第 十四 章 · Chapter III

“If Colonel Koshkarev should turn out to be as mad as the last one it

is a bad look-out,” said Chichikov to himself on opening his eyes amid

fields and open country--everything else having disappeared save the

vault of heaven and a couple of low-lying clouds.

“Selifan,” he went on, “did you ask how to get to Colonel Koshkarev’s?”

“Yes, Paul Ivanovitch. At least, there was such a clatter around the

koliaska that I could not; but Petrushka asked the coachman.”

“You fool! How often have I told you not to rely on Petrushka? Petrushka

is a blockhead, an idiot. Besides, at the present moment I believe him

to be drunk.”

“No, you are wrong, barin,” put in the person referred to, turning his

head with a sidelong glance. “After we get down the next hill we shall

need but to keep bending round it. That is all.”

“Yes, and I suppose you’ll tell me that sivnkha is the only thing that

has passed your lips? Well, the view at least is beautiful. In fact,

when one has seen this place one may say that one has seen one of

the beauty spots of Europe.” This said, Chichikov added to himself,

smoothing his chin: “What a difference between the features of a

civilised man of the world and those of a common lacquey!”

Meanwhile the koliaska quickened its pace, and Chichikov once more

caught sight of Tientietnikov’s aspen-studded meadows. Undulating gently

on elastic springs, the vehicle cautiously descended the steep incline,

and then proceeded past water-mills, rumbled over a bridge or two, and

jolted easily along the rough-set road which traversed the flats. Not a

molehill, not a mound jarred the spine. The vehicle was comfort itself.

Swiftly there flew by clumps of osiers, slender elder trees, and

silver-leaved poplars, their branches brushing against Selifan and

Petrushka, and at intervals depriving the valet of his cap. Each time

that this happened, the sullen-faced servitor fell to cursing both the

tree responsible for the occurrence and the landowner responsible for

the tree being in existence; yet nothing would induce him thereafter

either to tie on the cap or to steady it with his hand, so complete was

his assurance that the accident would never be repeated. Soon to the

foregoing trees there became added an occasional birch or spruce fir,

while in the dense undergrowth around their roots could be seen the blue

iris and the yellow wood-tulip. Gradually the forest grew darker, as

though eventually the obscurity would become complete. Then through

the trunks and the boughs there began to gleam points of light like

glittering mirrors, and as the number of trees lessened, these points

grew larger, until the travellers debouched upon the shore of a lake

four versts or so in circumference, and having on its further margin

the grey, scattered log huts of a peasant village. In the water a great

commotion was in progress. In the first place, some twenty men, immersed

to the knee, to the breast, or to the neck, were dragging a large

fishing-net inshore, while, in the second place, there was entangled in

the same, in addition to some fish, a stout man shaped precisely like a

melon or a hogshead. Greatly excited, he was shouting at the top of his

voice: “Let Kosma manage it, you lout of a Denis! Kosma, take the end

of the rope from Denis! Don’t bear so hard on it, Thoma Bolshoy [41]! Go

where Thoma Menshov [42] is! Damn it, bring the net to land, will you!”

From this it became clear that it was not on his own account that the

stout man was worrying. Indeed, he had no need to do so, since his fat

would in any case have prevented him from sinking. Yes, even if he

had turned head over heels in an effort to dive, the water would

persistently have borne him up; and the same if, say, a couple of men

had jumped on his back--the only result would have been that he would

have become a trifle deeper submerged, and forced to draw breath by

spouting bubbles through his nose. No, the cause of his agitation was

lest the net should break, and the fish escape: wherefore he was urging

some additional peasants who were standing on the bank to lay hold of

and to pull at, an extra rope or two.

“That must be the barin--Colonel Koshkarev,” said Selifan.

“Why?” asked Chichikov.

“Because, if you please, his skin is whiter than the rest, and he has

the respectable paunch of a gentleman.”

Meanwhile good progress was being made with the hauling in of the barin;

until, feeling the ground with his feet, he rose to an upright position,

and at the same moment caught sight of the koliaska, with Chichikov

seated therein, descending the declivity.

“Have you dined yet?” shouted the barin as, still entangled in the net,

he approached the shore with a huge fish on his back. With one hand

shading his eyes from the sun, and the other thrown backwards, he

looked, in point of pose, like the Medici Venus emerging from her bath.

“No,” replied Chichikov, raising his cap, and executing a series of

bows.

“Then thank God for that,” rejoined the gentleman.

“Why?” asked Chichikov with no little curiosity, and still holding his

cap over his head.

“Because of THIS. Cast off the net, Thoma Menshov, and pick up that

sturgeon for the gentleman to see. Go and help him, Telepen Kuzma.”

With that the peasants indicated picked up by the head what was a

veritable monster of a fish.

“Isn’t it a beauty--a sturgeon fresh run from the river?” exclaimed the

stout barin. “And now let us be off home. Coachman, you can take the

lower road through the kitchen garden. Run, you lout of a Thoma Bolshoy,

and open the gate for him. He will guide you to the house, and I myself

shall be along presently.”

Thereupon the barelegged Thoma Bolshoy, clad in nothing but a shirt,

ran ahead of the koliaska through the village, every hut of which had

hanging in front of it a variety of nets, for the reason that every

inhabitant of the place was a fisherman. Next, he opened a gate into a

large vegetable enclosure, and thence the koliaska emerged into a square

near a wooden church, with, showing beyond the latter, the roofs of the

manorial homestead.

“A queer fellow, that Koshkarev!” said Chichikov to himself.

“Well, whatever I may be, at least I’m here,” said a voice by his side.

Chichikov looked round, and perceived that, in the meanwhile, the barin

had dressed himself and overtaken the carriage. With a pair of yellow

trousers he was wearing a grass-green jacket, and his neck was as

guiltless of a collar as Cupid’s. Also, as he sat sideways in his

drozhki, his bulk was such that he completely filled the vehicle.

Chichikov was about to make some remark or another when the stout

gentleman disappeared; and presently his drozhki re-emerged into view at

the spot where the fish had been drawn to land, and his voice could be

heard reiterating exhortations to his serfs. Yet when Chichikov reached

the verandah of the house he found, to his intense surprise, the stout

gentleman waiting to welcome the visitor. How he had contrived to

convey himself thither passed Chichikov’s comprehension. Host and guest

embraced three times, according to a bygone custom of Russia. Evidently

the barin was one of the old school.

“I bring you,” said Chichikov, “a greeting from his Excellency.”

“From whom?”

“From your relative General Alexander Dmitrievitch.”

“Who is Alexander Dmitrievitch?”

“What? You do not know General Alexander Dmitrievitch Betrishev?”

exclaimed Chichikov with a touch of surprise.

“No, I do not,” replied the gentleman.

Chichikov’s surprise grew to absolute astonishment.

“How comes that about?” he ejaculated. “I hope that I have the honour of

addressing Colonel Koshkarev?”

“Your hopes are vain. It is to my house, not to his, that you have come;

and I am Peter Petrovitch Pietukh--yes, Peter Petrovitch Pietukh.”

Chichikov, dumbfounded, turned to Selifan and Petrushka.

“What do you mean?” he exclaimed. “I told you to drive to the house

of Colonel Koshkarev, whereas you have brought me to that of Peter

Petrovitch Pietukh.”

“All the same, your fellows have done quite right,” put in the gentleman

referred to. “Do you” (this to Selifan and Petrushka) “go to the

kitchen, where they will give you a glassful of vodka apiece. Then put

up the horses, and be off to the servants’ quarters.”

“I regret the mistake extremely,” said Chichikov.

“But it is not a mistake. When you have tried the dinner which I have in

store for you, just see whether you think IT a mistake. Enter, I beg of

you.” And, taking Chichikov by the arm, the host conducted him within,

where they were met by a couple of youths.

“Let me introduce my two sons, home for their holidays from the

Gymnasium [43],” said Pietukh. “Nikolasha, come and entertain our

good visitor, while you, Aleksasha, follow me.” And with that the host

disappeared.

Chichikov turned to Nikolasha, whom he found to be a budding man about

town, since at first he opened a conversation by stating that, as no

good was to be derived from studying at a provincial institution, he and

his brother desired to remove, rather, to St. Petersburg, the provinces

not being worth living in.

“I quite understand,” Chichikov thought to himself. “The end of the

chapter will be confectioners’ assistants and the boulevards.”

“Tell me,” he added aloud, “how does your father’s property at present

stand?”

“It is all mortgaged,” put in the father himself as he re-entered the

room. “Yes, it is all mortgaged, every bit of it.”

“What a pity!” thought Chichikov. “At this rate it will not be long

before this man has no property at all left. I must hurry my departure.”

Aloud he said with an air of sympathy: “That you have mortgaged the

estate seems to me a matter of regret.”

“No, not at all,” replied Pietukh. “In fact, they tell me that it is a

good thing to do, and that every one else is doing it. Why should I act

differently from my neighbours? Moreover, I have had enough of living

here, and should like to try Moscow--more especially since my sons are

always begging me to give them a metropolitan education.”

