Kabanata Kabanata 15 · Chapter IV

Next day, with Platon and Constantine, Chichikov set forth to interview

Khlobuev, the owner whose estate Constantine had consented to help

Chichikov to purchase with a non-interest-bearing, uncovenanted loan of

ten thousand roubles. Naturally, our hero was in the highest of spirits.

For the first fifteen versts or so the road led through forest land and

tillage belonging to Platon and his brother-in-law; but directly the

limit of these domains was reached, forest land began to be replaced

with swamp, and tillage with waste. Also, the village in Khlobuev’s

estate had about it a deserted air, and as for the proprietor himself,

he was discovered in a state of drowsy dishevelment, having not long

left his bed. A man of about forty, he had his cravat crooked, his

frockcoat adorned with a large stain, and one of his boots worn through.

Nevertheless he seemed delighted to see his visitors.

“What?” he exclaimed. “Constantine Thedorovitch and Platon Mikhalitch?

Really I must rub my eyes! Never again in this world did I look to see

callers arriving. As a rule, folk avoid me like the devil, for they

cannot disabuse their minds of the idea that I am going to ask them for

a loan. Yes, it is my own fault, I know, but what would you? To the end

will swine cheat swine. Pray excuse my costume. You will observe that my

boots are in holes. But how can I afford to get them mended?”

“Never mind,” said Constantine. “We have come on business only. May I

present to you a possible purchaser of your estate, in the person of

Paul Ivanovitch Chichikov?”

“I am indeed glad to meet you!” was Khlobuev’s response. “Pray shake

hands with me, Paul Ivanovitch.”

Chichikov offered one hand, but not both.

“I can show you a property worth your attention,” went on the master of

the estate. “May I ask if you have yet dined?”

“Yes, we have,” put in Constantine, desirous of escaping as soon as

possible. “To save you further trouble, let us go and view the estate at

once.”

“Very well,” replied Khlobuev. “Pray come and inspect my irregularities

and futilities. You have done well to dine beforehand, for not so much

as a fowl is left in the place, so dire are the extremities to which you

see me reduced.”

Sighing deeply, he took Platon by the arm (it was clear that he did

not look for any sympathy from Constantine) and walked ahead, while

Constantine and Chichikov followed.

“Things are going hard with me, Platon Mikhalitch,” continued Khlobuev.

“How hard you cannot imagine. No money have I, no food, no boots. Were

I still young and a bachelor, it would have come easy to me to live on

bread and cheese; but when a man is growing old, and has got a wife

and five children, such trials press heavily upon him, and, in spite of

himself, his spirits sink.”

“But, should you succeed in selling the estate, that would help to put

you right, would it not?” said Platon.

“How could it do so?” replied Khlobuev with a despairing gesture. “What

I might get for the property would have to go towards discharging my

debts, and I should find myself left with less than a thousand roubles

besides.”

“Then what do you intend to do?”

“God knows.”

“But is there NOTHING to which you could set your hand in order to clear

yourself of your difficulties?”

“How could there be?”

“Well, you might accept a Government post.”

“Become a provincial secretary, you mean? How could I obtain such a

post? They would not offer me one of the meanest possible kind. Even

supposing that they did, how could I live on a salary of five hundred

roubles--I who have a wife and five children?”

“Then try and obtain a bailiff’s post.”

“Who would entrust their property to a man who has squandered his own

estate?”

“Nevertheless, when death and destitution threaten, a man must either

do something or starve. Shall I ask my brother to use his influence to

procure you a post?”

“No, no, Platon Mikhalitch,” sighed Khlobuev, gripping the other’s hand.

“I am no longer serviceable--I am grown old before my time, and find

that liver and rheumatism are paying me for the sins of my youth. Why

should the Government be put to a loss on my account?--not to speak of

the fact that for every salaried post there are countless numbers of

applicants. God forbid that, in order to provide me with a livelihood

further burdens should be imposed upon an impoverished public!”

“Such are the results of improvident management!” thought Platon to

himself. “The disease is even worse than my slothfulness.”

Meanwhile Kostanzhoglo, walking by Chichikov’s side, was almost taking

leave of his senses.

“Look at it!” he cried with a wave of his hand. “See to what

wretchedness the peasant has become reduced! Should cattle disease come,

Khlobuev will have nothing to fall back upon, but will be forced to sell

his all--to leave the peasant without a horse, and therefore without the

means to labour, even though the loss of a single day’s work may take

years of labour to rectify. Meanwhile it is plain that the local peasant

has become a mere dissolute, lazy drunkard. Give a muzhik enough to live

upon for twelve months without working, and you will corrupt him for

ever, so inured to rags and vagrancy will he grow. And what is the good

of that piece of pasture there--of that piece on the further side of

those huts? It is a mere flooded tract. Were it mine, I should put

it under flax, and clear five thousand roubles, or else sow it with

turnips, and clear, perhaps, four thousand. And see how the rye is

drooping, and nearly laid. As for wheat, I am pretty sure that he has

not sown any. Look, too, at those ravines! Were they mine, they would

be standing under timber which even a rook could not top. To think of

wasting such quantities of land! Where land wouldn’t bear corn, I should

dig it up, and plant it with vegetables. What ought to be done is that

Khlobuev ought to take a spade into his own hands, and to set his wife

and children and servants to do the same; and even if they died of the

exertion, they would at least die doing their duty, and not through

guzzling at the dinner table.”

This said, Kostanzhoglo spat, and his brow flushed with grim

indignation.

Presently they reached an elevation whence the distant flashing of a

river, with its flood waters and subsidiary streams, caught the eye,

while, further off, a portion of General Betristchev’s homestead could

be discerned among the trees, and, over it, a blue, densely wooded hill

which Chichikov guessed to be the spot where Tientietnikov’s mansion was

situated.

“This is where I should plant timber,” said Chichikov. “And, regarded

as a site for a manor house, the situation could scarcely be beaten for

beauty of view.”

“You seem to get great store upon views and beauty,” remarked

Kostanzhoglo with reproof in his tone. “Should you pay too much

attention to those things, you might find yourself without crops or

view. Utility should be placed first, not beauty. Beauty will come of

itself. Take, for example, towns. The fairest and most beautiful towns

are those which have built themselves--those in which each man has built

to suit his own exclusive circumstances and needs; whereas towns which

men have constructed on regular, string-taut lines are no better than

collections of barracks. Put beauty aside, and look only to what is

NECESSARY.”

“Yes, but to me it would always be irksome to have to wait. All the time

that I was doing so I should be hungering to see in front of me the

sort of prospect which I prefer.”

“Come, come! Are you a man of twenty-five--you who have served as a

tchinovnik in St. Petersburg? Have patience, have patience. For six

years work, and work hard. Plant, sow, and dig the earth without taking

a moment’s rest. It will be difficult, I know--yes, difficult indeed;

but at the end of that time, if you have thoroughly stirred the soil,

the land will begin to help you as nothing else can do. That is to say,

over and above your seventy or so pairs of hands, there will begin to

assist in the work seven hundred pairs of hands which you cannot see.

Thus everything will be multiplied tenfold. I myself have ceased even

to have to lift a finger, for whatsoever needs to be done gets done of

itself. Nature loves patience: always remember that. It is a law given

her of God Himself, who has blessed all those who are strong to endure.”

“To hear your words is to be both encouraged and strengthened,” said

Chichikov. To this Kostanzhoglo made no reply, but presently went on:

“And see how that piece of land has been ploughed! To stay here longer

is more than I can do. For me, to have to look upon such want of

orderliness and foresight is death. Finish your business with Khlobuev

without me, and whatsoever you do, get this treasure out of that fool’s

hands as quickly as possible, for he is dishonouring God’s gifts.”

And Kostanzhoglo, his face dark with the rage that was seething in

his excitable soul, left Chichikov, and caught up the owner of the

establishment.

“What, Constantine Thedorovitch?” cried Khlobuev in astonishment. “Just

arrived, you are going already?”

“Yes; I cannot help it; urgent business requires me at home.” And

entering his gig, Kostanzhoglo drove rapidly away. Somehow Khlobuev

seemed to divine the cause of his sudden departure.

“It was too much for him,” he remarked. “An agriculturist of that

kind does not like to have to look upon the results of such feckless

management as mine. Would you believe it, Paul Ivanovitch, but this year

I have been unable to sow any wheat! Am I not a fine husbandman? There

was no seed for the purpose, nor yet anything with which to prepare the

ground. No, I am not like Constantine Thedorovitch, who, I hear, is a

perfect Napoleon in his particular line. Again and again the thought

occurs to me, ‘Why has so much intellect been put into that head, and

only a drop or two into my own dull pate?’ Take care of that puddle,

gentlemen. I have told my peasants to lay down planks for the spring,

but they have not done so. Nevertheless my heart aches for the poor

fellows, for they need a good example, and what sort of an example am I?

How am _I_ to give them orders? Pray take them under your charge, Paul

Ivanovitch, for I cannot teach them orderliness and method when I myself

lack both. As a matter of fact, I should have given them their freedom

long ago, had there been any use in my doing so; for even I can see that

peasants must first be afforded the means of earning a livelihood before

they can live. What they need is a stern, yet just, master who shall

live with them, day in, day out, and set them an example of tireless

energy. The present-day Russian--I know of it myself--is helpless

without a driver. Without one he falls asleep, and the mould grows over

him.”

