"Sexton, parson, and his clerk Thought the smacking quite a lark. Then the beadle said, 'By hell, Nikifor, you smack right well.'" "Nikifor, you smack right well!" answered _pianissimo_ in complete harmony the hastily improvised choir of drunken officers, seconded by Osadchi's softly rumbling bass voice. Viätkin conducted the singing, standing on a table in the middle of the room, whilst stretching his arms in an attitude of benediction over the heads of the "congregation." Now his eyes flashed terrifying glances of threat and condemnation; at another time they were raised to heaven with a languishing expression of infinite beatitude; then he hissed with rage at those who sang out of tune; again he stopped in time by a scarcely perceptible _tremolo_ of the palm of his hand a run to a misplaced _crescendo_. "Staff-Captain Lieschtschenko, you're singing damnably. Damn it, what a wretched ear!" roared Osadchi. "Keep quiet in the room, gentlemen. No noise, please, when there's singing." "Once on a time a farmer so rich-- Who used to like iced punch"-- continued Viätkin, in his improvised service of the Church. His eyes, however, now began to smart dreadfully from the dense tobacco smoke. Romashov was reminded by the wet and sticky tablecloth that he had not washed his hands since dinner. He went out and made his way across the yard to a side room called the "Officers' Shelter," which served as a sort of lavatory. It was a cold, dismal little crib with only one window. Several common cupboards stood along the wall, and between them, in hospital fashion, were placed two beds, the sheets, etc., of which were never changed. Not a man in the entire regiment could recollect when this room was swept and cleaned. There was an intolerable stench there, the main ingredients of which were rotting bedclothes, stinking boots, and bad tobacco. The room was originally intended for officers of other regiments who happened to be visiting the garrison town, but it gradually became converted into a sort of _morgue_ for those who got dead drunk at mess. It was almost officially designated as "the mortuary," which name, by a dreadful irony of fate, received its full justification from the fact that no less than two officers and one soldier had committed suicide in it during the few years the regiment had been garrisoned in the town. Moreover, not a year elapsed without one suicide taking place among the officers of this regiment.