Gradually, therefore, Tientietnikov grew more at home in the Service.

Yet never did it become, for him, the main pursuit, the main object

in life, which he had expected. No, it remained but one of a secondary

kind. That is to say, it served merely to divide up his time, and enable

him the more to value his hours of leisure. Nevertheless, just when his

uncle was beginning to flatter himself that his nephew was destined to

succeed in the profession, the said nephew elected to ruin his every

hope. Thus it befell. Tientietnikov’s friends (he had many) included

among their number a couple of fellows of the species known as

“embittered.” That is to say, though good-natured souls of that

curiously restless type which cannot endure injustice, nor anything

which it conceives to be such, they were thoroughly unbalanced of

conduct themselves, and, while demanding general agreement with

their views, treated those of others with the scantiest of ceremony.

Nevertheless these two associates exercised upon Tientietnikov--both

by the fire of their eloquence and by the form of their noble

dissatisfaction with society--a very strong influence; with the result

that, through arousing in him an innate tendency to nervous resentment,

they led him also to notice trifles which before had escaped his

attention. An instance of this is seen in the fact that he conceived

against Thedor Thedorovitch Lienitsin, Director of one of the

Departments which was quartered in the splendid range of offices before

mentioned, a dislike which proved the cause of his discerning in the

man a host of hitherto unmarked imperfections. Above all things did

Tientietnikov take it into his head that, when conversing with his

superiors, Lienitsin became, of the moment, a stick of luscious

sweetmeat, but that, when conversing with his inferiors, he approximated

more to a vinegar cruet. Certain it is that, like all petty-minded

individuals, Lienitsin made a note of any one who failed to offer him

a greeting on festival days, and that he revenged himself upon any one

whose visiting-card had not been handed to his butler. Eventually the

youth’s aversion almost attained the point of hysteria; until he felt

that, come what might, he MUST insult the fellow in some fashion. To

that task he applied himself con amore; and so thoroughly that he met

with complete success. That is to say, he seized on an occasion to

address Lienitsin in such fashion that the delinquent received

notice either to apologise or to leave the Service; and when of these

alternatives he chose the latter his uncle came to him, and made a

terrified appeal. “For God’s sake remember what you are doing!” he

cried. “To think that, after beginning your career so well, you should

abandon it merely for the reason that you have not fallen in with the

sort of Director whom you prefer! What do you mean by it, what do you

mean by it? Were others to regard things in the same way, the Service

would find itself without a single individual. Reconsider your

conduct--forego your pride and conceit, and make Lienitsin amends.”

“But, dear Uncle,” the nephew replied, “that is not the point. The point

is, not that I should find an apology difficult to offer, seeing that,

since Lienitsin is my superior, and I ought not to have addressed him as

I did, I am clearly in the wrong. Rather, the point is the following.

To my charge there has been committed the performance of another kind of

service. That is to say, I am the owner of three hundred peasant souls,

a badly administered estate, and a fool of a bailiff. That being so,

whereas the State will lose little by having to fill my stool with

another copyist, it will lose very much by causing three hundred peasant

souls to fail in the payment of their taxes. As I say (how am I to put

it?), I am a landowner who has preferred to enter the Public Service.

Now, should I employ myself henceforth in conserving, restoring, and

improving the fortunes of the souls whom God has entrusted to my care,

and thereby provide the State with three hundred law-abiding, sober,

hard-working taxpayers, how will that service of mine rank as inferior

to the service of a department-directing fool like Lienitsin?”

On hearing this speech, the State Councillor could only gape, for he

had not expected Tientietnikov’s torrent of words. He reflected a few

moments, and then murmured:

“Yes, but, but--but how can a man like you retire to rustication in

the country? What society will you get there? Here one meets at least

a general or a prince sometimes; indeed, no matter whom you pass in the

street, that person represents gas lamps and European civilisation; but

in the country, no matter what part of it you are in, not a soul is

to be encountered save muzhiks and their women. Why should you go and

condemn yourself to a state of vegetation like that?”

Nevertheless the uncle’s expostulations fell upon deaf ears, for already

the nephew was beginning to think of his estate as a retreat of a type

more likely to nourish the intellectual faculties and afford the only

profitable field of activity. After unearthing one or two modern works

on agriculture, therefore, he, two weeks later, found himself in

the neighbourhood of the home where his boyhood had been spent, and

approaching the spot which never failed to enthral the visitor or guest.

And in the young man’s breast there was beginning to palpitate a

new feeling--in the young man’s soul there were reawakening old,

long-concealed impressions; with the result that many a spot which had

long been faded from his memory now filled him with interest, and the

beautiful views on the estate found him gazing at them like a newcomer,

and with a beating heart. Yes, as the road wound through a narrow

ravine, and became engulfed in a forest where, both above and below, he

saw three-centuries-old oaks which three men could not have spanned,

and where Siberian firs and elms overtopped even the poplars, and as

he asked the peasants to tell him to whom the forest belonged, and

they replied, “To Tientietnikov,” and he issued from the forest, and

proceeded on his way through meadows, and past spinneys of elder, and

of old and young willows, and arrived in sight of the distant range of

hills, and, crossing by two different bridges the winding river (which

he left successively to right and to left of him as he did so), he again

questioned some peasants concerning the ownership of the meadows and

the flooded lands, and was again informed that they all belonged to

Tientietnikov, and then, ascending a rise, reached a tableland where, on

one side, lay ungarnered fields of wheat and rye and barley, and, on the

other, the country already traversed (but which now showed in shortened

perspective), and then plunged into the shade of some forked, umbrageous

trees which stood scattered over turf and extended to the manor-house

itself, and caught glimpses of the carved huts of the peasants, and of

the red roofs of the stone manorial outbuildings, and of the glittering

pinnacles of the church, and felt his heart beating, and knew, without

being told by any one, whither he had at length arrived--well, then the

feeling which had been growing within his soul burst forth, and he cried

in ecstasy:

“Why have I been a fool so long? Why, seeing that fate has appointed

me to be ruler of an earthly paradise, did I prefer to bind myself in

servitude as a scribe of lifeless documents? To think that, after I had

been nurtured and schooled and stored with all the knowledge necessary

for the diffusion of good among those under me, and for the improvement

of my domain, and for the fulfilment of the manifold duties of a

landowner who is at once judge, administrator, and constable of his

people, I should have entrusted my estate to an ignorant bailiff, and

sought to maintain an absentee guardianship over the affairs of serfs

whom I have never met, and of whose capabilities and characters I am

yet ignorant! To think that I should have deemed true estate-management

inferior to a documentary, fantastical management of provinces which lie

a thousand versts away, and which my foot has never trod, and where I

could never have effected aught but blunders and irregularities!”

