The Crown Prince at Vyatka—The Fall of Tufáyev—Transferred to
Vladímir—The Inspector’s Enquiry.
§1
THE Crown Prince[110] is coming to Vyatka! The Crown Prince is
travelling through Russia, to see the country and to be seen himself!
This news was of interest to everyone and of special interest, of
course, to the Governor. In his haste and confusion, he issued a number
of ridiculous and absurd orders—for instance, that the peasants along
the road should wear their holiday _kaftáns_, and that all boardings in
the towns should be repainted and all sidewalks mended. A poor widow who
owned a smallish house in Orlóv informed the mayor that she had no money
to repair her sidewalk; the mayor reported this to the Governor, and the
Governor ordered the floors of her house to be pulled up—the sidewalks
there were made of wood—and, if that was insufficient, the repairs were
to be done at the public cost and the money to be refunded by the widow,
even if she had to sell her house by auction for the purpose. Things did
not go to the length of an auction, but the widow’s floors were torn up.
Footnote 110:
Afterwards Alexander II.
§2
Fifty _versts_ from Vyatka is the spot where the wonder-working _ikon_
of St. Nicholas was revealed to the people of Novgorod. When they moved
to Vyatka, they took the _ikon_ with them; but it disappeared and turned
up again by the Big River, fifty _versts_ away. The people removed it
again; but they took a vow that, if the _ikon_ would stay with them,
they would carry it in solemn procession once a year—on the twenty-third
of May, I think,—to the Big River. This is the chief summer holiday in
the Government of Vyatka. The _ikon_ is despatched along the river on a
richly decorated barge the day before, accompanied by the Bishop and all
the clergy in their full robes. Hundreds of boats of every description,
filled with peasants and their wives, native tribesmen and shopkeepers,
make up a lively scene, as they sail in the wake of the Saint. In front
of all sails the Governor’s barge, decorated with scarlet cloth. It is a
remarkable sight. The people gather from far and near in tens of
thousands, wait on the bank for the arrival of the Saint, and move about
in noisy crowds round the little village by the river. It is remarkable
that the native Votyaks and Cheremisses and even Tatars, though they are
not Christians, come in crowds to pray to the _ikon_. The festival,
indeed, wears a purely pagan aspect. Natives and Russians alike bring
calves and sheep as offerings up to the wall of the monastery; they
slaughter them on the spot, and the Abbot repeats prayers and blesses
and consecrates the meat, which is offered at a special window on the
inner side of the monastery enclosure. The meat is then distributed to
the people. In old times it was given away, but nowadays the monks
receive a few pence for each piece. Thus the peasant who has presented
an entire calf has to spend a trifle in order to get a bit of veal for
his own eating. The court of the monastery is filled with beggars,
cripples, blind men, and sufferers from all sorts of deformity; they sit
on the ground and sing out in chorus for alms. The gravestones round the
church are used as seats by boys, the sons of priests and shopmen; armed
with an ink-bottle, each offers to write out names of the dead, that
their souls may be prayed for. “Who wants names written?” they call out,
and the women crowd round them and repeat the names. The boys scratch
away with their pens with a professional air and repeat the names after
them—“Marya, Marya, Akulina, Stepanida, Father Ioann, Matrona—no, no!
auntie, half a _kopeck_ is all you gave me; but I can’t take less than
five _kopecks_ for such a lot—Ioann, Vasilissa, Iona, Marya, Yevpraxia,
and the baby Katherine.”
The church is tightly packed, and the female worshippers differ oddly in
their preferences: one hands a candle to her neighbour with precise
directions that it is to be offered to “the guest,” _i.e._, the Saint
who is there on a visit, while another woman prefers “the host,” _i.e._,
the local Saint. During the ceremonies the monks and attendant acolytes
from Vyatka are never sober; they stop at all the large villages along
the way, and the peasants stand treat.
This ancient and popular festival was celebrated on the twenty-third of
May. But the Prince was to arrive on May 19, and the Governor, wishing
to please his august visitor, changed the date of the festival; what
harm could it do, if St. Nicholas paid his visit three days too soon?
The Abbot’s consent was necessary; but he was fortunately a man of the
world and raised no difficulty when the Governor proposed to keep the
twenty-third of May on the nineteenth.
