Dead Souls · Chapter 20Chapter IV (2)
This chapter is not translated yet. You are reading the original.
Presently, as Chichikov gazed about him, he saw that for some time past the koliaska had been skirting a beautiful wood, and that on either side the road was bordered with an edging of birch trees, the tenderly-green, recently-opened leaves of which caused their tall, slender trunks to show up with the whiteness of a snowdrift. Likewise nightingales were warbling from the recesses of the foliage, and some wood tulips were glowing yellow in the grass. Next (and almost before Chichikov had realised how he came to be in such a beautiful spot when, but a moment before, there had been visible only open fields) there glimmered among the trees the stony whiteness of a church, with, on the further side of it, the intermittent, foliage-buried line of a fence; while from the upper end of a village street there was advancing to meet the vehicle a gentleman with a cap on his head, a knotted cudgel in his hands, and a slender-limbed English dog by his side.
“This is my brother,” said Platon. “Stop, coachman.” And he descended from the koliaska, while Chichikov followed his example. Yarb and the strange dog saluted one another, and then the active, thin-legged, slender-tongued Azor relinquished his licking of Yarb’s blunt jowl, licked Platon’s hands instead, and, leaping upon Chichikov, slobbered right into his ear.
The two brothers embraced.
“Really, Platon,” said the gentleman (whose name was Vassili), “what do you mean by treating me like this?”
“How so?” said Platon indifferently.
“What? For three days past I have seen and heard nothing of you! A groom from Pietukh’s brought your cob home, and told me you had departed on an expedition with some barin. At least you might have sent me word as to your destination and the probable length of your absence. What made you act so? God knows what I have not been wondering!”
“Does it matter?” rejoined Platon. “I forgot to send you word, and we have been no further than Constantine’s (who, with our sister, sends you his greeting). By the way, may I introduce Paul Ivanovitch Chichikov?”
The pair shook hands with one another. Then, doffing their caps, they embraced.
“What sort of man is this Chichikov?” thought Vassili. “As a rule my brother Platon is not over-nice in his choice of acquaintances.” And, eyeing our hero as narrowly as civility permitted, he saw that his appearance was that of a perfectly respectable individual.
Chichikov returned Vassili’s scrutiny with a similar observance of the dictates of civility, and perceived that he was shorter than Platon, that his hair was of a darker shade, and that his features, though less handsome, contained far more life, animation, and kindliness than did his brother’s. Clearly he indulged in less dreaming, though that was an aspect which Chichikov little regarded.
“I have made up my mind to go touring our Holy Russia with Paul Ivanovitch,” said Platon. “Perhaps it will rid me of my melancholy.”
“What has made you come to such a sudden decision?” asked the perplexed Vassili (very nearly he added: “Fancy going travelling with a man whose acquaintance you have just made, and who may turn out to be a rascal or the devil knows what!” But, in spite of his distrust, he contented himself with another covert scrutiny of Chichikov, and this time came to the conclusion that there was no fault to be found with his exterior).
The party turned to the right, and entered the gates of an ancient courtyard attached to an old-fashioned house of a type no longer built—the type which has huge gables supporting a high-pitched roof. In the centre of the courtyard two great lime trees covered half the surrounding space with shade, while beneath them were ranged a number of wooden benches, and the whole was encircled with a ring of blossoming lilacs and cherry trees which, like a beaded necklace, reinforced the wooden fence, and almost buried it beneath their clusters of leaves and flowers. The house, too, stood almost concealed by this greenery, except that the front door and the windows peered pleasantly through the foliage, and that here and there between the stems of the trees there could be caught glimpses of the kitchen regions, the storehouses, and the cellar. Lastly, around the whole stood a grove, from the recesses of which came the echoing songs of nightingales.