Meanwhile another spectacle was being prepared for him. On learning

that the barin was approaching the mansion, the muzhiks collected on

the verandah in very variety of picturesque dress and tonsure; and when

these good folk surrounded him, and there arose a resounding shout of

“Here is our Foster Father! He has remembered us!” and, in spite of

themselves, some of the older men and women began weeping as they

recalled his grandfather and great-grandfather, he himself could not

restrain his tears, but reflected: “How much affection! And in return

for what? In return for my never having come to see them--in return for

my never having taken the least interest in their affairs!” And then

and there he registered a mental vow to share their every task and

occupation.

So he applied himself to supervising and administering. He reduced the

amount of the barstchina [40], he decreased the number of working-days

for the owner, and he augmented the sum of the peasants’ leisure-time.

He also dismissed the fool of a bailiff, and took to bearing a

personal hand in everything--to being present in the fields, at the

threshing-floor, at the kilns, at the wharf, at the freighting of barges

and rafts, and at their conveyance down the river: wherefore even the

lazy hands began to look to themselves. But this did not last long. The

peasant is an observant individual, and Tientietnikov’s muzhiks soon

scented the fact that, though energetic and desirous of doing much, the

barin had no notion how to do it, nor even how to set about it--that, in

short, he spoke by the book rather than out of his personal knowledge.

Consequently things resulted, not in master and men failing to

understand one another, but in their not singing together, in their not

producing the very same note.

That is to say, it was not long before Tientietnikov noticed that on

the manorial lands, nothing prospered to the extent that it did on the

peasants’. The manorial crops were sown in good time, and came up well,

and every one appeared to work his best, so much so that Tientietnikov,

who supervised the whole, frequently ordered mugs of vodka to be served

out as a reward for the excellence of the labour performed. Yet the rye

on the peasants’ land had formed into ear, and the oats had begun to

shoot their grain, and the millet had filled before, on the manorial

lands, the corn had so much as grown to stalk, or the ears had sprouted

in embryo. In short, gradually the barin realised that, in spite of

favours conferred, the peasants were playing the rogue with him. Next he

resorted to remonstrance, but was met with the reply, “How could we not

do our best for our barin? You yourself saw how well we laboured at the

ploughing and the sowing, for you gave us mugs of vodka for our pains.”

“Then why have things turned out so badly?” the barin persisted.

“Who can say? It must be that a grub has eaten the crop from below.

Besides, what a summer has it been--never a drop of rain!”

Nevertheless, the barin noted that no grub had eaten the PEASANTS’

crops, as well as that the rain had fallen in the most curious

fashion--namely, in patches. It had obliged the muzhiks, but had shed a

mere sprinkling for the barin.

Still more difficult did he find it to deal with the peasant women.

Ever and anon they would beg to be excused from work, or start making

complaints of the severity of the barstchina. Indeed, they were terrible

folk! However, Tientietnikov abolished the majority of the tithes of

linen, hedge fruit, mushrooms, and nuts, and also reduced by one-half

other tasks proper to the women, in the hope that they would devote

their spare time to their own domestic concerns--namely, to sewing and

mending, and to making clothes for their husbands, and to increasing

the area of their kitchen gardens. Yet no such result came about. On the

contrary, such a pitch did the idleness, the quarrelsomeness, and the

intriguing and caballing of the fair sex attain that their helpmeets

were for ever coming to the barin with a request that he would rid one

or another of his wife, since she had become a nuisance, and to live

with her was impossible.

Next, hardening his heart, the barin attempted severity. But of what

avail was severity? The peasant woman remained always the peasant

woman, and would come and whine that she was sick and ailing, and keep

pitifully hugging to herself the mean and filthy rags which she had

donned for the occasion. And when poor Tientietnikov found himself

unable to say more to her than just, “Get out of my sight, and may the

Lord go with you!” the next item in the comedy would be that he would

see her, even as she was leaving his gates, fall to contending with a

neighbour for, say, the possession of a turnip, and dealing out slaps

in the face such as even a strong, healthy man could scarcely have

compassed!

Again, amongst other things, Tientietnikov conceived the idea of

establishing a school for his people; but the scheme resulted in a farce

which left him in sackcloth and ashes. In the same way he found that,

when it came to a question of dispensing justice and of adjusting

disputes, the host of juridical subtleties with which the professors had

provided him proved absolutely useless. That is to say, the one party

lied, and the other party lied, and only the devil could have decided

between them. Consequently he himself perceived that a knowledge of

mankind would have availed him more than all the legal refinements and

philosophical maxims in the world could do. He lacked something; and

though he could not divine what it was, the situation brought about was

the common one of the barin failing to understand the peasant, and the

peasant failing to understand the barin, and both becoming disaffected.

In the end, these difficulties so chilled Tientietnikov’s enthusiasm

that he took to supervising the labours of the field with greatly

diminished attention. That is to say, no matter whether the scythes were

softly swishing through the grass, or ricks were being built, or rafts

were being loaded, he would allow his eyes to wander from his men, and

to fall to gazing at, say, a red-billed, red-legged heron which, after

strutting along the bank of a stream, would have caught a fish in its

beak, and be holding it awhile, as though in doubt whether to swallow

it. Next he would glance towards the spot where a similar bird, but one

not yet in possession of a fish, was engaged in watching the doings of

its mate. Lastly, with eyebrows knitted, and face turned to scan the

zenith, he would drink in the smell of the fields, and fall to listening

to the winged population of the air as from earth and sky alike the

manifold music of winged creatures combined in a single harmonious

chorus. In the rye the quail would be calling, and, in the grass, the

corncrake, and over them would be wheeling flocks of twittering linnets.

