The chestnut-roaster Sameschkin packed his things: first the sacks, then the oven, then the rest of his wares, with the chestnuts in a special leather sack.

Before his departure he said to Euphemia: ‘It’s a desolate spot, this border. Will you come away with me for ever?’

Euphemia, however, thought of all kinds of possibilities in the tavern, and more besides. ‘Until next year,’ she said. But Sameschkin no longer believed her. He was not as stupid as he might appear to people. He had his suspicions and he silently resolved never to return to that venomous neighbourhood again.

It was a magnificent spring day when he drove off. The oven stood on his cart. The loose sacks were tied round his shoulders. The larks trilled high in the heavens and the frogs croaked just as merrily in the marshes. And so the good Sameschkin went on his way, minding his own business. What did all this actually have to do with him?

I shall never come here again, he said to himself. And he had the feeling that the larks and the frogs concurred.

THE BEGINNING

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