A Winter in Russia

Gentlemen, fill your glasses, and I will tell you nothing but the truth. I have heard travelers relate things that no man of sense could believe, and I despise them for it. A traveler has a duty to the world to report only what he has seen with his own eyes, and that is all I have ever done. If any of you doubts a single word, he is welcome to go and see for himself.

I set off from Rome on a journey to Russia in the middle of winter, having been told that frost and snow make the roads through the north of Germany, Poland and Livonia far better than at any other season. I went on horseback, as the most convenient way of traveling, and I was lightly dressed, which I felt more and more as I went north.

Night overtook me in a country where there was no village to be seen, nothing but snow on every side, as far as the eye could reach. I did not know the road. Tired out, I alighted and tied my horse to something like the pointed stump of a tree that stuck out above the snow. For safety I placed my pistols under my arm, lay down on the snow, and slept so soundly that I did not open my eyes until it was broad daylight.

You may imagine my astonishment when I found myself lying in the middle of a village, in a churchyard. Nor was my horse to be seen anywhere. But presently I heard him neighing somewhere above me, and looking up, I beheld him hanging by his bridle from the weathercock of the church steeple. Matters were now very plain to me. The village had been covered with snow overnight; a sudden change of weather had taken place; and while I slept, the snow had melted and let me down gently into the churchyard, while what in the dark I had taken for the stump of a little tree was in fact the cross on top of the steeple. Without long consideration I took one of my pistols, shot the bridle in two, brought down my horse, and went on my journey.

After that I traveled by sledge. In a dreary forest, I saw a terrible wolf making after me, with all the speed of ravenous winter hunger. He soon overtook me. There was no escape, so I laid myself flat in the sledge and let my horse run for our safety. What I wished, but hardly hoped for, happened immediately: the wolf did not mind me in the least, but took a leap over me, fell furiously on the horse, and began at once to tear and devour the hind part of the poor animal, which ran the faster for its pain and terror. Unnoticed myself, I lifted my head, and saw with horror that the wolf had eaten his way into the horse's body. It was too fine an opportunity to let slip. I fell upon him with the butt of my whip. This unexpected attack in his rear frightened him so much that he leaped forward with all his might; the horse's carcass dropped to the ground, and in its place the wolf found himself in the harness. I, on my part, whipped him the more, and we arrived in full career, safe and sound, at St. Petersburg, contrary to our respective expectations, and very much to the astonishment of the spectators.

In Russia I gave myself up to the noble sport of hunting, and I could tell you a thousand curious things. Let me tell you only a few.

One morning I saw from my bedroom window a large lake, not far off, quite covered with wild ducks. I took down my gun and ran out in such haste that I forgot to bring any shot, and, to make matters worse, struck my head against the doorpost. But a sportsman is never at a loss. I took a long dog-leash, tied a small piece of bacon to the end of it, and threw it among the ducks. The nearest duck swallowed it greedily; and the bacon, being very slippery, passed quickly through its body and was swallowed by the next duck, and so on, until the whole flock were strung on the line like pearls on a thread. I tied the leash round my body and walked home. But the ducks, recovering from their surprise, began to fly, and carried me up into the air. Another man might have been at a loss. I used my coat-tails as a rudder, steered them toward my house, and as we came over the chimney, I twisted the necks of the ducks one after the other, and so descended gently, right through the chimney, onto the kitchen hearth, to the no small astonishment of my cook.

On another occasion, finding that I had lost the flint of my gun, I struck myself a violent blow in the eye with my fist. The sparks that flew from it set the powder alight, and my shot was as good as ever.

I once met with a black fox in a Russian forest, whose valuable skin it would have been a pity to spoil with a bullet. I drew the ball out of my gun, loaded it instead with a good long nail, and fired so accurately that I nailed his brush fast to a tree. I then went up to him quietly with my hunting knife, gave him a cut across the face, laid hold of my whip, and fairly flogged him out of his fine skin. He ran off naked, and left me a perfect fur.

I once fired at a fine stag with a cherry stone, having no other shot, and hit him in the middle of the forehead. It stunned him, but he got away. A year or two after, I was hunting in the same forest, when, behold, a noble stag appeared, with a fine full-grown cherry tree, ten feet high, growing between his antlers. I remembered my former adventure, considered him as my property, and brought him to the ground with one shot. This gave me at once the haunch and the cherry sauce.

I hunted a hare with eight legs, four under his belly and four on his back. When the lower pair were tired, he turned over like an expert swimmer and continued his course on the other four. My favorite greyhound bitch pursued him for three days, and ran so hard that she wore her legs down almost to the stumps, so that ever after she was fit only for badger hunting, and was a remarkably good terrier.

At an inn one bitterly cold day, my postilion tried to blow his horn, but in spite of all his efforts not a note would come out. In the evening we sat by the fire, and the postilion hung his horn on a nail near the hearth. Suddenly we heard "tereng! tereng! teng! teng!" We looked round, and found out the reason: the tunes had been frozen up in the horn, and now came out by thawing, plain and much to the credit of the driver.

And once, in the depth of winter, a wolf rushed at me so suddenly that I had no time to think. Mechanically I thrust my fist into his open mouth, and to save myself I pushed it in further and further, until my arm was in up to the shoulder. What was I to do? I was not much pleased with my situation, nor, I fancy, was he. But I seized him by his entrails, turned him inside out like a glove, and flung him to the ground, where I left him.

(End of Episode 1 — continued in Episode 2: The War with the Turks)