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.

CHAPTER IV

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

Khlobuev, the owner whose estate Constantine had consented to help

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nevertheless he seemed delighted to see his visitors.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Paul Ivanovitch Chichikov?”

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

hands with me, Paul Ivanovitch.”

Chichikov offered one hand, but not both.

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

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

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

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

once.”

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

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

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

see me reduced.”

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

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

Constantine and Chichikov followed.

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

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

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

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

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

himself, his spirits sink.”

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

you right, would it not?” said Platon.

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

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

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

besides.”

“Then what do you intend to do?”

“God knows.”

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

yourself of your difficulties?”

“How could there be?”

“Well, you might accept a Government post.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

estate?”

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

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

procure you a post?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

further burdens should be imposed upon an impoverished public!”

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

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

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

leave of his senses.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

guzzling at the dinner table.”

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

indignation.

Presently they reached an elevation whence the distant flashing of a

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

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

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

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

situated.

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

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

beauty of view.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

NECESSARY.”

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

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

sort of prospect which I prefer.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

orderliness and foresight is death. Finish your business with Khlobuev

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

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

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

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

establishment.

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

arrived, you are going already?”

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

entering his gig, Kostanzhoglo drove rapidly away. Somehow Khlobuev

seemed to divine the cause of his sudden departure.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

him.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

story.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

that something is passes my understanding.”

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

the same slovenliness, the same disorder, was displaying itself

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

for the elbows.

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

comment when the inspection had been concluded and the party had

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

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

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

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

elegantly and fashionably attired, and devoted her whole conversation

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

estate.”

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

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

TWENTY-five thousand?”

This was too much for Platon’s conscience.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

redemption of the mortgage.”

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

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

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

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

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

so large a payment in a lump sum.

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

that you pay me at least fifteen thousand immediately.”

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

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

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

Khlobuev received thence ten thousand roubles, together with a promise

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

though the promise was given only after Chichikov had first proposed

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

other property to which you can retire?”

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

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

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

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

things be procured in the country.

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

Chichikov.

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

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

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

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

Platon, he did not know WHAT to think.

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

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

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

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

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

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

obligation of patronising him.

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

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

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

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

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

sketch the neighbouring landowners! How clearly he exposed their

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

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

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

little habits and customs!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

based upon the imperative necessity of at once procuring from somewhere

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God’s will that he should.”

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

would send such a fool two hundred thousand roubles!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

dishes. THERE’S a woman for you!”

Platon laughed.

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

live?”

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

Khanasarov.”

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

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

possibly refuse you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

of the town.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

increased!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

to saying his prayers, and invariably some strange coincidence would

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

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

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

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

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

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

that happened he would reverently acknowledge the immensity of the mercy

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

himself again to his irregular mode of existence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

capable in my youth?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and even to uttering aloud such encouraging nicknames and phrases as

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

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

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

Platon, mistaking certain sounds for utterances addressed to himself,

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

of mind to reply “Nothing.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

slender-limbed English dog by his side.

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

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

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

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

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

right into his ear.

The two brothers embraced.

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

you mean by treating me like this?”

“How so?” said Platon indifferently.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

embraced.

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

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

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

appearance was that of a perfectly respectable individual.

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

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

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

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

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

aspect which Chichikov little regarded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

which came the echoing songs of nightingales.

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

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

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

simple and unsophisticated. Vassili invited Chichikov to seat himself,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

embroidered after the fashion of a Turkish shawl.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

kvass.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

living book, a second course of education.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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