Dead Souls
And Kostanzhoglo, his face dark with the rage that was seething in
his excitable soul, left Chichikov, and caught up the owner of the
establishment.
“What, Constantine Thedorovitch?” cried Khlobuev in astonishment. “Just
arrived, you are going already?”
“Yes; I cannot help it; urgent business requires me at home.” And
entering his gig, Kostanzhoglo drove rapidly away. Somehow Khlobuev
seemed to divine the cause of his sudden departure.
“It was too much for him,” he remarked. “An agriculturist of that
kind does not like to have to look upon the results of such feckless
management as mine. Would you believe it, Paul Ivanovitch, but this year
I have been unable to sow any wheat! Am I not a fine husbandman? There
was no seed for the purpose, nor yet anything with which to prepare the
ground. No, I am not like Constantine Thedorovitch, who, I hear, is a
perfect Napoleon in his particular line. Again and again the thought
occurs to me, ‘Why has so much intellect been put into that head, and
only a drop or two into my own dull pate?’ Take care of that puddle,
gentlemen. I have told my peasants to lay down planks for the spring,
but they have not done so. Nevertheless my heart aches for the poor
fellows, for they need a good example, and what sort of an example am I?
How am _I_ to give them orders? Pray take them under your charge, Paul
Ivanovitch, for I cannot teach them orderliness and method when I myself
lack both. As a matter of fact, I should have given them their freedom
long ago, had there been any use in my doing so; for even I can see that
peasants must first be afforded the means of earning a livelihood before
they can live. What they need is a stern, yet just, master who shall
live with them, day in, day out, and set them an example of tireless
energy. The present-day Russian--I know of it myself--is helpless
without a driver. Without one he falls asleep, and the mould grows over
him.”
“Yet I cannot understand WHY he should fall asleep and grow mouldy in
that fashion,” said Platon. “Why should he need continual surveillance
to keep him from degenerating into a drunkard and a good-for-nothing?”
“The cause is lack of enlightenment,” said Chichikov.
“Possibly--only God knows. Yet enlightenment has reached us right
enough. Do we not attend university lectures and everything else that
is befitting? Take my own education. I learnt not only the usual things,
but also the art of spending money upon the latest refinement, the
latest amenity--the art of familiarising oneself with whatsoever money
can buy. How, then, can it be said that I was educated foolishly? And
my comrades’ education was the same. A few of them succeeded in annexing
the cream of things, for the reason that they had the wit to do so, and
the rest spent their time in doing their best to ruin their health and
squander their money. Often I think there is no hope for the present-day
Russian. While desiring to do everything, he accomplishes nothing. One
day he will scheme to begin a new mode of existence, a new dietary; yet
before evening he will have so over-eaten himself as to be unable to
speak or do aught but sit staring like an owl. The same with every one.”
“Quite so,” agreed Chichikov with a smile. “’Tis everywhere the same
story.”
“To tell the truth, we are not born to common sense. I doubt whether
Russia has ever produced a really sensible man. For my own part, if I
see my neighbour living a regular life, and making money, and saving
it, I begin to distrust him, and to feel certain that in old age, if not
before, he too will be led astray by the devil--led astray in a moment.
Yes, whether or not we be educated, there is something we lack. But what
that something is passes my understanding.”
On the return journey the prospect was the same as before. Everywhere
the same slovenliness, the same disorder, was displaying itself
unadorned: the only difference being that a fresh puddle had formed in
the middle of the village street. This want and neglect was noticeable
in the peasants’ quarters equally with the quarters of the barin. In
the village a furious woman in greasy sackcloth was beating a poor young
wench within an ace of her life, and at the same time devoting some
third person to the care of all the devils in hell; further away
a couple of peasants were stoically contemplating the virago--one
scratching his rump as he did so, and the other yawning. The same yawn
was discernible in the buildings, for not a roof was there but had a
gaping hole in it. As he gazed at the scene Platon himself yawned. Patch
was superimposed upon patch, and, in place of a roof, one hut had a
piece of wooden fencing, while its crumbling window-frames were stayed
with sticks purloined from the barin’s barn. Evidently the system
of upkeep in vogue was the system employed in the case of Trishkin’s
coat--the system of cutting up the cuffs and the collar into mendings
for the elbows.