Also, the jacksnipe would be uttering its croak, and the lark executing

its roulades where it had become lost in the sunshine, and cranes

sending forth their trumpet-like challenge as they deployed towards the

zenith in triangle-shaped flocks. In fact, the neighbourhood would seem

to have become converted into one great concert of melody. O Creator,

how fair is Thy world where, in remote, rural seclusion, it lies apart

from cities and from highways!

But soon even this began to pall upon Tientietnikov, and he ceased

altogether to visit his fields, or to do aught but shut himself up

in his rooms, where he refused to receive even the bailiff when that

functionary called with his reports. Again, although, until now, he had

to a certain extent associated with a retired colonel of hussars--a man

saturated with tobacco smoke--and also with a student of pronounced, but

immature, opinions who culled the bulk of his wisdom from contemporary

newspapers and pamphlets, he found, as time went on, that these

companions proved as tedious as the rest, and came to think their

conversation superficial, and their European method of comporting

themselves--that is to say, the method of conversing with much slapping

of knees and a great deal of bowing and gesticulation--too direct and

unadorned. So these and every one else he decided to “drop,” and carried

this resolution into effect with a certain amount of rudeness. On the

next occasion that Varvar Nikolaievitch Vishnepokromov called to indulge

in a free-and-easy symposium on politics, philosophy, literature,

morals, and the state of financial affairs in England (he was, in all

matters which admit of superficial discussion, the pleasantest fellow

alive, seeing that he was a typical representative both of the retired

fire-eater and of the school of thought which is now becoming the

rage)--when, I say, this next happened, Tientietnikov merely sent out

to say that he was not at home, and then carefully showed himself at the

window. Host and guest exchanged glances, and, while the one muttered

through his teeth “The cur!” the other relieved his feelings with a

remark or two on swine. Thus the acquaintance came to an abrupt end, and

from that time forth no visitor called at the mansion.

Tientietnikov in no way regretted this, for he could now devote himself

wholly to the projection of a great work on Russia. Of the scale on

which this composition was conceived the reader is already aware. The

reader also knows how strange, how unsystematic, was the system employed

in it. Yet to say that Tientietnikov never awoke from his lethargy

would not be altogether true. On the contrary, when the post brought him

newspapers and reviews, and he saw in their printed pages, perhaps, the

well-known name of some former comrade who had succeeded in the great

field of Public Service, or had conferred upon science and the

world’s work some notable contribution, he would succumb to secret and

suppressed grief, and involuntarily there would burst from his soul

an expression of aching, voiceless regret that he himself had done so

little. And at these times his existence would seem to him odious and

repellent; at these times there would uprise before him the memory of

his school days, and the figure of Alexander Petrovitch, as vivid as in

life. And, slowly welling, the tears would course over Tientietnikov’s

cheeks.

What meant these repinings? Was there not disclosed in them the secret

of his galling spiritual pain--the fact that he had failed to order his

life aright, to confirm the lofty aims with which he had started his

course; the fact that, always poorly equipped with experience, he

had failed to attain the better and the higher state, and there to

strengthen himself for the overcoming of hindrances and obstacles; the

fact that, dissolving like overheated metal, his bounteous store of

superior instincts had failed to take the final tempering; the fact that

the tutor of his boyhood, a man in a thousand, had prematurely died, and

left to Tientietnikov no one who could restore to him the moral

strength shattered by vacillation and the will power weakened by want

of virility--no one, in short, who could cry hearteningly to his soul

“Forward!”--the word for which the Russian of every degree, of every

class, of every occupation, of every school of thought, is for ever

hungering.

Indeed, WHERE is the man who can cry aloud for any of us, in the Russian

tongue dear to our soul, the all-compelling command “Forward!”? Who is

there who, knowing the strength and the nature and the inmost depths of

the Russian genius, can by a single magic incantation divert our ideals

to the higher life? Were there such a man, with what tears, with what

affection, would not the grateful sons of Russia repay him! Yet age

succeeds to age, and our callow youth still lies wrapped in shameful

sloth, or strives and struggles to no purpose. God has not yet given us

the man able to sound the call.

One circumstance which almost aroused Tientietnikov, which almost

brought about a revolution in his character, was the fact that he came

very near to falling in love. Yet even this resulted in nothing. Ten

versts away there lived the general whom we have heard expressing

himself in highly uncomplimentary terms concerning Tientietnikov. He

maintained a General-like establishment, dispensed hospitality (that

is to say, was glad when his neighbours came to pay him their respects,

though he himself never went out), spoke always in a hoarse voice, read

a certain number of books, and had a daughter--a curious, unfamiliar

type, but full of life as life itself. This maiden’s name was Ulinka,

and she had been strangely brought up, for, losing her mother in early

childhood, she had subsequently received instruction at the hands of an

English governess who knew not a single word of Russian. Moreover her

father, though excessively fond of her, treated her always as a toy;

with the result that, as she grew to years of discretion, she became

wholly wayward and spoilt. Indeed, had any one seen the sudden rage

which would gather on her beautiful young forehead when she was engaged

in a heated dispute with her father, he would have thought her one of

the most capricious beings in the world. Yet that rage gathered only

when she had heard of injustice or harsh treatment, and never because

she desired to argue on her own behalf, or to attempt to justify her own

conduct. Also, that anger would disappear as soon as ever she saw any

one whom she had formerly disliked fall upon evil times, and, at his

first request for alms would, without consideration or subsequent

regret, hand him her purse and its whole contents. Yes, her every act

was strenuous, and when she spoke her whole personality seemed to be

following hot-foot upon her thought--both her expression of face and her

diction and the movements of her hands. Nay, the very folds of her frock

had a similar appearance of striving; until one would have thought

that all her self were flying in pursuit of her words. Nor did she know

reticence: before any one she would disclose her mind, and no force

could compel her to maintain silence when she desired to speak. Also,

her enchanting, peculiar gait--a gait which belonged to her alone--was

so absolutely free and unfettered that every one involuntarily gave her

way. Lastly, in her presence churls seemed to become confused and fall

to silence, and even the roughest and most outspoken would lose their

heads, and have not a word to say; whereas the shy man would find

himself able to converse as never in his life before, and would feel,

from the first, as though he had seen her and known her at some previous

period--during the days of some unremembered childhood, when he was at

home, and spending a merry evening among a crowd of romping children.

