
thunder. Indeed, at the moment of supreme silence which generally
precedes the greatest intensity of a storm, it mounted to such a
height that I felt as though another quarter of an hour of this
emotion would kill me.
Just then there appeared from beneath the bridge a human being
who, clad in a torn, filthy smock, and supported on a pair of
thin shanks bare of muscles, thrust an idiotic face, a tremulous,
bare, shaven head, and a pair of red, shining stumps in place of
hands into the britchka.
"M-my lord! A copeck for--for God's sake!" groaned a feeble voice
as at each word the wretched being made the sign of the cross and
bowed himself to the ground.
I cannot describe the chill feeling of horror which penetrated my
heart at that moment. A shudder crept through all my hair, and my
eyes stared in vacant terror at the outcast.
Vassili, who was charged with the apportioning of alms during the
journey, was busy helping Philip, and only when everything had
been put straight and Philip had resumed the reins again had he
time to look for his purse. Hardly had the britchka begun to move
when a blinding flash filled the welkin with a blaze of light
which brought the horses to their haunches. Then, the flash was
followed by such an ear-splitting roar that the very vault of
heaven seemed to be descending upon our heads. The wind blew
harder than ever, and Vassili's cloak, the manes and tails of the
horses, and the carriage-apron were all slanted in one direction
as they waved furiously in the violent blast.
Presently, upon the britchka's top there fell some large drops of
rain--"one, two, three:" then suddenly, and as though a roll of
drums were being beaten over our heads, the whole countryside
resounded with the clatter of the deluge.
From Vassili's movements, I could see that he had now got his
purse open, and that the poor outcast was still bowing and making
the sign of the cross as he ran beside the wheels of the vehicle,
at the imminent risk of being run over, and reiterated from time
to time his plea, "For-for God's sake!" At last a copeck rolled
upon the ground, and the miserable creature--his mutilated arms,
with their sleeves wet through and through, held out before him--
stopped perplexed in the roadway and vanished from my sight.
The heavy rain, driven before the tempestuous wind, poured down
in pailfuls and, dripping from Vassili's thick cloak, formed a
series of pools on the apron. The dust became changed to a paste
which clung to the wheels, and the ruts became transformed into
muddy rivulets.
At last, however, the lightning grew paler and more diffuse, and
the thunderclaps lost some of their terror amid the monotonous
rattling of the downpour. Then the rain also abated, and the
clouds began to disperse. In the region of the sun, a lightness
appeared, and between the white-grey clouds could be caught
glimpses of an azure sky.
Finally, a dazzling ray shot across the pools on the road, shot
through the threads of rain--now falling thin and straight, as
from a sieve--, and fell upon the fresh leaves and blades of
grass. The great cloud was still louring black and threatening on
the far horizon, but I no longer felt afraid of it--I felt only
an inexpressibly pleasant hopefulness in proportion, as trust in
life replaced the late burden of fear. Indeed, my heart was
smiling like that of refreshed, revivified Nature herself.
Vassili took off his cloak and wrung the water from it. Woloda
flung back the apron, and I stood up in the britchka to drink in
the new, fresh, balm-laden air. In front of us was the carriage,
rolling along and looking as wet and resplendent in the sunlight
as though it had just been polished. On one side of the road
boundless oatfields, intersected in places by small ravines which
now showed bright with their moist earth and greenery, stretched
to the far horizon like a checkered carpet, while on the other
side of us an aspen wood, intermingled with hazel bushes, and
parquetted with wild thyme in joyous profusion, no longer rustled
and trembled, but slowly dropped rich, sparkling diamonds from
its newly-bathed branches on to the withered leaves of last year.
From above us, from every side, came the happy songs of little
birds calling to one another among the dripping brushwood, while
clear from the inmost depths of the wood sounded the voice of the
cuckoo. So delicious was the wondrous scent of the wood, the
scent
which follows a thunderstorm in spring, the scent of birch-trees,
violets, mushrooms, and thyme, that I could no longer remain in
the britchka. Jumping out, I ran to some bushes, and, regardless
of the showers of drops discharged upon me, tore off a few sprigs
of thyme, and buried my face in them to smell their glorious
scent.
Then, despite the mud which had got into my boots, as also the
fact that my stockings were soaked, I went skipping through the
puddles to the window of the carriage.
"Lubotshka! Katenka!" I shouted as I handed them some of the
thyme, "Just look how delicious this is!"
The girls smelt it and cried, "A-ah!" but Mimi shrieked to me to
go away, for fear I should be run over by the wheels.
"Oh, but smell how delicious it is!" I persisted.