“Oh, the fool, the fool!” reflected Chichikov. “He is for throwing

up everything and making spendthrifts of his sons. Yet this is a nice

property, and it is clear that the local peasants are doing well, and

that the family, too, is comfortably off. On the other hand, as soon as

ever these lads begin their education in restaurants and theatres, the

devil will away with every stick of their substance. For my own part, I

could desire nothing better than this quiet life in the country.”

“Let me guess what is in your mind,” said Pietukh.

“What, then?” asked Chichikov, rather taken aback.

“You are thinking to yourself: ‘That fool of a Pietukh has asked me to

dinner, yet not a bite of dinner do I see.’ But wait a little. It will

be ready presently, for it is being cooked as fast as a maiden who has

had her hair cut off plaits herself a new set of tresses.”

“Here comes Platon Mikhalitch, father!” exclaimed Aleksasha, who had

been peeping out of the window.

“Yes, and on a grey horse,” added his brother.

“Who is Platon Mikhalitch?” inquired Chichikov.

“A neighbour of ours, and an excellent fellow.”

The next moment Platon Mikhalitch himself entered the room, accompanied

by a sporting dog named Yarb. He was a tall, handsome man, with

extremely red hair. As for his companion, it was of the keen-muzzled

species used for shooting.

“Have you dined yet?” asked the host.

“Yes,” replied Platon.

“Indeed? What do you mean by coming here to laugh at us all? Do I ever

go to YOUR place after dinner?”

The newcomer smiled. “Well, if it can bring you any comfort,” he said,

“let me tell you that I ate nothing at the meal, for I had no appetite.”

“But you should see what I have caught--what sort of a sturgeon fate has

brought my way! Yes, and what crucians and carp!”

“Really it tires one to hear you. How come you always to be so

cheerful?”

“And how come YOU always to be so gloomy?” retorted the host.

“How, you ask? Simply because I am so.”

“The truth is you don’t eat enough. Try the plan of making a good

dinner. Weariness of everything is a modern invention. Once upon a time

one never heard of it.”

“Well, boast away, but have you yourself never been tired of things?”

“Never in my life. I do not so much as know whether I should find time

to be tired. In the morning, when one awakes, the cook is waiting, and

the dinner has to be ordered. Then one drinks one’s morning tea, and

then the bailiff arrives for HIS orders, and then there is fishing to be

done, and then one’s dinner has to be eaten. Next, before one has even

had a chance to utter a snore, there enters once again the cook, and one

has to order supper; and when she has departed, behold, back she comes

with a request for the following day’s dinner! What time does THAT leave

one to be weary of things?”

Throughout this conversation, Chichikov had been taking stock of

the newcomer, who astonished him with his good looks, his upright,

picturesque figure, his appearance of fresh, unwasted youthfulness,

and the boyish purity, innocence, and clarity of his features. Neither

passion nor care nor aught of the nature of agitation or anxiety of mind

had ventured to touch his unsullied face, or to lay a single wrinkle

thereon. Yet the touch of life which those emotions might have imparted

was wanting. The face was, as it were, dreaming, even though from time

to time an ironical smile disturbed it.

“I, too, cannot understand,” remarked Chichikov, “how a man of your

appearance can find things wearisome. Of course, if a man is hard

pressed for money, or if he has enemies who are lying in wait for his

life (as have certain folk of whom I know), well, then--”

“Believe me when I say,” interrupted the handsome guest, “that, for the

sake of a diversion, I should be glad of ANY sort of an anxiety. Would

that some enemy would conceive a grudge against me! But no one does so.

Everything remains eternally dull.”

“But perhaps you lack a sufficiency of land or souls?”

“Not at all. I and my brother own ten thousand desiatins [44] of land,

and over a thousand souls.”

“Curious! I do not understand it. But perhaps the harvest has failed,

or you have sickness about, and many of your male peasants have died of

it?”

“On the contrary, everything is in splendid order, for my brother is the

best of managers.”

“Then to find things wearisome!” exclaimed Chichikov. “It passes my

comprehension.” And he shrugged his shoulders.

“Well, we will soon put weariness to flight,” interrupted the host.

“Aleksasha, do you run helter-skelter to the kitchen, and there tell

the cook to serve the fish pasties. Yes, and where have that gawk of an

Emelian and that thief of an Antoshka got to? Why have they not handed

round the zakuski?”

At this moment the door opened, and the “gawk” and the “thief” in

question made their appearance with napkins and a tray--the latter

bearing six decanters of variously-coloured beverages. These they placed

upon the table, and then ringed them about with glasses and platefuls

of every conceivable kind of appetiser. That done, the servants applied

themselves to bringing in various comestibles under covers, through

which could be heard the hissing of hot roast viands. In particular

did the “gawk” and the “thief” work hard at their tasks. As a matter

of fact, their appellations had been given them merely to spur them to

greater activity, for, in general, the barin was no lover of abuse, but,

rather, a kind-hearted man who, like most Russians, could not get on

without a sharp word or two. That is to say, he needed them for his

tongue as he need a glass of vodka for his digestion. What else could

you expect? It was his nature to care for nothing mild.

To the zakuski succeeded the meal itself, and the host became a perfect

glutton on his guests’ behalf. Should he notice that a guest had taken

but a single piece of a comestible, he added thereto another one,

saying: “Without a mate, neither man nor bird can live in this world.”

Should any one take two pieces, he added thereto a third, saying: “What

is the good of the number 2? God loves a trinity.” Should any one

take three pieces, he would say: “Where do you see a waggon with three

wheels? Who builds a three-cornered hut?” Lastly, should any one take

four pieces, he would cap them with a fifth, and add thereto the punning

quip, “Na piat opiat [45]”. After devouring at least twelve steaks

of sturgeon, Chichikov ventured to think to himself, “My host cannot

possibly add to THEM,” but found that he was mistaken, for, without a

word, Pietukh heaped upon his plate an enormous portion of spit-roasted

veal, and also some kidneys. And what veal it was!

“That calf was fed two years on milk,” he explained. “I cared for it

like my own son.”

“Nevertheless I can eat no more,” said Chichikov.

“Do you try the veal before you say that you can eat no more.”

“But I could not get it down my throat. There is no room left.”

“If there be no room in a church for a newcomer, the beadle is sent for,

and room is very soon made--yes, even though before there was such a

crush that an apple couldn’t have been dropped between the people. Do

you try the veal, I say. That piece is the titbit of all.”

So Chichikov made the attempt; and in very truth the veal was beyond all

praise, and room was found for it, even though one would have supposed

the feat impossible.

“Fancy this good fellow removing to St. Petersburg or Moscow!” said the

guest to himself. “Why, with a scale of living like this, he would be

ruined in three years.” For that matter, Pietukh might well have been

ruined already, for hospitality can dissipate a fortune in three months

as easily as it can in three years.

The host also dispensed the wine with a lavish hand, and what the guests

did not drink he gave to his sons, who thus swallowed glass after glass.

Indeed, even before coming to table, it was possible to discern to what

department of human accomplishment their bent was turned. When the meal

was over, however, the guests had no mind for further drinking. Indeed,

it was all that they could do to drag themselves on to the balcony,

and there to relapse into easy chairs. Indeed, the moment that the host

subsided into his seat--it was large enough for four--he fell asleep,

and his portly presence, converting itself into a sort of blacksmith’s

bellows, started to vent, through open mouth and distended nostrils,

such sounds as can have greeted the reader’s ear but seldom--sounds as

of a drum being beaten in combination with the whistling of a flute and

the strident howling of a dog.

“Listen to him!” said Platon.

Chichikov smiled.

“Naturally, on such dinners as that,” continued the other, “our host

does NOT find the time dull. And as soon as dinner is ended there can

ensue sleep.”

“Yes, but, pardon me, I still fail to understand why you should find

life wearisome. There are so many resources against ennui!”

“As for instance?”

“For a young man, dancing, the playing of one or another musical

instrument, and--well, yes, marriage.”

“Marriage to whom?”

“To some maiden who is both charming and rich. Are there none in these

parts?”

“No.”

“Then, were I you, I should travel, and seek a maiden elsewhere.” And a

brilliant idea therewith entered Chichikov’s head. “This last resource,”

he added, “is the best of all resources against ennui.”

“What resource are you speaking of?”

“Of travel.”

“But whither?”

“Well, should it so please you, you might join me as my companion.” This

said, the speaker added to himself as he eyed Platon: “Yes, that would

suit me exactly, for then I should have half my expenses paid, and could

charge him also with the cost of mending the koliaska.”

“And whither should we go?”

“In that respect I am not wholly my own master, as I have business to do

for others as well as for myself. For instance, General Betristchev--an

intimate friend and, I might add, a generous benefactor of mine--has

charged me with commissions to certain of his relatives. However, though

relatives are relatives, I am travelling likewise on my own account,

since I wish to see the world and the whirligig of humanity--which, in

spite of what people may say, is as good as a living book or a second

education.” As a matter of fact, Chichikov was reflecting, “Yes, the

plan is an excellent one. I might even contrive that he should have to

bear the whole of our expenses, and that his horses should be used while

my own should be put out to graze on his farm.”