And for long afterwards he would feel as though his man’s intellect and

estate were a burden.

This was what now befell Tientietnikov; and as it did so a new feeling

entered into his soul, and his dreamy life lightened for a moment.

At first the General used to receive him with hospitable civility, but

permanent concord between them proved impossible; their conversation

always merged into dissension and soreness, seeing that, while the

General could not bear to be contradicted or worsted in an argument,

Tientietnikov was a man of extreme sensitiveness. True, for the

daughter’s sake, the father was for a while deferred to, and thus peace

was maintained; but this lasted only until the time when there arrived,

on a visit to the General, two kinswomen of his--the Countess Bordirev

and the Princess Uziakin, retired Court dames, but ladies who still

kept up a certain connection with Court circles, and therefore were much

fawned upon by their host. No sooner had they appeared on the scene than

(so it seemed to Tientietnikov) the General’s attitude towards the young

man became colder--either he ceased to notice him at all or he spoke to

him familiarly, and as to a person having no standing in society. This

offended Tientietnikov deeply, and though, when at length he spoke out

on the subject, he retained sufficient presence of mind to compress his

lips, and to preserve a gentle and courteous tone, his face flushed and

his inner man was boiling.

“General,” he said, “I thank you for your condescension. By addressing

me in the second person singular, you have admitted me to the circle

of your most intimate friends. Indeed, were it not that a difference of

years forbids any familiarity on my part, I should answer you in similar

fashion.”

The General sat aghast. At length, rallying his tongue and his

faculties, he replied that, though he had spoken with a lack of

ceremony, he had used the term “thou” merely as an elderly man naturally

employs it towards a junior (he made no reference to difference of

rank).

Nevertheless, the acquaintance broke off here, and with it any

possibility of love-making. The light which had shed a momentary gleam

before Tientietnikov’s eyes had become extinguished for ever, and upon

it there followed a darkness denser than before. Henceforth everything

conduced to evolve the regime which the reader has noted--that regime

of sloth and inaction which converted Tientietnikov’s residence into a

place of dirt and neglect. For days at a time would a broom and a heap

of dust be left lying in the middle of a room, and trousers tossing

about the salon, and pairs of worn-out braces adorning the what-not near

the sofa. In short, so mean and untidy did Tientietnikov’s mode of life

become, that not only his servants, but even his very poultry ceased to

treat him with respect. Taking up a pen, he would spend hours in idly

sketching houses, huts, waggons, troikas, and flourishes on a piece of

paper; while at other times, when he had sunk into a reverie, the pen

would, all unknowingly, sketch a small head which had delicate features,

a pair of quick, penetrating eyes, and a raised coiffure. Then suddenly

the dreamer would perceive, to his surprise, that the pen had executed

the portrait of a maiden whose picture no artist could adequately have

painted; and therewith his despondency would become greater than ever,

and, believing that happiness did not exist on earth, he would relapse

into increased ennui, increased neglect of his responsibilities.

But one morning he noticed, on moving to the window after breakfast,

that not a word was proceeding either from the butler or the

housekeeper, but that, on the contrary, the courtyard seemed to smack of

a certain bustle and excitement. This was because through the entrance

gates (which the kitchen maid and the scullion had run to open) there

were appearing the noses of three horses--one to the right, one in the

middle, and one to the left, after the fashion of triumphal groups of

statuary. Above them, on the box seat, were seated a coachman and a

valet, while behind, again, there could be discerned a gentleman in a

scarf and a fur cap. Only when the equipage had entered the courtyard

did it stand revealed as a light spring britchka. And as it came to a

halt, there leapt on to the verandah of the mansion an individual

of respectable exterior, and possessed of the art of moving with the

neatness and alertness of a military man.

Upon this Tientietnikov’s heart stood still. He was unused to receiving

visitors, and for the moment conceived the new arrival to be a

Government official, sent to question him concerning an abortive society

to which he had formerly belonged. (Here the author may interpolate the

fact that, in Tientietnikov’s early days, the young man had become mixed

up in a very absurd affair. That is to say, a couple of philosophers

belonging to a regiment of hussars had, together with an aesthete

who had not yet completed his student’s course and a gambler who had

squandered his all, formed a secret society of philanthropic aims under

the presidency of a certain old rascal of a freemason and the ruined

gambler aforesaid. The scope of the society’s work was to be extensive:

it was to bring lasting happiness to humanity at large, from the banks

of the Thames to the shores of Kamtchatka. But for this much money was

needed: wherefore from the noble-minded members of the society generous

contributions were demanded, and then forwarded to a destination known

only to the supreme authorities of the concern. As for Tientietnikov’s

adhesion, it was brought about by the two friends already alluded to as

“embittered”--good-hearted souls whom the wear and tear of their efforts

on behalf of science, civilisation, and the future emancipation of

mankind had ended by converting into confirmed drunkards. Perhaps it

need hardly be said that Tientietnikov soon discovered how things stood,

and withdrew from the association; but, meanwhile, the latter had had

the misfortune so to have engaged in dealings not wholly creditable

to gentlemen of noble origin as likewise to have become entangled in

dealings with the police. Consequently, it is not to be wondered at

that, though Tientietnikov had long severed his connection with the

society and its policy, he still remained uneasy in his mind as to what

might even yet be the result.)

However, his fears vanished the instant that the guest saluted him with

marked politeness and explained, with many deferential poises of the

head, and in terms at once civil and concise, that for some time past

he (the newcomer) had been touring the Russian Empire on business and

in the pursuit of knowledge, that the Empire abounded in objects

of interest--not to mention a plenitude of manufactures and a great

diversity of soil, and that, in spite of the fact that he was greatly

struck with the amenities of his host’s domain, he would certainly

not have presumed to intrude at such an inconvenient hour but for the

circumstance that the inclement spring weather, added to the state of

the roads, had necessitated sundry repairs to his carriage at the hands

of wheelwrights and blacksmiths. Finally he declared that, even if this

last had NOT happened, he would still have felt unable to deny himself

the pleasure of offering to his host that meed of homage which was the

latter’s due.

