The Enchanted Wanderer and Other Stories

Then the archpriest pointed out that Ryzhov had not provided himself with a dress uniform, and on Easter Sunday, having stingily congratulated only his near and dear ones, had not appeared with his congratulations before any of the distinguished citizens, for which, however, they bore him no grudge.

The two things turned out to be dependent on each other. Ryzhov had not taken up a holiday collection, and therefore had no money for a uniform, but the uniform was necessary and the previous constable had had one. Everyone had seen him in a tunic with a collar, breeches, and boots with tassels, but this one remained the same as when he had gone around with the mail, in a beshmet of striped ticking with hooks,¹¹ yellow nankeen trousers, and a simple peasant hat, and for winter he had a raw sheepskin coat, and he had acquired nothing else, and could not acquire anything on a monthly salary of two roubles and eighty-seven kopecks, which he lived on, serving faithfully and truly.

Besides that, an incident occurred that required money: Ryzhov’s mother died, having been left with nothing to do on earth once she could no longer sell pies on it.

Alexander Afanasyevich gave her, in the general opinion, a “niggardly” funeral, and thereby showed his lack of love. He paid the clergy a little for it, but the pie baker had no pies baked at her funeral, and the forty-day prayers were not ordered.

A heretic! And it was the more plausible in that, though the mayor did not trust him and the archpriest had doubts about him, both the mayor’s wife and the priest’s wife stood like a rock for him—the first for driving the sentries to her kitchen garden, and the second for some mysterious reason that lay in her “resistant character.”

In these persons Alexander Afanasyevich had his protectors. The mayor’s wife herself sent him two measures of potatoes from the earth’s yield, but he, without untying the sacks, brought the potatoes back on his shoulders and said briefly:

“I thank you for the intention, but I don’t accept gifts.”

Then the priest’s wife, a nervous woman, offered him two calico shirtfronts of her own making from ancient times, when the archpriest was still a layman, but the odd fellow did not take them either.

“It’s forbidden to take gifts,” he said, “and besides, since I dress simply, I find no use for such finery.”

And here the priest’s wife spoke a maliciously provocative word to her husband:

“He’s the one who ought to stand at the altar,” she said, “and not you clerical finaglers.”

The archpriest was angry. He told his wife to be quiet, but he himself went on lying there and thinking:

“This is some Masonic novelty, and if I track it down and uncover it, I may get some big distinction and may even be transferred to Petersburg.”

So he raved about it and in his raving made up a plan of how to lay bare Ryzhov’s conscience even to the point of separating soul from body.

V

The Great Lent was approaching,¹² and the archpriest saw as in the palm of his hand how he was going to lay bare Ryzhov’s soul to the point of separation, and would then know how to deal with him for his wicked deviation from the truths of Orthodoxy.

With that aim he openly advised the mayor to send the striped constable to him for confession in the very first week. He promised to examine his soul well and, frightening him with the wrath of God, to worm out of him all that he kept secret and hidden and why he shunned all matters of concern and did not accept gifts. And then he said: “By the sight of his conscience laid open by fear, we’ll see what’s to be done with him, and we’ll put him through it, that the spirit may be saved.”¹³

Having mentioned the words of St. Paul, the archpriest calmly began to wait, knowing that each seeks out his own in them.

The mayor also did his share.

“You and I, Alexander Afanasyevich, as prominent persons in town,” he said, “must set folk a religious example and show respect for the Church.”

Ryzhov replied that he agreed.

“Be so good, brother, as to prepare and go to confession.”

“Agreed,” said Ryzhov.

“And since we’re both people in everybody’s sight, we should also do that in everybody’s sight, and not somehow in hiding. I go to our archpriest for confession—he’s the most experienced of our clergy—you go to him, too.”

“I’ll go to the archpriest.”

“Right. You go in the first week, and I’ll go in the last—that’s how we’ll divide it up.”

“I agree to that, too.”

The archpriest thoroughly confessed Ryzhov and even boasted that he raked him over the coals, but he did not find any mortal sins in him.

“He confessed,” he said, “to this and that and the other—he’s not quite a saint—but his sins are all simple, human, and he has no especially ill thoughts against the authorities and isn’t thinking of denouncing either you or me for ‘matters of concern.’ And that he ‘doesn’t accept gifts’ comes from harmful fantasy alone.”

“All the same, that means there’s harmful fantasy in him. What does it consist in?”

“He’s read up the Bible.”

“What a fool thing to do!”