“If Colonel Koshkarev should
turn out to be as mad as the last one it is a bad
look-out,” said Chichikov to himself on opening
his eyes amid fields and open country everything
else having disappeared save the vault of heaven and
a couple of low-lying clouds.
“Selifan,” he went on,
“did you ask how to get to Colonel Koshkarev’s?”
“Yes, Paul Ivanovitch.
At least, there was such a clatter around the koliaska
that I could not; but Petrushka asked the coachman.”
“You fool! How often have
I told you not to rely on Petrushka? Petrushka
is a blockhead, an idiot. Besides, at the present
moment I believe him to be drunk.”
“No, you are wrong, barin,”
put in the person referred to, turning his head with
a sidelong glance. “After we get down the
next hill we shall need but to keep bending round
it. That is all.”
“Yes, and I suppose you’ll
tell me that sivnkha is the only thing that has passed
your lips? Well, the view at least is beautiful.
In fact, when one has seen this place one may say
that one has seen one of the beauty spots of Europe.”
This said, Chichikov added to himself, smoothing his
chin: “What a difference between the features
of a civilised man of the world and those of a common
lacquey!”
Meanwhile the koliaska quickened its
pace, and Chichikov once more caught sight of Tientietnikov’s
aspen-studded meadows. Undulating gently on elastic
springs, the vehicle cautiously descended the steep
incline, and then proceeded past water-mills, rumbled
over a bridge or two, and jolted easily along the
rough-set road which traversed the flats. Not
a molehill, not a mound jarred the spine. The
vehicle was comfort itself.
Swiftly there flew by clumps of osiers,
slender elder trees, and silver-leaved poplars, their
branches brushing against Selifan and Petrushka, and
at intervals depriving the valet of his cap. Each
time that this happened, the sullen-faced servitor
fell to cursing both the tree responsible for the
occurrence and the landowner responsible for the tree
being in existence; yet nothing would induce him thereafter
either to tie on the cap or to steady it with his hand,
so complete was his assurance that the accident would
never be repeated. Soon to the foregoing trees
there became added an occasional birch or spruce fir,
while in the dense undergrowth around their roots could
be seen the blue iris and the yellow wood-tulip.
Gradually the forest grew darker, as though eventually
the obscurity would become complete. Then through
the trunks and the boughs there began to gleam points
of light like glittering mirrors, and as the number
of trees lessened, these points grew larger, until
the travellers debouched upon the shore of a lake
four versts or so in circumference, and having on its
further margin the grey, scattered log huts of a peasant
village. In the water a great commotion was in
progress. In the first place, some twenty men,
immersed to the knee, to the breast, or to the neck,
were dragging a large fishing-net inshore, while,
in the second place, there was entangled in the same,
in addition to some fish, a stout man shaped precisely
like a melon or a hogshead. Greatly excited,
he was shouting at the top of his voice: “Let
Kosma manage it, you lout of a Denis! Kosma, take
the end of the rope from Denis! Don’t bear
so hard on it, Thoma Bolshoy ! Go where Thoma
Menshov is! Damn it, bring the net to land,
will you!” From this it became clear that it
was not on his own account that the stout man was
worrying. Indeed, he had no need to do so, since
his fat would in any case have prevented him from
sinking. Yes, even if he had turned head over
heels in an effort to dive, the water would persistently
have borne him up; and the same if, say, a couple of
men had jumped on his back the only result
would have been that he would have become a trifle
deeper submerged, and forced to draw breath by spouting
bubbles through his nose. No, the cause of his
agitation was lest the net should break, and the fish
escape: wherefore he was urging some additional
peasants who were standing on the bank to lay hold
of and to pull at, an extra rope or two.
“That must be the barin Colonel
Koshkarev,” said Selifan.
“Why?” asked Chichikov.
“Because, if you please, his
skin is whiter than the rest, and he has the respectable
paunch of a gentleman.”
Meanwhile good progress was being
made with the hauling in of the barin; until, feeling
the ground with his feet, he rose to an upright position,
and at the same moment caught sight of the koliaska,
with Chichikov seated therein, descending the declivity.
