Chapter 8 Postmaster

The little official of the fourteenth rank, The earth emperor on the station. Prince Vyazimski ① ① Vyazimsky (1792-1878), Russian poet.These two sentences are quoted from his poem "The Post Station", which Pushkin modified slightly. Who doesn't scold the postmaster?Who doesn't quarrel with them?Who, in a fit of rage, doesn't claim that damned "book of merits and demerits" in which they are vainly charged with accusations of arrogance, obstinacy, and sabotage?Who doesn't think of them as scoundrels despicable to humanity, like the clerks of old, or, at least, like the bandits of the Murom Forest?However, if we are fair and put ourselves in their shoes, then we will be much more lenient in judging them.Who is the postmaster?The scapegoat of the Fourteenth rank, that rank is only enough to withstand blows and kicks, and not always (I implore the reader to use his conscience).What was the role of the man whom Prince Vyazimsky jokingly called the emperor of the land?Isn't it real hard labor?There is no peace day and night.The traveler took out on the postmaster all the suffocation he had pent up during the tedious journey.The weather is bad, the roads are difficult, the coachman is stubborn, the horses are lazy—it's all his fault!Passers-by glared at him as if they were an enemy as soon as they stepped into his shabby dwelling; if he could get rid of an uninvited visitor quickly, that was all right; but what if there happened to be no horses? ……God!He will be scolded until his head is bloody, and the words of threats will follow!In bad weather with rain or snow, he was forced to go from house to house.During snowstorms and cold weather around Epiphany, he slipped into the hallway to temporarily avoid the insults and collisions of the angry passengers, stealing a minute of leisure.When a general arrived, the station master, terrified, allocated him the last two troikas, one of which was an express post.The general went without even saying thank you.Five minutes later—another jingle! ... The military courier arrived again, throwing the posthorse license on the table! ... We just need to appreciate all this, then the anger in our hearts will be quenched by itself, and we can't help but have sincere sympathy for him.A few more words: In the past twenty years, I have traveled all over Russia.I am familiar with almost all the post roads, and I know several generations of coachmen. There are very few postmasters whom I have never dealt with, and there are very few postmasters whose faces I cannot recognize clearly.I plan to organize and publish the interesting materials accumulated during my travel observations in the near future.All I can say at the moment is that most of the opinions of postmasters are unfair.Generally speaking, most of these reviled webmasters are peaceful, helpful by nature, love to socialize with people, do not seek fame, and are not too profit-seeking.Listening to their conversation (too bad a passer-by doesn't care about it), one can really learn a lot of interesting and useful things.As for myself, I have to admit that I would rather listen to their chat than to hear the spiel of some sixth-class civil servant who is on a business trip.

It was not difficult to guess that among these venerable figures of the postmaster there was my friend.In fact, I cherish the memory of one of them.Circumstances have brought me close to him, and I intend to say something about this character to my dear readers. In May, 1816, I was passing through a province on business along a now-disused post road.At that time, I had a humble official position, so I could only take the stagecoach that changed horses at the station, and paid the public fee for the two horses.Therefore, the webmasters are not polite to me, and I often have to fight hard to get what I think I am entitled to.I was young and irritable, and as soon as I saw the stationmaster harness the three horses prepared for me to a certain gentleman's sedan, I resented the stationmaster for his meanness and called him boneless.In the same way, at the governor's banquet, the shrewd and snobbish servants who served the food in order of rank, passed me and ignored it, this kind of thing has long grudged me.The above two things, now I think it is a matter of course.If the prevailing rule: "Small officials respect big officials" is abolished, and another rule is replaced: "Take care of heroes", then what will we actually do?That would be a head-scratcher!Who started serving the servants?Gossip less, let's talk about my story.

It was hot that day.The car was still three versts away from the ×× station, and it started to rain lightly. After a while, the rain poured down, and I was drenched without a single dry yarn left on my body.When I arrived at the station, the first thing I did was to change clothes quickly, and the second thing was to ask for tea. "Hello, Tonya!" cried the station master, "bring the samovar, and some cream." After he said this, a girl about fourteen years old walked out from behind the screen and ran into the front hall.I was amazed by her beauty. "Is she your daughter?" I asked the station master.

