Love and Youth by Ivan Turgenev

Author:Ivan Turgenev
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pushkin Press
Published: 2020-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

BIRYUK

One evening I was on my way home from the hunt, on my own, driving a racing droshky. There were still some eight versts to go; my fine mare raced bravely along the dusty road, pricking up her ears and snorting from time to time; my weary dog ran along behind, never dropping back a step, as if he was tethered to the rear wheels. A storm was on the way. Ahead of us, a gigantic purple storm cloud loomed over the forest, while long grey clouds scudded overhead, advancing towards me. Willow leaves trembled and whispered restlessly. All of a sudden the stifling heat gave way to moist, cool air, as the shadows quickly thickened. I flicked my horse’s reins, descended into a hollow, crossed a dried-up stream overgrown with willow bushes, and climbed uphill into a forest. The winding road ahead of me ran among thick hazel bushes, already shrouded in darkness, and it was hard to go forward. The droshky jolted over the tough roots of hundred-year-old oaks and limes as it ran along the deep ruts left by cartwheels, and my horse stumbled. A sudden violent gust of wind rushed hissing through the treetops overhead, and heavy raindrops rattled and pattered over the leaves. Lightning flashed, and the storm broke. The rain fell in sheets. I carried on at a walk, but soon had to stop altogether, for my horse was sinking into the mud, and I couldn’t see a thing. I sheltered as best I could next to a spreading bush. Crouching down on my seat and covering my face, I waited patiently for the storm to pass. Suddenly, by a flash of lightning, I thought I saw a tall figure, and as I continued to stare that way, the figure seemed to rise out of the ground beside my droshky.

‘Who are you?’ came a resonant voice.

‘Who are you yourself?’

‘I’m the forester here.’

I told him my name.

‘Oh, I know you! On your way home?’

‘Yes. But you can see the storm …’

‘Yes, there’s a storm,’ replied the voice.

A flash of white lightning lit up the forester from head to foot, and a sharp cracking thunderclap followed an instant later. The rain poured down harder than ever.

‘This won’t be over any time soon,’ the forester said.

‘What can one do!’

‘I’d better take you to my hut,’ he said shortly.

‘That’s kind of you.’

‘Stay where you are, then.’

He went to my horse’s head and pulled on her bridle. We moved off. I held on to the upholstered seat of the droshky, which was rocking like a boat on the high seas, and called my dog. My poor mare was squelching through the mud, slithering and stumbling along, while the forester swayed this way and that like a ghost in front of the shafts. We drove along for quite a while, but eventually my guide stopped. ‘Here we are, mister, we’ve arrived,’ he said in a low voice. A wicket gate creaked, and several puppies started barking in chorus. I looked

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