PORRIDGE.
ByNIKOLAI USPÈNSKY.
ByNIKOLAI USPÈNSKY.
ByNIKOLAI USPÈNSKY.
A cart drove in at the gate of a provincial town with a village deacon[18]sitting in it, and in front, driving, his legs dangling over the shafts, a peasant in akaftan.[19]
“Well now, sir, who’s above the bishop?” the driver was asking.
“Above the bishop is the archbishop,”[20]answered the deacon. “It is all arranged on the model of the celestial hierarchy, that I was telling you about in the posting station.”
“And is there any sort of man above the governor?”
“Of course there is.... Look here, Yeremèi; when we get to the inn, I’ll go into the Consistorium, and you order dinner for yourself here; there is bread in the bag, so you needn’t get any here.”
“As your honour likes; of course I’ll eat our own bread, as if I didn’t know! ’Tis all the same to me. How much oats shall I take? I doubt ’tis terrible dear in these parts?”
“Take half a measure, not more; everything’s dear hereabouts. That’s why it’s so dear to live in the town.”...
“Lord bless you, yes, sir, ’tis all so dear, so dear, that it is!”
When they reached the posting inn the deacon put on his ecclesiastical dress, and went to the Consistorium; the peasant, meanwhile, went straight into the kitchen, where the dinner was cooking.
On the fire was a huge cauldron filled with pieces of beef, boiling, and emitting clouds of steam; a workman in a cotton shirt was ranging on a shelf steaming wheaten loaves, and a woman was turning a whole leg of veal on the spit, and sucking her fingers between whiles.
The peasant held his breath as he looked.
Meanwhile there came into the kitchen several travelling merchants and well-to-do sledge-drivers in fur coats; they were smoking their pipes and talking about the forthcoming dinner.
At last the dinner was ready; Yeremèi sat down to table with the travellers.
During the dinner (which lasted for three hours) Yeremèi experienced a misty sensation in the head, and occasionally a pain in the stomach; but he continued eating just the same, though he still remembered the deacon.
On rising from table he sighed profoundly, said grace with peculiar fervour, and lay down on a bench, but he could not sleep. He kept thinking of how the deacon would appear before him, and say, “Well, have you had your dinner? How much is it?”...
Yeremèi began to regret that he had not left table directly after theshchi(cabbage soup).
Two hours later the deacon arrived. He called the peasant into the other room and began—
“Well, Yeremèi, it’s time to go home. God be thanked, I have settled my business up all right, and had a bite of something at a friend’s house. You’ve had dinner, I suppose?”
The peasant stood in the middle of the room, looking at the floor.
“Have you had dinner or not?” said the deacon, standing with the abacus[21]in his hand.
“Oh, ay, I had my dinner, ... only ’tis something ... if I hadn’t eaten it....”
“What do you mean?”
The peasant held his tongue.
“I don’t understand; what did you have? Can’t you tell me? I’ve got to pay the bill, you know. Well, what was there? I suppose you had something to drink?”
“Oh, ay, something to drink, I had.”
“What was it—cider?” And the deacon lifted his hand to mark it off.
“Ay, sir, there was cider, of course there was....”
“Plain cider? No, something in it, I dare say?”
“Ay, sir, ... there was cider....”
“Well, what else did they give you? Speak up, man! Why, we shall stand here all day!... What else was there?”
“Ah ... well, sir, there was a kind of quaking jelly stuff, ... sort of sloppy mess it was, ... I don’t rightly know....”
“Doesn’t matter to me whether it was sloppy or not; I shall have to pay for it just the same. Well, and after the jelly what? Shchi, no doubt. Did you eat shchi?”
“Oh, ay, I ate it up, sartain sure....”
“Well, then?”
“Only, you see, sir, ’tis almost as if I hadn’t eaten it, like ...”
The deacon put on a stern expression and continued gravely—
“Well, and what did you have with the shchi? I supposethere was some kind of soup-meat with it, wasn’t there?”
“Ay, ay, there were a wee bit, for sure ... but ’twas terrible fat—terrible fat, it was....”
“What’s that to me? You ate it, I doubt, even if it was fat? Well, that’s all, I suppose. Or perhaps you had porridge too?”
“No, there was something else ... the porridge come arter that....”
“What then? Some kind of soup? Yes?”
“Ay, ay, sir! That’s just it ... and all sorts of trotter things ... mucky stuff it was....”
The peasant scratched his head.
“Trotters! Well, you ate them, I suppose?”
“Ah ... sir! ’Twas the weest bit I ate ... tru-ly!”
“What—the—deucedo you think any one careshow muchyou ate? Well, get on; porridge now, is it?”
Silence.
“There can’t have been anythingmore? Something with the porridge, was it?”
“Ay, sir, seems like as if there was something else besides the porridge.”
“Pudding, was it?”
“Something of that kind.”
“And with what was the pudding served?”
“Eh, sir, they always do put that fancy bread ... cake stuff ... you know, with pudding, but it was right old and hard, it were like a stone....”
“H’m! and what did you have with the porridge?”
“Eh, no, the porridge come arter that....”
“After what?”
“Ah ... fecks, sir, I don’t rightly know ... kind of mess ... the Lord knows what....”
“Well, what kind of thing?
“THE PEASANT SCRATCHED HIS HEAD.”
“THE PEASANT SCRATCHED HIS HEAD.”
“THE PEASANT SCRATCHED HIS HEAD.”
The peasant began to help himself out by gesticulating with his hands.
“You know, sir, kind of ... veal, isn’t? Veal ... something of that like.... All white and flabby....”
“Con ... found the blockhead! And you gobbled that up too, did you?”
“Of course, ... but ’twas all burnt to a chip....”
“Never mind that!... Well,isthat all, at last?”
Silence.
“When are we coming to that porridge, I’d like to know?”
“The porridge come arter that.”
“After what?”
Silence once more.
“Can’t you speak?”
“Eh-h! There was a turkey, or something of that like ... I don’t rightly mind what it was ... or maybe the mutton came first....”
“Anything else?”
“There was honey; only ’twas in the comb....”
“My stars! The landlord’ll bring me in a fine bill for that! Is that all? Ah, no, the porridge!”
“No, no, the porridge come arter that.”
The deacon flung down the abacus, and, plunging his hands into his pockets, began to pace the room. The peasant moved away to the corner, so as not to disturb him.
Presently the innkeeper came in.
“Landlord,” said the deacon, “what do I owe you for my man’s dinner?”
“He had everything on the bill of fare, didn’t he?”
“Well ... I suppose he did.”
“Then it comes to a silver rouble.”
“Can’t you make it a bit less.”
“No, no, little father, we never bargain; we make all ourlittle profit off the oats; the dinners cost us what we get for them.”
The deacon discontentedly took a silver rouble out of his pocket. Yeremèi, meanwhile, stood in the corner, equally discontented.
They had passed the town boundaries and got out into the open country two versts back, but the deacon remained perfectly silent. Yeremèi, anxious to know whether his master was still angry with him, ventured a question—
“And is there any kind of body grander than the archbishop?”
The deacon turned his head away in silence.