Involuntarily the place communicated to the soul a sort of quiet, restful feeling, so eloquently did it speak of that care-free period when every one lived on good terms with his neighbour, and all was simple and unsophisticated. Vassili invited Chichikov to seat himself, and the party approached, for that purpose, the benches under the lime trees; after which a youth of about seventeen, and clad in a red shirt, brought decanters containing various kinds of kvass (some of them as thick as syrup, and others hissing like aerated lemonade), deposited the same upon the table, and, taking up a spade which he had left leaning against a tree, moved away towards the garden. The reason of this was that in the brothers’ household, as in that of Kostanzhoglo, no servants were kept, since the whole staff were rated as gardeners, and performed that duty in rotation—Vassili holding that domestic service was not a specialised calling, but one to which any one might contribute a hand, and therefore one which did not require special menials to be kept for the purpose. Moreover, he held that the average Russian peasant remains active and willing (rather than lazy) only so long as he wears a shirt and a peasant’s smock; but that as soon as ever he finds himself put into a German tailcoat, he becomes awkward, sluggish, indolent, disinclined to change his vest or take a bath, fond of sleeping in his clothes, and certain to breed fleas and bugs under the German apparel. And it may be that Vassili was right. At all events, the brothers’ peasantry were exceedingly well clad—the women, in particular, having their head-dresses spangled with gold, and the sleeves of their blouses embroidered after the fashion of a Turkish shawl.
“You see here the species of kvass for which our house has long been famous,” said Vassili to Chichikov. The latter poured himself out a glassful from the first decanter which he lighted upon, and found the contents to be linden honey of a kind never tasted by him even in Poland, seeing that it had a sparkle like that of champagne, and also an effervescence which sent a pleasant spray from the mouth into the nose.
“Nectar!” he proclaimed. Then he took some from a second decanter. It proved to be even better than the first. “A beverage of beverages!” he exclaimed. “At your respected brother-in-law’s I tasted the finest syrup which has ever come my way, but here I have tasted the very finest kvass.”
“Yet the recipe for the syrup also came from here,” said Vassili, “seeing that my sister took it with her. By the way, to what part of the country, and to what places, are you thinking of travelling?”
“To tell the truth,” replied Chichikov, rocking himself to and fro on the bench, and smoothing his knee with his hand, and gently inclining his head, “I am travelling less on my own affairs than on the affairs of others. That is to say, General Betristchev, an intimate friend, and, I might add, a generous benefactor of mine, has charged me with commissions to some of his relatives. Nevertheless, though relatives are relatives, I may say that I am travelling on my own account as well, in that, in addition to possible benefit to my health, I desire to see the world and the whirligig of humanity, which constitute, to so speak, a living book, a second course of education.”
Vassili took thought. “The man speaks floridly,” he reflected, “yet his words contain a certain element of truth.” After a moment’s silence he added to Platon: “I am beginning to think that the tour might help you to bestir yourself. At present you are in a condition of mental slumber. You have fallen asleep, not so much from weariness or satiety, as through a lack of vivid perceptions and impressions. For myself, I am your complete antithesis. I should be only too glad if I could feel less acutely, if I could take things less to heart.”
“Emotion has become a disease with you,” said Platon. “You seek your own troubles, and make your own anxieties.”
“How can you say that when ready-made anxieties greet one at every step?” exclaimed Vassili. “For example, have you heard of the trick which Lienitsin has just played us—of his seizing the piece of vacant land whither our peasants resort for their sports? That piece I would not sell for all the money in the world. It has long been our peasants’ play-ground, and all the traditions of our village are bound up with it. Moreover, for me, old custom is a sacred thing for which I would gladly sacrifice everything else.”
“Lienitsin cannot have known of this, or he would not have seized the land,” said Platon. “He is a newcomer, just arrived from St. Petersburg. A few words of explanation ought to meet the case.”
“But he DOES know of what I have stated; he DOES know of it. Purposely I sent him word to that affect, yet he has returned me the rudest of answers.”
“Then go yourself and explain matters to him.”
“No, I will not do that; he has tried to carry off things with too high a hand. But YOU can go if you like.”
“I would certainly go were it not that I scarcely like to interfere. Also, I am a man whom he could easily hoodwink and outwit.”
“Would it help you if I were to go?” put in Chichikov. “Pray enlighten me as to the matter.”
Vassili glanced at the speaker, and thought to himself: “What a passion the man has for travelling!”
“Yes, pray give me an idea of the kind of fellow,” repeated Chichikov, “and also outline to me the affair.”