This speech--a speech of fascinating bonhomie--delivered, the guest

executed a sort of shuffle with a half-boot of patent leather studded

with buttons of mother-of-pearl, and followed that up by (in spite of

his pronounced rotundity of figure) stepping backwards with all the elan

of an india-rubber ball.

From this the somewhat reassured Tientietnikov concluded that his

visitor must be a literary, knowledge-seeking professor who was engaged

in roaming the country in search of botanical specimens and fossils;

wherefore he hastened to express both his readiness to further the

visitor’s objects (whatever they might be) and his personal willingness

to provide him with the requisite wheelwrights and blacksmiths.

Meanwhile he begged his guest to consider himself at home, and,

after seating him in an armchair, made preparations to listen to the

newcomer’s discourse on natural history.

But the newcomer applied himself, rather, to phenomena of the internal

world, saying that his life might be likened to a barque tossed on the

crests of perfidious billows, that in his time he had been fated to play

many parts, and that on more than one occasion his life had stood

in danger at the hands of foes. At the same time, these tidings were

communicated in a manner calculated to show that the speaker was also

a man of PRACTICAL capabilities. In conclusion, the visitor took out a

cambric pocket-handkerchief, and sneezed into it with a vehemence wholly

new to Tientietnikov’s experience. In fact, the sneeze rather resembled

the note which, at times, the trombone of an orchestra appears to utter

not so much from its proper place on the platform as from the immediate

neighbourhood of the listener’s ear. And as the echoes of the drowsy

mansion resounded to the report of the explosion there followed upon the

same a wave of perfume, skilfully wafted abroad with a flourish of the

eau-de-Cologne-scented handkerchief.

By this time the reader will have guessed that the visitor was none

other than our old and respected friend Paul Ivanovitch Chichikov.

Naturally, time had not spared him his share of anxieties and alarms;

wherefore his exterior had come to look a trifle more elderly, his

frockcoat had taken on a suggestion of shabbiness, and britchka,

coachman, valet, horses, and harness alike had about them a sort of

second-hand, worse-for-wear effect. Evidently the Chichikovian finances

were not in the most flourishing of conditions. Nevertheless, the old

expression of face, the old air of breeding and refinement, remained

unimpaired, and our hero had even improved in the art of walking and

turning with grace, and of dexterously crossing one leg over the

other when taking a seat. Also, his mildness of diction, his discreet

moderation of word and phrase, survived in, if anything, increased

measure, and he bore himself with a skill which caused his tactfulness

to surpass itself in sureness of aplomb. And all these accomplishments

had their effect further heightened by a snowy immaculateness of collar

and dickey, and an absence of dust from his frockcoat, as complete as

though he had just arrived to attend a nameday festival. Lastly, his

cheeks and chin were of such neat clean-shavenness that no one but a

blind man could have failed to admire their rounded contours.

From that moment onwards great changes took place in Tientietnikov’s

establishment, and certain of its rooms assumed an unwonted air of

cleanliness and order. The rooms in question were those assigned to

Chichikov, while one other apartment--a little front chamber opening

into the hall--became permeated with Petrushka’s own peculiar smell.

But this lasted only for a little while, for presently Petrushka was

transferred to the servants’ quarters, a course which ought to have been

adopted in the first instance.

During the initial days of Chichikov’s sojourn, Tientietnikov feared

rather to lose his independence, inasmuch as he thought that his

guest might hamper his movements, and bring about alterations in the

established routine of the place. But these fears proved groundless, for

Paul Ivanovitch displayed an extraordinary aptitude for accommodating

himself to his new position. To begin with, he encouraged his host

in his philosophical inertia by saying that the latter would help

Tientietnikov to become a centenarian. Next, in the matter of a life of

isolation, he hit things off exactly by remarking that such a life

bred in a man a capacity for high thinking. Lastly, as he inspected the

library and dilated on books in general, he contrived an opportunity to

observe that literature safeguarded a man from a tendency to waste his

time. In short, the few words of which he delivered himself were brief,

but invariably to the point. And this discretion of speech was outdone

by his discretion of conduct. That is to say, whether entering

or leaving the room, he never wearied his host with a question if

Tientietnikov had the air of being disinclined to talk; and with equal

satisfaction the guest could either play chess or hold his tongue.

Consequently Tientietnikov said to himself:

“For the first time in my life I have met with a man with whom it is

possible to live. In general, not many of the type exist in Russia, and,

though clever, good-humoured, well-educated men abound, one would be

hard put to it to find an individual of equable temperament with whom

one could share a roof for centuries without a quarrel arising. Anyway,

Chichikov is the first of his sort that I have met.”

For his part, Chichikov was only too delighted to reside with a

person so quiet and agreeable as his host. Of a wandering life he was

temporarily weary, and to rest, even for a month, in such a beautiful

spot, and in sight of green fields and the slow flowering of spring, was

likely to benefit him also from the hygienic point of view. And, indeed,

a more delightful retreat in which to recuperate could not possibly have

been found. The spring, long retarded by previous cold, had now begun

in all its comeliness, and life was rampant. Already, over the first

emerald of the grass, the dandelion was showing yellow, and the red-pink

anemone was hanging its tender head; while the surface of every pond

was a swarm of dancing gnats and midges, and the water-spider was being

joined in their pursuit by birds which gathered from every quarter to

the vantage-ground of the dry reeds. Every species of creature also

seemed to be assembling in concourse, and taking stock of one another.

Suddenly the earth became populous, the forest had opened its eyes, and

the meadows were lifting up their voice in song. In the same way had

choral dances begun to be weaved in the village, and everywhere that the

eye turned there was merriment. What brightness in the green of nature,

what freshness in the air, what singing of birds in the gardens of the

mansion, what general joy and rapture and exaltation! Particularly in

the village might the shouting and singing have been in honour of a

wedding!

