§8
Side by side with this bird of prey I shall place the portrait of a very different kind of official—a mild and sympathetic creature, a real sucking dove.
Among my acquaintance at Vyatka was an old gentleman who had been dismissed from the service as inspector of rural police. He now drew up petitions and managed lawsuits for other people—a profession which he had been expressly forbidden to adopt. He had entered the service in the year one, had robbed and squeezed and blackmailed in three provinces, and had twice figured in the dock. This veteran liked to tell surprising stories of what he and his contemporaries had done; and he did not conceal his contempt for the degenerate successors who now filled their places.
“Oh, they’re mere bunglers,” he used to say. “Of course they take bribes, or they couldn’t live; but as for dexterity or knowledge of the law, you needn’t expect anything of the kind from them. Just to give you an idea, let me tell you of a friend of mine who was a judge for twenty years and died twelve months ago. He was a genius! The peasants revere his memory, and he left a trifle to his family too. His method was all his own. If a peasant came with a petition, the Judge would admit him at once and be very friendly and cheerful.
“‘Well, my friend, tell me your name and your father’s name, too.’
“The peasant bows—‘Yermolai is my name, bátyushka, and my father’s name was Grigóri.’
“‘Well, how are you, Yermolai Grigorevitch, and where do you come from?’
“‘I live at Dubilov.’
“‘I know, I know—those mills on the right hand of the high road are yours, I suppose?’
“‘Just so, bátyushka, the mills belong to our village.’
“‘A prosperous village, too—good land—black soil.’
“‘We have no reason to murmur against Heaven, Your Worship.’
“‘Well, that’s right. I dare say you have a good large family, Yermolai Grigorevitch?’
“‘Three sons and two daughters, Your Worship, and my eldest daughter’s husband has lived in our house these five years.’
“‘And I dare say there are some grandchildren by this time?’
“‘Indeed there are, Your Worship—a few of them too.’
“‘And thank God for it! He told us to increase and multiply. Well, you’ve come a long way, Yermolai Grigorevitch; will you drink a glass of brandy with me?’
“The visitor seems doubtful. The Judge fills the glass, saying:
“‘Come, come, friend—the holy fathers have not forbidden us the use of wine and oil on this day.’
“‘It is true that we are allowed it, but strong drink brings a man to all bad fortune.’ Thereupon he crosses himself, bows to his host, and drinks the dram.
“‘Now, with a family like that, Grigorevitch, you must find it hard to feed and clothe them all. One horse and one cow would never do for you—you would run short of milk for such a number.’
“‘One horse, bátyushka! That wouldn’t do at all. I’ve three, and I had a fourth, a roan, but it died in St. Peter’s Fast; it was bewitched; our carpenter Doroféi hates to see others prosper, and he has the evil eye.’
“‘Well, that does happen sometimes. But you have good pasture there, and I dare say you keep sheep.’
“‘Yes, we have some sheep.’
“‘Dear me, we have had quite a long chat, Yermolai Grigorevitch. I must be off to Court now—the Tsar’s service, as you know. Have you any little business to ask me about, I wonder?’
“‘Indeed I have, Your Worship.’
“‘Well, what is it? Have you been doing something foolish? Be quick and tell me, because I must be starting.’
“‘This is it, Your Honour. Misfortune has come upon me in my old age, and I trust to you. It was Assumption Day; we were in the public-house, and I had words with a man from another village—a nasty fellow he is, who steals our wood. Well, we had some words, and then he raised his fist and struck me on the breast. “Don’t you use your fists off your own dunghill,” said I; and I wanted to teach him a lesson, so I gave him a tap. Now, whether it was the drink or the work of the Evil One, my fist went straight into his eye, and the eye was damaged. He went at once to the police—“I’ll have the law of him,” says he.’
“During this narrative the Judge—a fig for your Petersburg actors!—becomes more and more solemn; the expression of his eyes becomes alarming; he says not a word.
“The peasant sees this and changes colour; he puts his hat down on the ground and takes out a handkerchief to wipe the sweat off his brow. The Judge turns over the leaves of a book and still keeps silence.
“‘That is why I have come to see you, bátyushka,’ the peasant says in a strained voice.
“‘What can I do in such a case? It’s a bad business! What made you hit him in the eye?’
“‘What indeed, bátyushka! It was the enemy led me astray.’
“‘Sad, very sad! Such a thing to ruin a whole family! How can they get on without you—all young, and the grandchildren mere infants! A sad thing for your wife, too, in her old age!’
“The man’s legs begin to tremble. ‘Does Your Honour think it’s as bad as all that?’
“‘Take the book and read the act yourself. But perhaps you can’t read? Here is the article dealing with injuries to the person—“shall first be flogged and then banished to Siberia.”’
“‘Oh, save a man from ruin, save a fellow-Christian from destruction! Is it impossible ...’
“‘But, my good man, we can’t go against the law. So far as it’s in our hands, we might perhaps lower the thirty strokes to five or so.’
“‘But about Siberia?’
“‘Oh, there we’re powerless, my friend.’
“The peasant at this point produces a purse, takes a paper out of the purse and two or three gold pieces out of the paper; with a low bow he places them on the table.
“‘What’s all that, Yermolai Grigorevitch?’
“‘Save me, bátyushka!’
“‘No more of that! I have my weak side and I take a present at times; my salary is small and I have to do it. But if I do, I like to give something in return; and what can I do for you? If only it had been a rib or a tooth! But the eye! Take your money back.’
“The peasant is dumbfounded.
“‘There is just one possibility: I might speak to the other judges and write a line to the county town. The matter will probably go to the court there, and I have friends there who will do all they can. But they’re men of a different kidney, and three yellow-boys will not go far in that quarter.’
“The peasant recovers a little.
“‘I don’t want anything—I’m sorry for your family; but it’s no use offering them less than 400 roubles.’
“‘Four hundred roubles! How on earth can I get such a mint of money as that, in these times? It’s quite beyond me, I swear.’
“‘It’s not easy, I agree. We can lessen the flogging; the man’s sorry, we shall say, and he was not sober at the time. People do live in Siberia, after all; and it’s not so very far from here. Of course, you might manage it by selling a pair of horses and one of the cows and the sheep. But you would have to work many years to replace all that stock; and if you don’t pay up, your horses will be left all right but you’ll be off on the long tramp yourself. Think it over, Grigorevitch; no hurry; we’ll do nothing till to-morrow; but I must be going now.’ And the Judge pockets the coins he had refused, saying, ‘It’s quite unnecessary—I only take it to spare your feelings.’
“Next day, an old Jew turns up at the Judge’s house, lugging a bag that contains 350 roubles in coinage of all dates.
“The Judge promises his assistance. The peasant is tried, and tried over again, and well frightened; then he gets off with a light sentence, or a caution to be more prudent in future, or a note against his name as a suspicious character. And the peasant for the rest of his life prays that God will reward the Judge for his kindness.
“Well, that’s a specimen of the neat way they used to do it”—so the retired inspector used to wind up his story.