The Shadow of Great Britain

Chapter 1318: Chapter 178: Imperial Envoy (Part 2)

However, such a brief experience was constantly boasted about by the old man - I used to write memorials to the throne in the office near the Winter Palace!

Though everyone knew in their hearts this old coot was just glorifying himself, they still had to smile and nod along.

The reason being no other than the connections this old man had in the provincial city!

It was said that the secretary of the Provincial Police Chief had once worked with him in the Caucasus, and the two shared a life-and-death friendship.

Back then, when the secretary was nearly captured by the Caucasus Mountain People while hunting, if it hadn’t been for the old squire carrying his wounded comrade through miles of snowy mountain roads, where would the secretary be now?

When Mayor Bakarjin heard the old squire speak, he could only swallow his anger, daring only to complain inwardly: ”What nonsense is all this about the big picture! To put it plainly, you just want to protect your son-in-law, the Police Chief! Even when such a big deal like the Imperial Envoy’s undercover visit happens, you dare not attend the meeting. I think you’ve really gone too far!”

But cursing in his heart was one thing, the mayor still had to smile and explain to the old squire.

To show respect, he feigned sincerity and addressed him by his full name: ”Grigory Nikiforovich Zakharov, forgive my impatience. You know, I am not usually such a rude person, but this is a significant matter. We are all working for His Majesty the Tsar, and the Imperial Envoy carries the Emperor’s decree. If we neglect him, it would be a crime of deceiving the emperor! Everyone knows, you wrote decrees for Emperor Alexander, but now it’s Emperor Nicholas’ era, and he is not as mild as his brother. The Emperor especially cannot tolerate those who pretend to carry out his decrees while actually defying them.”

The mayor’s words were sharp and ready to impose the severe charge of deceiving the emperor onto the old squire at any moment.

But the old squire was someone who had crawled and fought his way through the Russian officialdom for decades; how could he be scared by the mayor’s intimidation like an ordinary peasant?

He didn’t mention any faults of his son-in-law, but instead began to speak of his son-in-law’s merits: ”The Emperor cannot tolerate a speck of sand in his eyes, of course, I know this well. But Ivan Mikhailovich couldn’t attend the meeting today solely because he was carrying out duties for His Majesty! Yesterday, he braved the wind and snow to go out to the countryside to collect taxes for His Majesty. Despite such horrible weather, with the snow on the road a foot deep, he still went out without a single complaint, saying he was working for the country, enduring hardships was what he should do. Now my son-in-law might be a bit dull, but as for his loyalty to His Majesty the Tsar, even a hunting dog might not match him.”

The city judge standing by was unwilling to buy what the old squire was selling, and he debunked: ”Oh yes, if it were any ordinary good weather day, our Ivan Mikhailovich wouldn’t be so quick on his feet! Usually, when told to go to the countryside to collect taxes, he’d just shout: ’You dog-born poor civil servants, you don’t save money, all you know is drinking and gambling!’ But when it came to gambling and losing himself, he’d just snort: ’Alright then, got no choice, it’s off to the countryside to collect the head tax today.’

But when he really got to the countryside, the head tax mostly couldn’t be collected, yet the gambling debts were covered, along with food for the whole family. Putting on that mighty police uniform, standing at the village entrance, he’d gather all the villagers and then fake announce: ’Villagers, His Majesty needs money urgently, everyone contribute and quickly pay up your head tax.’

After saying this, he would turn around and hide inside a small wooden house at the village entrance, occasionally glancing out the window, seeing the farmers standing there scratching their heads. After waiting a while, you’d see them erupt into chaos, suddenly all talking at once, waving their arms as they spoke, this commotion going on for about an hour. And our Ivan Mikhailovich?

He, of course, simply sits quietly inside the house, smoking his pipe, sipping on some alcohol, secretly laughing, and then sends a rural cop to deliver a message: you all have spoken enough, the master is angry now! At this, the farmers burst into an even bigger uproar than before, and then you’d see them start drawing lots, and the matter of tax collection got some traction. Finally, they decided to plead with the jury, asking: Can you, for God’s sake, postpone it until they could earn some money from labor?

Our Ivan Mikhailovich then would have to feign some compassion, saying: ’Postponing is certainly not a problem, but, sigh... villagers, how can I report back to His Majesty? You must understand, he urgently needs the money now, could you all, even for a moment, empathize with me, and with yourselves as officers.’

The farmers, with their soft ears, upon hearing this plea again requested just three weeks postponement, giving him several deep bows. Seeing there’s hope, Ivan Mikhailovich then began talking about his own difficulties, saying things like: ’It’s just about giving a few days of grace, what can’t be postponed? But think about the kind of responsibility I’d be putting on myself before the officer, what kind of punishment or blame I’d have to bear, consider that.’

So the farmers gathered to discuss again, after a long time they each went back home. After waiting an hour or two, Ivan Mikhailovich eventually received the reward he coaxed out of them, ten kopecks each, totaling four hundred rubles from the four thousand people in our whole village. If luck was on their side, he might even collect a bit more, and this trip to the countryside would earn him more than his annual salary. I remember, his Police Chief’s yearly salary was only about 300 rubles, right?”