“Have you dined yet?”
shouted the barin as, still entangled in the net,
he approached the shore with a huge fish on his back.
With one hand shading his eyes from the sun, and the
other thrown backwards, he looked, in point of pose,
like the Medici Venus emerging from her bath.
“No,” replied Chichikov,
raising his cap, and executing a series of bows.
“Then thank God for that,” rejoined the
gentleman.
“Why?” asked Chichikov
with no little curiosity, and still holding his cap
over his head.
“Because of this.
Cast off the net, Thoma Menshov, and pick up that
sturgeon for the gentleman to see. Go and help
him, Telepen Kuzma.”
With that the peasants indicated picked
up by the head what was a veritable monster of a fish.
“Isn’t it a beauty a
sturgeon fresh run from the river?” exclaimed
the stout barin. “And now let us be off
home. Coachman, you can take the lower road through
the kitchen garden. Run, you lout of a Thoma Bolshoy,
and open the gate for him. He will guide you to
the house, and I myself shall be along presently.”
Thereupon the barelegged Thoma Bolshoy,
clad in nothing but a shirt, ran ahead of the koliaska
through the village, every hut of which had hanging
in front of it a variety of nets, for the reason that
every inhabitant of the place was a fisherman.
Next, he opened a gate into a large vegetable enclosure,
and thence the koliaska emerged into a square near
a wooden church, with, showing beyond the latter, the
roofs of the manorial homestead.
“A queer fellow, that Koshkarev!”
said Chichikov to himself.
“Well, whatever I may be, at
least I’m here,” said a voice by his side.
Chichikov looked round, and perceived that, in the
meanwhile, the barin had dressed himself and overtaken
the carriage. With a pair of yellow trousers
he was wearing a grass-green jacket, and his neck was
as guiltless of a collar as Cupid’s. Also,
as he sat sideways in his drozhki, his bulk was such
that he completely filled the vehicle. Chichikov
was about to make some remark or another when the stout
gentleman disappeared; and presently his drozhki re-emerged
into view at the spot where the fish had been drawn
to land, and his voice could be heard reiterating
exhortations to his serfs. Yet when Chichikov
reached the verandah of the house he found, to his
intense surprise, the stout gentleman waiting to welcome
the visitor. How he had contrived to convey himself
thither passed Chichikov’s comprehension.
Host and guest embraced three times, according to
a bygone custom of Russia. Evidently the barin
was one of the old school.
“I bring you,” said Chichikov,
“a greeting from his Excellency.”
“From whom?”
“From your relative General Alexander Dmitrievitch.”
“Who is Alexander Dmitrievitch?”
“What? You do not know
General Alexander Dmitrievitch Betrishev?” exclaimed
Chichikov with a touch of surprise.
“No, I do not,” replied the gentleman.
Chichikov’s surprise grew to absolute astonishment.
“How comes that about?”
he ejaculated. “I hope that I have the honour
of addressing Colonel Koshkarev?”
“Your hopes are vain. It
is to my house, not to his, that you have come; and
I am Peter Petrovitch Pietukh yes, Peter
Petrovitch Pietukh.”
Chichikov, dumbfounded, turned to Selifan and Petrushka.
“What do you mean?” he
exclaimed. “I told you to drive to the house
of Colonel Koshkarev, whereas you have brought me to
that of Peter Petrovitch Pietukh.”
“All the same, your fellows
have done quite right,” put in the gentleman
referred to. “Do you” (this to Selifan
and Petrushka) “go to the kitchen, where they
will give you a glassful of vodka apiece. Then
put up the horses, and be off to the servants’
quarters.”
“I regret the mistake extremely,” said
Chichikov.
“But it is not a mistake.
When you have tried the dinner which I have in store
for you, just see whether you think it a mistake.
Enter, I beg of you.” And, taking Chichikov
by the arm, the host conducted him within, where they
were met by a couple of youths.
“Let me introduce my two sons,
home for their holidays from the Gymnasium ,”
said Pietukh. “Nikolasha, come and entertain
our good visitor, while you, Aleksasha, follow me.”
And with that the host disappeared.
