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Updated: April 30, 2025
His fur-lined armyak, reaching to his feet, through whose silver buttons under the left arm he is bursting, with pads for fashion or with good living, is secured about his portly waist by a silken girdle glowing with roses and butterflies. His legs are too fat to enter the sledge, that is to say, if his master truly respects his own dignity, and his feet are accommodated in iron stirrups outside.
Our man's cylindrical cap of imitation fur is old, his summer armyak of blue cloth fits, as best it may, over his lean form and his sheepskin tulup, and is girt with a cheap cotton sash. The head of the fashionable coachman is crowned with a becoming gold-laced cap, in the shape of the ace of diamonds, well stuffed with down, and made of scarlet, sky-blue, sea-green, or other hue of velvet.
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.
Fate had favored us with a clever cabman. His shaggy little horse was as dusty in hue as his own coat, a most unusual color for coat of either Russian horse or izvostchik. The man's armyak was bursting at every seam, not with plenty, but, since extremes meet, with hard times, which are the chronic complaint of Kazan, so he affirmed.
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