The inspector put up at the inn. He 'partook of' two glasses of tea, then walked off to the village elder's hut near which a group of de- faulters awaited him.
Despite his youth—he was not much over thirty—the 'elder', Antip Sedelnikov, was strict and always backed up the c.uthorities, though poor and irreguiar with his own tax payments. He obviously enjoyed being elder and liked the sense of power, which he could only display by severity. He was feared and heeded at village meetings. He was known to pounce on a drunk in the street or near the inn, tie his arms behind him and shove him in the lock-up. He had once even put Gran inside for twenty-four hours for swearing when attending a meeting in place of Osip. Never having lived in a town or read a book, he had somehow picked up a stock of long words and liked to usc them in conversation, for which he was respected, if not always understood.
When Osip went into the elder's hut with his tax-book, the in- spector, a lean old man with long grey whiskers, wearing a grey tunic, was sitting at a table in the comer opposite the stove making notes. The hut was clean and pictures cut out of magazines lent variety to the walls. In the most prominent place near the icons hung a portrait of Alexander ofBattenberg, one-time Prince of Bulgaria. Antip Sedcl- nikov stood by the table with folded arms.
'This one owes a hundred and nineteen roubles, sir,' he said when Osip's turn came. 'He paid a rouble before Easter, but not a copeck smce/
The inspector looked up at Osip. 'Why is that, my man?'
'Don't be too hard on us, si'r, for God's sake,' began Osip in a great pother. 'Let me speak, sir. Last year the squire from Lyutoretsk says, "0sip," he says, "seU me your hay . . . " says he. "Y ou sell it. " We11, why not? I had a couple of tons to seU that the women had mown down on the meadow. .. . Well, we agreed on the price. . .. AU nice and above board. . ..'
He complained of the elder and kept turning to the other peasants as if calling them to wimess. His face was red and sweaty and his eyes were sharp and vicious.
'I don't know why you tell me al this,' said the inspector. 'I'm asking you. .. . I'm asking you why you don't pay your arrears, man. None of you pay up. Think I'm going to take the blame?'
'I can't help it.'
'These remarks haven't got no consequence, sir,' said the elder. 'ActuaUy them Chikildeyevs are a bit impecunious like, but if you care to ask the others, you'll find it's all due to vodka and gcneral mis- behaviour. They're just ignorant.'
The inspector made a note. Quietly and evenly, as if asking for a drink of water, he told Osip to clear out.
He left soon after, coughing as he got into his cheap carriage. Even the set of his long, thin back showed that he had forgotten Osip, the elder and the Zhukovo arrears, and was thinking of his own affairs.
Before he had gone a mile Antip Sedelnikov was taking the samovar from the Chikildeyevs' hut, followed by Gran, shrieking at thc top of her voice, 'You shan't have it! You shan't have it, dami you.'
He walked swiftly with long strides while she panted after him, stumbling, bcnt double, fiirious. Her kerchief had slipped onto her shoulders and her grey hair with its greenish tinge streamed in the brecze. All at once she paused.
'Christian, God-fearing people! Friends, we've been wronged,' she shouted louder than ever in a sort of sobbing chant and started beating her breast, as if taking part in a real peasants' revolt. 'They done iis wrong, mates! Stick up for us, dear friends!'
'Look here, Gran,' said the elder sternly. 'Do show some sense.'
Life was very dull in the Chikildeyevs' hut without a samovar. There was something degrading and insulting about this deprivation, as if the hut had been dishonoured. Better if the elder had gone off with the table or all the benches and pots—the place would have seemed less empty. Gran shrieked, Marya wept and the little girls took their cue from her and wept too. The old man felt guilty and sat silent in the corner with a hang-dog look.
Nicholas did not say anything either. Gran was fond of him and pitied him, but now she forgot her pity and suddenly stormed at him with reproaches and abuse, thrusting her fists right under his nose. It was all his fault, she shouted. And reaUy, why had he sent them so little money after boasting in his letters ofgetting fifty roubles a month at the Slav Fair? Why had he come here—with his family and all? And if he died how would they pay for his funeral?
Nicholas, Olga and Sasha looked utterly ^^erable.
The old man cleared his throat, took his cap and went to see the elder. It was already growing dark. Antip Sedelnikov was soldering near his stove, pufng out his cheeks. The place was ful of fumes. His scraggy, unwashed children, no better than the Chikildeyevs', were messing about on the floor, and his wife—ugly, freckled, wid:t a bulging stomach—was winding silk. It was a wretched and ^^erable family except for jaunty, handsome Antip. Five samovars stood in a row on a bench.
The old man said a prayer to the portrait of Prince Battenberg.
'Antip,' said he, 'don't be too hard on us, for God's sake, and give us back our samovar. Have a heart!'
'Bring three roubles and you can have it.'
'What a hope!'
Antip puffed out his cheeks and the flame droned and hissed, glinting on the samovars. The old man twisted his cap and thought for a moment.
'You give it back,' he said.
The swarthy elder looked qiiitc black, like a sore of sorcerer. He turned to Osip.
'It all dcpends on the magistrate,' he said rapidly and severely. 'You can state your grounds for dissatisfaction verbally or in writing at the administrative session on the twenty-sixth of the month.'
It meant nothing to Osip, but hc left it at that and went home.
About ten days later the inspector came again, stayed about an hour and left. The weather was cold and windy at the time. The river had frozen long ago, but there was still no snow and everyone was fed up because the roads were impassable.
Late one Sunday afternoon Osip's neighbours called for a chat. They sat in the dark, as it would have been sinful to work and the lamp was not lit. Therc were a few rather unpleasant bits of news. Two or three households had had hens seized for tax arrcars. They had been taken to the local offices where they had died because no one fed them. Sheep had also been seized, carted oflf with their legs tied together and shifted from one cart to another at every village. One of them had died. Now they were arguing about whose fault it was.
'The council's,' said Osip. 'Who else?'
'It's the council. Stands to reason.'
The council got the blame for everything-;-for tax arrears, abuses generally and crop failures, though none of them knew what a council was. This went back to the time when some rich peasants, with workshops, stores and inns of their own, had done a spell on the council, which had left them with a grudge against it and a habit of cursing it in their workshops and inns.
They talked of the snow that God had not sent them. There was firewood to cart, but you could not drive or walk for the bumps in the road. Fifteen or twenty years ago and earlier the local small talk had been much more amusing. In those days every old man had looked as though he had some secret, something that he knew about and was expecting. They talked of a charter with a gold seal, land partition, new territories, buried treasure. And they were always hinting at something. But now the villagers had no secrets, their whole life was an open book for anyone to read, and all they could talk about was poverty, catde feed and the fact that there had been no snow.
They said nothing for a while. Then they remembered about the hens and sheep, and went on arguing about whose fault it was.
'The coimcil's,' said Osip lugubriously. 'Who else?'
VIII
The parish church was about four miles away in Kosogorovo and the peasants only went there when they had to, for christenings, weddings or funerals. For ordinary worship they just crossed the river. On fine Sundays and saints' days the girls dressed up and went to service in a body, and it was a cheering sight to see them cross the meadow in their red, yellow and green dresses. In bad weather they all stayed at home. They went to pre-communion services in the parish church. Those who had not prepared themselves for communion in Lent were charged fifteen copecks each by the parish priest when he went round the huts with the cross at Easter.