Dead Souls
the snoring of Platon was filling the whole room, and also--outrivalling
it--that of the dog Yarb. This caused Kostanzhoglo to realise that
bedtime really had arrived; wherefore, after he had shaken Platon out
of his slumbers, and bidden Chichikov good night, all dispersed to their
several chambers, and became plunged in sleep.
All, that is to say, except Chichikov, whose thoughts remained wakeful,
and who kept wondering and wondering how best he could become the owner,
not of a fictitious, but of a real, estate. The conversation with
his host had made everything clear, had made the possibility of
his acquiring riches manifest, had made the difficult art of estate
management at once easy and understandable; until it would seem as
though particularly was his nature adapted for mastering the art in
question. All that he would need to do would be to mortgage the dead
souls, and then to set up a genuine establishment. Already he
saw himself acting and administering as Kostanzhoglo had advised
him--energetically, and through personal oversight, and undertaking
nothing new until the old had been thoroughly learned, and viewing
everything with his own eyes, and making himself familiar with each
member of his peasantry, and abjuring all superfluities, and giving
himself up to hard work and husbandry. Yes, already could he taste the
pleasure which would be his when he had built up a complete industrial
organisation, and the springs of the industrial machine were in vigorous
working order, and each had become able to reinforce the other. Labour
should be kept in active operation, and, even as, in a mill, flour comes
flowing from grain, so should cash, and yet more cash, come flowing from
every atom of refuse and remnant. And all the while he could see before
him the landowner who was one of the leading men in Russia, and for whom
he had conceived such an unbounded respect. Hitherto only for rank or
for opulence had Chichikov respected a man--never for mere intellectual
power; but now he made a first exception in favour of Kostanzhoglo,
seeing that he felt that nothing undertaken by his host could possibly
come to naught. And another project which was occupying Chichikov’s mind
was the project of purchasing the estate of a certain landowner named
Khlobuev. Already Chichikov had at his disposal ten thousand roubles,
and a further fifteen thousand he would try and borrow of Kostanzhoglo
(seeing that the latter had himself said that he was prepared to help
any one who really desired to grow rich); while, as for the remainder,
he would either raise the sum by mortgaging the estate or force Khlobuev
to wait for it--just to tell him to resort to the courts if such might
be his pleasure.
Long did our hero ponder the scheme; until at length the slumber which
had, these four hours past, been holding the rest of the household in
its embraces enfolded also Chichikov, and he sank into oblivion.
CHAPTER IV
Next day, with Platon and Constantine, Chichikov set forth to interview
Khlobuev, the owner whose estate Constantine had consented to help
Chichikov to purchase with a non-interest-bearing, uncovenanted loan of
ten thousand roubles. Naturally, our hero was in the highest of spirits.
For the first fifteen versts or so the road led through forest land and
tillage belonging to Platon and his brother-in-law; but directly the
limit of these domains was reached, forest land began to be replaced
with swamp, and tillage with waste. Also, the village in Khlobuev’s
estate had about it a deserted air, and as for the proprietor himself,
he was discovered in a state of drowsy dishevelment, having not long
left his bed. A man of about forty, he had his cravat crooked, his
frockcoat adorned with a large stain, and one of his boots worn through.
Nevertheless he seemed delighted to see his visitors.
“What?” he exclaimed. “Constantine Thedorovitch and Platon Mikhalitch?
Really I must rub my eyes! Never again in this world did I look to see
callers arriving. As a rule, folk avoid me like the devil, for they
cannot disabuse their minds of the idea that I am going to ask them for
a loan. Yes, it is my own fault, I know, but what would you? To the end
will swine cheat swine. Pray excuse my costume. You will observe that my
boots are in holes. But how can I afford to get them mended?”
“Never mind,” said Constantine. “We have come on business only. May I
present to you a possible purchaser of your estate, in the person of
Paul Ivanovitch Chichikov?”
“I am indeed glad to meet you!” was Khlobuev’s response. “Pray shake
hands with me, Paul Ivanovitch.”
Chichikov offered one hand, but not both.
“I can show you a property worth your attention,” went on the master of
the estate. “May I ask if you have yet dined?”
“Yes, we have,” put in Constantine, desirous of escaping as soon as
possible. “To save you further trouble, let us go and view the estate at
once.”
“Very well,” replied Khlobuev. “Pray come and inspect my irregularities
and futilities. You have done well to dine beforehand, for not so much
as a fowl is left in the place, so dire are the extremities to which you
see me reduced.”
Sighing deeply, he took Platon by the arm (it was clear that he did
not look for any sympathy from Constantine) and walked ahead, while
Constantine and Chichikov followed.
“Things are going hard with me, Platon Mikhalitch,” continued Khlobuev.
“How hard you cannot imagine. No money have I, no food, no boots. Were
I still young and a bachelor, it would have come easy to me to live on
bread and cheese; but when a man is growing old, and has got a wife
and five children, such trials press heavily upon him, and, in spite of
himself, his spirits sink.”
“But, should you succeed in selling the estate, that would help to put
you right, would it not?” said Platon.
