Our troika of horses was caparisoned in blue and red leather, lavishly decorated with large metal plaques and with chains which musically replaced portions of the leather straps.  Over the neck of the middle horse, who trotted, rose an ornamented arch of wood.  The side horses, loosely attached by leather thongs, galloped with much freedom and grace, their heads bent downward and outward, so that we could watch their beautiful eyes and crimson nostrils.  Our coachman’s long armyak of dark blue cloth, confined by a gay girdle, was topped by a close turban hat of black felt, stuck all the way round with a row of eyes from a peacock’s tail.  He observed all the correct rules of Russian driving, dashing up ascents at full speed, and holding his arms outstretched as though engaged in a race, which our pace suggested.

Our road to the Volga lay, at first, through a vast grainfield, dotted with peasants at the harvest.  Miles of sunflowers followed.  They provide oil for the poorer classes to use in cooking during the numerous fasts, when butter is forbidden, and seeds to chew in place of the unattainable peanut.  Our goal was a village situated beneath lofty chalk hills, dazzling white in the sun.  A large portion of the village, which had been burned a short time before, was already nearly rebuilt, thanks to the ready-made houses supplied by the novel wood-yards of Samara.

The butler had been dispatched on the previous evening, with a wagon-load of provisions and comforts, and with orders to make the necessary arrangements for a boat and crew with fisherman Piotr.  But, for reasons which seemed too voluble and complicated for adequate expression, Piotr had been as slow of movement as my bumptious yamtschik of the posting-station, and nothing was ready.  Piotr, like many elderly peasants, might sit for the portrait of his apostolic namesake.  But he approved of more wine “for the stomach’s sake” than any apostle ever ventured to recommend, and he had ingenious methods of securing it.  For example, when he brought crayfish to the house, he improved the opportunity.  The fishermen scorn these dainties, and throw them out of the nets.  The fact that they were specially ordered was sufficient hint to Piotr.  He habitually concealed them in the steward’s hemp patch or some other handy nook, and presented himself to our host with the announcement that he would produce them when he was paid his “tea-money” in advance, in the shape of a glass of vodka.  The swap always took place.

In spite of this weakness, Piotr was a very well-to-do peasant.  We inspected his establishment and tasted his cream, while he was exhausting his stock of language.  His house was like all others of that region in plan, and everything was clean and orderly.  It had an air about it as if no one ever ate or really did any work there, which was decidedly deceptive, and his living-room contained the nearest approach to a bed and bedding which we had seen:  a platform supported by two legs and the wall, and spread with a small piece of heavy gray and black felt.