§3
Instructions of various kinds came from Petersburg; for instance, it was
ordered that each provincial capital should organise an exhibition of
the local products and manufactures; and the animal, vegetable, and
mineral products were to be kept separate. This division into kingdoms
perplexed our office not a little, and puzzled even the Governor
himself. Wishing not to make mistakes, he decided, in spite of the bad
relations between us, to seek my advice. “Now, honey, for example,” he
said, “where would you put honey? And that gilt frame—how can we settle
where that belongs?” My replies showed that I had surprisingly exact
information concerning the three natural kingdoms, and he proposed that
I should undertake the arrangement of the exhibition.
§4
I was still putting in order wooden spoons and native costumes, honey
and iron trellis-work, when an awful rumour spread through the town that
the Mayor of Orlóv had been arrested. The Governor’s face turned yellow,
and he even seemed unsteady in his gait.
A week before the Prince arrived, the Mayor of Orlóv wrote to the
Governor that the widow whose floors had been torn up was making a
disturbance, and that a rich and well-known merchant of the town
declared his intention of telling the whole story to the Prince on his
arrival. The Governor dealt very ingeniously with this firebrand; he
recalled with satisfaction the precedent of Petrovski, and ordered that
the merchant, being suspected of insanity, should be sent to Vyatka for
examination. Thus the matter would drag on till the Prince left the
province; and that would be the end of it. The mayor did what he was
told, and the merchant was placed in the hospital at Vyatka.
At last the Prince arrived. He greeted the Governor coldly and took no
further notice of him, and he sent his own physician at once to examine
the merchant. He knew all about it by this time. For the widow had
presented her petition at Orlóv, and then the merchants and shop people
had told the whole story. The Governor grew more and more crest-fallen.
The affair looked bad. The mayor had said plainly that he acted
throughout on the written orders of the Governor.
When the physician came back, he reported that the merchant was
perfectly sane. That was a finishing stroke for the Governor.
At eight in the evening the Prince visited the exhibition with his
suite. The Governor conducted him; but he made a terrible hash of his
explanations, till two of the suite, Zhukovski[111] and Arsenyev, seeing
that things were not going well, invited me to do the honours; and I
took the party round.
Footnote 111:
The famous man of letters (1783-1852) who acted as tutor to Alexander.
Arsenyev undertook the scientific side of the Prince’s education.
The young Prince had not the stern expression of his father; his
features suggested rather good nature and indolence. Though he was only
about twenty, he was beginning to grow stout. The few words he addressed
to me were friendly, and he had not the hoarse abrupt utterance of his
uncle Constantine.
When the Prince left the exhibition, Zhukovski asked me what had brought
me to Vyatka; he was surprised to find in such a place an official who
could speak like a gentleman. He offered at once to speak to the Prince
about me; and he actually did all that he could. The Prince suggested to
his father that I should be allowed to return to Petersburg; the Emperor
said that this would be unfair to the other exiles, but, owing to the
Prince’s intercession, he ordered that I should be transferred to
Vladímir. This was an improvement in point of position, as Vladímir is
700 _versts_ nearer Moscow. But of this I shall speak later.
§5
In the evening there was a ball at the assembly-rooms. The musicians,
who had been summoned for the occasion from one of the factories of the
province, arrived in the town helplessly drunk. The Governor rose to the
emergency: the performers were all shut up in prison twenty-four hours
before the ball, marched straight from prison to the orchestra, and kept
there till the ball was over.
The ball was a dull, ill-arranged affair, both mean and motley, as balls
always are in small towns on great occasions. The police-officers
bustled up and down; the officials, in full uniform, squeezed up against
the walls; the ladies crowded round the Prince, just as savages mob a
traveller from Europe.
Apropos of the ladies, I may tell a story. One of the towns offered a
“collation” after their exhibition. The Prince partook of nothing but a
single peach; when he had eaten it, he threw the stone out of the
window. Suddenly a tall figure emerged from the crowd of officials
standing outside the building; it was a certain rural judge, well known
for his irregular habits; he walked deliberately up to the window,
picked up the stone, and put it in his pocket. When the collation was
over, he went up to one of the important ladies and offered her the
stone; she was charmed to get such a treasure. Then he went to several
other ladies and made them happy in the same way. He had bought five
peaches and cut out the stones. Not one of the six ladies could ever be
sure of the authenticity of her prize.
§6
When the Prince had gone, the Governor prepared with a heavy heart to
exchange his satrapy for a place on the bench of the Supreme Court at
home; but he was not so fortunate as that.
