Tag Archive for short stories

A Tour In The Forest

FIRST DAY The sight of the vast pinewood, embracing the whole horizon, the sight of the ‘Forest,’ recalls the sight of the ocean. And the sensations it arouses are the same; the same primaeval untouched force lies outstretched in its…

The Overcoat

In the department of — but it is better not to mention the department. There is nothing more irritable than departments, regiments, courts of justice, and, in a word, every branch of public service. Each individual attached to them nowadays…

The Queen of Spades

AT the house of Naroumov, a cav­alry of­fi­cer, the long win­ter night had been passed in gam­bling. At five in the morn­ing break­fast was served to the weary play­ers. The win­ners ate with rel­ish; the losers, on the con­trary, pushed…

Lebedyan

One of the prin­ci­pal ad­van­tages of hunt­ing, my dear read­ers, con­sists in its forc­ing you to be con­stantly mov­ing from place to place, which is highly agree­able for a man of no oc­cu­pa­tion. It is true that some­times, es­pe­cially in…

Byezhin Prairie

 It was a glo­ri­ous July day, one of those days which only come after many days of fine weather. From ear­li­est morn­ing the sky is clear; the sun­rise does not glow with fire; it is suf­fused with a soft roseate…

Mateo Falcone

On leav­ing Porto-Vec­chio from the north­west and di­rect­ing his steps to­wards the in­te­rior of the is­land, the trav­eller will no­tice that the land rises rapidly, and after three hours’ walk­ing over tor­tu­ous paths ob­structed by great masses of rock and…

The Shot

CHAP­TER I. We were sta­tioned in the lit­tle town of N—. The life of an of­fi­cer in the army is well known. In the morn­ing, drill and the rid­ing-school; din­ner with the Colonel or at a Jew­ish restau­rant; in the…

The Calash

The town of B– had become very lively since a cavalry regiment had taken up its quarters in it. Up to that date it had been mortally wearisome there. When you happened to pass through the town and glanced at…

Kassyan of Fair Springs

 I was re­turn­ing from hunt­ing in a jolt­ing lit­tle trap, and over­come by the sti­fling heat of a cloudy sum­mer day (it is well known that the heat is often more in­sup­port­able on such days than in bright days, es­pe­cially…

Birjuk

  I was com­ing back from hunt­ing one evening alone in a rac­ing droshky. I was six miles from home; my good trot­ting mare gal­loped bravely along the dusty road, prick­ing up her ears with an oc­ca­sional snort; my weary dog…