“Well, why should I not adopt the suggestion?” was Platon’s thought.

“There is nothing for me to do at home, since the management of the

estate is in my brother’s hands, and my going would cause him no

inconvenience. Yes, why should I not do as Chichikov has suggested?”

Then he added aloud:

“Would you come and stay with my brother for a couple of days? Otherwise

he might refuse me his consent.”

“With great pleasure,” said Chichikov. “Or even for three days.”

“Then here is my hand on it. Let us be off at once.” Platon seemed

suddenly to have come to life again.

“Where are you off to?” put in their host unexpectedly as he roused

himself and stared in astonishment at the pair. “No, no, my good sirs. I

have had the wheels removed from your koliaska, Monsieur Chichikov, and

have sent your horse, Platon Mikhalitch, to a grazing ground fifteen

versts away. Consequently you must spend the night here, and depart

to-morrow morning after breakfast.”

What could be done with a man like Pietukh? There was no help for it but

to remain. In return, the guests were rewarded with a beautiful spring

evening, for, to spend the time, the host organised a boating expedition

on the river, and a dozen rowers, with a dozen pairs of oars, conveyed

the party (to the accompaniment of song) across the smooth surface of

the lake and up a great river with towering banks. From time to time the

boat would pass under ropes, stretched across for purposes of fishing,

and at each turn of the rippling current new vistas unfolded themselves

as tier upon tier of woodland delighted the eye with a diversity of

timber and foliage. In unison did the rowers ply their sculls, yet it

was though of itself that the skiff shot forward, bird-like, over the

glassy surface of the water; while at intervals the broad-shouldered

young oarsman who was seated third from the bow would raise, as from

a nightingale’s throat, the opening staves of a boat song, and then be

joined by five or six more, until the melody had come to pour forth in a

volume as free and boundless as Russia herself. And Pietukh, too, would

give himself a shake, and help lustily to support the chorus; and even

Chichikov felt acutely conscious of the fact that he was a Russian. Only

Platon reflected: “What is there so splendid in these melancholy songs?

They do but increase one’s depression of spirits.”

The journey homeward was made in the gathering dusk. Rhythmically the

oars smote a surface which no longer reflected the sky, and darkness had

fallen when they reached the shore, along which lights were twinkling

where the fisherfolk were boiling live eels for soup. Everything had now

wended its way homeward for the night; the cattle and poultry had

been housed, and the herdsmen, standing at the gates of the village

cattle-pens, amid the trailing dust lately raised by their charges,

were awaiting the milk-pails and a summons to partake of the eel-broth.

Through the dusk came the hum of humankind, and the barking of dogs in

other and more distant villages; while, over all, the moon was rising,

and the darkened countryside was beginning to glimmer to light again

under her beams. What a glorious picture! Yet no one thought of admiring

it. Instead of galloping over the countryside on frisky cobs,

Nikolasha and Aleksasha were engaged in dreaming of Moscow, with its

confectioners’ shops and the theatres of which a cadet, newly arrived on

a visit from the capital, had just been telling them; while their father

had his mind full of how best to stuff his guests with yet more food,

and Platon was given up to yawning. Only in Chichikov was a spice of

animation visible. “Yes,” he reflected, “some day I, too, will become

lord of such a country place.” And before his mind’s eye there arose

also a helpmeet and some little Chichikovs.

By the time that supper was finished the party had again over-eaten

themselves, and when Chichikov entered the room allotted him for the

night, he lay down upon the bed, and prodded his stomach. “It is as

tight as a drum,” he said to himself. “Not another titbit of veal could

now get into it.” Also, circumstances had so brought it about that

next door to him there was situated his host’s apartment; and since the

intervening wall was thin, Chichikov could hear every word that was

said there. At the present moment the master of the house was engaged in

giving the cook orders for what, under the guise of an early breakfast,

promised to constitute a veritable dinner. You should have heard

Pietukh’s behests! They would have excited the appetite of a corpse.

“Yes,” he said, sucking his lips, and drawing a deep breath, “in the

first place, make a pasty in four divisions. Into one of the divisions

put the sturgeon’s cheeks and some viaziga [46], and into another

division some buckwheat porridge, young mushrooms and onions,

sweet milk, calves’ brains, and anything else that you may find

suitable--anything else that you may have got handy. Also, bake the

pastry to a nice brown on one side, and but lightly on the other. Yes,

and, as to the under side, bake it so that it will be all juicy and

flaky, so that it shall not crumble into bits, but melt in the mouth

like the softest snow that ever you heard of.” And as he said this

Pietukh fairly smacked his lips.

“The devil take him!” muttered Chichikov, thrusting his head beneath the

bedclothes to avoid hearing more. “The fellow won’t give one a chance to

sleep.”

Nevertheless he heard through the blankets:

“And garnish the sturgeon with beetroot, smelts, peppered mushrooms,

young radishes, carrots, beans, and anything else you like, so as to

have plenty of trimmings. Yes, and put a lump of ice into the pig’s

bladder, so as to swell it up.”

Many other dishes did Pietukh order, and nothing was to be heard but

his talk of boiling, roasting, and stewing. Finally, just as mention was

being made of a turkey cock, Chichikov fell asleep.

Next morning the guest’s state of repletion had reached the point

of Platon being unable to mount his horse; wherefore the latter was

dispatched homeward with one of Pietukh’s grooms, and the two guests

entered Chichikov’s koliaska. Even the dog trotted lazily in the rear;

for he, too, had over-eaten himself.

“It has been rather too much of a good thing,” remarked Chichikov as the

vehicle issued from the courtyard.

“Yes, and it vexes me to see the fellow never tire of it,” replied

Platon.

“Ah,” thought Chichikov to himself, “if _I_ had an income of seventy

thousand roubles, as you have, I’d very soon give tiredness one in

the eye! Take Murazov, the tax-farmer--he, again, must be worth ten

millions. What a fortune!”

“Do you mind where we drive?” asked Platon. “I should like first to go

and take leave of my sister and my brother-in-law.”

“With pleasure,” said Chichikov.

“My brother-in-law is the leading landowner hereabouts. At the present

moment he is drawing an income of two hundred thousand roubles from a

property which, eight years ago, was producing a bare twenty thousand.”

“Truly a man worthy of the utmost respect! I shall be most interested to

make his acquaintance. To think of it! And what may his family name be?”

“Kostanzhoglo.”

“And his Christian name and patronymic?”

“Constantine Thedorovitch.”

“Constantine Thedorovitch Kostanzhoglo. Yes, it will be a most

interesting event to make his acquaintance. To know such a man must be a

whole education.”

Here Platon set himself to give Selifan some directions as to the way,

a necessary proceeding in view of the fact that Selifan could hardly

maintain his seat on the box. Twice Petrushka, too, had fallen headlong,

and this necessitated being tied to his perch with a piece of rope.

“What a clown!” had been Chichikov’s only comment.

“This is where my brother-in-law’s land begins,” said Platon.

“They give one a change of view.”

And, indeed, from this point the countryside became planted with timber;

the rows of trees running as straight as pistol-shots, and having beyond

them, and on higher ground, a second expanse of forest, newly planted

like the first; while beyond it, again, loomed a third plantation of

older trees. Next there succeeded a flat piece of the same nature.

“All this timber,” said Platon, “has grown up within eight or ten years

at the most; whereas on another man’s land it would have taken twenty to

attain the same growth.”

“And how has your brother-in-law effected this?”

“You must ask him yourself. He is so excellent a husbandman that nothing

ever fails with him. You see, he knows the soil, and also knows what

ought to be planted beside what, and what kinds of timber are the best

neighbourhood for grain. Again, everything on his estate is made to

perform at least three or four different functions. For instance, he

makes his timber not only serve as timber, but also serve as a provider

of moisture and shade to a given stretch of land, and then as a

fertiliser with its fallen leaves. Consequently, when everywhere else

there is drought, he still has water, and when everywhere else there

has been a failure of the harvest, on his lands it will have proved a

success. But it is a pity that I know so little about it all as to be

unable to explain to you his many expedients. Folk call him a wizard,

for he produces so much. Nevertheless, personally I find what he does

uninteresting.”

“Truly an astonishing fellow!” reflected Chichikov with a glance at his

companion. “It is sad indeed to see a man so superficial as to be unable

to explain matters of this kind.”

