tche." [The word, though customarily
used for cemetery, means, primarily, a treasure-house.] Here he nudged
me with his elbow--continuing, thereafter, more softly: "In a
kladbisiche one might reasonably look for kladi, for treasures of
intellect and enlightenment. Yet what do we find? Only that which is
offensive and insulting. All of us does it insult, for thereby is an
insult paid to all who, in life, are bearing still their 'cross and
burden.' You too will, one day, be insulted by the system, even as
shall I. Do you understand? I repeat, 'their cross and burden'--the
sense of the words being that, life being hard and difficult, we ought
to honour none but those who STILL are bearing their trials, or bearing
trials for you and me. Now, THESE folk here have ceased to possess
consciousness."

Each time that the old man waved his hat in his excitement, its small
shadow, bird-like, flew along the narrow path, and over the cross, and,
finally, disappeared in the direction of the town.

Next, distending his ruddy cheeks, twitching his moustache, and
regarding me covertly out of boylike eyes, the Lieutenant resumed:

"Probably you are thinking, 'The man with whom I have to deal is old
and half-witted.' But no, young fellow; that is not so, for long before
YOUR time had I taken the measure of life. Regard these memorials. ARE
they memorials? For what do they commemorate as concerns you and
myself? They commemorate, in that respect, nothing. No, they are not
memorials; they are merely passports or testimonials conferred upon
itself by human stupidity. Under a given cross there may lie a Maria,
and under another one a Daria, or an Alexei, or an Evsei, or someone
else--all 'servants of God,' but not otherwise particularised. An
outrage this, sir! For in this place folk who have lived their
difficult portion of life on earth are seen robbed of that record of
their existences, which ought to have been preserved for your and my
instruction. Yes, A DESCRIPTION OF THE LIFE LIVED BY A MAN is what
matters. A tomb might then become even more interesting than a novel.
Do you follow me?"

"Not altogether," I rejoined.

He heaved a very audible sigh.

"It should be easy enough," was his remark. "To begin with, I am NOT a
'servant of God.' Rather, I am a man intelligently, of set purpose,
keeping God's holy commandments so far as lies within my power. And no
one, not even God, has any right to demand of me more than I can give.
Tha