“Yet I cannot understand WHY he should fall asleep and grow mouldy in

that fashion,” said Platon. “Why should he need continual surveillance

to keep him from degenerating into a drunkard and a good-for-nothing?”

“The cause is lack of enlightenment,” said Chichikov.

“Possibly--only God knows. Yet enlightenment has reached us right

enough. Do we not attend university lectures and everything else that

is befitting? Take my own education. I learnt not only the usual things,

but also the art of spending money upon the latest refinement, the

latest amenity--the art of familiarising oneself with whatsoever money

can buy. How, then, can it be said that I was educated foolishly? And

my comrades’ education was the same. A few of them succeeded in annexing

the cream of things, for the reason that they had the wit to do so, and

the rest spent their time in doing their best to ruin their health and

squander their money. Often I think there is no hope for the present-day

Russian. While desiring to do everything, he accomplishes nothing. One

day he will scheme to begin a new mode of existence, a new dietary; yet

before evening he will have so over-eaten himself as to be unable to

speak or do aught but sit staring like an owl. The same with every one.”

“Quite so,” agreed Chichikov with a smile. “’Tis everywhere the same

story.”

“To tell the truth, we are not born to common sense. I doubt whether

Russia has ever produced a really sensible man. For my own part, if I

see my neighbour living a regular life, and making money, and saving

it, I begin to distrust him, and to feel certain that in old age, if not

before, he too will be led astray by the devil--led astray in a moment.

Yes, whether or not we be educated, there is something we lack. But what

that something is passes my understanding.”

On the return journey the prospect was the same as before. Everywhere

the same slovenliness, the same disorder, was displaying itself

unadorned: the only difference being that a fresh puddle had formed in

the middle of the village street. This want and neglect was noticeable

in the peasants’ quarters equally with the quarters of the barin. In

the village a furious woman in greasy sackcloth was beating a poor young

wench within an ace of her life, and at the same time devoting some

third person to the care of all the devils in hell; further away

a couple of peasants were stoically contemplating the virago--one

scratching his rump as he did so, and the other yawning. The same yawn

was discernible in the buildings, for not a roof was there but had a

gaping hole in it. As he gazed at the scene Platon himself yawned. Patch

was superimposed upon patch, and, in place of a roof, one hut had a

piece of wooden fencing, while its crumbling window-frames were stayed

with sticks purloined from the barin’s barn. Evidently the system

of upkeep in vogue was the system employed in the case of Trishkin’s

coat--the system of cutting up the cuffs and the collar into mendings

for the elbows.

“No, I do not admire your way of doing things,” was Chichikov’s unspoken

comment when the inspection had been concluded and the party had

re-entered the house. Everywhere in the latter the visitors were

struck with the way in which poverty went with glittering, fashionable

profusion. On a writing-table lay a volume of Shakespeare, and, on an

occasional table, a carved ivory back-scratcher. The hostess, too, was

elegantly and fashionably attired, and devoted her whole conversation

to the town and the local theatre. Lastly, the children--bright, merry

little things--were well-dressed both as regards boys and girls. Yet

far better would it have been for them if they had been clad in plain

striped smocks, and running about the courtyard like peasant children.

Presently a visitor arrived in the shape of a chattering, gossiping

woman; whereupon the hostess carried her off to her own portion of the

house, and, the children following them, the men found themselves alone.

“How much do you want for the property?” asked Chichikov of Khlobuev.

“I am afraid I must request you to name the lowest possible sum, since I

find the estate in a far worse condition than I had expected to do.”

“Yes, it IS in a terrible state,” agreed Khlobuev. “Nor is that the

whole of the story. That is to say, I will not conceal from you the fact

that, out of a hundred souls registered at the last revision, only fifty

survive, so terrible have been the ravages of cholera. And of these,

again, some have absconded; wherefore they too must be reckoned as dead,

seeing that, were one to enter process against them, the costs would

end in the property having to pass en bloc to the legal authorities.

For these reasons I am asking only thirty-five thousand roubles for the

estate.”

Chichikov (it need hardly be said) started to haggle.

“Thirty-five thousand?” he cried. “Come, come! Surely you will accept

TWENTY-five thousand?”

This was too much for Platon’s conscience.

“Now, now, Paul Ivanovitch!” he exclaimed. “Take the property at the

price named, and have done with it. The estate is worth at least that

amount--so much so that, should you not be willing to give it, my

brother-in-law and I will club together to effect the purchase.”

“That being so,” said Chichikov, taken aback, “I beg to agree to the

price in question. At the same time, I must ask you to allow me to defer

payment of one-half of the purchase money until a year from now.”

“No, no, Paul Ivanovitch. Under no circumstances could I do that. Pay

me half now, and the rest in... [50] You see, I need the money for the

redemption of the mortgage.”

“That places me in a difficulty,” remarked Chichikov. “Ten thousand

roubles is all that at the moment I have available.” As a matter of

fact, this was not true, seeing that, counting also the money which he

had borrowed of Kostanzhoglo, he had at his disposal TWENTY thousand.

His real reason for hesitating was that he disliked the idea of making

so large a payment in a lump sum.

“I must repeat my request, Paul Ivanovitch,” said Khlobuev, “--namely,

that you pay me at least fifteen thousand immediately.”

“The odd five thousand _I_ will lend you,” put in Platon to Chichikov.

“Indeed?” exclaimed Chichikov as he reflected: “So he also lends money!”

In the end Chichikov’s dispatch-box was brought from the koliaska, and

Khlobuev received thence ten thousand roubles, together with a promise

that the remaining five thousand should be forthcoming on the morrow;

though the promise was given only after Chichikov had first proposed

that THREE thousand should be brought on the day named, and the rest

be left over for two or three days longer, if not for a still more

protracted period. The truth was that Paul Ivanovitch hated parting with

money. No matter how urgent a situation might have been, he would still

have preferred to pay a sum to-morrow rather than to-day. In other

words, he acted as we all do, for we all like keeping a petitioner

waiting. “Let him rub his back in the hall for a while,” we say. “Surely

he can bide his time a little?” Yet of the fact that every hour may be

precious to the poor wretch, and that his business may suffer from

the delay, we take no account. “Good sir,” we say, “pray come again

to-morrow. To-day I have no time to spare you.”

“Where do you intend henceforth to live?” inquired Platon. “Have you any

other property to which you can retire?”

“No,” replied Khlobuev. “I shall remove to the town, where I possess

a small villa. That would have been necessary, in any case, for the

children’s sake. You see, they must have instruction in God’s word, and

also lessons in music and dancing; and not for love or money can these

things be procured in the country.

“Nothing to eat, yet dancing lessons for his children!” reflected

Chichikov.

“An extraordinary man!” was Platon’s unspoken comment.

“However, we must contrive to wet our bargain somehow,” continued

Khlobuev. “Hi, Kirushka! Bring that bottle of champagne.”

“Nothing to eat, yet champagne to drink!” reflected Chichikov. As for

Platon, he did not know WHAT to think.

In Khlobuev’s eyes it was de rigueur that he should provide a guest with

champagne; but, though he had sent to the town for some, he had been met

with a blank refusal to forward even a bottle of kvass on credit.

Only the discovery of a French dealer who had recently transferred his

business from St. Petersburg, and opened a connection on a system

of general credit, saved the situation by placing Khlobuev under the

obligation of patronising him.

The company drank three glassfuls apiece, and so grew more cheerful.

In particular did Khlobuev expand, and wax full of civility and

friendliness, and scatter witticisms and anecdotes to right and left.

What knowledge of men and the world did his utterances display! How well

and accurately could he divine things! With what appositeness did he

sketch the neighbouring landowners! How clearly he exposed their

faults and failings! How thoroughly he knew the story of certain ruined

gentry--the story of how, why, and through what cause they had fallen

upon evil days! With what comic originality could he describe their

little habits and customs!

In short, his guests found themselves charmed with his discourse, and

felt inclined to vote him a man of first-rate intellect.

“What most surprises me,” said Chichikov, “is how, in view of your

ability, you come to be so destitute of means or resources.”

“But I have plenty of both,” said Khlobuev, and with that went on to

deliver himself of a perfect avalanche of projects. Yet those projects

proved to be so uncouth, so clumsy, so little the outcome of a knowledge

of men and things, that his hearers could only shrug their shoulders and

mentally exclaim: “Good Lord! What a difference between worldly wisdom

and the capacity to use it!” In every case the projects in question were

based upon the imperative necessity of at once procuring from somewhere

two hundred--or at least one hundred--thousand roubles. That done (so

Khlobuev averred), everything would fall into its proper place,

the holes in his pockets would become stopped, his income would be

quadrupled, and he would find himself in a position to liquidate his

debts in full. Nevertheless he ended by saying: “What would you advise

me to do? I fear that the philanthropist who would lend me two hundred

thousand roubles or even a hundred thousand, does not exist. It is not

God’s will that he should.”

“Good gracious!” inwardly ejaculated Chichikov. “To suppose that God

would send such a fool two hundred thousand roubles!”