“I should be ashamed to trouble you with such an unpleasant commission,” replied Vassili. “He is a man whom I take to be an utter rascal. Originally a member of a family of plain dvoriane in this province, he entered the Civil Service in St. Petersburg, then married some one’s natural daughter in that city, and has returned to lord it with a high hand. I cannot bear the tone he adopts. Our folk are by no means fools. They do not look upon the current fashion as the Tsar’s ukaz any more than they look upon St. Petersburg as the Church.”
“Naturally,” said Chichikov. “But tell me more of the particulars of the quarrel.”
“They are these. He needs additional land and, had he not acted as he has done, I would have given him some land elsewhere for nothing; but, as it is, the pestilent fellow has taken it into his head to—”
“I think I had better go and have a talk with him. That might settle the affair. Several times have people charged me with similar commissions, and never have they repented of it. General Betristchev is an example.”
“Nevertheless I am ashamed that you should be put to the annoyance of having to converse with such a fellow.”
[At this point there occurs a long hiatus.]
“And above all things, such a transaction would need to be carried through in secret,” said Chichikov. “True, the law does not forbid such things, but there is always the risk of a scandal.”
“Quite so, quite so,” said Lienitsin with head bent down.
“Then we agree!” exclaimed Chichikov. “How charming! As I say, my business is both legal and illegal. Though needing to effect a mortgage, I desire to put no one to the risk of having to pay the two roubles on each living soul; wherefore I have conceived the idea of relieving landowners of that distasteful obligation by acquiring dead and absconded souls who have failed to disappear from the revision list. This enables me at once to perform an act of Christian charity and to remove from the shoulders of our more impoverished proprietors the burden of tax-payment upon souls of the kind specified. Should you yourself care to do business with me, we will draw up a formal purchase agreement as though the souls in question were still alive.”
“But it would be such a curious arrangement,” muttered Lienitsin, moving his chair and himself a little further away. “It would be an arrangement which, er—er—”
“Would involve you in no scandal whatever, seeing that the affair would be carried through in secret. Moreover, between friends who are well-disposed towards one another—”
“Nevertheless—”
Chichikov adopted a firmer and more decided tone. “I repeat that there would be no scandal,” he said. “The transaction would take place as between good friends, and as between friends of mature age, and as between friends of good status, and as between friends who know how to keep their own counsel.” And, so saying, he looked his interlocutor frankly and generously in the eyes.
Nevertheless Lienitsin’s resourcefulness and acumen in business matters failed to relieve his mind of a certain perplexity—and the less so since he had contrived to become caught in his own net. Yet, in general, he possessed neither a love for nor a talent for underhand dealings, and, had not fate and circumstances favoured Chichikov by causing Lienitsin’s wife to enter the room at that moment, things might have turned out very differently from what they did. Madame was a pale, thin, insignificant-looking young lady, but none the less a lady who wore her clothes a la St. Petersburg, and cultivated the society of persons who were unimpeachably comme il faut. Behind her, borne in a nurse’s arms, came the first fruits of the love of husband and wife. Adopting his most telling method of approach (the method accompanied with a sidelong inclination of the head and a sort of hop), Chichikov hastened to greet the lady from the metropolis, and then the baby. At first the latter started to bellow disapproval, but the words “Agoo, agoo, my pet!” added to a little cracking of the fingers and a sight of a beautiful seal on a watch chain, enabled Chichikov to weedle the infant into his arms; after which he fell to swinging it up and down until he had contrived to raise a smile on its face—a circumstance which greatly delighted the parents, and finally inclined the father in his visitor’s favour. Suddenly, however—whether from pleasure or from some other cause—the infant misbehaved itself!
“My God!” cried Madame. “He has gone and spoilt your frockcoat!”
True enough, on glancing downwards, Chichikov saw that the sleeve of his brand-new garment had indeed suffered a hurt. “If I could catch you alone, you little devil,” he muttered to himself, “I’d shoot you!”
Host, hostess and nurse all ran for eau-de-Cologne, and from three sides set themselves to rub the spot affected.
“Never mind, never mind; it is nothing,” said Chichikov as he strove to communicate to his features as cheerful an expression as possible. “What does it matter what a child may spoil during the golden age of its infancy?”