At length the manor appeared in sight--an establishment looking almost

like a town, so numerous were the huts where they stood arranged in

three tiers, crowned with three churches, and surrounded with huge ricks

and barns. “Yes,” thought Chichikov to himself, “one can see what a

jewel of a landowner lives here.” The huts in question were stoutly

built and the intervening alleys well laid-out; while, wherever a waggon

was visible, it looked serviceable and more or less new. Also, the local

peasants bore an intelligent look on their faces, the cattle were of the

best possible breed, and even the peasants’ pigs belonged to the porcine

aristocracy. Clearly there dwelt here peasants who, to quote the

song, were accustomed to “pick up silver by the shovelful.” Nor were

Englishified gardens and parterres and other conceits in evidence, but,

on the contrary, there ran an open view from the manor house to the

farm buildings and the workmen’s cots, so that, after the old Russian

fashion, the barin should be able to keep an eye upon all that was going

on around him. For the same purpose, the mansion was topped with a tall

lantern and a superstructure--a device designed, not for ornament,

nor for a vantage-spot for the contemplation of the view, but for

supervision of the labourers engaged in distant fields. Lastly, the

brisk, active servants who received the visitors on the verandah were

very different menials from the drunken Petrushka, even though they did

not wear swallow-tailed coats, but only Cossack tchekmenu [47] of blue

homespun cloth.

The lady of the house also issued on to the verandah. With her face of

the freshness of “blood and milk” and the brightness of God’s daylight,

she as nearly resembled Platon as one pea resembles another, save that,

whereas he was languid, she was cheerful and full of talk.

“Good day, brother!” she cried. “How glad I am to see you! Constantine

is not at home, but will be back presently.”

“Where is he?”

“Doing business in the village with a party of factors,” replied the

lady as she conducted her guests to the drawing-room.

With no little curiosity did Chichikov gaze at the interior of the

mansion inhabited by the man who received an annual income of two

hundred thousand roubles; for he thought to discern therefrom the nature

of its proprietor, even as from a shell one may deduce the species of

oyster or snail which has been its tenant, and has left therein its

impression. But no such conclusions were to be drawn. The rooms were

simple, and even bare. Not a fresco nor a picture nor a bronze nor a

flower nor a china what-not nor a book was there to be seen. In short,

everything appeared to show that the proprietor of this abode spent the

greater part of his time, not between four walls, but in the field, and

that he thought out his plans, not in sybaritic fashion by the fireside,

nor in an easy chair beside the stove, but on the spot where work was

actually in progress--that, in a word, where those plans were conceived,

there they were put into execution. Nor in these rooms could Chichikov

detect the least trace of a feminine hand, beyond the fact that

certain tables and chairs bore drying-boards whereon were arranged some

sprinklings of flower petals.

“What is all this rubbish for?” asked Platon.

“It is not rubbish,” replied the lady of the house. “On the contrary, it

is the best possible remedy for fever. Last year we cured every one of

our sick peasants with it. Some of the petals I am going to make into an

ointment, and some into an infusion. You may laugh as much as you like

at my potting and preserving, yet you yourself will be glad of things of

the kind when you set out on your travels.”

Platon moved to the piano, and began to pick out a note or two.

“Good Lord, what an ancient instrument!” he exclaimed. “Are you not

ashamed of it, sister?”

“Well, the truth is that I get no time to practice my music. You see,”

she added to Chichikov, “I have an eight-year-old daughter to educate;

and to hand her over to a foreign governess in order that I may have

leisure for my own piano-playing--well, that is a thing which I could

never bring myself to do.”

“You have become a wearisome sort of person,” commented Platon, and

walked away to the window. “Ah, here comes Constantine,” presently he

added.

Chichikov also glanced out of the window, and saw approaching the

verandah a brisk, swarthy-complexioned man of about forty, a man clad in

a rough cloth jacket and a velveteen cap. Evidently he was one of those

who care little for the niceties of dress. With him, bareheaded, there

came a couple of men of a somewhat lower station in life, and all

three were engaged in an animated discussion. One of the barin’s two

companions was a plain peasant, and the other (clad in a blue Siberian

smock) a travelling factor. The fact that the party halted awhile by

the entrance steps made it possible to overhear a portion of their

conversation from within.

“This is what you peasants had better do,” the barin was saying.

“Purchase your release from your present master. I will lend you the

necessary money, and afterwards you can work for me.”

“No, Constantine Thedorovitch,” replied the peasant. “Why should we do

that? Remove us just as we are. You will know how to arrange it, for a

cleverer gentleman than you is nowhere to be found. The misfortune of us

muzhiks is that we cannot protect ourselves properly. The tavern-keepers

sell us such liquor that, before a man knows where he is, a glassful of

it has eaten a hole through his stomach, and made him feel as though

he could drink a pail of water. Yes, it knocks a man over before he can

look around. Everywhere temptation lies in wait for the peasant, and he

needs to be cunning if he is to get through the world at all. In fact,

things seem to be contrived for nothing but to make us peasants lose

our wits, even to the tobacco which they sell us. What are folk like

ourselves to do, Constantine Thedorovitch? I tell you it is terribly

difficult for a muzhik to look after himself.”

“Listen to me. This is how things are done here. When I take on a serf,

I fit him out with a cow and a horse. On the other hand, I demand of him

thereafter more than is demanded of a peasant anywhere else. That is to

say, first and foremost I make him work. Whether a peasant be working

for himself or for me, never do I let him waste time. I myself toil like

a bullock, and I force my peasants to do the same, for experience

has taught me that that is the only way to get through life. All the

mischief in the world comes through lack of employment. Now, do you go

and consider the matter, and talk it over with your mir [48].”

“We have done that already, Constantine Thedorovitch, and our elders’

opinion is: ‘There is no need for further talk. Every peasant belonging

to Constantine Thedorovitch is well off, and hasn’t to work for nothing.

The priests of his village, too, are men of good heart, whereas ours

have been taken away, and there is no one to bury us.’”

“Nevertheless, do you go and talk the matter over again.”

“We will, barin.”

Here the factor who had been walking on the barin’s other side put in a

word.

“Constantine Thedorovitch,” he said, “I beg of you to do as I have

requested.”

“I have told you before,” replied the barin, “that I do not care to play

the huckster. I am not one of those landowners whom fellows of your sort

visit on the very day that the interest on a mortgage is due. Ah, I know

your fraternity thoroughly, and know that you keep lists of all who have

mortgages to repay. But what is there so clever about that? Any man,

if you pinch him sufficiently, will surrender you a mortgage at

half-price,--any man, that is to say, except myself, who care nothing

for your money. Were a loan of mine to remain out three years, I should

never demand a kopeck of interest on it.”

“Quite so, Constantine Thedorovitch,” replied the factor. “But I am

asking this of you more for the purpose of establishing us on a business

footing than because I desire to win your favour. Prey, therefore,

accept this earnest money of three thousand roubles.” And the man drew

from his breast pocket a dirty roll of bank-notes, which, carelessly

receiving, Kostanzhoglo thrust, uncounted, into the back pocket of his

overcoat.

“Hm!” thought Chichikov. “For all he cares, the notes might have been a

handkerchief.”

When Kostanzhoglo appeared at closer quarters--that is to say, in the

doorway of the drawing-room--he struck Chichikov more than ever with the

swarthiness of his complexion, the dishevelment of his black, slightly

grizzled locks, the alertness of his eye, and the impression of fiery

southern origin which his whole personality diffused. For he was not

wholly a Russian, nor could he himself say precisely who his forefathers

had been. Yet, inasmuch as he accounted genealogical research no part of

the science of estate-management, but a mere superfluity, he looked upon

himself as, to all intents and purposes, a native of Russia, and the

more so since the Russian language was the only tongue he knew.

Platon presented Chichikov, and the pair exchanged greetings.

“To get rid of my depression, Constantine,” continued Platon, “I am

thinking of accompanying our guest on a tour through a few of the

provinces.”

“An excellent idea,” said Kostanzhoglo. “But precisely whither?” he

added, turning hospitably to Chichikov.

“To tell you the truth,” replied that personage with an affable

inclination of the head as he smoothed the arm of his chair with his

hand, “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, so to speak, a

living book, a second course of education.”

“Yes, there is no harm in looking at other corners of the world besides

one’s own.”

“You speak truly. There IS no harm in such a proceeding. Thereby one may

see things which one has not before encountered, one may meet men with

whom one has not before come in contact. And with some men of that kind

a conversation is as precious a benefit as has been conferred upon me

by the present occasion. I come to you, most worthy Constantine

Thedorovitch, for instruction, and again for instruction, and beg of you

to assuage my thirst with an exposition of the truth as it is. I hunger

for the favour of your words as for manna.”

“But how so? What can _I_ teach you?” exclaimed Kostanzhoglo in

confusion. “I myself was given but the plainest of educations.”

“Nay, most worthy sir, you possess wisdom, and again wisdom. Wisdom only

can direct the management of a great estate, that can derive a

sound income from the same, that can acquire wealth of a real, not a

fictitious, order while also fulfilling the duties of a citizen and

thereby earning the respect of the Russian public. All this I pray you

to teach me.”

“I tell you what,” said Kostanzhoglo, looking meditatively at his guest.

“You had better stay with me for a few days, and during that time I can

show you how things are managed here, and explain to you everything.

Then you will see for yourself that no great wisdom is required for the

purpose.”