“However,” went on Khlobuev, “I possess an aunt worth three millions--a

pious old woman who gives freely to churches and monasteries, but finds

a difficulty in helping her neighbour. At the same time, she is a lady

of the old school, and worth having a peep at. Her canaries alone

number four hundred, and, in addition, there is an army of pug-dogs,

hangers-on, and servants. Even the youngest of the servants is sixty,

but she calls them all ‘young fellows,’ and if a guest happens to offend

her during dinner, she orders them to leave him out when handing out the

dishes. THERE’S a woman for you!”

Platon laughed.

“And what may her family name be?” asked Chichikov. “And where does she

live?”

“She lives in the county town, and her name is Alexandra Ivanovna

Khanasarov.”

“Then why do you not apply to her?” asked Platon earnestly. “It seems

to me that, once she realised the position of your family, she could not

possibly refuse you.”

“Alas! nothing is to be looked for from that quarter,” replied Khlobuev.

“My aunt is of a very stubborn disposition--a perfect stone of a woman.

Moreover, she has around her a sufficient band of favourites already.

In particular is there a fellow who is aiming for a Governorship, and

to that end has managed to insinuate himself into the circle of her

kinsfolk. By the way,” the speaker added, turning to Platon, “would you

do me a favour? Next week I am giving a dinner to the associated guilds

of the town.”

Platon stared. He had been unaware that both in our capitals and in

our provincial towns there exists a class of men whose lives are

an enigma--men who, though they will seem to have exhausted their

substance, and to have become enmeshed in debt, will suddenly be

reported as in funds, and on the point of giving a dinner! And though,

at this dinner, the guests will declare that the festival is bound to

be their host’s last fling, and that for a certainty he will be haled to

prison on the morrow, ten years or more will elapse, and the rascal will

still be at liberty, even though, in the meanwhile, his debts will have

increased!

In the same way did the conduct of Khlobuev’s menage afford a curious

phenomenon, for one day the house would be the scene of a solemn Te

Deum, performed by a priest in vestments, and the next of a stage play

performed by a troupe of French actors in theatrical costume. Again,

one day would see not a morsel of bread in the house, and the next day a

banquet and generous largesse given to a party of artists and sculptors.

During these seasons of scarcity (sufficiently severe to have led any

one but Khlobuev to seek suicide by hanging or shooting), the master of

the house would be preserved from rash action by his strongly religious

disposition, which, contriving in some curious way to conform with his

irregular mode of life, enabled him to fall back upon reading the lives

of saints, ascetics, and others of the type which has risen superior to

its misfortunes. And at such times his spirit would become softened, his

thoughts full of gentleness, and his eyes wet with tears; he would fall

to saying his prayers, and invariably some strange coincidence would

bring an answer thereto in the shape of an unexpected measure of

assistance. That is to say, some former friend of his would remember

him, and send him a trifle in the way of money; or else some female

visitor would be moved by his story to let her impulsive, generous heart

proffer him a handsome gift; or else a suit whereof tidings had never

even reached his ears would end by being decided in his favour. And when

that happened he would reverently acknowledge the immensity of the mercy

of Providence, gratefully tender thanksgiving for the same, and betake

himself again to his irregular mode of existence.

“Somehow I feel sorry for the man,” said Platon when he and Chichikov

had taken leave of their host, and left the house.

“Perhaps so, but he is a hopeless prodigal,” replied the other.

“Personally I find it impossible to compassionate such fellows.”

And with that the pair ceased to devote another thought to Khlobuev. In

the case of Platon, this was because he contemplated the fortunes of his

fellows with the lethargic, half-somnolent eye which he turned upon all

the rest of the world; for though the sight of distress of others would

cause his heart to contract and feel full of sympathy, the impression

thus produced never sank into the depths of his being. Accordingly,

before many minutes were over he had ceased to bestow a single thought

upon his late host. With Chichikov, however, things were different.

Whereas Platon had ceased to think of Khlobuev no more than he had

ceased to think of himself, Chichikov’s mind had strayed elsewhere,

for the reason that it had become taken up with grave meditation on the

subject of the purchase just made. Suddenly finding himself no longer

a fictitious proprietor, but the owner of a real, an actually existing,

estate, he became contemplative, and his plans and ideas assumed such a

serious vein as imparted to his features an unconsciously important air.

“Patience and hard work!” he muttered to himself. “The thing will not be

difficult, for with those two requisites I have been familiar from the

days of my swaddling clothes. Yes, no novelty will they be to me. Yet,

in middle age, shall I be able to compass the patience whereof I was

capable in my youth?”

However, no matter how he regarded the future, and no matter from what

point of view he considered his recent acquisition, he could see nothing

but advantage likely to accrue from the bargain. For one thing, he might

be able to proceed so that, first the whole of the estate should be

mortgaged, and then the better portions of land sold outright. Or he

might so contrive matters as to manage the property for a while

(and thus become a landowner like Kostanzhoglo, whose advice, as his

neighbour and his benefactor, he intended always to follow), and then to

dispose of the property by private treaty (provided he did not wish to

continue his ownership), and still to retain in his hands the dead and

abandoned souls. And another possible coup occurred to his mind. That is

to say, he might contrive to withdraw from the district without having

repaid Kostanzhoglo at all! Truly a splendid idea! Yet it is only fair

to say that the idea was not one of Chichikov’s own conception. Rather,

it had presented itself--mocking, laughing, and winking--unbidden. Yet

the impudent, the wanton thing! Who is the procreator of suddenly

born ideas of the kind? The thought that he was now a real, an actual,

proprietor instead of a fictitious--that he was now a proprietor of real

land, real rights of timber and pasture, and real serfs who existed not

only in the imagination, but also in veritable actuality--greatly elated

our hero. So he took to dancing up and down in his seat, to rubbing

his hands together, to winking at himself, to holding his fist,

trumpet-wise, to his mouth (while making believe to execute a march),

and even to uttering aloud such encouraging nicknames and phrases as

“bulldog” and “little fat capon.” Then suddenly recollecting that he

was not alone, he hastened to moderate his behaviour and endeavoured to

stifle the endless flow of his good spirits; with the result that when

Platon, mistaking certain sounds for utterances addressed to himself,

inquired what his companion had said, the latter retained the presence

of mind to reply “Nothing.”

Presently, as Chichikov gazed about him, he saw that for some time past

the koliaska had been skirting a beautiful wood, and that on either side

the road was bordered with an edging of birch trees, the tenderly-green,

recently-opened leaves of which caused their tall, slender trunks to

show up with the whiteness of a snowdrift. Likewise nightingales were

warbling from the recesses of the foliage, and some wood tulips were

glowing yellow in the grass. Next (and almost before Chichikov had

realised how he came to be in such a beautiful spot when, but a moment

before, there had been visible only open fields) there glimmered among

the trees the stony whiteness of a church, with, on the further side

of it, the intermittent, foliage-buried line of a fence; while from the

upper end of a village street there was advancing to meet the vehicle a

gentleman with a cap on his head, a knotted cudgel in his hands, and a

slender-limbed English dog by his side.

“This is my brother,” said Platon. “Stop, coachman.” And he descended

from the koliaska, while Chichikov followed his example. Yarb and the

strange dog saluted one another, and then the active, thin-legged,

slender-tongued Azor relinquished his licking of Yarb’s blunt jowl,

licked Platon’s hands instead, and, leaping upon Chichikov, slobbered

right into his ear.

The two brothers embraced.

“Really, Platon,” said the gentleman (whose name was Vassili), “what do

you mean by treating me like this?”

“How so?” said Platon indifferently.

“What? For three days past I have seen and heard nothing of you! A groom

from Pietukh’s brought your cob home, and told me you had departed on an

expedition with some barin. At least you might have sent me word as to

your destination and the probable length of your absence. What made you

act so? God knows what I have not been wondering!”

“Does it matter?” rejoined Platon. “I forgot to send you word, and we

have been no further than Constantine’s (who, with our sister, sends you

his greeting). By the way, may I introduce Paul Ivanovitch Chichikov?”

The pair shook hands with one another. Then, doffing their caps, they

embraced.

“What sort of man is this Chichikov?” thought Vassili. “As a rule my

brother Platon is not over-nice in his choice of acquaintances.” And,

eyeing our hero as narrowly as civility permitted, he saw that his

appearance was that of a perfectly respectable individual.

Chichikov returned Vassili’s scrutiny with a similar observance of the

dictates of civility, and perceived that he was shorter than Platon,

that his hair was of a darker shade, and that his features, though less

handsome, contained far more life, animation, and kindliness than did

his brother’s. Clearly he indulged in less dreaming, though that was an

aspect which Chichikov little regarded.

“I have made up my mind to go touring our Holy Russia with Paul

Ivanovitch,” said Platon. “Perhaps it will rid me of my melancholy.”

“What has made you come to such a sudden decision?” asked the perplexed

Vassili (very nearly he added: “Fancy going travelling with a man whose

acquaintance you have just made, and who may turn out to be a rascal

or the devil knows what!” But, in spite of his distrust, he contented

himself with another covert scrutiny of Chichikov, and this time came to

the conclusion that there was no fault to be found with his exterior).

The party turned to the right, and entered the gates of an ancient

courtyard attached to an old-fashioned house of a type no longer

built--the type which has huge gables supporting a high-pitched roof.