Chichikov turned to Nikolasha, whom
he found to be a budding man about town, since at
first he opened a conversation by stating that, as
no good was to be derived from studying at a provincial
institution, he and his brother desired to remove,
rather, to St. Petersburg, the provinces not being
worth living in.
“I quite understand,”
Chichikov thought to himself. “The end of
the chapter will be confectioners’ assistants
and the boulevards.”
“Tell me,” he added aloud,
“how does your father’s property at present
stand?”
“It is all mortgaged,”
put in the father himself as he re-entered the room.
“Yes, it is all mortgaged, every bit of it.”
“What a pity!” thought
Chichikov. “At this rate it will not be
long before this man has no property at all left.
I must hurry my departure.” Aloud he said
with an air of sympathy: “That you have
mortgaged the estate seems to me a matter of regret.”
“No, not at all,” replied
Pietukh. “In fact, they tell me that it
is a good thing to do, and that every one else is
doing it. Why should I act differently from my
neighbours? Moreover, I have had enough of living
here, and should like to try Moscow more
especially since my sons are always begging me to
give them a metropolitan education.”
“Oh, the fool, the fool!”
reflected Chichikov. “He is for throwing
up everything and making spendthrifts of his sons.
Yet this is a nice property, and it is clear that
the local peasants are doing well, and that the family,
too, is comfortably off. On the other hand, as
soon as ever these lads begin their education in restaurants
and theatres, the devil will away with every stick
of their substance. For my own part, I could
desire nothing better than this quiet life in the country.”
“Let me guess what is in your mind,” said
Pietukh.
“What, then?” asked Chichikov, rather
taken aback.
“You are thinking to yourself:
’That fool of a Pietukh has asked me to dinner,
yet not a bite of dinner do I see.’ But
wait a little. It will be ready presently, for
it is being cooked as fast as a maiden who has had
her hair cut off plaits herself a new set of tresses.”
“Here comes Platon Mikhalitch,
father!” exclaimed Aleksasha, who had been peeping
out of the window.
“Yes, and on a grey horse,” added his
brother.
“Who is Platon Mikhalitch?” inquired Chichikov.
“A neighbour of ours, and an excellent fellow.”
The next moment Platon Mikhalitch
himself entered the room, accompanied by a sporting
dog named Yarb. He was a tall, handsome man, with
extremely red hair. As for his companion, it was
of the keen-muzzled species used for shooting.
“Have you dined yet?” asked the host.
“Yes,” replied Platon.
“Indeed? What do you mean
by coming here to laugh at us all? Do I ever
go to your place after dinner?”
The newcomer smiled. “Well,
if it can bring you any comfort,” he said, “let
me tell you that I ate nothing at the meal, for I had
no appetite.”
“But you should see what I have
caught what sort of a sturgeon fate has
brought my way! Yes, and what crucians and carp!”
“Really it tires one to hear
you. How come you always to be so cheerful?”
“And how come you always
to be so gloomy?” retorted the host.
“How, you ask? Simply because I am so.”
“The truth is you don’t
eat enough. Try the plan of making a good dinner.
Weariness of everything is a modern invention.
Once upon a time one never heard of it.”
“Well, boast away, but have
you yourself never been tired of things?”
“Never in my life. I do
not so much as know whether I should find time to
be tired. In the morning, when one awakes, the
cook is waiting, and the dinner has to be ordered.
Then one drinks one’s morning tea, and then
the bailiff arrives for his orders, and then there
is fishing to be done, and then one’s dinner
has to be eaten. Next, before one has even had
a chance to utter a snore, there enters once again
the cook, and one has to order supper; and when she
has departed, behold, back she comes with a request
for the following day’s dinner! What time
does that leave one to be weary of things?”
Throughout this conversation, Chichikov
had been taking stock of the newcomer, who astonished
him with his good looks, his upright, picturesque
figure, his appearance of fresh, unwasted youthfulness,
and the boyish purity, innocence, and clarity of his
features. Neither passion nor care nor aught
of the nature of agitation or anxiety of mind had
ventured to touch his unsullied face, or to lay a single
wrinkle thereon. Yet the touch of life which
those emotions might have imparted was wanting.