To himself he remarked: “The little brute! Would it could be devoured by wolves. It has made only too good a shot, the cussed young ragamuffin!”
How, after this—after the guest had shown such innocent affection for the little one, and magnanimously paid for his so doing with a brand-new suit—could the father remain obdurate? Nevertheless, to avoid setting a bad example to the countryside, he and Chichikov agreed to carry through the transaction PRIVATELY, lest, otherwise, a scandal should arise.
“In return,” said Chichikov, “would you mind doing me the following favour? I desire to mediate in the matter of your difference with the Brothers Platonov. I believe that you wish to acquire some additional land? Is not that so?”
[Here there occurs a hiatus in the original.]
Everything in life fulfils its function, and Chichikov’s tour in search of a fortune was carried out so successfully that not a little money passed into his pockets. The system employed was a good one: he did not steal, he merely used. And every one of us at times does the same: one man with regard to Government timber, and another with regard to a sum belonging to his employer, while a third defrauds his children for the sake of an actress, and a fourth robs his peasantry for the sake of smart furniture or a carriage. What can one do when one is surrounded on every side with roguery, and everywhere there are insanely expensive restaurants, masked balls, and dances to the music of gipsy bands? To abstain when every one else is indulging in these things, and fashion commands, is difficult indeed!
Chichikov was for setting forth again, but the roads had now got into a bad state, and, in addition, there was in preparation a second fair—one for the dvoriane only. The former fair had been held for the sale of horses, cattle, cheese, and other peasant produce, and the buyers had been merely cattle-jobbers and kulaks; but this time the function was to be one for the sale of manorial produce which had been bought up by wholesale dealers at Nizhni Novgorod, and then transferred hither. To the fair, of course, came those ravishers of the Russian purse who, in the shape of Frenchmen with pomades and Frenchwomen with hats, make away with money earned by blood and hard work, and, like the locusts of Egypt (to use Kostanzhoglo’s term) not only devour their prey, but also dig holes in the ground and leave behind their eggs.
Although, unfortunately, the occurrence of a bad harvest retained many landowners at their country houses, the local tchinovniks (whom the failure of the harvest did NOT touch) proceeded to let themselves go—as also, to their undoing, did their wives. The reading of books of the type diffused, in these modern days, for the inoculation of humanity with a craving for new and superior amenities of life had caused every one to conceive a passion for experimenting with the latest luxury; and to meet this want the French wine merchant opened a new establishment in the shape of a restaurant as had never before been heard of in the province—a restaurant where supper could be procured on credit as regarded one-half, and for an unprecedentedly low sum as regarded the other. This exactly suited both heads of boards and clerks who were living in hope of being able some day to resume their bribes-taking from suitors. There also developed a tendency to compete in the matter of horses and liveried flunkeys; with the result that despite the damp and snowy weather exceedingly elegant turnouts took to parading backwards and forwards. Whence these equipages had come God only knows, but at least they would not have disgraced St. Petersburg. From within them merchants and attorneys doffed their caps to ladies, and inquired after their health, and likewise it became a rare sight to see a bearded man in a rough fur cap, since every one now went about clean-shaven and with dirty teeth, after the European fashion.
“Sir, I beg of you to inspect my goods,” said a tradesman as Chichikov was passing his establishment. “Within my doors you will find a large variety of clothing.”
“Have you a cloth of bilberry-coloured check?” inquired the person addressed.
“I have cloths of the finest kind,” replied the tradesman, raising his cap with one hand, and pointing to his shop with the other. Chichikov entered, and in a trice the proprietor had dived beneath the counter, and appeared on the other side of it, with his back to his wares and his face towards the customer. Leaning forward on the tips of his fingers, and indicating his merchandise with just the suspicion of a nod, he requested the gentleman to specify exactly the species of cloth which he required.
“A cloth with an olive-coloured or a bottle-tinted spot in its pattern—anything in the nature of bilberry,” explained Chichikov.
“That being so, sir, I may say that I am about to show you clothes of a quality which even our illustrious capitals could not surpass. Hi, boy! Reach down that roll up there—number 34. No, NOT that one, fool! Such fellows as you are always too good for your job. There—hand it to me. This is indeed a nice pattern!”