“Yes, certainly you must stay here,” put in the lady of the house. Then,

turning to her brother, she added: “And you too must stay. Why should

you be in such a hurry?”

“Very well,” he replied. “But what say YOU, Paul Ivanovitch?”

“I say the same as you, and with much pleasure,” replied Chichikov.

“But also I ought to tell you this: that there is a relative of General

Betristchev’s, a certain Colonel Koshkarev--”

“Yes, we know him; but he is quite mad.”

“As you say, he is mad, and I should not have been intending to visit

him, were it not that General Betristchev is an intimate friend of mine,

as well as, I might add, my most generous benefactor.”

“Then,” said Kostanzhoglo, “do you go and see Colonel Koshkarev NOW.

He lives less than ten versts from here, and I have a gig already

harnessed. Go to him at once, and return here for tea.”

“An excellent idea!” cried Chichikov, and with that he seized his cap.

Half an hour’s drive sufficed to bring him to the Colonel’s

establishment. The village attached to the manor was in a state of utter

confusion, since in every direction building and repairing operations

were in progress, and the alleys were choked with heaps of lime, bricks,

and beams of wood. Also, some of the huts were arranged to resemble

offices, and superscribed in gilt letters “Depot for Agricultural

Implements,” “Chief Office of Accounts,” “Estate Works Committee,”

“Normal School for the Education of Colonists,” and so forth.

Chichikov found the Colonel posted behind a desk and holding a pen

between his teeth. Without an instant’s delay the master of the

establishment--who seemed a kindly, approachable man, and accorded to

his visitor a very civil welcome--plunged into a recital of the labour

which it had cost him to bring the property to its present condition of

affluence. Then he went on to lament the fact that he could not make

his peasantry understand the incentives to labour which the riches

of science and art provide; for instance, he had failed to induce his

female serfs to wear corsets, whereas in Germany, where he had resided

for fourteen years, every humble miller’s daughter could play the piano.

None the less, he said, he meant to peg away until every peasant on

the estate should, as he walked behind the plough, indulge in a regular

course of reading Franklin’s Notes on Electricity, Virgil’s Georgics, or

some work on the chemical properties of soil.

“Good gracious!” mentally exclaimed Chichikov. “Why, I myself have not

had time to finish that book by the Duchesse de la Valliere!”

Much else the Colonel said. In particular did he aver that, provided

the Russian peasant could be induced to array himself in German costume,

science would progress, trade increase, and the Golden Age dawn in

Russia.

For a while Chichikov listened with distended eyes. Then he felt

constrained to intimate that with all that he had nothing to do, seeing

that his business was merely to acquire a few souls, and thereafter to

have their purchase confirmed.

“If I understand you aright,” said the Colonel, “you wish to present a

Statement of Plea?”

“Yes, that is so.”

“Then kindly put it into writing, and it shall be forwarded to the

Office for the Reception of Reports and Returns. Thereafter that Office

will consider it, and return it to me, who will, in turn, dispatch it to

the Estate Works Committee, who will, in turn, revise it, and present it

to the Administrator, who, jointly with the Secretary, will--”

“Pardon me,” expostulated Chichikov, “but that procedure will take up a

great deal of time. Why need I put the matter into writing at all? It is

simply this. I want a few souls which are--well, which are, so to speak,

dead.”

“Very good,” commented the Colonel. “Do you write down in your Statement

of Plea that the souls which you desire are, ‘so to speak, dead.’”

“But what would be the use of my doing so? Though the souls are dead, my

purpose requires that they should be represented as alive.”

“Very good,” again commented the Colonel. “Do you write down in your

Statement that ‘it is necessary’ (or, should you prefer an alternative

phrase, ‘it is requested,’ or ‘it is desiderated,’ or ‘it is prayed,’)

‘that the souls be represented as alive.’ At all events, WITHOUT

documentary process of that kind, the matter cannot possibly be carried

through. Also, I will appoint a Commissioner to guide you round the

various Offices.”

And he sounded a bell; whereupon there presented himself a man whom,

addressing as “Secretary,” the Colonel instructed to summon the

“Commissioner.” The latter, on appearing, was seen to have the air, half

of a peasant, half of an official.

“This man,” the Colonel said to Chichikov, “will act as your escort.”

What could be done with a lunatic like Koshkarev? In the end, curiosity

moved Chichikov to accompany the Commissioner. The Committee for the

Reception of Reports and Returns was discovered to have put up its

shutters, and to have locked its doors, for the reason that the Director

of the Committee had been transferred to the newly-formed Committee

of Estate Management, and his successor had been annexed by the same

Committee. Next, Chichikov and his escort rapped at the doors of the

Department of Estate Affairs; but that Department’s quarters happened to

be in a state of repair, and no one could be made to answer the

summons save a drunken peasant from whom not a word of sense was to be

extracted. At length the escort felt himself moved to remark:

“There is a deal of foolishness going on here. Fellows like that

drunkard lead the barin by the nose, and everything is ruled by the

Committee of Management, which takes men from their proper work, and

sets them to do any other it likes. Indeed, only through the Committee

does ANYTHING get done.”

By this time Chichikov felt that he had seen enough; wherefore he

returned to the Colonel, and informed him that the Office for the

Reception of Reports and Returns had ceased to exist. At once the

Colonel flamed to noble rage. Pressing Chichikov’s hand in token of

gratitude for the information which the guest had furnished, he took

paper and pen, and noted eight searching questions under three separate

headings: (1) “Why has the Committee of Management presumed to issue

orders to officials not under its jurisdiction?” (2) “Why has the Chief

Manager permitted his predecessor, though still in retention of his

post, to follow him to another Department?” and (3) “Why has the

Committee of Estate Affairs suffered the Office for the Reception of

Reports and Returns to lapse?”

“Now for a row!” thought Chichikov to himself, and turned to depart; but

his host stopped him, saying:

“I cannot let you go, for, in addition to my honour having become

involved, it behoves me to show my people how the regular, the

organised, administration of an estate may be conducted. Herewith I will

hand over the conduct of your affair to a man who is worth all the rest

of the staff put together, and has had a university education. Also, the

better to lose no time, may I humbly beg you to step into my library,

where you will find notebooks, paper, pens, and everything else that

you may require. Of these articles pray make full use, for you are

a gentleman of letters, and it is your and my joint duty to bring

enlightenment to all.”

So saying, he ushered his guest into a large room lined from floor to

ceiling with books and stuffed specimens. The books in question

were divided into sections--a section on forestry, a section on

cattle-breeding, a section on the raising of swine, and a section on

horticulture, together with special journals of the type circulated

merely for the purposes of reference, and not for general reading.

Perceiving that these works were scarcely of a kind calculated to while

away an idle hour, Chichikov turned to a second bookcase. But to do so

was to fall out of the frying-pan into the fire, for the contents of the

second bookcase proved to be works on philosophy, while, in particular,

six huge volumes confronted him under a label inscribed “A Preparatory

Course to the Province of Thought, with the Theory of Community of

Effort, Co-operation, and Subsistence, in its Application to a Right

Understanding of the Organic Principles of a Mutual Division of

Social Productivity.” Indeed, wheresoever Chichikov looked, every page

presented to his vision some such words as “phenomenon,” “development,”

“abstract,” “contents,” and “synopsis.” “This is not the sort of thing

for me,” he murmured, and turned his attention to a third bookcase,

which contained books on the Arts. Extracting a huge tome in which some

by no means reticent mythological illustrations were contained, he set

himself to examine these pictures. They were of the kind which pleases

mostly middle-aged bachelors and old men who are accustomed to seek

in the ballet and similar frivolities a further spur to their waning

passions. Having concluded his examination, Chichikov had just extracted

another volume of the same species when Colonel Koshkarev returned with

a document of some sort and a radiant countenance.

“Everything has been carried through in due form!” he cried. “The man

whom I mentioned is a genius indeed, and I intend not only to promote

him over the rest, but also to create for him a special Department.

Herewith shall you hear what a splendid intellect is his, and how in a

few minutes he has put the whole affair in order.”

“May the Lord be thanked for that!” thought Chichikov. Then he settled

himself while the Colonel read aloud:

“‘After giving full consideration to the Reference which your Excellency

has entrusted to me, I have the honour to report as follows:

“‘(1) In the Statement of Plea presented by one Paul Ivanovitch

Chichikov, Gentleman, Chevalier, and Collegiate Councillor, there

lurks an error, in that an oversight has led the Petitioner to apply to

Revisional Souls the term “Dead.” Now, from the context it would appear

that by this term the Petitioner desires to signify Souls Approaching

Death rather than Souls Actually Deceased: wherefore the term employed

betrays such an empirical instruction in letters as must, beyond doubt,

have been confined to the Village School, seeing that in truth the Soul

is Deathless.’

“The rascal!” Koshkarev broke off to exclaim delightedly. “He has

got you there, Monsieur Chichikov. And you will admit that he has a

sufficiently incisive pen?