The face was, as it were, dreaming, even though from
time to time an ironical smile disturbed it.
“I, too, cannot understand,”
remarked Chichikov, “how a man of your appearance
can find things wearisome. Of course, if a man
is hard pressed for money, or if he has enemies who
are lying in wait for his life (as have certain folk
of whom I know), well, then ”
“Believe me when I say,”
interrupted the handsome guest, “that, for the
sake of a diversion, I should be glad of any sort
of an anxiety. Would that some enemy would conceive
a grudge against me! But no one does so.
Everything remains eternally dull.”
“But perhaps you lack a sufficiency of land
or souls?”
“Not at all. I and my brother
own ten thousand desiatins of land, and over
a thousand souls.”
“Curious! I do not understand
it. But perhaps the harvest has failed, or you
have sickness about, and many of your male peasants
have died of it?”
“On the contrary, everything
is in splendid order, for my brother is the best of
managers.”
“Then to find things wearisome!”
exclaimed Chichikov. “It passes my comprehension.”
And he shrugged his shoulders.
“Well, we will soon put weariness
to flight,” interrupted the host. “Aleksasha,
do you run helter-skelter to the kitchen, and there
tell the cook to serve the fish pasties. Yes,
and where have that gawk of an Emelian and that thief
of an Antoshka got to? Why have they not handed
round the zakuski?”
At this moment the door opened, and
the “gawk” and the “thief”
in question made their appearance with napkins and
a tray the latter bearing six decanters
of variously-coloured beverages. These they placed
upon the table, and then ringed them about with glasses
and platefuls of every conceivable kind of appetiser.
That done, the servants applied themselves to bringing
in various comestibles under covers, through which
could be heard the hissing of hot roast viands.
In particular did the “gawk” and the “thief”
work hard at their tasks. As a matter of fact,
their appellations had been given them merely
to spur them to greater activity, for, in general,
the barin was no lover of abuse, but, rather, a kind-hearted
man who, like most Russians, could not get on without
a sharp word or two. That is to say, he needed
them for his tongue as he need a glass of vodka for
his digestion. What else could you expect?
It was his nature to care for nothing mild.
To the zakuski succeeded the meal
itself, and the host became a perfect glutton on his
guests’ behalf. Should he notice that a
guest had taken but a single piece of a comestible,
he added thereto another one, saying: “Without
a mate, neither man nor bird can live in this world.”
Should any one take two pieces, he added thereto a
third, saying: “What is the good of the
number 2? God loves a trinity.” Should
any one take three pieces, he would say: “Where
do you see a waggon with three wheels? Who builds
a three-cornered hut?” Lastly, should any one
take four pieces, he would cap them with a fifth,
and add thereto the punning quip, “Na piat opiat
”. After devouring at least twelve steaks
of sturgeon, Chichikov ventured to think to himself,
“My host cannot possibly add to them,”
but found that he was mistaken, for, without a word,
Pietukh heaped upon his plate an enormous portion of
spit-roasted veal, and also some kidneys. And
what veal it was!
“That calf was fed two years
on milk,” he explained. “I cared for
it like my own son.”
“Nevertheless I can eat no more,” said
Chichikov.
“Do you try the veal before you say that you
can eat no more.”
“But I could not get it down my throat.
There is no room left.”
“If there be no room in a church
for a newcomer, the beadle is sent for, and room is
very soon made yes, even though before there
was such a crush that an apple couldn’t have
been dropped between the people. Do you try the
veal, I say. That piece is the titbit of all.”
So Chichikov made the attempt; and
in very truth the veal was beyond all praise, and
room was found for it, even though one would have supposed
the feat impossible.
“Fancy this good fellow removing
to St. Petersburg or Moscow!” said the guest
to himself. “Why, with a scale of living
like this, he would be ruined in three years.”
For that matter, Pietukh might well have been ruined
already, for hospitality can dissipate a fortune in
three months as easily as it can in three years.
The host also dispensed the wine with
a lavish hand, and what the guests did not drink he
gave to his sons, who thus swallowed glass after glass.