In the centre of the courtyard two great lime trees covered half the

surrounding space with shade, while beneath them were ranged a number

of wooden benches, and the whole was encircled with a ring of blossoming

lilacs and cherry trees which, like a beaded necklace, reinforced the

wooden fence, and almost buried it beneath their clusters of leaves and

flowers. The house, too, stood almost concealed by this greenery,

except that the front door and the windows peered pleasantly through the

foliage, and that here and there between the stems of the trees there

could be caught glimpses of the kitchen regions, the storehouses, and

the cellar. Lastly, around the whole stood a grove, from the recesses of

which came the echoing songs of nightingales.

Involuntarily the place communicated to the soul a sort of quiet,

restful feeling, so eloquently did it speak of that care-free period

when every one lived on good terms with his neighbour, and all was

simple and unsophisticated. Vassili invited Chichikov to seat himself,

and the party approached, for that purpose, the benches under the lime

trees; after which a youth of about seventeen, and clad in a red shirt,

brought decanters containing various kinds of kvass (some of them as

thick as syrup, and others hissing like aerated lemonade), deposited the

same upon the table, and, taking up a spade which he had left leaning

against a tree, moved away towards the garden. The reason of this was

that in the brothers’ household, as in that of Kostanzhoglo, no servants

were kept, since the whole staff were rated as gardeners, and performed

that duty in rotation--Vassili holding that domestic service was not a

specialised calling, but one to which any one might contribute a hand,

and therefore one which did not require special menials to be kept for

the purpose. Moreover, he held that the average Russian peasant remains

active and willing (rather than lazy) only so long as he wears a shirt

and a peasant’s smock; but that as soon as ever he finds himself

put into a German tailcoat, he becomes awkward, sluggish, indolent,

disinclined to change his vest or take a bath, fond of sleeping in his

clothes, and certain to breed fleas and bugs under the German apparel.

And it may be that Vassili was right. At all events, the brothers’

peasantry were exceedingly well clad--the women, in particular, having

their head-dresses spangled with gold, and the sleeves of their blouses

embroidered after the fashion of a Turkish shawl.

“You see here the species of kvass for which our house has long been

famous,” said Vassili to Chichikov. The latter poured himself out a

glassful from the first decanter which he lighted upon, and found

the contents to be linden honey of a kind never tasted by him even in

Poland, seeing that it had a sparkle like that of champagne, and also an

effervescence which sent a pleasant spray from the mouth into the nose.

“Nectar!” he proclaimed. Then he took some from a second decanter. It

proved to be even better than the first. “A beverage of beverages!” he

exclaimed. “At your respected brother-in-law’s I tasted the finest

syrup which has ever come my way, but here I have tasted the very finest

kvass.”

“Yet the recipe for the syrup also came from here,” said Vassili,

“seeing that my sister took it with her. By the way, to what part of the

country, and to what places, are you thinking of travelling?”

“To tell the truth,” replied Chichikov, rocking himself to and fro on

the bench, and smoothing his knee with his hand, and gently inclining

his head, “I am travelling less on my own affairs than on the affairs of

others. That is to say, General Betristchev, an intimate friend, and,

I might add, a generous benefactor of mine, has charged me with

commissions to some of his relatives. Nevertheless, though relatives are

relatives, I may say that I am travelling on my own account as well, in

that, in addition to possible benefit to my health, I desire to see the

world and the whirligig of humanity, which constitute, to so speak, a

living book, a second course of education.”

Vassili took thought. “The man speaks floridly,” he reflected, “yet his

words contain a certain element of truth.” After a moment’s silence he

added to Platon: “I am beginning to think that the tour might help you

to bestir yourself. At present you are in a condition of mental slumber.

You have fallen asleep, not so much from weariness or satiety, as

through a lack of vivid perceptions and impressions. For myself, I am

your complete antithesis. I should be only too glad if I could feel less

acutely, if I could take things less to heart.”

“Emotion has become a disease with you,” said Platon. “You seek your own

troubles, and make your own anxieties.”

“How can you say that when ready-made anxieties greet one at every

step?” exclaimed Vassili. “For example, have you heard of the trick

which Lienitsin has just played us--of his seizing the piece of vacant

land whither our peasants resort for their sports? That piece I would

not sell for all the money in the world. It has long been our peasants’

play-ground, and all the traditions of our village are bound up with it.

Moreover, for me, old custom is a sacred thing for which I would gladly

sacrifice everything else.”

“Lienitsin cannot have known of this, or he would not have seized the

land,” said Platon. “He is a newcomer, just arrived from St. Petersburg.

A few words of explanation ought to meet the case.”

“But he DOES know of what I have stated; he DOES know of it. Purposely

I sent him word to that affect, yet he has returned me the rudest of

answers.”

“Then go yourself and explain matters to him.”

“No, I will not do that; he has tried to carry off things with too high

a hand. But YOU can go if you like.”

“I would certainly go were it not that I scarcely like to interfere.

Also, I am a man whom he could easily hoodwink and outwit.”

“Would it help you if _I_ were to go?” put in Chichikov. “Pray enlighten

me as to the matter.”

Vassili glanced at the speaker, and thought to himself: “What a passion

the man has for travelling!”

“Yes, pray give me an idea of the kind of fellow,” repeated Chichikov,

“and also outline to me the affair.”

“I should be ashamed to trouble you with such an unpleasant commission,”

replied Vassili. “He is a man whom I take to be an utter rascal.

Originally a member of a family of plain dvoriane in this province, he

entered the Civil Service in St. Petersburg, then married some one’s

natural daughter in that city, and has returned to lord it with a high

hand. I cannot bear the tone he adopts. Our folk are by no means fools.

They do not look upon the current fashion as the Tsar’s ukaz any more

than they look upon St. Petersburg as the Church.”

“Naturally,” said Chichikov. “But tell me more of the particulars of the

quarrel.”

“They are these. He needs additional land and, had he not acted as he

has done, I would have given him some land elsewhere for nothing; but,

as it is, the pestilent fellow has taken it into his head to--”

“I think I had better go and have a talk with him. That might settle the

affair. Several times have people charged me with similar commissions,

and never have they repented of it. General Betristchev is an example.”

“Nevertheless I am ashamed that you should be put to the annoyance of

having to converse with such a fellow.”

[At this point there occurs a long hiatus.]

“And above all things, such a transaction would need to be carried

through in secret,” said Chichikov. “True, the law does not forbid such

things, but there is always the risk of a scandal.”

“Quite so, quite so,” said Lienitsin with head bent down.

“Then we agree!” exclaimed Chichikov. “How charming! As I say, my

business is both legal and illegal. Though needing to effect a mortgage,

I desire to put no one to the risk of having to pay the two roubles

on each living soul; wherefore I have conceived the idea of relieving

landowners of that distasteful obligation by acquiring dead and

absconded souls who have failed to disappear from the revision list.

This enables me at once to perform an act of Christian charity and

to remove from the shoulders of our more impoverished proprietors the

burden of tax-payment upon souls of the kind specified. Should you

yourself care to do business with me, we will draw up a formal purchase

agreement as though the souls in question were still alive.”

“But it would be such a curious arrangement,” muttered Lienitsin, moving

his chair and himself a little further away. “It would be an arrangement

which, er--er--”

“Would involve you in no scandal whatever, seeing that the affair

would be carried through in secret. Moreover, between friends who are

well-disposed towards one another--”

“Nevertheless--”

Chichikov adopted a firmer and more decided tone. “I repeat that there

would be no scandal,” he said. “The transaction would take place as

between good friends, and as between friends of mature age, and as

between friends of good status, and as between friends who know how

to keep their own counsel.” And, so saying, he looked his interlocutor

frankly and generously in the eyes.

Nevertheless Lienitsin’s resourcefulness and acumen in business matters

failed to relieve his mind of a certain perplexity--and the less so

since he had contrived to become caught in his own net. Yet, in general,

he possessed neither a love for nor a talent for underhand dealings,

and, had not fate and circumstances favoured Chichikov by causing

Lienitsin’s wife to enter the room at that moment, things might have

turned out very differently from what they did. Madame was a pale, thin,

insignificant-looking young lady, but none the less a lady who wore her

clothes a la St. Petersburg, and cultivated the society of persons who

were unimpeachably comme il faut. Behind her, borne in a nurse’s arms,

came the first fruits of the love of husband and wife. Adopting his

most telling method of approach (the method accompanied with a sidelong

inclination of the head and a sort of hop), Chichikov hastened to greet

the lady from the metropolis, and then the baby. At first the latter

started to bellow disapproval, but the words “Agoo, agoo, my pet!” added

to a little cracking of the fingers and a sight of a beautiful seal on a

watch chain, enabled Chichikov to weedle the infant into his arms; after

which he fell to swinging it up and down until he had contrived to raise

a smile on its face--a circumstance which greatly delighted the parents,

and finally inclined the father in his visitor’s favour. Suddenly,

however--whether from pleasure or from some other cause--the infant

misbehaved itself!

“My God!” cried Madame. “He has gone and spoilt your frockcoat!”

True enough, on glancing downwards, Chichikov saw that the sleeve of

his brand-new garment had indeed suffered a hurt. “If I could catch you

alone, you little devil,” he muttered to himself, “I’d shoot you!”

Host, hostess and nurse all ran for eau-de-Cologne, and from three sides

set themselves to rub the spot affected.