Chichikov walked hither, thither, and everywhere--a pursuit for which

there was ample choice and facility. At one time he would direct his

steps along the edge of the flat tableland, and contemplate the depths

below, where still there lay sheets of water left by the floods of

winter, and where the island-like patches of forest showed leafless

boughs; while at another time he would plunge into the thicket and

ravine country, where nests of birds weighted branches almost to the

ground, and the sky was darkened with the criss-cross flight of cawing

rooks. Again, the drier portions of the meadows could be crossed to the

river wharves, whence the first barges were just beginning to set forth

with pea-meal and barley and wheat, while at the same time one’s ear

would be caught with the sound of some mill resuming its functions as

once more the water turned the wheel. Chichikov would also walk afield

to watch the early tillage operations of the season, and observe how

the blackness of a new furrow would make its way across the expanse of

green, and how the sower, rhythmically striking his hand against the

pannier slung across his breast, would scatter his fistfuls of seed with

equal distribution, apportioning not a grain too much to one side or to

the other.

In fact, Chichikov went everywhere. He chatted and talked, now with the

bailiff, now with a peasant, now with a miller, and inquired into the

manner and nature of everything, and sought information as to how an

estate was managed, and at what price corn was selling, and what species

of grain was best for spring and autumn grinding, and what was the name

of each peasant, and who were his kinsfolk, and where he had bought his

cow, and what he fed his pigs on. Chichikov also made inquiry concerning

the number of peasants who had lately died: but of these there appeared

to be few. And suddenly his quick eye discerned that Tientietnikov’s

estate was not being worked as it might have been--that much neglect and

listlessness and pilfering and drunkenness was abroad; and on perceiving

this, he thought to himself: “What a fool is that Tientietnikov! To

think of letting a property like this decay when he might be drawing

from it an income of fifty thousand roubles a year!”

Also, more than once, while taking these walks, our hero pondered the

idea of himself becoming a landowner--not now, of course, but later,

when his chief aim should have been achieved, and he had got into his

hands the necessary means for living the quiet life of the proprietor

of an estate. Yes, and at these times there would include itself in his

castle-building the figure of a young, fresh, fair-faced maiden of the

mercantile or other rich grade of society, a woman who could both play

and sing. He also dreamed of little descendants who should perpetuate

the name of Chichikov; perhaps a frolicsome little boy and a fair young

daughter, or possibly, two boys and quite two or three daughters; so

that all should know that he had really lived and had his being, that he

had not merely roamed the world like a spectre or a shadow; so that for

him and his the country should never be put to shame. And from that he

would go on to fancy that a title appended to his rank would not be

a bad thing--the title of State Councillor, for instance, which was

deserving of all honour and respect. Ah, it is a common thing for a

man who is taking a solitary walk so to detach himself from the irksome

realities of the present that he is able to stir and to excite and to

provoke his imagination to the conception of things he knows can never

really come to pass!

Chichikov’s servants also found the mansion to their taste, and, like

their master, speedily made themselves at home in it. In particular did

Petrushka make friends with Grigory the butler, although at first the

pair showed a tendency to outbrag one another--Petrushka beginning

by throwing dust in Grigory’s eyes on the score of his (Petrushka’s)

travels, and Grigory taking him down a peg or two by referring to St.

Petersburg (a city which Petrushka had never visited), and Petrushka

seeking to recover lost ground by dilating on towns which he HAD

visited, and Grigory capping this by naming some town which is not to be

found on any map in existence, and then estimating the journey

thither as at least thirty thousand versts--a statement which would so

completely flabbergast the henchman of Chichikov’s suite that he would

be left staring open-mouthed, amid the general laughter of the domestic

staff. However, as I say, the pair ended by swearing eternal friendship

with one another, and making a practice of resorting to the village

tavern in company.

For Selifan, however, the place had a charm of a different kind. That is

to say, each evening there would take place in the village a singing of

songs and a weaving of country dances; and so shapely and buxom were the

maidens--maidens of a type hard to find in our present-day villages on

large estates--that he would stand for hours wondering which of them was

the best. White-necked and white-bosomed, all had great roving eyes, the

gait of peacocks, and hair reaching to the waist. And as, with his hands

clasping theirs, he glided hither and thither in the dance, or retired

backwards towards a wall with a row of other young fellows, and then,

with them, returned to meet the damsels--all singing in chorus (and

laughing as they sang it), “Boyars, show me my bridegroom!” and dusk was

falling gently, and from the other side of the river there kept coming

far, faint, plaintive echoes of the melody--well, then our Selifan

hardly knew whether he were standing upon his head or his heels. Later,

when sleeping and when waking, both at noon and at twilight, he would

seem still to be holding a pair of white hands, and moving in the dance.

Chichikov’s horses also found nothing of which to disapprove. Yes,

both the bay, the Assessor, and the skewbald accounted residence at

Tientietnikov’s a most comfortable affair, and voted the oats excellent,

and the arrangement of the stables beyond all cavil. True, on this

occasion each horse had a stall to himself; yet, by looking over the

intervening partition, it was possible always to see one’s fellows, and,

should a neighbour take it into his head to utter a neigh, to answer it

at once.

As for the errand which had hitherto led Chichikov to travel about

Russia, he had now decided to move very cautiously and secretly in the

matter. In fact, on noticing that Tientietnikov went in absorbedly for

reading and for talking philosophy, the visitor said to himself, “No--I

had better begin at the other end,” and proceeded first to feel his way

among the servants of the establishment. From them he learnt several

things, and, in particular, that the barin had been wont to go and

call upon a certain General in the neighbourhood, and that the General

possessed a daughter, and that she and Tientietnikov had had an affair

of some sort, but that the pair had subsequently parted, and gone

their several ways. For that matter, Chichikov himself had noticed

that Tientietnikov was in the habit of drawing heads of which each

representation exactly resembled the rest.

Once, as he sat tapping his silver snuff-box after luncheon, Chichikov

remarked:

“One thing you lack, and only one, Andrei Ivanovitch.”

“What is that?” asked his host.

“A female friend or two,” replied Chichikov.

Tientietnikov made no rejoinder, and the conversation came temporarily

to an end.

But Chichikov was not to be discouraged; wherefore, while waiting for

supper and talking on different subjects, he seized an opportunity to

interject:

“Do you know, it would do you no harm to marry.”