Indeed, even before coming to table, it was possible
to discern to what department of human accomplishment
their bent was turned. When the meal was over,
however, the guests had no mind for further drinking.
Indeed, it was all that they could do to drag themselves
on to the balcony, and there to relapse into easy
chairs. Indeed, the moment that the host subsided
into his seat it was large enough for four he
fell asleep, and his portly presence, converting itself
into a sort of blacksmith’s bellows, started
to vent, through open mouth and distended nostrils,
such sounds as can have greeted the reader’s
ear but seldom sounds as of a drum being
beaten in combination with the whistling of a flute
and the strident howling of a dog.
“Listen to him!” said Platon.
Chichikov smiled.
“Naturally, on such dinners
as that,” continued the other, “our host
does not find the time dull. And as soon
as dinner is ended there can ensue sleep.”
“Yes, but, pardon me, I still
fail to understand why you should find life wearisome.
There are so many resources against ennui!”
“As for instance?”
“For a young man, dancing, the
playing of one or another musical instrument, and well,
yes, marriage.”
“Marriage to whom?”
“To some maiden who is both
charming and rich. Are there none in these parts?”
“No.”
“Then, were I you, I should
travel, and seek a maiden elsewhere.” And
a brilliant idea therewith entered Chichikov’s
head. “This last resource,” he added,
“is the best of all resources against ennui.”
“What resource are you speaking of?”
“Of travel.”
“But whither?”
“Well, should it so please you,
you might join me as my companion.” This
said, the speaker added to himself as he eyed Platon:
“Yes, that would suit me exactly, for then I
should have half my expenses paid, and could charge
him also with the cost of mending the koliaska.”
“And whither should we go?”
“In that respect I am not wholly
my own master, as I have business to do for others
as well as for myself. For instance, General Betristchev an
intimate friend and, I might add, a generous benefactor
of mine has charged me with commissions
to certain of his relatives. However, though
relatives are relatives, I am travelling likewise on
my own account, since I wish to see the world and
the whirligig of humanity which, in spite
of what people may say, is as good as a living book
or a second education.” As a matter of
fact, Chichikov was reflecting, “Yes, the plan
is an excellent one. I might even contrive that
he should have to bear the whole of our expenses,
and that his horses should be used while my own should
be put out to graze on his farm.”
“Well, why should I not adopt
the suggestion?” was Platon’s thought.
“There is nothing for me to do at home, since
the management of the estate is in my brother’s
hands, and my going would cause him no inconvenience.
Yes, why should I not do as Chichikov has suggested?”
Then he added aloud:
“Would you come and stay with
my brother for a couple of days? Otherwise he
might refuse me his consent.”
“With great pleasure,”
said Chichikov. “Or even for three days.”
“Then here is my hand on it.
Let us be off at once.” Platon seemed suddenly
to have come to life again.
“Where are you off to?”
put in their host unexpectedly as he roused himself
and stared in astonishment at the pair. “No,
no, my good sirs. I have had the wheels removed
from your koliaska, Monsieur Chichikov, and have sent
your horse, Platon Mikhalitch, to a grazing ground
fifteen versts away. Consequently you must spend
the night here, and depart to-morrow morning after
breakfast.”
What could be done with a man like
Pietukh? There was no help for it but to remain.
In return, the guests were rewarded with a beautiful
spring evening, for, to spend the time, the host organised
a boating expedition on the river, and a dozen rowers,
with a dozen pairs of oars, conveyed the party (to
the accompaniment of song) across the smooth surface
of the lake and up a great river with towering banks.
From time to time the boat would pass under ropes,
stretched across for purposes of fishing, and at each
turn of the rippling current new vistas unfolded themselves
as tier upon tier of woodland delighted the eye with
a diversity of timber and foliage. In unison
did the rowers ply their sculls, yet it was though
of itself that the skiff shot forward, bird-like, over
the glassy surface of the water; while at intervals
the broad-shouldered young oarsman who was seated
third from the bow would raise, as from a nightingale’s
throat, the opening staves of a boat song, and then
be joined by five or six more, until the melody had
come to pour forth in a volume as free and boundless
as Russia herself. And Pietukh, too, would give
himself a shake, and help lustily to support the chorus;
and even Chichikov felt acutely conscious of the fact
that he was a Russian. Only Platon reflected:
“What is there so splendid in these melancholy
songs? They do but increase one’s depression
of spirits.”