"It's a daughter, my lord!" he said, with an air of self-satisfaction. "She has a smart mind and quick hands and feet, just like her mother in the next world." So he started to register my stage horse license.I had nothing to do, so I came to look at the pictures hanging on the wall of his simple but tidy room.These paintings depict a set of stories about "The Prodigal Son Turns Back".In the first one, a venerable old man in a cap and toga sends off an impetuous young man, who hastily accepts the old man's blessing and a money bag.The second, concentrated and poignant, depicts the depravity of the young man: he sits at a table surrounded by a group of drunken friends and cheeky sluts.In the third picture, a young man who has squandered his money is wearing a coarse robe and a three-cornered hat. He is herding pigs and eating in the same trough with a group of pigs. His face is full of sorrow and regret.The last picture depicts him returning to his father: the kind old man wears the same coat and hat, runs out to meet his son, and the prodigal son kneels down; in the distant view, the cook is slaughtering a fat cow, and the elder brother is asking the servant about the cause of this family happiness .Under each painting, I read very appropriate lines of poetry.This set of paintings, as well as the impatiens planted in clay pots, the bed with flower curtains and other household items around me at that time are still fresh in my memory.At this moment, the master's voice, face and smile are still vivid in his memory. He is in his fifties, looks good, and is very energetic. He wears a long dark green uniform with three medals with faded straps on his chest.

I hadn't had time to pay the old coachman when Tonya returned with the samovar.The little goblin took a second look at me and saw that she had won my good impression, and lowered her big blue eyes.I talked to her, and she answered without the slightest bit of coyness, just like a big girl who has seen the world.I offered her father a glass of sorbet, and I poured Tonya a cup of tea.The three of us started chatting, as if we had been acquaintances for a long time. The horses were ready, but I still did not want to leave the postmaster and his daughter.In the end I had to say goodbye to them.Her father wished me safe travels, and her daughter kept walking me into the car.In the hall, I stopped and asked her to let me kiss her, and she said yes...

I can count on my fingers how many kisses I have had since I did this, but none has left such a long, sweet aftertaste in my heart. After a few years, circumstances forced me to take the same post road again, and I was in the same place again.I remembered the old station master's daughter, and my heart burst with joy at the thought of seeing her again.However, I thought to myself that the old station master might have been transferred, that Tonya might have married, and that the idea that the old man was dead or that Tonya was dead had also crossed my mind.With an ominous premonition in my heart, I drove to the ×× station.

The horses stopped beside the cottage in front of the posting station.Walking into the house, I immediately recognized the paintings of "The Prodigal Son Returns".The table and bed were still in place, but the window was empty of flowers, and everything around it looked disorganized and decayed.The station master fell asleep and covered himself with an overcoat.I woke him up as soon as I came in, and he got up... He was Samson Welling, much older, and when he was about to register my stagecoach pass, I looked at his white hair, Wrinkled face, unshaven beard, stooped back—how can I not be surprised that three or four years can turn a strong man into a decaying old man?

"Do you know me?" I asked him, "I've known you for a long time." "Perhaps," he replied, looking gravely, "this is a highway, and there are many travelers passing by." "Is your Tonya all right?" I asked again. The old man frowned. "God knows!" he replied. "So, she's married?" I asked. The old man pretended not to hear me, and continued to read my post-horse license in a low voice. I stopped asking and ordered tea.Curiosity unsettles me, and I hope that a glass of sherbet will free my old acquaintance's tongue.

I read that right, the old man doesn't mind having a drink.I saw that after drinking a glass of sweet wine, his gloomy face brightened.When the second cup was poured, he talked more.He said he remembered me, or pretended to.And I heard a story from his mouth, which moved me so much at that time. "So you know my Tonya?" he began. "Is there anyone who doesn't know her? Oh! Tonya, Tonya! What a girl! Whoever passes here at that time, does not know her?" No one praised her, and no one spoke ill of her. The ladies gave her things, some gave her head scarves, some gave her earrings. The passing gentlemen stopped for excuses, saying that they wanted to have lunch or dinner, but in fact, It's just to look at her a few more times. At that time, no matter how bad-tempered the master is, he will be honest when he sees her, and he will become kind when he talks to me. Sir! Believe it or not: official messengers and military messengers talk to her , talking for half an hour at a stretch! She supports this family: tidy up the house, arrange everything, and make the house run smoothly. And I, an old fool, really can't get tired of watching her, and can't hurt her enough. Don't I love my Tonya, don't I love my child? Don't she have a bad life? Yes, it's a disaster, it's inevitable!"