“Never mind, never mind; it is nothing,” said Chichikov as he strove to

communicate to his features as cheerful an expression as possible.

“What does it matter what a child may spoil during the golden age of its

infancy?”

To himself he remarked: “The little brute! Would it could be devoured by

wolves. It has made only too good a shot, the cussed young ragamuffin!”

How, after this--after the guest had shown such innocent affection for

the little one, and magnanimously paid for his so doing with a brand-new

suit--could the father remain obdurate? Nevertheless, to avoid setting a

bad example to the countryside, he and Chichikov agreed to carry through

the transaction PRIVATELY, lest, otherwise, a scandal should arise.

“In return,” said Chichikov, “would you mind doing me the following

favour? I desire to mediate in the matter of your difference with the

Brothers Platonov. I believe that you wish to acquire some additional

land? Is not that so?”

[Here there occurs a hiatus in the original.]

Everything in life fulfils its function, and Chichikov’s tour in search

of a fortune was carried out so successfully that not a little money

passed into his pockets. The system employed was a good one: he did not

steal, he merely used. And every one of us at times does the same: one

man with regard to Government timber, and another with regard to a sum

belonging to his employer, while a third defrauds his children for the

sake of an actress, and a fourth robs his peasantry for the sake of

smart furniture or a carriage. What can one do when one is surrounded

on every side with roguery, and everywhere there are insanely expensive

restaurants, masked balls, and dances to the music of gipsy bands? To

abstain when every one else is indulging in these things, and fashion

commands, is difficult indeed!

Chichikov was for setting forth again, but the roads had now got into a

bad state, and, in addition, there was in preparation a second fair--one

for the dvoriane only. The former fair had been held for the sale of

horses, cattle, cheese, and other peasant produce, and the buyers had

been merely cattle-jobbers and kulaks; but this time the function was

to be one for the sale of manorial produce which had been bought up by

wholesale dealers at Nizhni Novgorod, and then transferred hither. To

the fair, of course, came those ravishers of the Russian purse who, in

the shape of Frenchmen with pomades and Frenchwomen with hats, make away

with money earned by blood and hard work, and, like the locusts of Egypt

(to use Kostanzhoglo’s term) not only devour their prey, but also dig

holes in the ground and leave behind their eggs.

Although, unfortunately, the occurrence of a bad harvest retained many

landowners at their country houses, the local tchinovniks (whom the

failure of the harvest did NOT touch) proceeded to let themselves go--as

also, to their undoing, did their wives. The reading of books of the

type diffused, in these modern days, for the inoculation of humanity

with a craving for new and superior amenities of life had caused every

one to conceive a passion for experimenting with the latest luxury; and

to meet this want the French wine merchant opened a new establishment

in the shape of a restaurant as had never before been heard of in the

province--a restaurant where supper could be procured on credit as

regarded one-half, and for an unprecedentedly low sum as regarded the

other. This exactly suited both heads of boards and clerks who were

living in hope of being able some day to resume their bribes-taking from

suitors. There also developed a tendency to compete in the matter of

horses and liveried flunkeys; with the result that despite the damp and

snowy weather exceedingly elegant turnouts took to parading backwards

and forwards. Whence these equipages had come God only knows, but at

least they would not have disgraced St. Petersburg. From within them

merchants and attorneys doffed their caps to ladies, and inquired after

their health, and likewise it became a rare sight to see a bearded man

in a rough fur cap, since every one now went about clean-shaven and with

dirty teeth, after the European fashion.

“Sir, I beg of you to inspect my goods,” said a tradesman as Chichikov

was passing his establishment. “Within my doors you will find a large

variety of clothing.”

“Have you a cloth of bilberry-coloured check?” inquired the person

addressed.

“I have cloths of the finest kind,” replied the tradesman, raising his

cap with one hand, and pointing to his shop with the other. Chichikov

entered, and in a trice the proprietor had dived beneath the counter,

and appeared on the other side of it, with his back to his wares and his

face towards the customer. Leaning forward on the tips of his fingers,

and indicating his merchandise with just the suspicion of a nod, he

requested the gentleman to specify exactly the species of cloth which he

required.

“A cloth with an olive-coloured or a bottle-tinted spot in its

pattern--anything in the nature of bilberry,” explained Chichikov.

“That being so, sir, I may say that I am about to show you clothes of a

quality which even our illustrious capitals could not surpass. Hi, boy!

Reach down that roll up there--number 34. No, NOT that one, fool! Such

fellows as you are always too good for your job. There--hand it to me.

This is indeed a nice pattern!”

Unfolding the garment, the tradesman thrust it close to Chichikov’s nose

in order that he might not only handle, but also smell it.

“Excellent, but not what I want,” pronounced Chichikov. “Formerly I was

in the Custom’s Department, and therefore wear none but cloth of the

latest make. What I want is of a ruddier pattern than this--not exactly

a bottle-tinted pattern, but something approaching bilberry.”

“I understand, sir. Of course you require only the very newest thing. A

cloth of that kind I DO possess, sir, and though excessive in price, it

is of a quality to match.”

Carrying the roll of stuff to the light--even stepping into the street

for the purpose--the shopman unfolded his prize with the words, “A truly

beautiful shade! A cloth of smoked grey, shot with flame colour!”

The material met with the customer’s approval, a price was agreed upon,

and with incredible celerity the vendor made up the purchase into a

brown-paper parcel, and stowed it away in Chichikov’s koliaska.

At this moment a voice asked to be shown a black frockcoat.

“The devil take me if it isn’t Khlobuev!” muttered our hero, turning his

back upon the newcomer. Unfortunately the other had seen him.

“Come, come, Paul Ivanovitch!” he expostulated. “Surely you do not

intend to overlook me? I have been searching for you everywhere, for I

have something important to say to you.”

“My dear sir, my very dear sir,” said Chichikov as he pressed Khlobuev’s

hand, “I can assure you that, had I the necessary leisure, I should

at all times be charmed to converse with you.” And mentally he added:

“Would that the Evil One would fly away with you!”

Almost at the same time Murazov, the great landowner, entered the

shop. As he did so our hero hastened to exclaim: “Why, it is Athanasi

Vassilievitch! How ARE you, my very dear sir?”

“Well enough,” replied Murazov, removing his cap (Khlobuev and the

shopman had already done the same). “How, may I ask, are YOU?”

“But poorly,” replied Chichikov, “for of late I have been troubled with

indigestion, and my sleep is bad. I do not get sufficient exercise.”

However, instead of probing deeper into the subject of Chichikov’s

ailments, Murazov turned to Khlobuev.

“I saw you enter the shop,” he said, “and therefore followed you, for

I have something important for your ear. Could you spare me a minute or

two?”

“Certainly, certainly,” said Khlobuev, and the pair left the shop

together.

“I wonder what is afoot between them,” said Chichikov to himself.

“A wise and noble gentleman, Athanasi Vassilievitch!” remarked the

tradesman. Chichikov made no reply save a gesture.

“Paul Ivanovitch, I have been looking for you everywhere,” Lienitsin’s

voice said from behind him, while again the tradesman hastened to remove

his cap. “Pray come home with me, for I have something to say to you.”

Chichikov scanned the speaker’s face, but could make nothing of it.

Paying the tradesman for the cloth, he left the shop.

Meanwhile Murazov had conveyed Khlobuev to his rooms.

“Tell me,” he said to his guest, “exactly how your affairs stand. I take

it that, after all, your aunt left you something?”

“It would be difficult to say whether or not my affairs are improved,”

replied Khlobuev. “True, fifty souls and thirty thousand roubles came

to me from Madame Khanasarova, but I had to pay them away to satisfy my

debts. Consequently I am once more destitute. But the important point is

that there was trickery connected with the legacy, and shameful trickery

at that. Yes, though it may surprise you, it is a fact that that fellow

Chichikov--”

“Yes, Semen Semenovitch, but, before you go on to speak of Chichikov,

pray tell me something about yourself, and how much, in your opinion,

would be sufficient to clear you of your difficulties?”

“My difficulties are grievous,” replied Khlobuev. “To rid myself of

them, and also to have enough to go on with, I should need to acquire

at least a hundred thousand roubles, if not more. In short, things are

becoming impossible for me.”

“And, had you the money, what should you do with it?”

“I should rent a tenement, and devote myself to the education of my

children. Not a thought should I give to myself, for my career is over,

seeing that it is impossible for me to re-enter the Civil Service and I

am good for nothing else.”

“Nevertheless, when a man is leading an idle life he is apt to incur

temptations which shun his better-employed brother.”

“Yes, but beyond question I am good for nothing, so broken is my health,

and such a martyr I am to dyspepsia.”

“But how do you propose to live without working? How can a man like you

exist without a post or a position of any kind? Look around you at the

works of God. Everything has its proper function, and pursues its proper

course. Even a stone can be used for one purpose or another. How, then,

can it be right for a man who is a thinking being to remain a drone?”

“But I should not be a drone, for I should employ myself with the

education of my children.”

“No, Semen Semenovitch--no: THAT you would find the hardest task of

all. For how can a man educate his children who has never even educated

himself? Instruction can be imparted to children only through the medium

of example; and would a life like yours furnish them with a profitable

example--a life which has been spent in idleness and the playing of

cards? No, Semen Semenovitch. You had far better hand your children over

to me. Otherwise they will be ruined. Do not think that I am jesting.

