In 1850 the children were taken to the baths of Slaviansk. On a warm summer day the heavy “berlin” coach, drawn by six horses with a postilion, rolled along the high road, across the steppes, followed at a distance by a “tarantass.”[3]

In the spacious, antique coach, with its dusty hood, sat Emilia Lvovna, with her three children; the valet, Petrushka, dozed on the box, next to the coachman. The tarantass was occupied by Dmitri Ivanovitch and a cousin.

The heat was oppressive. At the start every one was excited; Emilia Lvovna was trying to remember if anything had been forgotten and was discussing with Katia the details of their installation at Slaviansk. The boys hung out of the windows, gazing at the horses, at the tarantass, and making all sorts of comments. Ilia was so restless and talkative that he was constantly being told, “Do be quiet! Keep still!”

By degrees, however, children and “grown-ups” began to feel drowsy, owing to the monotony of the road, the heat, and the swinging of the carriage. The tarantass had disappeared, for Dmitri Ivanovitch wished to visit an aunt whose house was not far from the road. The outline of a forest was now seen on the horizon; it came nearer and nearer, and soon the coach stopped before the forest inn. Everybody woke up, the children were delighted to be able to run about and stretch their limbs. They begged their mother to let them go into the forest whilst the horses were resting, and obtained permission to go, but not too far, and with Petrushka.

They ate an appetising lunch at the inn and the children ran off at a gallop. Everything delighted them, the underwood, grass patches, ravines, and mysterious paths. But they had hardly entered the forest when they heard a sinister, confused rumour in the distance; they stopped to listen, and recognised the voices of a tumultuous crowd. The children’s joyous excitement fell; frightened and docile, they hastened to return to the inn, from which Emilia Lvovna, looking anxiously out of a window, was making urgent signs to them to return. The coach was still standing without horses, and, a little farther off, the latter were surrounded by a crowd of peasants, of whom many were completely drunk. They shouted vociferously, and closely pressed the coachman and the postilion, threatening to confiscate the horses and detain the travellers if they were not given a ransom of a thousand roubles.

Terrified, the children clung to their distracted mother; Ilia felt her trembling, and his own little heart fluttered like a bird that has been caught. The drunken peasants appeared to him like monstrous ogres or brigands about to capture, perhaps kill, his family and himself; he could hardly keep back his tears. Already the peasants had bound the coachman and the postilion and were taking away the horses. Clinging close to each other, the mother and children listened anxiously; they thought again and again that they could hear the bells of the tarantass. At last it appeared in the distance, and the children joyously whispered, “There they are!” They hastened to inform Dmitri Ivanovitch of what had happened. He at once went with his cousin towards the crowd, and negotiations were opened, but for a long time without result.

At last the cousin had a happy idea; he declared he would go back to his aunt’s house in the neighbourhood and borrow the thousand roubles from her. The peasants consented to let him go alone, keeping the other travellers as hostages. After a time, which to the children seemed endless, the sound of the tarantass bells was again heard, accompanied this time by numerous heavy footsteps, and the vehicle reappeared, escorted by a company of soldiers commanded by two officers. Instead of going to his aunt’s, the cousin had gone to a neighbouring military camp and was bringing assistance.

There was a sudden change of scene. Emilia Lvovna and Katia furtively made the sign of the cross. Ilia had let go of his mother’s hand and was no longer clinging to her, but, stretching his head forward and opening his eyes wide, eagerly waited to see what was going to happen. “Now,” he thought, “we shall not be captured; it is their turn; I am glad!” And, perhaps for the first time in his life, his little heart was moved by feelings of hatred.

In the meanwhile a repulsive scene was going on: a hand-to-hand struggle, invectives and screams. The peasants were securely bound. Men and women hastened from a neighbouring village; one of the women slapped an officer’s face. Furious, he ordered the soldiers to fill her mouth with earth; she was thrown on the ground; the new arrivals in their turn attacked the soldiers, and a regular battle raged.

Ilia was alarmed, shaken, and profoundly disgusted with that exhibition of brutality. The coachman and postilion, their bonds unloosed, hastened to put the horses in, and whilst reprisals were still going on, the family hurried away. They reached Slaviansk without further trouble, excitedly talking over their adventure. This episode was the first deep and definite impression which remained on little Ilia’s mind; it struck him so much that he kept the memory of it during his whole life.

From that moment he held crowds, violence, and all manifestations of brute force in the utmost horror, whatever their cause might be.