Then he told me in detail about his pain. Three years ago, on a winter evening, the postmaster was marking out a new booklet, while his daughter was sewing behind a screen, when a troika arrived.A traveler, wearing a furry winter hat, a military overcoat and a cloak, walked in and asked for a horse.And the horses are all gone.Hearing this, the traveler raised his voice and raised his whip.But Tonya, who was used to seeing such scenes, hurried out from behind the screen and asked him pleasantly: Does his husband want something to eat?The usual effect was produced by Tonya's appearance.The traveler's anger subsided, he agreed to wait for the horses and ordered a supper.He took off his wet, shaggy hat, unfastened his cloak, and took off his overcoat, and it turned out that he was a handsome young hussar officer with a black beard.He sat down beside the station master, and chatted pleasantly with him and his daughter.Dinner was served.At this time the horses had already returned, and the stationmaster went to order that the horses need not be fed, and that they should be harnessed to the passenger's carriage immediately.He ordered to come back and see that the young man had fainted on the bench, almost unconscious: he didn't feel well, he had a headache and dizziness, and he couldn't walk... What should I do?The station master gave him his own bed, and decided that if the patient did not recover, he would send someone to City C to call for a doctor tomorrow morning.

The next day the patient was even worse.His servant rode into the city to fetch the doctor.Tonya tied a vinegar-soaked handkerchief on his head, and sat by his bed as a concubine.In the station master's presence the sick man grumbled and hardly said a word, but he poured down two cups of coffee and grumbled while he wanted his lunch.Tonya has always guarded him.From time to time he cried out that he was thirsty, and Tonya brought him a glass of lemonade which she had made herself.The patient just wet his lips, and every time he handed back the cup, he stretched out his limp hand and squeezed Dong Niusha's little hand to express his gratitude.The doctor came before lunch, took the patient's pulse, talked to him for a while in German, and then announced in Russian that the patient only needed to be taken care of, and in two or three days he would be on his way.The hussars paid him twenty-five rubles for his visit and took him to dinner.The doctor didn't refuse.The two of them had a big appetite, drank a bottle of wine, and then broke up, both sides were proud. ①Donia's pet name. Another day passed, and the hussar was fully recovered.He was very happy, and he kept on having fun, whether he was playing tricks on Tonya, or being naughty with the station master, or he was whistling himself, chatting with passing guests, and helping to register their stage horse licenses in the register.In this way he won the favor of the honest and honest station master, who on the third morning was reluctant to part with the lovable young man.It was Sunday, and Tonya made arrangements to go to her prayers.The hussars' carriages were harnessed.He bid farewell to the station master, generously paid for board and lodging, and then bid farewell to Tonya. He offered to send him to the church at the entrance of the village, but Tonya hesitated... "What are you afraid of?" said her father, "Your Excellency is not a wolf and will not devour you. Ride with him to church! " Dunya got into the cart and sat down beside the hussars, the servant jumped onto the carriage, and the coachman shouted, and the horses set off. The poor postmaster is so confused, how could he allow his Tonya to ride with the hussars?How could he be so ignorant, why didn't his brain work at that time?Before half an hour had passed, his heart ached, he felt so aching, and he was so distraught that he couldn't bear it anymore, and went to church.When he got there, he saw that everyone had dispersed, and there was no Tonya, not in the courtyard, not at the door of the church.He hurried into the church, but saw the priest coming down from the altar, the deacon putting out the candles, and two old women praying in the corner.Tonya was still missing!It took the poor father all his strength to make up his mind to ask the deacon: Has she come to pray?The deacon replied: No.The station master walked home, half dead.There was only a glimmer of hope left: Tonya, being too young to do anything, might slip away to the next stop, to be a guest at her godmother's, on her own initiative.Worried, he waited for the return of the troika (the one he had allowed her to ride in!). At dusk the coachman returned, very drunk, with the fatal news: stood and went on, with the hussars." The old man couldn't bear this blow.He slumped down on the bed—the same bed where the young kidnapper slept last night.At this moment, the station master recalled all kinds of situations and figured out that the illness was fake.The poor man had a terrible fever.He was sent to C City for medical treatment, and another person was transferred to temporarily act as his position.The same doctor who had given the hussar his pulse was now treating him.He told the station master that