As before, Tientietnikov did not reply, and the renewed mention of the

subject seemed to have annoyed him.

For the third time--it was after supper--Chichikov returned to the

charge by remarking:

“To-day, as I was walking round your property, I could not help thinking

that marriage would do you a great deal of good. Otherwise you will

develop into a hypochondriac.”

Whether Chichikov’s words now voiced sufficiently the note of

persuasion, or whether Tientietnikov happened, at the moment, to be

unusually disposed to frankness, at all events the young landowner

sighed, and then responded as he expelled a puff of tobacco smoke:

“To attain anything, Paul Ivanovitch, one needs to have been born under

a lucky star.”

And he related to his guest the whole history of his acquaintanceship

and subsequent rupture with the General.

As Chichikov listened to the recital, and gradually realised that the

affair had arisen merely out of a chance word on the General’s part, he

was astounded beyond measure, and gazed at Tientietnikov without knowing

what to make of him.

“Andrei Ivanovitch,” he said at length, “what was there to take offence

at?”

“Nothing, as regards the actual words spoken,” replied the other. “The

offence lay, rather, in the insult conveyed in the General’s tone.”

Tientietnikov was a kindly and peaceable man, yet his eyes flashed as he

said this, and his voice vibrated with wounded feeling.

“Yet, even then, need you have taken it so much amiss?”

“What? Could I have gone on visiting him as before?”

“Certainly. No great harm had been done?”

“I disagree with you. Had he been an old man in a humble station of

life, instead of a proud and swaggering officer, I should not have

minded so much. But, as it was, I could not, and would not, brook his

words.”

“A curious fellow, this Tientietnikov!” thought Chichikov to himself.

“A curious fellow, this Chichikov!” was Tientietnikov’s inward

reflection.

“I tell you what,” resumed Chichikov. “To-morrow I myself will go and

see the General.”

“To what purpose?” asked Tientietnikov, with astonishment and distrust

in his eyes.

“To offer him an assurance of my personal respect.”

“A strange fellow, this Chichikov!” reflected Tientietnikov.

“A strange fellow, this Tientietnikov!” thought Chichikov, and then

added aloud: “Yes, I will go and see him at ten o’clock to-morrow; but

since my britchka is not yet altogether in travelling order, would you

be so good as to lend me your koliaska for the purpose?”

CHAPTER II

Tientietnikov’s good horses covered the ten versts to the General’s

house in a little over half an hour. Descending from the koliaska with

features attuned to deference, Chichikov inquired for the master of the

house, and was at once ushered into his presence. Bowing with head

held respectfully on one side and hands extended like those of a waiter

carrying a trayful of teacups, the visitor inclined his whole body

forward, and said:

“I have deemed it my duty to present myself to your Excellency. I have

deemed it my duty because in my heart I cherish a most profound respect

for the valiant men who, on the field of battle, have proved the

saviours of their country.”

That this preliminary attack did not wholly displease the General was

proved by the fact that, responding with a gracious inclination of the

head, he replied:

“I am glad to make your acquaintance. Pray be so good as to take a seat.

In what capacity or capacities have you yourself seen service?”

“Of my service,” said Chichikov, depositing his form, not exactly in the

centre of the chair, but rather on one side of it, and resting a hand

upon one of its arms, “--of my service the scene was laid, in the first

instance, in the Treasury; while its further course bore me successively

into the employ of the Public Buildings Commission, of the Customs

Board, and of other Government Offices. But, throughout, my life has

resembled a barque tossed on the crests of perfidious billows. In

suffering I have been swathed and wrapped until I have come to be, as

it were, suffering personified; while of the extent to which my life

has been sought by foes, no words, no colouring, no (if I may so express

it?) painter’s brush could ever convey to you an adequate idea. And now,

at length, in my declining years, I am seeking a corner in which to eke

out the remainder of my miserable existence, while at the present moment

I am enjoying the hospitality of a neighbour of your acquaintance.”

“And who is that?”

“Your neighbour Tientietnikov, your Excellency.”

Upon that the General frowned.

“Led me add,” put in Chichikov hastily, “that he greatly regrets that

on a former occasion he should have failed to show a proper respect

for--for--”

“For what?” asked the General.

“For the services to the public which your Excellency has rendered.

Indeed, he cannot find words to express his sorrow, but keeps repeating

to himself: ‘Would that I had valued at their true worth the men who

have saved our fatherland!’”

“And why should he say that?” asked the mollified General. “I bear him

no grudge. In fact, I have never cherished aught but a sincere liking

for him, a sincere esteem, and do not doubt but that, in time, he may

become a useful member of society.”

“In the words which you have been good enough to utter,” said Chichikov

with a bow, “there is embodied much justice. Yes, Tientietnikov is

in very truth a man of worth. Not only does he possess the gift of

eloquence, but also he is a master of the pen.”

“Ah, yes; he DOES write rubbish of some sort, doesn’t he? Verses, or

something of the kind?”

“Not rubbish, your Excellency, but practical stuff. In short, he is

inditing a history.”

“A HISTORY? But a history of what?”

“A history of, of--” For a moment or two Chichikov hesitated. Then,

whether because it was a General that was seated in front of him, or

because he desired to impart greater importance to the subject which

he was about to invent, he concluded: “A history of Generals, your

Excellency.”

“Of Generals? Of WHAT Generals?”

“Of Generals generally--of Generals at large. That is to say, and to be

more precise, a history of the Generals of our fatherland.”

By this time Chichikov was floundering badly. Mentally he spat upon

himself and reflected: “Gracious heavens! What rubbish I am talking!”

“Pardon me,” went on his interlocutor, “but I do not quite understand

you. Is Tientietnikov producing a history of a given period, or only a

history made up of a series of biographies? Also, is he including ALL

our Generals, or only those who took part in the campaign of 1812?”

“The latter, your Excellency--only the Generals of 1812,” replied

Chichikov. Then he added beneath his breath: “Were I to be killed for

it, I could not say what that may be supposed to mean.”

“Then why should he not come and see me in person?” went on his

host. “Possibly I might be able to furnish him with much interesting

material?”

“He is afraid to come, your Excellency.”