Unfolding the garment, the tradesman thrust it close to Chichikov’s nose in order that he might not only handle, but also smell it.
“Excellent, but not what I want,” pronounced Chichikov. “Formerly I was in the Custom’s Department, and therefore wear none but cloth of the latest make. What I want is of a ruddier pattern than this—not exactly a bottle-tinted pattern, but something approaching bilberry.”
“I understand, sir. Of course you require only the very newest thing. A cloth of that kind I DO possess, sir, and though excessive in price, it is of a quality to match.”
Carrying the roll of stuff to the light—even stepping into the street for the purpose—the shopman unfolded his prize with the words, “A truly beautiful shade! A cloth of smoked grey, shot with flame colour!”
The material met with the customer’s approval, a price was agreed upon, and with incredible celerity the vendor made up the purchase into a brown-paper parcel, and stowed it away in Chichikov’s koliaska.
At this moment a voice asked to be shown a black frockcoat.
“The devil take me if it isn’t Khlobuev!” muttered our hero, turning his back upon the newcomer. Unfortunately the other had seen him.
“Come, come, Paul Ivanovitch!” he expostulated. “Surely you do not intend to overlook me? I have been searching for you everywhere, for I have something important to say to you.”
“My dear sir, my very dear sir,” said Chichikov as he pressed Khlobuev’s hand, “I can assure you that, had I the necessary leisure, I should at all times be charmed to converse with you.” And mentally he added: “Would that the Evil One would fly away with you!”
Almost at the same time Murazov, the great landowner, entered the shop. As he did so our hero hastened to exclaim: “Why, it is Athanasi Vassilievitch! How ARE you, my very dear sir?”
“Well enough,” replied Murazov, removing his cap (Khlobuev and the shopman had already done the same). “How, may I ask, are YOU?”
“But poorly,” replied Chichikov, “for of late I have been troubled with indigestion, and my sleep is bad. I do not get sufficient exercise.”
However, instead of probing deeper into the subject of Chichikov’s ailments, Murazov turned to Khlobuev.
“I saw you enter the shop,” he said, “and therefore followed you, for I have something important for your ear. Could you spare me a minute or two?”
“Certainly, certainly,” said Khlobuev, and the pair left the shop together.
“I wonder what is afoot between them,” said Chichikov to himself.
“A wise and noble gentleman, Athanasi Vassilievitch!” remarked the tradesman. Chichikov made no reply save a gesture.
“Paul Ivanovitch, I have been looking for you everywhere,” Lienitsin’s voice said from behind him, while again the tradesman hastened to remove his cap. “Pray come home with me, for I have something to say to you.”
Chichikov scanned the speaker’s face, but could make nothing of it. Paying the tradesman for the cloth, he left the shop.
Meanwhile Murazov had conveyed Khlobuev to his rooms.
“Tell me,” he said to his guest, “exactly how your affairs stand. I take it that, after all, your aunt left you something?”
“It would be difficult to say whether or not my affairs are improved,” replied Khlobuev. “True, fifty souls and thirty thousand roubles came to me from Madame Khanasarova, but I had to pay them away to satisfy my debts. Consequently I am once more destitute. But the important point is that there was trickery connected with the legacy, and shameful trickery at that. Yes, though it may surprise you, it is a fact that that fellow Chichikov—”
“Yes, Semen Semenovitch, but, before you go on to speak of Chichikov, pray tell me something about yourself, and how much, in your opinion, would be sufficient to clear you of your difficulties?”
“My difficulties are grievous,” replied Khlobuev. “To rid myself of them, and also to have enough to go on with, I should need to acquire at least a hundred thousand roubles, if not more. In short, things are becoming impossible for me.”
“And, had you the money, what should you do with it?”
“I should rent a tenement, and devote myself to the education of my children. Not a thought should I give to myself, for my career is over, seeing that it is impossible for me to re-enter the Civil Service and I am good for nothing else.”
“Nevertheless, when a man is leading an idle life he is apt to incur temptations which shun his better-employed brother.”