the young man was not sick at all, and he had already guessed that this person had bad intentions, but he dared not say anything, for fear of being whipped.Whether the German told the truth or boasted of his foresight, his words did not at all comfort the poor patient.As soon as he recovered from his illness, the postmaster asked the postmaster of C City for two months' leave, and without telling anyone about his plan, he went out on foot to look for his daughter.He learned from the stagecoach certificate that Cavalry Captain Minsky was leaving for Petersburg from Smolensk.The coachman who sent Minsky away said that Tonya was crying all the way, but she seemed to be willing. "Perhaps," thought the Station Master to himself, "I shall bring home my lost lamb." With a glimmer of hope, he went to Petersburg, settled in the quarters of the Izmanovsky regiment, with his old colleague, an ex-commissioned officer, and immediately began looking for his daughter.Soon he found out that Cavalry Captain Minsky was staying at the Germont Hotel in Petersburg.The station master decided to go to him. One morning he walked into Minsky's vestibule and asked to be notified: a veteran wanted to see him.The orderly said, while polishing his lasted boots, that the master was sleeping and would not be visiting before eleven o'clock.The station master went away, and returned at the appointed hour.Minsky himself came out to meet him in his dressing gown and scarlet cap. "What, old man? What do you want?" he asked the station master. The old man's heart was pounding, his tears welled up, his voice trembled, and he could only utter one sentence: "My lord!... Please do good deeds!..." Minsky glanced at him quickly, blushed, grabbed his hand and led him into the study, and locked the door behind him. "My lord!" went on the stationmaster, "it's hard to get over it, at least give me back poor Tonya! You've had enough of her, don't ruin her!" "You can't undo what I have done," said the young man, looking embarrassed. "I have done wrong before you, and I would like to beg your pardon. But you can't make me leave Tonya. She Will be happy, I swear to you. What do you want her for? She loves me, she's tired of her former surroundings. Neither you nor she—you don't forget that it happened." Then, stuffing something in the stationmaster's cuff, he opened the door, and the stationmaster himself found himself in the street somehow. He was in a daze, and stood still for a long time, and then he realized that there was a ball of paper stuffed in his cuff.He took it out and unfolded it, but it turned out to be several crumpled five- and ten-rouble notes.Tears welled up in his eyes again, tears of anger!He squeezed the banknotes into a ball, threw them on the ground, stepped on them hard with his heels, and went angrily... walked a few steps, stopped, thought for a while... turned around again...but the banknotes were gone.A well-dressed young man saw him, jumped into the carriage, sat down, and shouted to the coachman: "Go!" The station master did not go after him.He decided to go back to his post, but he thought he and poor Tonya must at least see each other again before leaving.Two days later he went to Minsky again on this account.But this time the orderly told him sternly that the master would not see anyone; he pushed him out of the antechamber with his chest, and slammed the door so hard that it almost touched his nose.The old man stands, stands—must go! At dusk that day, he prayed in the Cathedral of Salvation and walked along Fansha Street.Suddenly, a gorgeous car sped by, and the station master recognized Minsky in the car.The limousine stopped before the gate of a three-story building, and the hussars got out and ran up the steps.A lucky thought flashed in the head of the station.He turned and went up to the coachman. "Whose carriage is this, brother?" he asked. "Isn't it Minsky's?" "Exactly," replied the coachman, "what do you want?" "Well, your master ordered me to send a note to his Tonya. But I don't remember where his Tonya lives. " "It's right here, on the second floor. But your note came late, man! Now the master himself is with her." "Never mind," said the Station Master, with a palpitation in his heart, "thank you for your advice, but I have my business to attend to." Having said this, he went up the stairs. The door is closed.He rang the doorbell and waited for a few seconds with a heavy heart.The key rang and the door opened to him. "Does Avdotia Samsonovna live here?" "Here," answered the young maid, "what do you want from him?" The station master went into the living room without answering. "No! No!" cried the maid from behind. "Avdotia Samsonovna has a visitor." But the station master didn't listen to her and kept walking.It was very dark in the first two rooms, and there was a light in the third room.He walked to the open door and stopped.The room was richly furnished, and Minsky sat lost in thought.Donia, dressed in jewels and fashion, sat sideways on the arm of the Minsky armchair, looking like an English knight in the saddle.She gazed at Minsky affectionately, twirling a strand of his black curly hair around her slender fingers with gleaming