Three weeks later the post brought documents from Petersburg addressed
to “The Acting Governor of the Province.” Our office was a scene of
confusion; officials came and went; we heard that an edict had been
received, but the Governor pretended illness and kept his house.
An hour later we heard that Tufáyev had been dismissed from his office;
and that was all that the edict said about him.
The whole town rejoiced over his fall. While he ruled, the atmosphere
was impure, stale, and stifling; now one could breathe more freely. And
yet it was hateful to see the triumph of his subordinates. Asses in
plenty raised their heels against this stricken wild-boar. To compare
small things with great, the meanness of mankind was shown as clearly
then as when Napoleon fell. Between Tufáyev and me there had been an
open breach for a long time; and if he had not been turned out himself,
he would certainly have sent me to some frontier town like Kai. I had
therefore no reason to change my behaviour towards him; but others, who
only the day before had pulled off their hats at the sight of his
carriage and run at his nod, who had smiled at his spaniel and offered
their snuffboxes to his valet—these same men now would hardly salute him
and made the whole town ring with their protests against the
irregularities which he had committed and they had shared in. All this
is an old story and repeats itself so regularly from age to age, in all
places, that we must accept this form of baseness as a universal trait
of human nature, and, at all events, not be surprised by it.
§7
His successor, Kornilov, soon made his appearance. He was a very
different sort of person—a man of about fifty, tall and stout, rather
flabby in appearance, but with an agreeable smile and gentlemanly
manners. He formed all his sentences with strict grammatical accuracy
and used a great number of words; in fact, he spoke with a clearness
which was capable, by its copiousness, of obscuring the simplest topic.
He had been at school with Púshkin and had served in the Guards; he
bought all the new French books, liked to talk on serious topics, and
gave me a copy of Tocqueville’s[112] _Democracy in America_ the day
after he arrived at Vyatka.
Footnote 112:
Alexis de Tocqueville, a French statesman and publicist (1805-1859).
It was a startling change. The same rooms, the same furniture, but,
instead of the Tatar tax-collector with the face of an Esquimo and the
habits of a Siberian, a theorist with a tincture of pedantry but a
gentleman none the less. Our new Governor had intelligence, but his
intellect seemed to give light only and no warmth, like a bright day in
winter which ripens no fruit though it is pleasant enough. He was a
terrible formalist too, though not of the red-tape variety; it is not
easy to describe the type, but it was just as tiresome as all varieties
of formalism are.
As the new Governor had a real wife, the official residence lost its
ultra-bachelor characteristics; it became monogamous. As a consequence
of this, the members of the Council became quite domestic characters:
these bald old gentlemen, instead of boasting over their conquests, now
spoke with tender affection of their lawful wives, although these ladies
were past their prime and either angular and bony, or so fat that it was
impossible for a surgeon to draw blood from them.
§8
Some years before he came to us, Kornilov, being then a colonel in the
Guards, was appointed Civil Governor of a provincial town, and entered
at once upon business of which he knew nothing. Like all new brooms, he
began by reading every official paper that was submitted to him. He came
across a certain document from another Government which he could not
understand, though he read it through several times.
He rang for his secretary and gave it to him to read. But the secretary
also was unable to explain the matter clearly.
“What will you do with this document,” asked Kornilov, “if I pass it on
to the office?”
“I shall hand it to Desk III—it is in their department.”
“So the chief of Desk III will know what to do?”
“Certainly, Your Excellency; he has been in charge of that desk for six
years.”
“Please summon him to me.”
The chief came, and Kornilov handed him the paper and asked what should
be done. The clerk ran through it hastily, and then said a question must
be asked of the Crown Court and instructions given to the inspector of
rural police.
“What instructions?”
The clerk seemed puzzled; at last he said that, though it was difficult
to state them on the spot, it was easy to write them down.
“There is a chair; will you be good enough to write now?”
The clerk took a pen, wrote rapidly and confidently, and soon produced
the two documents.
The Governor took them and read them through; he read them through
again; he could make nothing of them. “Well,” he used to say afterwards,
“I saw that it really was in the form of an answer to the original
document; so I plucked up courage and signed it. The answer gave entire
satisfaction; I never heard another word about it.”
§9
The announcement of my transference to Vladímir arrived before
Christmas. My preparations were quickly made, and I started off.
I said a cordial good-bye to society at Vyatka; in that distant town I
had made two or three real friends among the young merchants. They vied
with one another in showing sympathy and friendship for the outcast.
