Letters of Anton Chekhov (Tchekhov) - Penn State University

Anton Chekhovin the jolting cart, I insist, and the carriage is sure to appear, thoughthey may have declared that there was no such thing in the wholevillage, and so on. Well, I suspected that the Irtysh floods were inventedsimply to avoid driving me by night through the mud. Iprotested and told them to start. The peasant who had heard of thefloods from Kuzma, and had not himself seen them, scratched himselfand consented; the old men encouraged him, saying that whenthey were young and used to drive, they were afraid of nothing. Weset off. Much rain, a vicious wind, cold … and felt boots on myfeet. Do you know what felt boots are like when they are soaked?They are like boots of jelly. We drive on and on, and behold, therelies stretched before my eyes an immense lake from which the earthappears in patches here and there, and bushes stand out: these arethe flooded meadows. In the distance stretches the steep bank ofthe Irtysh, on which there are white streaks of snow …. We begindriving through the lake. We might have turned back, but obstinacyprevented me, and an incomprehensible impulse of defiancemastered me—that impulse which made me bathe from the yachtin the middle of the Black Sea and has impelled me to not a few actsof folly … I suppose it is a special neurosis. We drive on and makefor the little islands and strips of land. The direction is indicated bybridges and planks; they have been washed away. To cross by themwe had to unharness the horses and lead them over one by one ….The driver unharnesses the horses, I jump out into the water in myfelt boots and hold them …. A pleasant diversion! And the rain andwind …. Queen of Heaven! At last we get to a little island wherethere stands a hut without a roof …. Wet horses are wanderingabout in the wet dung. A peasant with a long stick comes out of thehut and undertakes to guide us. He measures the depth of the waterwith his stick, and tries the ground. He led us out—God bless himfor it!—on to a long strip of ground which he called “the ridge.” Heinstructs us that we must keep to the right—or perhaps it was to theleft, I don’t remember—and get on to another ridge. This we do.My felt boots are soaking and squelching, my socks are snuffling.The driver says nothing and clicks dejectedly to his horses. He wouldgladly turn back, but by now it was late, it was dark …. At last—oh,joy!—we reach the Irtysh …. The further bank is steep but the near157