The Enchanted Wanderer and Other Stories

And with that he placed his hand on the governor’s back, slowly bent him into a full bow, released him again, and stood at attention.

XII

The eyewitness who passed on this anecdotal story of the Soligalich eccentric said nothing about how the people and authorities who were in the church then took it. All that is known is that no one had the courage to defend the bent-down governor and stop Ryzhov’s dauntless hand, but of Lanskoy he communicated something more detailed. Sergei Stepanovich did not give the least occasion for prolonging the disorder, but, on the contrary, “exchanged his proud haughtiness for intelligent self-control.” He did not cut Alexander Afanasyevich short, or even say a word to him, but crossed himself and, turning around, bowed to all the people, and after that quickly left and headed for the quarters that had been prepared for him.

There Lanskoy received the officials—both crown and elected—and those of them who seemed deserving of greater trust he questioned about Ryzhov: what sort of man he was and how he was tolerated in society.

“He’s our Constable Ryzhov,” the headman answered him.

“He’s … mad, probably?”

“Not at all: he’s just always like that.”

“But why keep somebody like that in service?”

“He’s good at it.”

“An insolent man.”

“The meekest of the meek: if a superior sits on his neck, he reasons, ‘Then he’s got to be carried,’ and carry him he does, only he’s read up the Bible and it’s deranged him.”

“What you say is absurd: the Bible is a divine book.”

“That’s exactly right, only it’s not suitable reading matter for everybody: monks get into a wild passion over it, and worldly people have their wits addled.”

“What nonsense!” Lanskoy objected and went on questioning:

“And how is he in the matter of bribes: moderate?”

“Good heavens,” said the headman, “he doesn’t take anything at all …”

The governor’s disbelief grew still more.

“That,” he said, “I won’t believe for a moment.”

“No, he really doesn’t take bribes.”

“In that case,” he says, “what does he live on?”

“He lives on his salary.”

“You’re telling me a lot of rubbish: there’s no such man in all Russia.”

“Right,” he replies, “there isn’t; but one has turned up among us.”

“And how much does he get as a salary?”

“Ten roubles a month.”

“Why,” he says, “you couldn’t keep a sheep on that.”

“It really is tricky to live on it,” he says, “but he does.”

“But if it’s impossible for everybody, how does he manage it?”

“He’s read up the Bible.”

“Very well, so ‘he’s read up the Bible,’ but what does he eat?”

“Bread and water.”

And here the headman told about how Ryzhov was in all his doings.

“Then this is quite a remarkable man!” Lanskoy exclaimed and asked that Ryzhov be summoned to him.

Alexander Afanasyevich appeared and stood by the doorpost, in accordance with subordination.

“Where are you from?” Lanskoy asked him.

“I was born here, on Nizhnaya Street,” replied Ryzhov.

“And where were you brought up?”

“I had no upbringing … I grew up with my mother. She baked pies.”

“Did you study anywhere?”

“With the scribe.”

“What is your confession?”

“Christian.”

“You act very strangely.”

“Not that I notice: each of us finds strange what’s not peculiar to him.”

Lanskoy thought that this was a challenging, impudent allusion, and, glancing sternly at Ryzhov, he asked sharply:

“Do you belong to some sort of sect?”

“There are no sects here: I go to the cathedral.”

“Do you confess?”

“I confess to God before the archpriest.”

“Do you have a family?”

“A wife and a son.”

“Do you receive a small salary?”

The never-laughing Ryzhov smiled.

“I get ten roubles a month,” he said, “but I don’t know if that’s big or small.”

“It’s not big.”

“Report to the sovereign that for a wicked servant it’s little.”²²

“And for a faithful one?”

“It’s enough.”

“They say you don’t profit from your position?”

Ryzhov looked at him and said nothing.

“Tell me in all conscience: can that really be so?”

“And why can’t it be?”

“You have very small means.”

“If you have great self-control, you can get by on small means.”

“But why don’t you ask for another post?”

“And who’s going to fill this one?”

“Somebody else.”

“Will he manage better than I do?”

Now it was Lanskoy who smiled: the constable greatly interested his soul, which was no stranger to warmth.

“Listen,” he said, “you’re an odd fellow; I beg you to sit down.”

Ryzhov sat down vis-à-vis the “haughty” one.

“They say you’re an expert on the Bible?”

“I read it as much as time permits, and advise you to do the same.”

“Very well; but … allow me to assure you that you may speak with me quite candidly and in all truth.”

“Lying is forbidden by the commandments—I’m not going to lie.”

“Very well. Do you respect the authorities?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Why not?”

“They’re lazy, greedy, and duplicitous towards the throne,” replied Ryzhov.

“Yes, you are candid. Thank you. Do you also prophesy?”

“No. But I conclude what clearly follows from the Bible.”

“Could you show me at least one of your conclusions?”

Ryzhov replied that he could—and at once fetched a whole sheaf of papers with the inscription Singlemind.