“How could it do so?” replied Khlobuev with a despairing gesture. “What
I might get for the property would have to go towards discharging my
debts, and I should find myself left with less than a thousand roubles
besides.”
“Then what do you intend to do?”
“God knows.”
“But is there NOTHING to which you could set your hand in order to clear
yourself of your difficulties?”
“How could there be?”
“Well, you might accept a Government post.”
“Become a provincial secretary, you mean? How could I obtain such a
post? They would not offer me one of the meanest possible kind. Even
supposing that they did, how could I live on a salary of five hundred
roubles--I who have a wife and five children?”
“Then try and obtain a bailiff’s post.”
“Who would entrust their property to a man who has squandered his own
estate?”
“Nevertheless, when death and destitution threaten, a man must either
do something or starve. Shall I ask my brother to use his influence to
procure you a post?”
“No, no, Platon Mikhalitch,” sighed Khlobuev, gripping the other’s hand.
“I am no longer serviceable--I am grown old before my time, and find
that liver and rheumatism are paying me for the sins of my youth. Why
should the Government be put to a loss on my account?--not to speak of
the fact that for every salaried post there are countless numbers of
applicants. God forbid that, in order to provide me with a livelihood
further burdens should be imposed upon an impoverished public!”
“Such are the results of improvident management!” thought Platon to
himself. “The disease is even worse than my slothfulness.”
Meanwhile Kostanzhoglo, walking by Chichikov’s side, was almost taking
leave of his senses.
“Look at it!” he cried with a wave of his hand. “See to what
wretchedness the peasant has become reduced! Should cattle disease come,
Khlobuev will have nothing to fall back upon, but will be forced to sell
his all--to leave the peasant without a horse, and therefore without the
means to labour, even though the loss of a single day’s work may take
years of labour to rectify. Meanwhile it is plain that the local peasant
has become a mere dissolute, lazy drunkard. Give a muzhik enough to live
upon for twelve months without working, and you will corrupt him for
ever, so inured to rags and vagrancy will he grow. And what is the good
of that piece of pasture there--of that piece on the further side of
those huts? It is a mere flooded tract. Were it mine, I should put
it under flax, and clear five thousand roubles, or else sow it with
turnips, and clear, perhaps, four thousand. And see how the rye is
drooping, and nearly laid. As for wheat, I am pretty sure that he has
not sown any. Look, too, at those ravines! Were they mine, they would
be standing under timber which even a rook could not top. To think of
wasting such quantities of land! Where land wouldn’t bear corn, I should
dig it up, and plant it with vegetables. What ought to be done is that
Khlobuev ought to take a spade into his own hands, and to set his wife
and children and servants to do the same; and even if they died of the
exertion, they would at least die doing their duty, and not through
guzzling at the dinner table.”
This said, Kostanzhoglo spat, and his brow flushed with grim
indignation.
Presently they reached an elevation whence the distant flashing of a
river, with its flood waters and subsidiary streams, caught the eye,
while, further off, a portion of General Betristchev’s homestead could
be discerned among the trees, and, over it, a blue, densely wooded hill
which Chichikov guessed to be the spot where Tientietnikov’s mansion was
situated.
“This is where I should plant timber,” said Chichikov. “And, regarded
as a site for a manor house, the situation could scarcely be beaten for
beauty of view.”
“You seem to get great store upon views and beauty,” remarked
Kostanzhoglo with reproof in his tone. “Should you pay too much
attention to those things, you might find yourself without crops or
view. Utility should be placed first, not beauty. Beauty will come of
itself. Take, for example, towns. The fairest and most beautiful towns
are those which have built themselves--those in which each man has built
to suit his own exclusive circumstances and needs; whereas towns which
men have constructed on regular, string-taut lines are no better than
collections of barracks. Put beauty aside, and look only to what is
NECESSARY.”
“Yes, but to me it would always be irksome to have to wait. All the time
that I was doing so I should be hungering to see in front of me the
sort of prospect which I prefer.”
“Come, come! Are you a man of twenty-five--you who have served as a
tchinovnik in St. Petersburg? Have patience, have patience. For six
years work, and work hard. Plant, sow, and dig the earth without taking
a moment’s rest. It will be difficult, I know--yes, difficult indeed;
but at the end of that time, if you have thoroughly stirred the soil,
the land will begin to help you as nothing else can do. That is to say,
over and above your seventy or so pairs of hands, there will begin to
assist in the work seven hundred pairs of hands which you cannot see.
Thus everything will be multiplied tenfold. I myself have ceased even
to have to lift a finger, for whatsoever needs to be done gets done of
itself. Nature loves patience: always remember that. It is a law given
her of God Himself, who has blessed all those who are strong to endure.”
“To hear your words is to be both encouraged and strengthened,” said
Chichikov. To this Kostanzhoglo made no reply, but presently went on:
“And see how that piece of land has been ploughed! To stay here longer
is more than I can do. For me, to have to look upon such want of
orderliness and foresight is death. Finish your business with Khlobuev
without me, and whatsoever you do, get this treasure out of that fool’s
hands as quickly as possible, for he is dishonouring God’s gifts.”