Idleness has wrecked your life, and you must flee from it. Can a man

live with nothing to keep him in place? Even a journeyman labourer who

earns the barest pittance may take an interest in his occupation.”

“Athanasi Vassilievitch, I have tried to overcome myself, but what

further resource lies open to me? Can I who am old and incapable

re-enter the Civil Service and spend year after year at a desk with

youths who are just starting their careers? Moreover, I have lost the

trick of taking bribes; I should only hinder both myself and others;

while, as you know, it is a department which has an established caste

of its own. Therefore, though I have considered, and even attempted to

obtain, every conceivable post, I find myself incompetent for them all.

Only in a monastery should I--”

“Nay, nay. Monasteries, again, are only for those who have worked. To

those who have spent their youth in dissipation such havens say what

the ant said to the dragonfly--namely, ‘Go you away, and return to your

dancing.’ Yes, even in a monastery do folk toil and toil--they do

not sit playing whist.” Murazov looked at Khlobuev, and added: “Semen

Semenovitch, you are deceiving both yourself and me.”

Poor Khlobuev could not utter a word in reply, and Murazov began to feel

sorry for him.

“Listen, Semen Semenovitch,” he went on. “I know that you say your

prayers, and that you go to church, and that you observe both Matins and

Vespers, and that, though averse to early rising, you leave your bed at

four o’clock in the morning before the household fires have been lit.”

“Ah, Athanasi Vassilievitch,” said Khlobuev, “that is another matter

altogether. That I do, not for man’s sake, but for the sake of Him who

has ordered all things here on earth. Yes, I believe that He at least

can feel compassion for me, that He at least, though I be foul and

lowly, will pardon me and receive me when all men have cast me out, and

my best friend has betrayed me and boasted that he has done it for a

good end.”

Khlobuev’s face was glowing with emotion, and from the older man’s eyes

also a tear had started.

“You will do well to hearken unto Him who is merciful,” he said. “But

remember also that, in the eyes of the All-Merciful, honest toil is of

equal merit with a prayer. Therefore take unto yourself whatsoever task

you may, and do it as though you were doing it, not unto man, but unto

God. Even though to your lot there should fall but the cleaning of a

floor, clean that floor as though it were being cleaned for Him alone.

And thence at least this good you will reap: that there will remain to

you no time for what is evil--for card playing, for feasting, for all

the life of this gay world. Are you acquainted with Ivan Potapitch?”

“Yes, not only am I acquainted with him, but I also greatly respect

him.”

“Time was when Ivan Potapitch was a merchant worth half a million

roubles. In everything did he look but for gain, and his affairs

prospered exceedingly, so much so that he was able to send his son to be

educated in France, and to marry his daughter to a General. And whether

in his office or at the Exchange, he would stop any friend whom he

encountered and carry him off to a tavern to drink, and spend whole days

thus employed. But at last he became bankrupt, and God sent him other

misfortunes also. His son! Ah, well! Ivan Potapitch is now my steward,

for he had to begin life over again. Yet once more his affairs are in

order, and, had it been his wish, he could have restarted in business

with a capital of half a million roubles. ‘But no,’ he said. ‘A

steward am I, and a steward will I remain to the end; for, from being

full-stomached and heavy with dropsy, I have become strong and well.’

Not a drop of liquor passes his lips, but only cabbage soup and gruel.

And he prays as none of the rest of us pray, and he helps the poor as

none of the rest of us help them; and to this he would add yet further

charity if his means permitted him to do so.”

Poor Khlobuev remained silent, as before.

The elder man took his two hands in his.

“Semen Semenovitch,” he said, “you cannot think how much I pity you, or

how much I have had you in my thoughts. Listen to me. In the monastery

there is a recluse who never looks upon a human face. Of all men whom

I know he has the broadest mind, and he breaks not his silence save to

give advice. To him I went and said that I had a friend (though I

did not actually mention your name) who was in great trouble of soul.

Suddenly the recluse interrupted me with the words: ‘God’s work first,

and our own last. There is need for a church to be built, but no money

wherewith to build it. Money must be collected to that end.’ Then he

shut to the wicket. I wondered to myself what this could mean, and

concluded that the recluse had been unwilling to accord me his counsel.

Next I repaired to the Archimandrite, and had scarce reached his door

when he inquired of me whether I could commend to him a man meet to be

entrusted with the collection of alms for a church--a man who should

belong to the dvoriane or to the more lettered merchants, but who would

guard the trust as he would guard the salvation of his soul. On the

instant thought I to myself: ‘Why should not the Holy Father appoint

my friend Semen Semenovitch? For the way of suffering would benefit him

greatly; and as he passed with his ledger from landowner to peasant,

and from peasant to townsman, he would learn where folk dwell, and who

stands in need of aught, and thus would become better acquainted with

the countryside than folk who dwell in cities. And, thus become, he

would find that his services were always in demand.’ Only of late did

the Governor-General say to me that, could he but be furnished with the

name of a secretary who should know his work not only by the book but

also by experience, he would give him a great sum, since nothing is to

be learned by the former means, and, through it, much confusion arises.”

“You confound me, you overwhelm me!” said Khlobuev, staring at his

companion in open-eyed astonishment. “I can scarcely believe that your

words are true, seeing that for such a trust an active, indefatigable

man would be necessary. Moreover, how could I leave my wife and children

unprovided for?”

“Have no fear,” said Murazov, “I myself will take them under my care, as

well as procure for the children a tutor. Far better and nobler were

it for you to be travelling with a wallet, and asking alms on behalf

of God, then to be remaining here and asking alms for yourself alone.

Likewise, I will furnish you with a tilt-waggon, so that you may be

saved some of the hardships of the journey, and thus be preserved in

good health. Also, I will give you some money for the journey, in

order that, as you pass on your way, you may give to those who stand

in greater need than their fellows. Thus, if, before giving, you assure

yourself that the recipient of the alms is worthy of the same, you will

do much good; and as you travel you will become acquainted with all men

and sundry, and they will treat you, not as a tchinovnik to be feared,

but as one to whom, as a petitioner on behalf of the Church, they may

unloose their tongues without peril.”

“I feel that the scheme is a splendid one, and would gladly bear my part

in it were it not likely to exceed my strength.”

“What is there that does NOT exceed your strength?” said Murazov.

“Nothing is wholly proportionate to it--everything surpasses it. Help

from above is necessary: otherwise we are all powerless. Strength comes

of prayer, and of prayer alone. When a man crosses himself, and cries,

‘Lord, have mercy upon me!’ he soon stems the current and wins to the

shore. Nor need you take any prolonged thought concerning this matter.

All that you need do is to accept it as a commission sent of God. The

tilt-waggon can be prepared for you immediately; and then, as soon as

you have been to the Archimandrite for your book of accounts and his

blessing, you will be free to start on your journey.”

“I submit myself to you, and accept the commission as a divine trust.”

And even as Khlobuev spoke he felt renewed vigour and confidence arise

in his soul, and his mind begin to awake to a sense of hopefulness of

eventually being able to put to flight his troubles. And even as it was,

the world seemed to be growing dim to his eyes....

Meanwhile, plea after plea had been presented to the legal authorities,

and daily were relatives whom no one had before heard of putting in

an appearance. Yes, like vultures to a corpse did these good folk come

flocking to the immense property which Madam Khanasarov had left behind

her. Everywhere were heard rumours against Chichikov, rumours with

regard to the validity of the second will, rumours with regard to will

number one, and rumours of larceny and concealment of funds. Also, there

came to hand information with regard both to Chichikov’s purchase of

dead souls and to his conniving at contraband goods during his service

in the Customs Department. In short, every possible item of evidence

was exhumed, and the whole of his previous history investigated. How

the authorities had come to suspect and to ascertain all this God only

knows, but the fact remains that there had fallen into the hands of

those authorities information concerning matters of which Chichikov had

believed only himself and the four walls to be aware. True, for a

time these matters remained within the cognisance of none but the

functionaries concerned, and failed to reach Chichikov’s ears; but at

length a letter from a confidential friend gave him reason to think that

the fat was about to fall into the fire. Said the letter briefly: “Dear

sir, I beg to advise you that possibly legal trouble is pending, but

that you have no cause for uneasiness, seeing that everything will

be attended to by yours very truly.” Yet, in spite of its tenor, the

epistle reassured its recipient. “What a genius the fellow is!” thought

Chichikov to himself. Next, to complete his satisfaction, his tailor

arrived with the new suit which he had ordered. Not without a certain

sense of pride did our hero inspect the frockcoat of smoked grey shot

with flame colour and look at it from every point of view, and then

try on the breeches--the latter fitting him like a picture, and quite

concealing any deficiencies in the matter of his thighs and calves

(though, when buckled behind, they left his stomach projecting like a

drum). True, the customer remarked that there appeared to be a slight

tightness under the right armpit, but the smiling tailor only rejoined

that that would cause the waist to fit all the better. “Sir,” he said

triumphantly, “you may rest assured that the work has been executed

exactly as it ought to have been executed. No one, except in St.