The journey homeward was made in the
gathering dusk. Rhythmically the oars smote a
surface which no longer reflected the sky, and darkness
had fallen when they reached the shore, along which
lights were twinkling where the fisherfolk were boiling
live eels for soup. Everything had now wended
its way homeward for the night; the cattle and poultry
had been housed, and the herdsmen, standing at the
gates of the village cattle-pens, amid the trailing
dust lately raised by their charges, were awaiting
the milk-pails and a summons to partake of the eel-broth.
Through the dusk came the hum of humankind, and the
barking of dogs in other and more distant villages;
while, over all, the moon was rising, and the darkened
countryside was beginning to glimmer to light again
under her beams. What a glorious picture!
Yet no one thought of admiring it. Instead of
galloping over the countryside on frisky cobs, Nikolasha
and Aleksasha were engaged in dreaming of Moscow, with
its confectioners’ shops and the theatres of
which a cadet, newly arrived on a visit from the capital,
had just been telling them; while their father had
his mind full of how best to stuff his guests with
yet more food, and Platon was given up to yawning.
Only in Chichikov was a spice of animation visible.
“Yes,” he reflected, “some day I,
too, will become lord of such a country place.”
And before his mind’s eye there arose also a
helpmeet and some little Chichikovs.
By the time that supper was finished
the party had again over-eaten themselves, and when
Chichikov entered the room allotted him for the night,
he lay down upon the bed, and prodded his stomach.
“It is as tight as a drum,” he said to
himself. “Not another titbit of veal could
now get into it.” Also, circumstances had
so brought it about that next door to him there was
situated his host’s apartment; and since the
intervening wall was thin, Chichikov could hear every
word that was said there. At the present moment
the master of the house was engaged in giving the
cook orders for what, under the guise of an early breakfast,
promised to constitute a veritable dinner. You
should have heard Pietukh’s behests! They
would have excited the appetite of a corpse.
“Yes,” he said, sucking
his lips, and drawing a deep breath, “in the
first place, make a pasty in four divisions. Into
one of the divisions put the sturgeon’s cheeks
and some viaziga , and into another division some
buckwheat porridge, young mushrooms and onions, sweet
milk, calves’ brains, and anything else that
you may find suitable anything else that
you may have got handy. Also, bake the pastry
to a nice brown on one side, and but lightly on the
other. Yes, and, as to the under side, bake it
so that it will be all juicy and flaky, so that it
shall not crumble into bits, but melt in the mouth
like the softest snow that ever you heard of.”
And as he said this Pietukh fairly smacked his lips.
“The devil take him!”
muttered Chichikov, thrusting his head beneath the
bedclothes to avoid hearing more. “The fellow
won’t give one a chance to sleep.”
Nevertheless he heard through the blankets:
“And garnish the sturgeon with
beetroot, smelts, peppered mushrooms, young radishes,
carrots, beans, and anything else you like, so as to
have plenty of trimmings. Yes, and put a lump
of ice into the pig’s bladder, so as to swell
it up.”
Many other dishes did Pietukh order,
and nothing was to be heard but his talk of boiling,
roasting, and stewing. Finally, just as mention
was being made of a turkey cock, Chichikov fell asleep.
Next morning the guest’s state
of repletion had reached the point of Platon being
unable to mount his horse; wherefore the latter was
dispatched homeward with one of Pietukh’s grooms,
and the two guests entered Chichikov’s koliaska.
Even the dog trotted lazily in the rear; for he, too,
had over-eaten himself.
“It has been rather too much
of a good thing,” remarked Chichikov as the
vehicle issued from the courtyard.
“Yes, and it vexes me to see
the fellow never tire of it,” replied Platon.
