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Updated: May 9, 2025
At the top there was a pen-and-ink sketch of a horse with a tail of the shape of a pipe and an endless neck, and below his hoofs were the following words, written in an old- fashioned hand: 'Here are for sale horses of various colours, brought to the Lebedyan fair from the celebrated steppes stud of Anastasei Ivanitch Tchornobai, landowner of Tambov.
Let us come, though, to our story. After all I have said above, there is no need to explain to the reader how I happened five years ago to be at Lebedyan just in the very thick of the horse-fair.
'No, my good sir, don't put yourself in a passion; once gone out of the yard, is done with. You should have looked before, sir. I understood what that meant, accepted my fate, laughed, and walked off. Luckily, I had not paid very dear for the lesson. Two days later I left, and in a week I was again at Lebedyan on my way home again.
And so I turned up at Lebedyan, stopped at the hotel, changed my clothes, and went out to the fair. In the market square there were endless rows of carts drawn up, and behind the carts, horses of every possible kind: racers, stud-horses, dray horses, cart-horses, posting-hacks, and simple peasants' nags.
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