“Nonsense! Just because of a hasty word or two! I am not that sort of

man at all. In fact, I should be very happy to call upon HIM.”

“Never would he permit that, your Excellency. He would greatly prefer to

be the first to make advances.” And Chichikov added to himself: “What a

stroke of luck those Generals were! Otherwise, the Lord knows where my

tongue might have landed me!”

At this moment the door into the adjoining room opened, and there

appeared in the doorway a girl as fair as a ray of the sun--so fair,

indeed, that Chichikov stared at her in amazement. Apparently she had

come to speak to her father for a moment, but had stopped short on

perceiving that there was some one with him. The only fault to be

found in her appearance was the fact that she was too thin and

fragile-looking.

“May I introduce you to my little pet?” said the General to Chichikov.

“To tell you the truth, I do not know your name.”

“That you should be unacquainted with the name of one who has never

distinguished himself in the manner of which you yourself can boast is

scarcely to be wondered at.” And Chichikov executed one of his sidelong,

deferential bows.

“Well, I should be delighted to know it.”

“It is Paul Ivanovitch Chichikov, your Excellency.” With that went

the easy bow of a military man and the agile backward movement of an

india-rubber ball.

“Ulinka, this is Paul Ivanovitch,” said the General, turning to his

daughter. “He has just told me some interesting news--namely, that

our neighbour Tientietnikov is not altogether the fool we had at first

thought him. On the contrary, he is engaged upon a very important

work--upon a history of the Russian Generals of 1812.”

“But who ever supposed him to be a fool?” asked the girl quickly. “What

happened was that you took Vishnepokromov’s word--the word of a man who

is himself both a fool and a good-for-nothing.”

“Well, well,” said the father after further good-natured dispute on the

subject of Vishnepokromov. “Do you now run away, for I wish to dress for

luncheon. And you, sir,” he added to Chichikov, “will you not join us at

table?”

Chichikov bowed so low and so long that, by the time that his eyes had

ceased to see nothing but his own boots, the General’s daughter had

disappeared, and in her place was standing a bewhiskered butler, armed

with a silver soap-dish and a hand-basin.

“Do you mind if I wash in your presence?” asked the host.

“By no means,” replied Chichikov. “Pray do whatsoever you please in that

respect.”

Upon that the General fell to scrubbing himself--incidentally, to

sending soapsuds flying in every direction. Meanwhile he seemed so

favourably disposed that Chichikov decided to sound him then and there,

more especially since the butler had left the room.

“May I put to you a problem?” he asked.

“Certainly,” replied the General. “What is it?”

“It is this, your Excellency. I have a decrepit old uncle who owns three

hundred souls and two thousand roubles-worth of other property. Also,

except for myself, he possesses not a single heir. Now, although his

infirm state of health will not permit of his managing his property in

person, he will not allow me either to manage it. And the reason for his

conduct--his very strange conduct--he states as follows: ‘I do not know

my nephew, and very likely he is a spendthrift. If he wishes to show me

that he is good for anything, let him go and acquire as many souls as

_I_ have acquired; and when he has done that I will transfer to him my

three hundred souls as well.”

“The man must be an absolute fool,” commented the General.

“Possibly. And were that all, things would not be as bad as they are.

But, unfortunately, my uncle has gone and taken up with his housekeeper,

and has had children by her. Consequently, everything will now pass to

THEM.”

“The old man must have taken leave of his senses,” remarked the General.

“Yet how _I_ can help you I fail to see.”

“Well, I have thought of a plan. If you will hand me over all the dead

souls on your estate--hand them over to me exactly as though they were

still alive, and were purchasable property--I will offer them to the old

man, and then he will leave me his fortune.”

At this point the General burst into a roar of laughter such as few can

ever have heard. Half-dressed, he subsided into a chair, threw back his

head, and guffawed until he came near to choking. In fact, the house

shook with his merriment, so much so that the butler and his daughter

came running into the room in alarm.

It was long before he could produce a single articulate word; and

even when he did so (to reassure his daughter and the butler) he kept

momentarily relapsing into spluttering chuckles which made the house

ring and ring again.

Chichikov was greatly taken aback.

“Oh, that uncle!” bellowed the General in paroxysms of mirth. “Oh, that

blessed uncle! WHAT a fool he’ll look! Ha, ha, ha! Dead souls offered

him instead of live ones! Oh, my goodness!”

“I suppose I’ve put my foot in it again,” ruefully reflected Chichikov.

“But, good Lord, what a man the fellow is to laugh! Heaven send that he

doesn’t burst of it!”

“Ha, ha, ha!” broke out the General afresh. “WHAT a donkey the old man

must be! To think of his saying to you: ‘You go and fit yourself out

with three hundred souls, and I’ll cap them with my own lot’! My word!

What a jackass!”

“A jackass, your Excellency?”

“Yes, indeed! And to think of the jest of putting him off with dead

souls! Ha, ha, ha! WHAT wouldn’t I give to see you handing him the title

deeds? Who is he? What is he like? Is he very old?”

“He is eighty, your Excellency.”

“But still brisk and able to move about, eh? Surely he must be pretty

strong to go on living with his housekeeper like that?”

“Yes. But what does such strength mean? Sand runs away, your

Excellency.”

“The old fool! But is he really such a fool?”

“Yes, your Excellency.”

“And does he go out at all? Does he see company? Can he still hold

himself upright?”

“Yes, but with great difficulty.”

“And has he any teeth left?”

“No more than two at the most.”

“The old jackass! Don’t be angry with me, but I must say that, though

your uncle, he is also a jackass.”

“Quite so, your Excellency. And though it grieves ME to have to confess

that he is my uncle, what am I to do with him?”

Yet this was not altogether the truth. What would have been a far harder

thing for Chichikov to have confessed was the fact that he possessed no

uncles at all.

“I beg of you, your Excellency,” he went on, “to hand me over those,

those--”

“Those dead souls, eh? Why, in return for the jest I will give you some

land as well. Yes, you can take the whole graveyard if you like. Ha, ha,

ha! The old man! Ha, ha, ha! WHAT a fool he’ll look! Ha, ha, ha!”

And once more the General’s guffaws went ringing through the house.

[At this point there is a long hiatus in the original.]

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.”