Petersburg, could have done it better.” As a matter of fact, the tailor

himself hailed from St. Petersburg, but called himself on his signboard

“Foreign Costumier from London and Paris”--the truth being that by

the use of a double-barrelled flourish of cities superior to mere

“Karlsruhe” and “Copenhagen” he designed to acquire business and cut out

his local rivals.

Chichikov graciously settled the man’s account, and, as soon as he had

gone, paraded at leisure, and con amore, and after the manner of an

artist of aesthetic taste, before the mirror. Somehow he seemed to look

better than ever in the suit, for his cheeks had now taken on a still

more interesting air, and his chin an added seductiveness, while his

white collar lent tone to his neck, the blue satin tie heightened the

effect of the collar, the fashionable dickey set off the tie,

the rich satin waistcoat emphasised the dickey, and the

smoked-grey-shot-with-flame-colour frockcoat, shining like silk,

splendidly rounded off the whole. When he turned to the right he looked

well: when he turned to the left he looked even better. In short, it

was a costume worthy of a Lord Chamberlain or the species of dandy who

shrinks from swearing in the Russian language, but amply relieves his

feelings in the language of France. Next, inclining his head slightly

to one side, our hero endeavoured to pose as though he were addressing

a middle-aged lady of exquisite refinement; and the result of these

efforts was a picture which any artist might have yearned to portray.

Next, his delight led him gracefully to execute a hop in ballet fashion,

so that the wardrobe trembled and a bottle of eau-de-Cologne came

crashing to the floor. Yet even this contretemps did not upset him; he

merely called the offending bottle a fool, and then debated whom first

he should visit in his attractive guise.

Suddenly there resounded through the hall a clatter of spurred heels,

and then the voice of a gendarme saying: “You are commanded to present

yourself before the Governor-General!” Turning round, Chichikov stared

in horror at the spectacle presented; for in the doorway there was

standing an apparition wearing a huge moustache, a helmet surmounted

with a horsehair plume, a pair of crossed shoulder-belts, and a gigantic

sword! A whole army might have been combined into a single individual!

And when Chichikov opened his mouth to speak the apparition repeated,

“You are commanded to present yourself before the Governor-General,”

and at the same moment our hero caught sight both of a second apparition

outside the door and of a coach waiting beneath the window. What was

to be done? Nothing whatever was possible. Just as he stood--in his

smoked-grey-shot-with-flame-colour suit--he had then and there to enter

the vehicle, and, shaking in every limb, and with a gendarme seated by

his side, to start for the residence of the Governor-General.

And even in the hall of that establishment no time was given him to

pull himself together, for at once an aide-de-camp said: “Go inside

immediately, for the Prince is awaiting you.” And as in a dream did our

hero see a vestibule where couriers were being handed dispatches, and

then a salon which he crossed with the thought, “I suppose I am not to

be allowed a trial, but shall be sent straight to Siberia!” And at the

thought his heart started beating in a manner which the most jealous

of lovers could not have rivalled. At length there opened a door,

and before him he saw a study full of portfolios, ledgers, and

dispatch-boxes, with, standing behind them, the gravely menacing figure

of the Prince.

“There stands my executioner,” thought Chichikov to himself. “He is

about to tear me to pieces as a wolf tears a lamb.”

Indeed, the Prince’s lips were simply quivering with rage.

“Once before did I spare you,” he said, “and allow you to remain in the

town when you ought to have been in prison: yet your only return for

my clemency has been to revert to a career of fraud--and of fraud as

dishonourable as ever a man engaged in.”

“To what dishonourable fraud do you refer, your Highness?” asked

Chichikov, trembling from head to foot.

The Prince approached, and looked him straight in the eyes.

“Let me tell you,” he said, “that the woman whom you induced to witness

a certain will has been arrested, and that you will be confronted with

her.”

The world seemed suddenly to grow dim before Chichikov’s sight.

“Your Highness,” he gasped, “I will tell you the whole truth, and

nothing but the truth. I am guilty--yes, I am guilty; but I am not so

guilty as you think, for I was led away by rascals.”

“That any one can have led you away is impossible,” retorted the Prince.

“Recorded against your name there stand more felonies than even the most

hardened liar could have invented. I believe that never in your life

have you done a deed not innately dishonourable--that not a kopeck have

you ever obtained by aught but shameful methods of trickery and theft,

the penalty for which is Siberia and the knut. But enough of this! From

this room you will be conveyed to prison, where, with other rogues and

thieves, you will be confined until your trial may come on. And this

is lenient treatment on my part, for you are worse, far worse, than the

felons who will be your companions. THEY are but poor men in smocks and

sheepskins, whereas YOU--” Without concluding his words, the Prince shot

a glance at Chichikov’s smoked-grey-shot-with-flame-colour apparel.

Then he touched a bell.

“Your Highness,” cried Chichikov, “have mercy upon me! You are the

father of a family! Spare me for the sake of my aged mother!”

“Rubbish!” exclaimed the Prince. “Even as before you besought me for the

sake of a wife and children whom you did not even possess, so now you

would speak to me of an aged mother!”

“Your Highness,” protested Chichikov, “though I am a wretch and the

lowest of rascals, and though it is true that I lied when I told

you that I possessed a wife and children, I swear that, as God is my

witness, it has always been my DESIRE to possess a wife, and to fulfil

all the duties of a man and a citizen, and to earn the respect of my

fellows and the authorities. But what could be done against the force

of circumstances? By hook or by crook I have ever been forced to win

a living, though confronted at every step by wiles and temptations and

traitorous enemies and despoilers. So much has this been so that my

life has, throughout, resembled a barque tossed by tempestuous waves,

a barque driven at the mercy of the winds. Ah, I am only a man, your

Highness!”

And in a moment the tears had gushed in torrents from his eyes, and he

had fallen forward at the Prince’s feet--fallen forward just as he

was, in his smoked-grey-shot-with-flame-colour frockcoat, his velvet

waistcoat, his satin tie, and his exquisitely fitting breeches, while

from his neatly brushed pate, as again and again he struck his hand

against his forehead, there came an odorous whiff of best-quality

eau-de-Cologne.

“Away with him!” exclaimed the Prince to the gendarme who had just

entered. “Summon the escort to remove him.”

“Your Highness!” Chichikov cried again as he clasped the Prince’s knees;

but, shuddering all over, and struggling to free himself, the Prince

repeated his order for the prisoner’s removal.

“Your Highness, I say that I will not leave this room until you have

accorded me mercy!” cried Chichikov as he clung to the Prince’s leg with

such tenacity that, frockcoat and all, he began to be dragged along the

floor.

“Away with him, I say!” once more the Prince exclaimed with the sort of

indefinable aversion which one feels at the sight of a repulsive

insect which he cannot summon up the courage to crush with his boot. So

convulsively did the Prince shudder that Chichikov, clinging to his leg,

received a kick on the nose. Yet still the prisoner retained his hold;

until at length a couple of burly gendarmes tore him away and,

grasping his arms, hurried him--pale, dishevelled, and in that strange,

half-conscious condition into which a man sinks when he sees before

him only the dark, terrible figure of death, the phantom which is so

abhorrent to all our natures--from the building. But on the threshold

the party came face to face with Murazov, and in Chichikov’s heart

the circumstance revived a ray of hope. Wresting himself with almost

supernatural strength from the grasp of the escorting gendarmes, he

threw himself at the feet of the horror-stricken old man.

“Paul Ivanovitch,” Murazov exclaimed, “what has happened to you?”

“Save me!” gasped Chichikov. “They are taking me away to prison and

death!”

Yet almost as he spoke the gendarmes seized him again, and hurried him

away so swiftly that Murazov’s reply escaped his ears.

A damp, mouldy cell which reeked of soldiers’ boots and leggings, an

unvarnished table, two sorry chairs, a window closed with a grating, a

crazy stove which, while letting the smoke emerge through its cracks,

gave out no heat--such was the den to which the man who had just begun

to taste the sweets of life, and to attract the attention of his fellows

with his new suit of smoked-grey-shot-with-flame-colour, now found

himself consigned. Not even necessaries had he been allowed to bring

away with him, nor his dispatch-box which contained all his booty. No,

with the indenture deeds of the dead souls, it was lodged in the hands

of a tchinovnik; and as he thought of these things Chichikov rolled

about the floor, and felt the cankerous worm of remorse seize upon and

gnaw at his heart, and bite its way ever further and further into that

heart so defenceless against its ravages, until he made up his mind

that, should he have to suffer another twenty-four hours of this misery,

there would no longer be a Chichikov in the world. Yet over him, as over

every one, there hung poised the All-Saving Hand; and, an hour after his

arrival at the prison, the doors of the gaol opened to admit Murazov.

Compared with poor Chichikov’s sense of relief when the old man entered

his cell, even the pleasure experienced by a thirsty, dusty traveller

when he is given a drink of clear spring water to cool his dry, parched

throat fades into insignificance.

“Ah, my deliverer!” he cried as he rose from the floor, where he had

been grovelling in heartrending paroxysms of grief. Seizing the old

man’s hand, he kissed it and pressed it to his bosom. Then, bursting

into tears, he added: “God Himself will reward you for having come to

visit an unfortunate wretch!”

Murazov looked at him sorrowfully, and said no more than “Ah, Paul

Ivanovitch, Paul Ivanovitch! What has happened?”

