"The table was set for one hundred persons. The magnificence of it
exceeded all expectations. The remotest provinces were represented at
this feast of the gods by the costliest gifts. The golden sturgeon
from Sheksna and the silver pheasant from the Caucasian woods held a
rendezvous with strawberries so seldom to be had in our latitude in
winter..."
"The devil! For God's sake, stop reading, your Excellency. Couldn't
you find something else to read about?" cried the other Official in
sheer desperation. He snatched the paper from his colleague's hands,
and started to read something else.
"Our correspondent in Tula informs us that yesterday a sturgeon was
found in the Upa (an event which even the oldest inhabitants cannot
recall, and all the more remarkable since they recognised the former
police captain in this sturgeon). This was made the occasion for
giving a banquet in the club. The prime cause of the banquet was
served in a large wooden platter garnished with vinegar pickles. A
bunch of parsley stuck out of its mouth. Doctor P---- who acted as
toast-master saw to it that everybody present got a piece of the
sturgeon. The sauces to go with it were unusually varied and
delicate--"
"Permit me, your Excellency, it seems to me you are not so careful
either in the selection of reading matter," interrupted the first
Official, who secured the _Gazette_ again and started to read:
"One of the oldest inhabitants of Viatka has discovered a new and
highly original recipe for fish soup; A live codfish (_lota vulgaris_)
is taken and beaten with a rod until its liver swells up with
anger..."
The Officials' heads drooped. Whatever their eyes fell upon had
something to do with eating. Even their own thoughts were fatal. No
matter how much they tried to keep their minds off beefsteak and the
like, it was all in vain; their fancy returned invariably, with
irresistible force, back to that for which they were so painfully
yearning.
Suddenly an inspiration came to the Official who had once taught
handwriting.
"I have it!" he cried delightedly. "What do you say to this, your
Excellency? What do you say to our finding a muzhik?"
"A muzhik, your Excellency? What sort of a muzhik?"
"Why a plain ordinary muzhik. A muzhik like all other muzhiks. He
would get the breakfast rolls for us right away, and he could also
catch partridges and fish for us."
"Hm, a muzhik. But where are we to fetch one from, if there is no
muzhik here?"
"Why shouldn't there be a muzhik here? There are muzhiks everywhere.
All one has to do is hunt for them. There certainly must be a muzhik
hiding here somewhere so as to get out of working."
This thought so cheered the Officials that they instantly jumped up to
go in search of a muzhik.
For a long while they wandered about on the island without the desired
result, until finally a concentrated smell of black bread and old
sheep skin assailed their nostrils and guided them in the right
direction. There under a tree was a colossal muzhik lying fast asleep
with his hands under his head. It was clear that to escape his duty to
work he had impudently withdrawn to this island. The indignation of
the Officials knew no bounds.
"What, lying asleep here you lazy-bones you!" they raged at him, "It
is nothing to you that there are two Officials here who are fairly
perishing of hunger. Up, forward, march, work."
The Muzhik rose and looked at the two severe gentlemen standing in
front of him. His first thought was to make his escape, but the
Officials held him fast.
He had to submit to his fate. He had to work.
First he climbed up on a tree and plucked several dozen of the finest
apples for the Officials. He kept a rotten one for himself. Then he
turned up the earth and dug out some potatoes. Next he started a fire
with two bits of wood that he rubbed against each other. Out of his
own hair he made a snare and caught partridges. Over the fire, by this
time burning brightly, he cooked so many kinds of food that the
question arose in the Officials' minds whether they shouldn't give
some to this idler.
Beholding the efforts of the Muzhik, they rejoiced in their hearts.
They had already forgotten how the day before they had nearly been
perishing of hunger, and all they thought of now was: "What a good
thing it is to be an Official. Nothing bad can ever happen to an
Official."
"Are you satisfied, gentlemen?" the lazy Muzhik asked.
"Yes, we appreciate your industry," replied the Officials.
"Then you will permit me to rest a little?"
"Go take a little rest, but first make a good strong cord."
The Muzhik gathered wild hemp stalks, laid them in water, beat them
and broke them, and toward evening a good stout cord was ready. The
Officials took the cord and bound the Muzhik to a tree, so that he
should not run away. Then they laid themselves to sleep.
Thus day after day passed, and the Muzhik became so skilful that he
could actually cook soup for the Officials in his bare hands. The
Officials had become round and well-fed and happy. It rejoiced them
that here they needn't spend any money and that in the meanwhile their
pensions were accumulating in St. Petersburg.
"What is your opinion, your Excellency," one said to the other after
breakfast one day, "is the Story of the Tower of Babel true? Don't you
think it is simply an allegory?"
"By no means, your Excellency, I think it was something that really
happened. What other explanation is there for the existence of so many
different languages on earth?"
"Then the Flood must really have taken place, too?"
"Certainly, else; how would you explain the existence of Antediluvian
animals? Besides, the _Moscow Gazette_ says----"
They made search for the old number of the _Moscow Gazette_, seated
themselves in the shade, and read the whole sheet from beginning to
end. They read of festivities in Moscow, Tula, Penza and Riazan, and
strangely enough felt no discomfort at the description of the
delicacies served.
There is no saying how long this life might have lasted. Finally,
however, it began to bore the Officials. They often thought of their
cooks in St. Petersburg, and even shed a few tears in secret.
"I wonder how it looks in Podyacheskaya Street now, your Excellency,"
one of them said to the other.
"Oh, don't remind me of it, your Excellency. I am pining away with
homesickness."
"It is very nice here. There is really no fault to be found with this
place, but the lamb longs for its mother sheep. And it is a pity, too,
for the beautiful uniforms."
"Yes, indeed, a uniform of the fourth class is no joke. The gold
embroidery alone is enough to make one dizzy."
Now they began to importune the Muzhik to find some way of getting
them back to Podyacheskaya Street, and strange to say, the Muzhik even
knew where Podyacheskaya Street was. He had once drunk beer and mead
there, and as the saying goes, everything had run down his beard,
alas, but nothing into his mouth. The Officials rejoiced and said: "We
are Officials from Podyacheskaya Street."
"And I am one of those men--do you remember?--who sit on a scaffolding
hung by ropes from the roofs and paint the outside walls. I am one of
those who crawl about on the roofs like flies. That is what I am,"
replied the Muzhik.
The Muzhik now pondered long and heavily on how to give great pleasure
to his Officials, who had been so gracious to him, the lazy-bones, and
had not scorned his work. And he actually succeeded in constructing a
ship. It was not really a ship, but still it was a vessel, that would
carry them across the ocean close to Podyacheskaya Street.
"Now, take care, you dog, that you don't drown us," said the
Officials, when they saw the raft rising and falling on the waves.
"Don't be afraid. We muzhiks are used to this," said the Muzhik,
making all the preparations for the journey. He gathered swan's-down
and made a couch for his two Officials, then he crossed himself and
rowed off from shore.
How frightened the Officials were on the way, how seasick they were
during the storms, how they scolded the coarse Muzhik for his
idleness, can neither be told nor described. The Muzhik, however, just
kept rowing on and fed his Officials on herring. At last, they caught
sight of dear old Mother Neva. Soon they were in the glorious
Catherine Canal, and then, oh joy! they struck the grand Podyacheskaya
Street. When the cooks saw their Officials so well-fed, round and so
happy, they rejoiced immensely. The Officials drank coffee and rolls,
then put on their uniforms and drove to the Pension Bureau. How much
money they collected there is another thing that can neither be told
nor described. Nor was the Muzhik forgotten. The Officials sent a
glass of whiskey out to him and five kopeks. Now, Muzhik, rejoice.