rings.Poor old webmaster!He had never seen his daughter so beautiful.He couldn't help admiring her from the side. "Who is it?" she asked without looking up. He remained silent.Dunya raised her head without hearing an answer... She uttered a cry and fell on the carpet.Minsky was startled, and bent down to pick her up. Suddenly, seeing the old station master standing at the door, he put Dunia down and walked towards the old man, threatening and trembling. "What are you going to do?" he said to the station master, gnashing his teeth. "Why do you keep pestering me? You bandit! Maybe, you want to kill me? Get out! Get out!" A strong hand seized the old man's waist With a push of the collar, he was on the stairs. The old man returned to his residence.His friend told him to file a complaint.However, the old man thought about it, waved his hand, and decided to swallow his anger and forget it.Two days later he returned to his little station from Petersburg, and resumed his old business. "It's been three years now," he said at last, "and I've lost Tonya, and I've been living alone, without a word of her, not a word of her. She's alive, or she's dead, God knows! Anything can happen. This This kind of girl, she is not the first, nor is she the last. The prodigal son was abducted, raised for a while and then thrown away. There are many such silly girls in Petersburg. The paupers went to sweep the streets together. Sometimes I think that my Tonya may have fallen. Thinking of this, I can't help but feel sad, and I hope she dies soon..." The above is the story told by my friend, the old webmaster.When telling this story, his throat choked several times and he couldn't cry.He wiped away the tears with the hem of his jacket sadly, like the warm-hearted Derenditch in Dmitriev's ballad.Part of the reason for his tears was the sherbet, which he downed five times.However, in any case, these tears moved me so strongly that I couldn't forget the old station master for a long time, and made me think about poor Tonya for a long time... Not long ago, I passed by the small place of ×× again.I remembered my friend.I found out that the station he managed had been disbanded.I asked: "Is the old webmaster still alive?" No one could answer for sure.I decided to visit my familiar old place, so I rented some horses and went to H Village. ① Dimitriev (1780-1837), Russian poet.The epic poem mentioned here is his "Retired Cavalry Master". It was late autumn.Gray clouds filled the sky.The cold wind blows from the harvested fields, and the yellow and red leaves of the branches are fluttering.It was almost sunset as we entered the village, and I parked next to the coach house.A fat woman came out of the hall (where poor Tonya once kissed me) and she answered my question: The old station master has been dead for nearly a year, and a brewer lives in his old house, She is the man's wife.I felt that I had made my trip in vain, and regretted the seven rubles I had spent in vain. "How did he die?" I asked the winemaker's wife. "Drunk to death, my lord!" "Where is he buried?" "It's on the edge of the village, next to his wife's grave." "Will you take me to his grave to have a look?" "Why not? Hey! Vanka! You've had enough fun with the cat, come! Take the gentleman to the cemetery and show him the grave of the station master." When she said this, a ragged red-haired one-eyed kid ran up to me, and he immediately took me to the cemetery. "Do you know the old station master who passed away?" I asked him on the way. "Why don't you know? He taught me to sharpen the whistle. Sometimes he came out from the hotel (I hope he goes to heaven early!) We followed behind him and called: Grandpa! Grandpa! Give some walnuts! He Just give us the walnuts. He's always playing with us." "Do the passing passengers remember him?" "There are fewer tourists now. The jury turns here sometimes, but he never asks about the dead. There was a lady who came in the summer, and she asked about the old station master, and she also went to the graveyard." "What about your wife?" I asked curiously. "A very pretty lady," answered the boy. "She came in a six-horse cart, with three young masters, a nurse, and a pug. She was told that when the old station master died, she Weeping, she said to her little boy, "You sit still, and I will come as soon as I go to the grave. I went up and offered to show her the way, but the wife said, "I know the way myself. She also gave me a five-copeck Silver coins!--what a lady! . . . " When we arrived at the cemetery, it was a bare place with no fence, many crosses, and no trees.Never in my life have I seen such a bleak cemetery. " "This is the grave of the old station master," the child said to me, and he jumped onto a pile of sand, on which a black cross was buried, and a bronze holy image was nailed to it. "Has the lady been here too?" I asked. "Come," Vanka replied, "I watched her from a distance. She fell down and lay there for a long time. Then she went back to the village, called the priest, gave him the money, and drove away. She returned the money." A nickel for me!—what a lady!" I also gave the boy five kopecks, and I no longer regret the trip, nor the seven rubles I spent.