“What has happened?” cried Chichikov. “I have been ruined by an accursed

woman. That was because I could not do things in moderation--I was

powerless to stop myself in time, Satan tempted me, and drove me from

my senses, and bereft me of human prudence. Yes, truly I have sinned, I

have sinned! Yet how came I so to sin? To think that a dvorianin--yes,

a dvorianin--should be thrown into prison without process or trial! I

repeat, a dvorianin! Why was I not given time to go home and collect my

effects? Whereas now they are left with no one to look after them! My

dispatch-box, my dispatch-box! It contained my whole property, all that

my heart’s blood and years of toil and want have been needed to acquire.

And now everything will be stolen, Athanasi Vassilievitch--everything

will be taken from me! My God!”

And, unable to stand against the torrent of grief which came rushing

over his heart once more, he sobbed aloud in tones which penetrated even

the thickness of the prison walls, and made dull echoes awake behind

them. Then, tearing off his satin tie, and seizing by the collar, the

smoked-grey-shot-with-flame-colour frockcoat, he stripped the latter

from his shoulders.

“Ah, Paul Ivanovitch,” said the old man, “how even now the property

which you have acquired is blinding your eyes, and causing you to fail

to realise your terrible position!”

“Yes, my good friend and benefactor,” wailed poor Chichikov

despairingly, and clasping Murazov by the knees. “Yet save me if you

can! The Prince is fond of you, and would do anything for your sake.”

“No, Paul Ivanovitch; however much I might wish to save you, and however

much I might try to do so, I could not help you as you desire; for it is

to the power of an inexorable law, and not to the authority of any one

man, that you have rendered yourself subject.”

“Satan tempted me, and has ended by making of me an outcast from the

human race!” Chichikov beat his head against the wall and struck the

table with his fist until the blood spurted from his hand. Yet neither

his head nor his hand seemed to be conscious of the least pain.

“Calm yourself, Paul Ivanovitch,” said Murazov. “Calm yourself, and

consider how best you can make your peace with God. Think of your

miserable soul, and not of the judgment of man.”

“I will, Athanasi Vassilievitch, I will. But what a fate is mine! Did

ever such a fate befall a man? To think of all the patience with which

I have gathered my kopecks, of all the toil and trouble which I have

endured! Yet what I have done has not been done with the intention of

robbing any one, nor of cheating the Treasury. Why, then, did I gather

those kopecks? I gathered them to the end that one day I might be able

to live in plenty, and also to have something to leave to the wife

and children whom, for the benefit and welfare of my country, I hoped

eventually to win and maintain. That was why I gathered those kopecks.

True, I worked by devious methods--that I fully admit; but what else

could I do? And even devious methods I employed only when I saw that the

straight road would not serve my purpose so well as a crooked. Moreover,

as I toiled, the appetite for those methods grew upon me. Yet what

I took I took only from the rich; whereas villains exist who, while

drawing thousands a year from the Treasury, despoil the poor, and take

from the man with nothing even that which he has. Is it not the cruelty

of fate, therefore, that, just when I was beginning to reap the harvest

of my toil--to touch it, so to speak, with the tip of one finger--there

should have arisen a sudden storm which has sent my barque to pieces on

a rock? My capital had nearly reached the sum of three hundred thousand

roubles, and a three-storied house was as good as mine, and twice over

I could have bought a country estate. Why, then, should such a tempest

have burst upon me? Why should I have sustained such a blow? Was not my

life already like a barque tossed to and fro by the billows? Where

is Heaven’s justice--where is the reward for all my patience, for my

boundless perseverance? Three times did I have to begin life afresh, and

each time that I lost my all I began with a single kopeck at a moment

when other men would have given themselves up to despair and drink. How

much did I not have to overcome. How much did I not have to bear! Every

kopeck which I gained I had to make with my whole strength; for though,

to others, wealth may come easily, every coin of mine had to be ‘forged

with a nail worth three kopecks’ as the proverb has it. With such a

nail--with the nail of an iron, unwearying perseverance--did _I_ forge

my kopecks.”

Convulsively sobbing with a grief which he could not repress, Chichikov

sank upon a chair, tore from his shoulders the last ragged, trailing

remnants of his frockcoat, and hurled them from him. Then, thrusting his

fingers into the hair which he had once been so careful to preserve, he

pulled it out by handfuls at a time, as though he hoped through physical

pain to deaden the mental agony which he was suffering.

Meanwhile Murazov sat gazing in silence at the unwonted spectacle of

a man who had lately been mincing with the gait of a worldling or a

military fop now writhing in dishevelment and despair as he poured out

upon the hostile forces by which human ingenuity so often finds itself

outwitted a flood of invective.

“Paul Ivanovitch, Paul Ivanovitch,” at length said Murazov, “what

could not each of us rise to be did we but devote to good ends the same

measure of energy and of patience which we bestow upon unworthy objects!

How much good would not you yourself have effected! Yet I do not grieve

so much for the fact that you have sinned against your fellow as I

grieve for the fact that you have sinned against yourself and the rich

store of gifts and opportunities which has been committed to your care.

Though originally destined to rise, you have wandered from the path and

fallen.”

“Ah, Athanasi Vassilievitch,” cried poor Chichikov, clasping his friend’s

hands, “I swear to you that, if you would but restore me my freedom, and

recover for me my lost property, I would lead a different life from this

time forth. Save me, you who alone can work my deliverance! Save me!”

“How can I do that? So to do I should need to procure the setting aside

of a law. Again, even if I were to make the attempt, the Prince is a

strict administrator, and would refuse on any consideration to release

you.”

“Yes, but for you all things are possible. It is not the law that

troubles me: with that I could find a means to deal. It is the fact that

for no offence at all I have been cast into prison, and treated like

a dog, and deprived of my papers and dispatch-box and all my property.

Save me if you can.”

Again clasping the old man’s knees, he bedewed them with his tears.

“Paul Ivanovitch,” said Murazov, shaking his head, “how that property

of yours still seals your eyes and ears, so that you cannot so much as

listen to the promptings of your own soul!”

“Ah, I will think of my soul, too, if only you will save me.”

“Paul Ivanovitch,” the old man began again, and then stopped. For a

little while there was a pause.

“Paul Ivanovitch,” at length he went on, “to save you does not lie

within my power. Surely you yourself see that? But, so far as I can,

I will endeavour to, at all events, lighten your lot and procure your

eventual release. Whether or not I shall succeed I do not know; but I

will make the attempt. And should I, contrary to my expectations, prove

successful, I beg of you, in return for these my efforts, to renounce

all thought of benefit from the property which you have acquired.

Sincerely do I assure you that, were I myself to be deprived of my

property (and my property greatly exceeds yours in magnitude), I should

not shed a single tear. It is not the property of which men can deprive

us that matters, but the property of which no one on earth can deprive

or despoil us. You are a man who has seen something of life--to use

your own words, you have been a barque tossed hither and thither by

tempestuous waves: yet still will there be left to you a remnant of

substance on which to live, and therefore I beseech you to settle down

in some quiet nook where there is a church, and where none but plain,

good-hearted folk abide. Or, should you feel a yearning to leave behind

you posterity, take in marriage a good woman who shall bring you,

not money, but an aptitude for simple, modest domestic life. But

this life--the life of turmoil, with its longings and its

temptations--forget, and let it forget YOU; for there is no peace in

it. See for yourself how, at every step, it brings one but hatred and

treachery and deceit.”

“Indeed, yes!” agreed the repentant Chichikov. “Gladly will I do as you

wish, since for many a day past have I been longing to amend my life,

and to engage in husbandry, and to reorder my affairs. A demon, the

tempter Satan himself, has beguiled me and led me from the right path.”

Suddenly there had recurred to Chichikov long-unknown, long-unfamiliar

feelings. Something seemed to be striving to come to life again in

him--something dim and remote, something which had been crushed out of

his boyhood by the dreary, deadening education of his youthful days, by

his desolate home, by his subsequent lack of family ties, by the poverty

and niggardliness of his early impressions, by the grim eye of fate--an

eye which had always seemed to be regarding him as through a misty,

mournful, frost-encrusted window-pane, and to be mocking at his

struggles for freedom. And as these feelings came back to the penitent

a groan burst from his lips, and, covering his face with his hands, he

moaned: “It is all true, it is all true!”

“Of little avail are knowledge of the world and experience of men unless

based upon a secure foundation,” observed Murazov. “Though you have

fallen, Paul Ivanovitch, awake to better things, for as yet there is

time.”

“No, no!” groaned Chichikov in a voice which made Murazov’s heart bleed.

“It is too late, too late. More and more is the conviction gaining upon

me that I am powerless, that I have strayed too far ever to be able to

do as you bid me. The fact that I have become what I am is due to my

early schooling; for, though my father taught me moral lessons, and beat

me, and set me to copy maxims into a book, he himself stole land from

his neighbours, and forced me to help him. I have even known him to

bring an unjust suit, and defraud the orphan whose guardian he was!

Consequently I know and feel that, though my life has been different

from his, I do not hate roguery as I ought to hate it, and that my

nature is coarse, and that in me there is no real love for what is good,

no real spark of that beautiful instinct for well-doing which becomes

a second nature, a settled habit. Also, never do I yearn to strive for

what is right as I yearn to acquire property. This is no more than the

truth. What else could I do but confess it?”

The old man sighed.