“‘(2) On this Estate there exist no Unmortgaged Souls whatsoever,

whether Approaching Death or Otherwise; for the reason that all Souls

thereon have been pledged not only under a First Deed of Mortgage, but

also (for the sum of One Hundred and Fifty Roubles per Soul) under

a Second,--the village of Gurmailovka alone excepted, in that,

in consequence of a Suit having been brought against Landowner

Priadistchev, and of a caveat having been pronounced by the Land Court,

and of such caveat having been published in No. 42 of the Gazette of

Moscow, the said Village has come within the Jurisdiction of the Court

Above-Mentioned.”

“Why did you not tell me all this before?” cried Chichikov furiously.

“Why you have kept me dancing about for nothing?”

“Because it was absolutely necessary that you should view the matter

through forms of documentary process. This is no jest on my part. The

inexperienced may see things subconsciously, yet it is imperative that

he should also see them CONSCIOUSLY.”

But to Chichikov’s patience an end had come. Seizing his cap, and

casting all ceremony to the winds, he fled from the house, and rushed

through the courtyard. As it happened, the man who had driven him

thither had, warned by experience, not troubled even to take out the

horses, since he knew that such a proceeding would have entailed not

only the presentation of a Statement of Plea for fodder, but also a

delay of twenty-four hours until the Resolution granting the same should

have been passed. Nevertheless the Colonel pursued his guest to the

gates, and pressed his hand warmly as he thanked him for having enabled

him (the Colonel) thus to exhibit in operation the proper management of

an estate. Also, he begged to state that, under the circumstances, it

was absolutely necessary to keep things moving and circulating, since,

otherwise, slackness was apt to supervene, and the working of the

machine to grow rusty and feeble; but that, in spite of all, the

present occasion had inspired him with a happy idea--namely, the idea

of instituting a Committee which should be entitled “The Committee of

Supervision of the Committee of Management,” and which should have

for its function the detection of backsliders among the body first

mentioned.

It was late when, tired and dissatisfied, Chichikov regained

Kostanzhoglo’s mansion. Indeed, the candles had long been lit.

“What has delayed you?” asked the master of the house as Chichikov

entered the drawing-room.

“Yes, what has kept you and the Colonel so long in conversation

together?” added Platon.

“This--the fact that never in my life have I come across such an

imbecile,” was Chichikov’s reply.

“Never mind,” said Kostanzhoglo. “Koshkarev is a most reassuring

phenomenon. He is necessary in that in him we see expressed in

caricature all the more crying follies of our intellectuals--of the

intellectuals who, without first troubling to make themselves acquainted

with their own country, borrow silliness from abroad. Yet that is

how certain of our landowners are now carrying on. They have set up

‘offices’ and factories and schools and ‘commissions,’ and the devil

knows what else besides. A fine lot of wiseacres! After the French War

in 1812 they had to reconstruct their affairs: and see how they have

done it! Yet so much worse have they done it than a Frenchman would have

done that any fool of a Peter Petrovitch Pietukh now ranks as a good

landowner!”

“But he has mortgaged the whole of his estate?” remarked Chichikov.

“Yes, nowadays everything is being mortgaged, or is going to be.” This

said, Kostanzhoglo’s temper rose still further. “Out upon your factories

of hats and candles!” he cried. “Out upon procuring candle-makers

from London, and then turning landowners into hucksters! To think of

a Russian pomiestchik [49], a member of the noblest of callings,

conducting workshops and cotton mills! Why, it is for the wenches of

towns to handle looms for muslin and lace.”

“But you yourself maintain workshops?” remarked Platon.

“I do; but who established them? They established themselves. For

instance, wool had accumulated, and since I had nowhere to store it, I

began to weave it into cloth--but, mark you, only into good, plain cloth

of which I can dispose at a cheap rate in the local markets, and which

is needed by peasants, including my own. Again, for six years on end

did the fish factories keep dumping their offal on my bank of the river;

wherefore, at last, as there was nothing to be done with it, I took

to boiling it into glue, and cleared forty thousand roubles by the

process.”

“The devil!” thought Chichikov to himself as he stared at his host.

“What a fist this man has for making money!”

“Another reason why I started those factories,” continued Kostanzhoglo,

“is that they might give employment to many peasants who would otherwise

have starved. You see, the year happened to have been a lean one--thanks

to those same industry-mongering landowners, in that they had neglected

to sow their crops; and now my factories keep growing at the rate of

a factory a year, owing to the circumstance that such quantities

of remnants and cuttings become so accumulated that, if a man looks

carefully to his management, he will find every sort of rubbish to be

capable of bringing in a return--yes, to the point of his having to

reject money on the plea that he has no need of it. Yet I do not find

that to do all this I require to build a mansion with facades and

pillars!”

“Marvellous!” exclaimed Chichikov. “Beyond all things does it surprise

me that refuse can be so utilised.”

“Yes, and that is what can be done by SIMPLE methods. But nowadays every

one is a mechanic, and wants to open that money chest with an instrument

instead of simply. For that purpose he hies him to England. Yes, THAT is

the thing to do. What folly!” Kostanzhoglo spat and added: “Yet when

he returns from abroad he is a hundred times more ignorant than when he

went.”

“Ah, Constantine,” put in his wife anxiously, “you know how bad for you

it is to talk like this.”

“Yes, but how am I to help losing my temper? The thing touches me too

closely, it vexes me too deeply to think that the Russian character

should be degenerating. For in that character there has dawned a sort of

Quixotism which never used to be there. Yes, no sooner does a man get

a little education into his head than he becomes a Don Quixote, and

establishes schools on his estate such as even a madman would never have

dreamed of. And from that school there issues a workman who is good for

nothing, whether in the country or in the town--a fellow who drinks

and is for ever standing on his dignity. Yet still our landowners keep

taking to philanthropy, to converting themselves into philanthropic

knights-errant, and spending millions upon senseless hospitals and

institutions, and so ruining themselves and turning their families

adrift. Yes, that is all that comes of philanthropy.”

Chichikov’s business had nothing to do with the spread of enlightenment,

he was but seeking an opportunity to inquire further concerning the

putting of refuse to lucrative uses; but Kostanzhoglo would not let

him get a word in edgeways, so irresistibly did the flow of sarcastic

comment pour from the speaker’s lips.

“Yes,” went on Kostanzhoglo, “folk are always scheming to educate the

peasant. But first make him well-off and a good farmer. THEN he will

educate himself fast enough. As things are now, the world has grown

stupid to a degree that passes belief. Look at the stuff our present-day

scribblers write! Let any sort of a book be published, and at once you

will see every one making a rush for it. Similarly will you find

folk saying: ‘The peasant leads an over-simple life. He ought to be

familiarised with luxuries, and so led to yearn for things above his

station.’ And the result of such luxuries will be that the peasant will

become a rag rather than a man, and suffer from the devil only knows

what diseases, until there will remain in the land not a boy of eighteen

who will not have experienced the whole gamut of them, and found himself

left with not a tooth in his jaws or a hair on his pate. Yes, that is

what will come of infecting the peasant with such rubbish. But, thank

God, there is still one healthy class left to us--a class which has

never taken up with the ‘advantages’ of which I speak. For that we ought

to be grateful. And since, even yet, the Russian agriculturist remains

the most respect-worthy man in the land, why should he be touched? Would

to God every one were an agriculturist!”

“Then you believe agriculture to be the most profitable of occupations?”

said Chichikov.

“The best, at all events--if not the most profitable. ‘In the sweat

of thy brow shalt thou till the land.’ To quote that requires no

great wisdom, for the experience of ages has shown us that, in the

agricultural calling, man has ever remained more moral, more pure, more

noble than in any other. Of course I do not mean to imply that no other

calling ought to be practised: simply that the calling in question lies

at the root of all the rest. However much factories may be established

privately or by the law, there will still lie ready to man’s hand all

that he needs--he will still require none of those amenities which

are sapping the vitality of our present-day folk, nor any of those

industrial establishments which make their profit, and keep themselves

going, by causing foolish measures to be adopted which, in the end,

are bound to deprave and corrupt our unfortunate masses. I myself am

determined never to establish any manufacture, however profitable,

which will give rise to a demand for ‘higher things,’ such as sugar

and tobacco--no not if I lose a million by my refusing to do so. If

corruption MUST overtake the MIR, it shall not be through my hands.

And I think that God will justify me in my resolve. Twenty years have

I lived among the common folk, and I know what will inevitably come of

such things.”

“But what surprises me most,” persisted Chichikov, “is that from refuse

it should be possible, with good management, to make such an immensity

of profit.”

“And as for political economy,” continued Kostanzhoglo, without noticing

him, and with his face charged with bilious sarcasm, “--as for political

economy, it is a fine thing indeed. Just one fool sitting on another

fool’s back, and flogging him along, even though the rider can see

no further than his own nose! Yet into the saddle will that fool

climb--spectacles and all! Oh, the folly, the folly of such things!” And

the speaker spat derisively.

“That may be true,” said his wife. “Yet you must not get angry about it.