Several sledges accompanied me to the first stopping-place, and, in
spite of my protests, a whole cargo of eatables and drinkables was
placed on my conveyance. Next day I reached Yaransk.
After Yaransk the road passes through endless pine-forests. There was
moonlight and hard frost as my small sledge slid along the narrow track.
I have never since seen such continuous forests. They stretch all the
way to Archangelsk, and reindeer occasionally find their way through
them to the Government of Vyatka. Most of the wood is suitable for
building purposes. The fir-trees seemed to file past my sledge like
soldiers; they were remarkably straight and high, and covered with snow,
under which their black needles stuck out like bristles. I fell asleep
and woke again—and there were the armies of the pines still marching
past at a great rate, and sometimes shaking off the snow. There are
small clearings where the horses are changed; you see a small house
half-hidden in the trees and the horses tethered to a tree-trunk, and
hear their bells jingling; a couple of native boys in embroidered shirts
run out, still rubbing their eyes; the driver has a dispute with the
other driver in a hoarse alto voice; then he calls out “All right!” and
strikes up a monotonous song—and the endless procession of pine-trees
and snow-drifts begins again.
§10
Just as I got out of the Government of Vyatka, I came in contact for the
last time with the officials, and this final appearance was quite in
their best manner.
We stopped at a post-house, and the driver began to unharness the
horses. A tall peasant appeared at the door and asked who I was.
“What business is that of yours?”
“I am the inspector’s messenger, and he told me to ask.”
“Very well: go to the office and you will find my passport there.”
The peasant disappeared but returned in a moment and told the driver
that he could not have fresh horses.
This was too much. I jumped out of the sledge and entered the house. The
inspector was sitting on a bench and dictating to a clerk; both were
half-seas over. On another bench in a corner a man was sitting, or
rather lying, with fetters on his feet and hands. There were several
bottles in the room, glasses, and a litter of papers and tobacco ash on
the table.
“Where is the inspector?” I called out loudly, as I went in.
“I am the inspector,” was the reply. I had seen the man before in
Vyatka; his name was Lazarev. While speaking he stared very rudely at
me—and then rushed towards me with open arms.
It must be remembered that, after Tufáyev’s fall, the officials, seeing
that his successor and I were on fairly good terms, were a little afraid
of me.
I kept him off with my hand, and asked in a very serious voice: “How
could you order that I was to have no horses? What an absurdity to
detain travellers on the high road!”
“It was only a joke; I hope you won’t be angry about it.” Then he
shouted at his messenger: “Horses! horses at once! What are you standing
there for, you idiot?”
“I hope you will have a cup of tea with some rum in it,” he said to me.
“No, thank you.”
“Perhaps we have some champagne”; he rushed to the bottles, but they
were all empty.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“Holding an enquiry; this fine fellow took an axe and killed his father
and sister. There was a quarrel and he was jealous.”
“And so you celebrate the occasion with champagne?” I said.
The man looked confused. I glanced at the murderer. He was a Cheremiss
of about twenty; there was nothing savage about his face; it was of
purely Oriental type with narrow flashing eyes and black hair.
I was so disgusted by the whole scene that I went out again into the
yard. The inspector ran out after me, with a bottle of rum in one hand
and a glass in the other, and pressed me to have a drink.
In order to get rid of him, I accepted. He caught me by the arm and
said: “I am to blame, I admit; but I hope you will not mention the facts
to His Excellency and so ruin an honest man.” As he spoke, he caught
hold of my hand and actually kissed it, repeating a dozen times over,
“In God’s name, don’t ruin an honest man!” I pulled away my hand in
disgust and said:
“You needn’t be afraid; what need have I to tell tales?”
“But can’t I do you some service?”
“Yes; you can make them harness the horses quicker.”
“Look alive there!” he shouted out, and soon began tugging at the straps
himself.
§11
I never forgot this incident. Nine years later I was in Petersburg for
the last time; I had to visit the Home Office to arrange about a
passport. While I was talking to the secretary in charge, a gentleman
walked through the room, distributing friendly handshakes to the
magnates of the office and condescending bows to the lesser lights.
“Hang it! it can’t surely be him!” I thought. “Who is that?” I asked.
“His name is Lazarev; he is specially employed by the Minister and is a
great man here.”
“Did he serve once as inspector in the Government of Vyatka?”
“He did.”
“I congratulate you, gentlemen! Nine years ago that man kissed my hand!”
It must be allowed that the Minister knew how to choose his
subordinates.
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