“Yes, but beyond question I am good for nothing, so broken is my health, and such a martyr I am to dyspepsia.”
“But how do you propose to live without working? How can a man like you exist without a post or a position of any kind? Look around you at the works of God. Everything has its proper function, and pursues its proper course. Even a stone can be used for one purpose or another. How, then, can it be right for a man who is a thinking being to remain a drone?”
“But I should not be a drone, for I should employ myself with the education of my children.”
“No, Semen Semenovitch—no: THAT you would find the hardest task of all. For how can a man educate his children who has never even educated himself? Instruction can be imparted to children only through the medium of example; and would a life like yours furnish them with a profitable example—a life which has been spent in idleness and the playing of cards? No, Semen Semenovitch. You had far better hand your children over to me. Otherwise they will be ruined. Do not think that I am jesting. Idleness has wrecked your life, and you must flee from it. Can a man live with nothing to keep him in place? Even a journeyman labourer who earns the barest pittance may take an interest in his occupation.”
“Athanasi Vassilievitch, I have tried to overcome myself, but what further resource lies open to me? Can I who am old and incapable re-enter the Civil Service and spend year after year at a desk with youths who are just starting their careers? Moreover, I have lost the trick of taking bribes; I should only hinder both myself and others; while, as you know, it is a department which has an established caste of its own. Therefore, though I have considered, and even attempted to obtain, every conceivable post, I find myself incompetent for them all. Only in a monastery should I—”
“Nay, nay. Monasteries, again, are only for those who have worked. To those who have spent their youth in dissipation such havens say what the ant said to the dragonfly—namely, ‘Go you away, and return to your dancing.’ Yes, even in a monastery do folk toil and toil—they do not sit playing whist.” Murazov looked at Khlobuev, and added: “Semen Semenovitch, you are deceiving both yourself and me.”
Poor Khlobuev could not utter a word in reply, and Murazov began to feel sorry for him.
“Listen, Semen Semenovitch,” he went on. “I know that you say your prayers, and that you go to church, and that you observe both Matins and Vespers, and that, though averse to early rising, you leave your bed at four o’clock in the morning before the household fires have been lit.”
“Ah, Athanasi Vassilievitch,” said Khlobuev, “that is another matter altogether. That I do, not for man’s sake, but for the sake of Him who has ordered all things here on earth. Yes, I believe that He at least can feel compassion for me, that He at least, though I be foul and lowly, will pardon me and receive me when all men have cast me out, and my best friend has betrayed me and boasted that he has done it for a good end.”
Khlobuev’s face was glowing with emotion, and from the older man’s eyes also a tear had started.
“You will do well to hearken unto Him who is merciful,” he said. “But remember also that, in the eyes of the All-Merciful, honest toil is of equal merit with a prayer. Therefore take unto yourself whatsoever task you may, and do it as though you were doing it, not unto man, but unto God. Even though to your lot there should fall but the cleaning of a floor, clean that floor as though it were being cleaned for Him alone. And thence at least this good you will reap: that there will remain to you no time for what is evil—for card playing, for feasting, for all the life of this gay world. Are you acquainted with Ivan Potapitch?”
“Yes, not only am I acquainted with him, but I also greatly respect him.”
“Time was when Ivan Potapitch was a merchant worth half a million roubles. In everything did he look but for gain, and his affairs prospered exceedingly, so much so that he was able to send his son to be educated in France, and to marry his daughter to a General. And whether in his office or at the Exchange, he would stop any friend whom he encountered and carry him off to a tavern to drink, and spend whole days thus employed. But at last he became bankrupt, and God sent him other misfortunes also. His son! Ah, well! Ivan Potapitch is now my steward, for he had to begin life over again. Yet once more his affairs are in order, and, had it been his wish, he could have restarted in business with a capital of half a million roubles. ‘But no,’ he said. ‘A steward am I, and a steward will I remain to the end; for, from being full-stomached and heavy with dropsy, I have become strong and well.’ Not a drop of liquor passes his lips, but only cabbage soup and gruel. And he prays as none of the rest of us pray, and he helps the poor as none of the rest of us help them; and to this he would add yet further charity if his means permitted him to do so.”