Surely one can speak on such subjects without losing one’s temper?”

“As I listen to you, most worthy Constantine Thedorovitch,” Chichikov

hastened to remark, “it becomes plain to me that you have penetrated

into the meaning of life, and laid your finger upon the essential root

of the matter. Yet supposing, for a moment, we leave the affairs of

humanity in general, and turn our attention to a purely individual

affair, might I ask you how, in the case of a man becoming a landowner,

and having a mind to grow wealthy as quickly as possible (in order that

he may fulfil his bounden obligations as a citizen), he can best set

about it?”

“How he can best set about growing wealthy?” repeated Kostanzhoglo.

“Why,--”

“Let us go to supper,” interrupted the lady of the house, rising from

her chair, and moving towards the centre of the room, where she wrapped

her shivering young form in a shawl. Chichikov sprang up with the

alacrity of a military man, offered her his arm, and escorted her, as

on parade, to the dining-room, where awaiting them there was the

soup-toureen. From it the lid had just been removed, and the room was

redolent of the fragrant odour of early spring roots and herbs. The

company took their seats, and at once the servants placed the

remainder of the dishes (under covers) upon the table and withdrew,

for Kostanzhoglo hated to have servants listening to their employers’

conversation, and objected still more to their staring at him all the

while that he was eating.

When the soup had been consumed, and glasses of an excellent vintage

resembling Hungarian wine had been poured out, Chichikov said to his

host:

“Most worthy sir, allow me once more to direct your attention to the

subject of which we were speaking at the point when the conversation

became interrupted. You will remember that I was asking you how best a

man can set about, proceed in, the matter of growing...”

[Here from the original two pages are missing.]

... “A property for which, had he asked forty thousand, I should still

have demanded a reduction.”

“Hm!” thought Chichikov; then added aloud: “But why do you not purchase

it yourself?”

“Because to everything there must be assigned a limit. Already my

property keeps me sufficiently employed. Moreover, I should cause our

local dvoriane to begin crying out in chorus that I am exploiting their

extremities, their ruined position, for the purpose of acquiring land

for under its value. Of that I am weary.”

“How readily folk speak evil!” exclaimed Chichikov.

“Yes, and the amount of evil-speaking in our province surpasses belief.

Never will you hear my name mentioned without my being called also

a miser and a usurer of the worst possible sort; whereas my accusers

justify themselves in everything, and say that, ‘though we have wasted

our money, we have started a demand for the higher amenities of life,

and therefore encouraged industry with our wastefulness, a far better

way of doing things than that practised by Kostanzhoglo, who lives like

a pig.’”

“Would _I_ could live in your ‘piggish’ fashion!” ejaculated Chichikov.

“And so forth, and so forth. Yet what are the ‘higher amenities of

life’? What good can they do to any one? Even if a landowner of the

day sets up a library, he never looks at a single book in it, but soon

relapses into card-playing--the usual pursuit. Yet folk call me names

simply because I do not waste my means upon the giving of dinners! One

reason why I do not give such dinners is that they weary me; and another

reason is that I am not used to them. But come you to my house for the

purpose of taking pot luck, and I shall be delighted to see you. Also,

folk foolishly say that I lend money on interest; whereas the truth is

that if you should come to me when you are really in need, and should

explain to me openly how you propose to employ my money, and I should

perceive that you are purposing to use that money wisely, and that you

are really likely to profit thereby--well, in that case you would find

me ready to lend you all that you might ask without interest at all.”

“That is a thing which it is well to know,” reflected Chichikov.

“Yes,” repeated Kostanzhoglo, “under those circumstances I should never

refuse you my assistance. But I do object to throwing my money to the

winds. Pardon me for expressing myself so plainly. To think of lending

money to a man who is merely devising a dinner for his mistress, or

planning to furnish his house like a lunatic, or thinking of taking his

paramour to a masked ball or a jubilee in honour of some one who had

better never have been born!”

And, spitting, he came near to venting some expression which would

scarcely have been becoming in the presence of his wife. Over his face

the dark shadow of hypochondria had cast a cloud, and furrows had formed

on his brow and temples, and his every gesture bespoke the influence of

a hot, nervous rancour.

“But allow me once more to direct your attention to the subject of our

recently interrupted conversation,” persisted Chichikov as he sipped a

glass of excellent raspberry wine. “That is to say, supposing I were

to acquire the property which you have been good enough to bring to my

notice, how long would it take me to grow rich?”

“That would depend on yourself,” replied Kostanzhoglo with grim

abruptness and evident ill-humour. “You might either grow rich quickly

or you might never grow rich at all. If you made up your mind to grow

rich, sooner or later you would find yourself a wealthy man.”

“Indeed?” ejaculated Chichikov.

“Yes,” replied Kostanzhoglo, as sharply as though he were angry with

Chichikov. “You would merely need to be fond of work: otherwise you

would effect nothing. The main thing is to like looking after your

property. Believe me, you would never grow weary of doing so. People

would have it that life in the country is dull; whereas, if I were to

spend a single day as it is spent by some folk, with their stupid clubs

and their restaurants and their theatres, I should die of ennui. The

fools, the idiots, the generations of blind dullards! But a landowner

never finds the days wearisome--he has not the time. In his life not a

moment remains unoccupied; it is full to the brim. And with it all goes

an endless variety of occupations. And what occupations! Occupations

which genuinely uplift the soul, seeing that the landowner walks with

nature and the seasons of the year, and takes part in, and is intimate

with, everything which is evolved by creation. For let us look at the

round of the year’s labours. Even before spring has arrived there will

have begun a general watching and a waiting for it, and a preparing for

sowing, and an apportioning of crops, and a measuring of seed grain by

byres, and drying of seed, and a dividing of the workers into teams.

For everything needs to be examined beforehand, and calculations must be

made at the very start. And as soon as ever the ice shall have melted,

and the rivers be flowing, and the land have dried sufficiently to be

workable, the spade will begin its task in kitchen and flower garden,

and the plough and the harrow their tasks in the field; until everywhere

there will be tilling and sowing and planting. And do you understand

what the sum of that labour will mean? It will mean that the harvest is

being sown, that the welfare of the world is being sown, that the

food of millions is being put into the earth. And thereafter will come

summer, the season of reaping, endless reaping; for suddenly the crops

will have ripened, and rye-sheaf will be lying heaped upon rye-sheaf,

with, elsewhere, stocks of barley, and of oats, and of wheat. And

everything will be teeming with life, and not a moment will there need

to be lost, seeing that, had you even twenty eyes, you would have need

for them all. And after the harvest festivities there will be grain to

be carted to byre or stacked in ricks, and stores to be prepared for the

winter, and storehouses and kilns and cattle-sheds to be cleaned for the

same purpose, and the women to be assigned their tasks, and the totals

of everything to be calculated, so that one may see the value of

what has been done. And lastly will come winter, when in every

threshing-floor the flail will be working, and the grain, when threshed,

will need to be carried from barn to binn, and the mills require to be

seen to, and the estate factories to be inspected, and the workmen’s

huts to be visited for the purpose of ascertaining how the muzhik is

faring (for, given a carpenter who is clever with his tools, I, for one,

am only too glad to spend an hour or two in his company, so cheering

to me is labour). And if, in addition, one discerns the end to which

everything is moving, and the manner in which the things of earth are

everywhere multiplying and multiplying, and bringing forth more and more

fruit to one’s profiting, I cannot adequately express what takes

place in a man’s soul. And that, not because of the growth in his

wealth--money is money and no more--but because he will feel that

everything is the work of his own hands, and that he has been the cause

of everything, and its creator, and that from him, as from a magician,

there has flowed bounty and goodness for all. In what other calling will

you find such delights in prospect?” As he spoke, Kostanzhoglo raised

his face, and it became clear that the wrinkles had fled from it, and

that, like the Tsar on the solemn day of his crowning, Kostanzhoglo’s

whole form was diffusing light, and his features had in them a gentle

radiance. “In all the world,” he repeated, “you will find no joys like

these, for herein man imitates the God who projected creation as the

supreme happiness, and now demands of man that he, too, should act as

the creator of prosperity. Yet there are folk who call such functions

tedious!”

Kostanzhoglo’s mellifluous periods fell upon Chichikov’s ear like

the notes of a bird of paradise. From time to time he gulped, and his

softened eyes expressed the pleasure which it gave him to listen.

“Constantine, it is time to leave the table,” said the lady of the

house, rising from her seat. Every one followed her example, and

Chichikov once again acted as his hostess’s escort--although with less

dexterity of deportment than before, owing to the fact that this time

his thoughts were occupied with more essential matters of procedure.

“In spite of what you say,” remarked Platon as he walked behind the

pair, “I, for my part, find these things wearisome.”

But the master of the house paid no attention to his remark, for he was

reflecting that his guest was no fool, but a man of serious thought

and speech who did not take things lightly. And, with the thought,

Kostanzhoglo grew lighter in soul, as though he had warmed himself with

his own words, and were exulting in the fact that he had found some one

capable of listening to good advice.

