"It is not nice for you, sir, to spend the night in here," said the constable; "come into the other room.It's dirty, but for one night it won't matter.I'll get a samovar from a peasant and heat it directly.I'll heap up some hay for you, and then you go to sleep, and God bless you, your honor."A little later the examining magistrate was sitting in the kitchen drinking tea, while Loshadin, the constable, was standing at the door talking.He was an old man about sixty, short and very thin, bent and white, with a naive smile on his face and watery eyes, and he kept smacking with his lips as though he were sucking a sweetmeat.He was wearing a short sheepskin coat and high felt boots, and held his stick in his hands all the time.The youth of the examining magistrate aroused his compassion, and that was probably why he addressed him familiarly.
"The elder gave orders that he was to be informed when the police superintendent or the examining magistrate came," he said, "so Isuppose I must go now....It's nearly three miles to the _volost_, and the storm, the snowdrifts, are something terrible -- maybe one won't get there before midnight.Ough! how the wind roars!""I don't need the elder," said Lyzhin."There is nothing for him to do here."He looked at the old man with curiosity, and asked:
"Tell me, grandfather, how many years have you been constable? ""How many? Why, thirty years.Five years after the Freedom Ibegan going as constable, that's how I reckon it.And from that time I have been going every day since.Other people have holidays, but I am always going.When it's Easter and the church bells are ringing and Christ has risen, I still go about with my bag -- to the treasury, to the post, to the police superintendent's lodgings, to the rural captain, to the tax inspector, to the municipal office, to the gentry, to the peasants, to all orthodox Christians.I carry parcels, notices, tax papers, letters, forms of different sorts, circulars, and to be sure, kind gentleman, there are all sorts of forms nowadays, so as to note down the numbers -- yellow, white, and red -- and every gentleman or priest or well-to-do peasant must write down a dozen times in the year how much he has sown and harvested, how many quarters or poods he has of rye, how many of oats, how many of hay, and what the weather's like, you know, and insects, too, of all sorts.To be sure you can write what you like, it's only a regulation, but one must go and give out the notices and then go again and collect them.Here, for instance, there's no need to cut open the gentleman; you know yourself it's a silly thing, it's only dirtying your hands, and here you have been put to trouble, your honor; you have come because it's the regulation;you can't help it.For thirty years I have been going round according to regulation.In the summer it is all right, it is warm and dry; but in winter and autumn it's uncomfortable At times I have been almost drowned and almost frozen; all sorts of things have happened -- wicked people set on me in the forest and took away my bag; I have been beaten, and I have been before a court of law.""What were you accused of?"
"Of fraud."
"How do you mean?"
"Why, you see, Hrisanf Grigoryev, the clerk, sold the contractor some boards belonging to someone else -- cheated him, in fact.Iwas mixed up in it.They sent me to the tavern for vodka; well, the clerk did not share with me -- did not even offer me a glass;but as through my poverty I was -- in appearance, I mean -- not a man to be relied upon, not a man of any worth, we were both brought to trial; he was sent to prison, but, praise God! I was acquitted on all points.They read a notice, you know, in the court.And they were all in uniforms -- in the court, I mean.Ican tell you, your honor, my duties for anyone not used to them are terrible, absolutely killing; but to me it is nothing.In fact, my feet ache when I am not walking.And at home it is worse for me.At home one has to heat the stove for the clerk in the _volost_ office, to fetch water for him, to clean his boots.""And what wages do you get?" Lyzhin asked.
"Eighty-four roubles a year."
"I'll bet you get other little sums coming in.You do, don't you?""Other little sums? No, indeed! Gentlemen nowadays don't often give tips.Gentlemen nowadays are strict, they take offense at anything.If you bring them a notice they are offended, if you take off your cap before them they are offended.'You have come to the wrong entrance,' they say.'You are a drunkard,' they say.
'You smell of onion; you are a blockhead; you are the son of a bitch.' There are kind-hearted ones, of course; but what does one get from them? They only laugh and call one all sorts of names.
Mr.Altuhin, for instance, he is a good-natured gentleman; and if you look at him he seems sober and in his right mind, but so soon as he sees me he shouts and does not know what he means himself.
He gave me such a name 'You,' said he,..." The constable uttered some word, but in such a low voice that it was impossible to make out what he said.
"What?" Lyzhin asked."Say it again."
" 'Administration,' " the constable repeated aloud."He has been calling me that for a long while, for the last six years.'Hullo, Administration!' But I don't mind; let him, God bless him!
Sometimes a lady will send one a glass of vodka and a bit of pie and one drinks to her health.But peasants give more; peasants are more kind-hearted, they have the fear of God in their hearts:
one will give a bit of bread, another a drop of cabbage soup, another will stand one a glass.The village elders treat one to tea in the tavern.Here the witnesses have gone to their tea.
'Loshadin,' they said, 'you stay here and keep watch for us,' and they gave me a kopeck each.You see, they are frightened, not being used to it, and yesterday they gave me fifteen kopecks and offered me a glass.""And you, aren't you frightened?"
