§2
My first adventure happened at Pokróv.
We had lost some hours owing to the ice on the river, which cut off all communication with the other side. My guardian was eager to get on, when the post-master at Pokróv suddenly declared that there were no fresh horses. My keeper produced his passport, which stated that horses must be forthcoming all along the road; he was told that the horses were engaged for the Under-Secretary of the Home Office. He began, of course, to wrangle and make a noise; and then they both went off together to get horses from the local peasants.
Getting tired of waiting for their return in the post-master’s dirty room, I went out at the gate and began to walk about in front of the house. It was nine months since I had taken a walk without the presence of a sentry.
I had been walking half an hour when a man came up to me; he was wearing uniform without epaulettes and a blue medal-ribbon. He stared very hard at me, walked past, turned round at once, and asked me in an insolent manner:
“Is it you who are going to Perm with a police-officer?”
“Yes,” I answered, still walking.
“Excuse me! excuse me! How does the man dare...?”
“Whom have I the honour of speaking to?”
“I am the chief constable of this town,” replied the stranger, and his voice showed how deeply he felt his own social importance. “The Under-Secretary may arrive at any moment, and here, if you please, there are political prisoners walking about the streets! What an idiot that policeman is!”
“May I trouble you to address your observations to the man himself?”
“Address him? I shall arrest him and order him a hundred lashes, and send you on in charge of someone else.”
Without waiting for the end of his speech, I nodded and walked back quickly to the post-house. Sitting by the window, I could hear his loud angry voice as he threatened my keeper, who excused himself but did not seem seriously alarmed. Presently they came into the room together; I did not turn round but went on looking out of the window.
From their conversation I saw at once that the chief constable was dying to know all about the circumstances of my banishment. As I kept up a stubborn silence, the official began an impersonal address, intended equally for me and my keeper.
“We get no sympathy. What pleasure is it to me, pray, to quarrel with a policeman or to inconvenience a gentleman whom I never set eyes on before in my life? But I have a great responsibility, in my position here. Whatever happens, I get the blame. If public funds are stolen, they attack me; if the church catches fire, they attack me; if there are too many drunk men in the streets, I suffer for it; if too little whisky is drunk,[[81]] I suffer for that too.” He was pleased with his last remark and went on more cheerfully: “It is lucky you met me, but you might have met the Secretary; and if you had walked past him, he would have said ‘A political prisoner walking about! Arrest the chief constable!’”
[81]. great revenue was derived by Government from the sale of spirits.
I got weary at last of his eloquence. I turned to him and said:
“Do your duty by all means, but please spare me your sermons. From what you say I see that you expected me to bow to you; but I am not in the habit of bowing to strangers.”
My friend was flabbergasted.
That is the rule all over Russia, as a friend of mine used to say: whoever gets rude and angry first, always wins. If you ever allow a Jack in office to raise his voice, you are lost: when he hears himself shouting, he turns into a wild beast. But if you begin shouting at his first rude word, he is certain to be cowed; for he thinks that you mean business and are the sort of person whom it is unsafe to irritate.
The chief constable sent my keeper to enquire about the horses; then he turned to me and remarked by way of apology:
“I acted in that way chiefly because of the man. You don’t know what our underlings are like—it is impossible to pass over the smallest breach of discipline. But I assure you I know a gentleman when I see him. Might I ask you what unfortunate incident it was that brings you...”
“We were bound to secrecy at the end of the trial.”
“Oh, in that case ... of course ... I should not venture...”—and his eyes expressed the torments of curiosity. He held his tongue, but not for long.
“I had a distant cousin, who was imprisoned for about a year in the fortress of Peter and Paul; he was mixed up with ... you understand. Excuse me, but I think you are still angry, and I take it to heart. I am used to army discipline; I began serving when I was seventeen. I have a hot temper, but it all passes in a moment. I won’t trouble your man any further, deuce take him!”
My keeper now came in and reported that it would take an hour to drive in the horses from the fields.
The chief constable told him that he was pardoned at my intercession; then he turned to me and added:
“To show that you are not angry, I do hope you will come and take pot-luck with me—I live two doors away; please don’t refuse.”
This turn to our interview seemed to me so amusing that I went to his house, where I ate his pickled sturgeon and caviare and drank his brandy and Madeira.
He grew so friendly that he told me all his private affairs, including the details of an illness from which his wife had suffered for seven years. After our meal, with pride and satisfaction he took a letter from a jar on the table and let me read a “poem” which his son had written at school and recited on Speech-day. After these flattering proofs of confidence, he neatly changed the conversation and enquired indirectly about my offence; and this time I gratified his curiosity to some extent.
This man reminded me of a justice’s clerk whom my friend S. used to speak about. Though his chief had been changed a dozen times, the clerk never lost his place and was the real ruler of the district.
“How do you manage to get on with them all?” my friend asked.
“All right, thank you; one manages to rub on somehow. You do sometimes get a gentleman who is very awkward at first, kicks with fore legs and hind legs, shouts abuse at you, and threatens to complain at head-quarters and get you turned out. Well, you know, the likes of us have to put up with that. One holds one’s tongue and thinks—‘Oh, he’ll wear himself out in time; he’s only just getting into harness.’ And so it turns out: once started, he goes along first-rate.”