When they had settled themselves in the cosy, candle-lighted

drawing-room, with its balcony and the glass door opening out into the

garden--a door through which the stars could be seen glittering amid the

slumbering tops of the trees--Chichikov felt more comfortable than he

had done for many a day past. It was as though, after long journeying,

his own roof-tree had received him once more--had received him when

his quest had been accomplished, when all that he wished for had been

gained, when his travelling-staff had been laid aside with the words “It

is finished.” And of this seductive frame of mind the true source had

been the eloquent discourse of his hospitable host. Yes, for every man

there exist certain things which, instantly that they are said, seem to

touch him more closely, more intimately, than anything has done before.

Nor is it an uncommon occurrence that in the most unexpected fashion,

and in the most retired of retreats, one will suddenly come face to face

with a man whose burning periods will lead one to forget oneself and

the tracklessness of the route and the discomfort of one’s nightly

halting-places, and the futility of crazes and the falseness of tricks

by which one human being deceives another. And at once there will become

engraven upon one’s memory--vividly, and for all time--the evening thus

spent. And of that evening one’s remembrance will hold true, both as to

who was present, and where each such person sat, and what he or she was

wearing, and what the walls and the stove and other trifling features of

the room looked like.

In the same way did Chichikov note each detail that evening--both the

appointments of the agreeable, but not luxuriously furnished, room, and

the good-humoured expression which reigned on the face of the thoughtful

host, and the design of the curtains, and the amber-mounted pipe smoked

by Platon, and the way in which he kept puffing smoke into the fat

jowl of the dog Yarb, and the sneeze which, on each such occasion, Yarb

vented, and the laughter of the pleasant-faced hostess (though always

followed by the words “Pray do not tease him any more”) and the cheerful

candle-light, and the cricket chirping in a corner, and the glass door,

and the spring night which, laying its elbows upon the tree-tops, and

spangled with stars, and vocal with the nightingales which were pouring

forth warbled ditties from the recesses of the foliage, kept glancing

through the door, and regarding the company within.

“How it delights me to hear your words, good Constantine Thedorovitch!”

said Chichikov. “Indeed, nowhere in Russia have I met with a man of

equal intellect.”

Kostanzhoglo smiled, while realising that the compliment was scarcely

deserved.

“If you want a man of GENUINE intellect,” he said, “I can tell you of

one. He is a man whose boot soles are worth more than my whole body.”

“Who may he be?” asked Chichikov in astonishment.

“Murazov, our local Commissioner of Taxes.”

“Ah! I have heard of him before,” remarked Chichikov.

“He is a man who, were he not the director of an estate, might well be a

director of the Empire. And were the Empire under my direction, I should

at once appoint him my Minister of Finance.”

“I have heard tales beyond belief concerning him--for instance, that he

has acquired ten million roubles.”

“Ten? More than forty. Soon half Russia will be in his hands.”

“You don’t say so?” cried Chichikov in amazement.

“Yes, certainly. The man who has only a hundred thousand roubles to work

with grows rich but slowly, whereas he who has millions at his disposal

can operate over a greater radius, and so back whatsoever he undertakes

with twice or thrice the money which can be brought against him.

Consequently his field becomes so spacious that he ends by having no

rivals. Yes, no one can compete with him, and, whatsoever price he may

fix for a given commodity, at that price it will have to remain, nor

will any man be able to outbid it.”

“My God!” muttered Chichikov, crossing himself, and staring at

Kostanzhoglo with his breath catching in his throat. “The mind cannot

grasp it--it petrifies one’s thoughts with awe. You see folk marvelling

at what Science has achieved in the matter of investigating the habits

of cowbugs, but to me it is a far more marvellous thing that in the

hands of a single mortal there can become accumulated such gigantic sums

of money. But may I ask whether the great fortune of which you speak has

been acquired through honest means?”

“Yes; through means of the most irreproachable kind--through the most

honourable of methods.”

“Yet so improbable does it seem that I can scarcely believe it.

Thousands I could understand, but millions--!”

“On the contrary, to make thousands honestly is a far more difficult

matter than to make millions. Millions are easily come by, for a

millionaire has no need to resort to crooked ways; the way lies straight

before him, and he needs but to annex whatsoever he comes across. No

rival will spring up to oppose him, for no rival will be sufficiently

strong, and since the millionaire can operate over an extensive radius,

he can bring (as I have said) two or three roubles to bear upon any one

else’s one. Consequently, what interest will he derive from a thousand

roubles? Why, ten or twenty per cent. at the least.”

“And it is beyond measure marvellous that the whole should have started

from a single kopeck.”

“Had it started otherwise, the thing could never have been done at all.

Such is the normal course. He who is born with thousands, and is brought

up to thousands, will never acquire a single kopeck more, for he will

have been set up with the amenities of life in advance, and so never

come to stand in need of anything. It is necessary to begin from the

beginning rather than from the middle; from a kopeck rather than from a

rouble; from the bottom rather than from the top. For only thus will a

man get to know the men and conditions among which his career will have

to be carved. That is to say, through encountering the rough and the

tumble of life, and through learning that every kopeck has to be beaten

out with a three-kopeck nail, and through worsting knave after knave, he

will acquire such a degree of perspicuity and wariness that he will err

in nothing which he may tackle, and never come to ruin. Believe me, it

is so. The beginning, and not the middle, is the right starting point.

No one who comes to me and says, ‘Give me a hundred thousand roubles,

and I will grow rich in no time,’ do I believe, for he is likely to meet

with failure rather than with the success of which he is so assured.

’Tis with a kopeck, and with a kopeck only, that a man must begin.”

“If that is so, _I_ shall grow rich,” said Chichikov, involuntarily

remembering the dead souls. “For of a surety _I_ began with nothing.”

“Constantine, pray allow Paul Ivanovitch to retire to rest,” put in

the lady of the house. “It is high time, and I am sure you have talked

enough.”

“Yes, beyond a doubt you will grow rich,” continued Kostanzhoglo,

without heeding his wife. “For towards you there will run rivers and

rivers of gold, until you will not know what to do with all your gains.”

As though spellbound, Chichikov sat in an aureate world of ever-growing

dreams and fantasies. All his thoughts were in a whirl, and on a carpet

of future wealth his tumultuous imagination was weaving golden patterns,

while ever in his ears were ringing the words, “towards you there will

run rivers and rivers of gold.”

“Really, Constantine, DO allow Paul Ivanovitch to go to bed.”

“What on earth is the matter?” retorted the master of the household

testily. “Pray go yourself if you wish to.” Then he stopped short, for

the snoring of Platon was filling the whole room, and also--outrivalling

it--that of the dog Yarb. This caused Kostanzhoglo to realise that

bedtime really had arrived; wherefore, after he had shaken Platon out

of his slumbers, and bidden Chichikov good night, all dispersed to their

several chambers, and became plunged in sleep.

All, that is to say, except Chichikov, whose thoughts remained wakeful,

and who kept wondering and wondering how best he could become the owner,

not of a fictitious, but of a real, estate. The conversation with

his host had made everything clear, had made the possibility of

his acquiring riches manifest, had made the difficult art of estate

management at once easy and understandable; until it would seem as

though particularly was his nature adapted for mastering the art in

question. All that he would need to do would be to mortgage the dead

souls, and then to set up a genuine establishment. Already he

saw himself acting and administering as Kostanzhoglo had advised

him--energetically, and through personal oversight, and undertaking

nothing new until the old had been thoroughly learned, and viewing

everything with his own eyes, and making himself familiar with each

member of his peasantry, and abjuring all superfluities, and giving

himself up to hard work and husbandry. Yes, already could he taste the

pleasure which would be his when he had built up a complete industrial

organisation, and the springs of the industrial machine were in vigorous

working order, and each had become able to reinforce the other. Labour

should be kept in active operation, and, even as, in a mill, flour comes

flowing from grain, so should cash, and yet more cash, come flowing from

every atom of refuse and remnant. And all the while he could see before

him the landowner who was one of the leading men in Russia, and for whom

he had conceived such an unbounded respect. Hitherto only for rank or

for opulence had Chichikov respected a man--never for mere intellectual

power; but now he made a first exception in favour of Kostanzhoglo,

seeing that he felt that nothing undertaken by his host could possibly

come to naught. And another project which was occupying Chichikov’s mind

was the project of purchasing the estate of a certain landowner named

Khlobuev. Already Chichikov had at his disposal ten thousand roubles,

and a further fifteen thousand he would try and borrow of Kostanzhoglo

(seeing that the latter had himself said that he was prepared to help

any one who really desired to grow rich); while, as for the remainder,

he would either raise the sum by mortgaging the estate or force Khlobuev

to wait for it--just to tell him to resort to the courts if such might

be his pleasure.

Long did our hero ponder the scheme; until at length the slumber which

had, these four hours past, been holding the rest of the household in

its embraces enfolded also Chichikov, and he sank into oblivion.