“Ah,” thought Chichikov
to himself, “if I had an income of seventy
thousand roubles, as you have, I’d very soon
give tiredness one in the eye! Take Murazov,
the tax-farmer he, again, must be worth
ten millions. What a fortune!”
“Do you mind where we drive?”
asked Platon. “I should like first to go
and take leave of my sister and my brother-in-law.”
“With pleasure,” said Chichikov.
“My brother-in-law is the leading
landowner hereabouts. At the present moment he
is drawing an income of two hundred thousand roubles
from a property which, eight years ago, was producing
a bare twenty thousand.”
“Truly a man worthy of the utmost
respect! I shall be most interested to make his
acquaintance. To think of it! And what may
his family name be?”
“Kostanzhoglo.”
“And his Christian name and patronymic?”
“Constantine Thedorovitch.”
“Constantine Thedorovitch Kostanzhoglo.
Yes, it will be a most interesting event to make his
acquaintance. To know such a man must be a whole
education.”
Here Platon set himself to give Selifan
some directions as to the way, a necessary proceeding
in view of the fact that Selifan could hardly maintain
his seat on the box. Twice Petrushka, too, had
fallen headlong, and this necessitated being tied
to his perch with a piece of rope. “What
a clown!” had been Chichikov’s only comment.
“This is where my brother-in-law’s
land begins,” said Platon.
“They give one a change of view.”
And, indeed, from this point the countryside
became planted with timber; the rows of trees running
as straight as pistol-shots, and having beyond them,
and on higher ground, a second expanse of forest, newly
planted like the first; while beyond it, again, loomed
a third plantation of older trees. Next there
succeeded a flat piece of the same nature.
“All this timber,” said
Platon, “has grown up within eight or ten years
at the most; whereas on another man’s land it
would have taken twenty to attain the same growth.”
“And how has your brother-in-law effected this?”
“You must ask him yourself.
He is so excellent a husbandman that nothing ever
fails with him. You see, he knows the soil, and
also knows what ought to be planted beside what, and
what kinds of timber are the best neighbourhood for
grain. Again, everything on his estate is made
to perform at least three or four different functions.
For instance, he makes his timber not only serve as
timber, but also serve as a provider of moisture and
shade to a given stretch of land, and then as a fertiliser
with its fallen leaves. Consequently, when everywhere
else there is drought, he still has water, and when
everywhere else there has been a failure of the harvest,
on his lands it will have proved a success. But
it is a pity that I know so little about it all as
to be unable to explain to you his many expedients.
Folk call him a wizard, for he produces so much.
Nevertheless, personally I find what he does uninteresting.”
“Truly an astonishing fellow!”
reflected Chichikov with a glance at his companion.
“It is sad indeed to see a man so superficial
as to be unable to explain matters of this kind.”
At length the manor appeared in sight an
establishment looking almost like a town, so numerous
were the huts where they stood arranged in three tiers,
crowned with three churches, and surrounded with huge
ricks and barns. “Yes,” thought Chichikov
to himself, “one can see what a jewel of a landowner
lives here.” The huts in question were stoutly
built and the intervening alleys well laid-out; while,
wherever a waggon was visible, it looked serviceable
and more or less new. Also, the local peasants
bore an intelligent look on their faces, the cattle
were of the best possible breed, and even the peasants’
pigs belonged to the porcine aristocracy. Clearly
there dwelt here peasants who, to quote the song,
were accustomed to “pick up silver by the shovelful.”
Nor were Englishified gardens and parterres and
other conceits in evidence, but, on the contrary,
there ran an open view from the manor house to the
farm buildings and the workmen’s cots, so that,
after the old Russian fashion, the barin should be
able to keep an eye upon all that was going on around
him. For the same purpose, the mansion was topped
with a tall lantern and a superstructure a
device designed, not for ornament, nor for a vantage-spot
for the contemplation of the view, but for supervision
of the labourers engaged in distant fields. Lastly,
the brisk, active servants who received the visitors
on the verandah were very different menials from the
drunken Petrushka, even though they did not wear swallow-tailed
coats, but only Cossack tchekmenu 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 .”
“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 removed 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 N 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 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 , 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 façades 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.