“No, I do not admire your way of doing things,” was Chichikov’s unspoken
comment when the inspection had been concluded and the party had
re-entered the house. Everywhere in the latter the visitors were
struck with the way in which poverty went with glittering, fashionable
profusion. On a writing-table lay a volume of Shakespeare, and, on an
occasional table, a carved ivory back-scratcher. The hostess, too, was
elegantly and fashionably attired, and devoted her whole conversation
to the town and the local theatre. Lastly, the children--bright, merry
little things--were well-dressed both as regards boys and girls. Yet
far better would it have been for them if they had been clad in plain
striped smocks, and running about the courtyard like peasant children.
Presently a visitor arrived in the shape of a chattering, gossiping
woman; whereupon the hostess carried her off to her own portion of the
house, and, the children following them, the men found themselves alone.
“How much do you want for the property?” asked Chichikov of Khlobuev.
“I am afraid I must request you to name the lowest possible sum, since I
find the estate in a far worse condition than I had expected to do.”
“Yes, it IS in a terrible state,” agreed Khlobuev. “Nor is that the
whole of the story. That is to say, I will not conceal from you the fact
that, out of a hundred souls registered at the last revision, only fifty
survive, so terrible have been the ravages of cholera. And of these,
again, some have absconded; wherefore they too must be reckoned as dead,
seeing that, were one to enter process against them, the costs would
end in the property having to pass en bloc to the legal authorities.
For these reasons I am asking only thirty-five thousand roubles for the
estate.”
Chichikov (it need hardly be said) started to haggle.
“Thirty-five thousand?” he cried. “Come, come! Surely you will accept
TWENTY-five thousand?”
This was too much for Platon’s conscience.
“Now, now, Paul Ivanovitch!” he exclaimed. “Take the property at the
price named, and have done with it. The estate is worth at least that
amount--so much so that, should you not be willing to give it, my
brother-in-law and I will club together to effect the purchase.”
“That being so,” said Chichikov, taken aback, “I beg to agree to the
price in question. At the same time, I must ask you to allow me to defer
payment of one-half of the purchase money until a year from now.”
“No, no, Paul Ivanovitch. Under no circumstances could I do that. Pay
me half now, and the rest in... [50] You see, I need the money for the
redemption of the mortgage.”
“That places me in a difficulty,” remarked Chichikov. “Ten thousand
roubles is all that at the moment I have available.” As a matter of
fact, this was not true, seeing that, counting also the money which he
had borrowed of Kostanzhoglo, he had at his disposal TWENTY thousand.
His real reason for hesitating was that he disliked the idea of making
so large a payment in a lump sum.
“I must repeat my request, Paul Ivanovitch,” said Khlobuev, “--namely,
that you pay me at least fifteen thousand immediately.”
“The odd five thousand _I_ will lend you,” put in Platon to Chichikov.
“Indeed?” exclaimed Chichikov as he reflected: “So he also lends money!”
In the end Chichikov’s dispatch-box was brought from the koliaska, and
Khlobuev received thence ten thousand roubles, together with a promise
that the remaining five thousand should be forthcoming on the morrow;
though the promise was given only after Chichikov had first proposed
that THREE thousand should be brought on the day named, and the rest
be left over for two or three days longer, if not for a still more
protracted period. The truth was that Paul Ivanovitch hated parting with
money. No matter how urgent a situation might have been, he would still
have preferred to pay a sum to-morrow rather than to-day. In other
words, he acted as we all do, for we all like keeping a petitioner
waiting. “Let him rub his back in the hall for a while,” we say. “Surely
he can bide his time a little?” Yet of the fact that every hour may be
precious to the poor wretch, and that his business may suffer from
the delay, we take no account. “Good sir,” we say, “pray come again
to-morrow. To-day I have no time to spare you.”
“Where do you intend henceforth to live?” inquired Platon. “Have you any
other property to which you can retire?”
“No,” replied Khlobuev. “I shall remove to the town, where I possess
a small villa. That would have been necessary, in any case, for the
children’s sake. You see, they must have instruction in God’s word, and
also lessons in music and dancing; and not for love or money can these
things be procured in the country.
“Nothing to eat, yet dancing lessons for his children!” reflected
Chichikov.
“An extraordinary man!” was Platon’s unspoken comment.
“However, we must contrive to wet our bargain somehow,” continued
Khlobuev. “Hi, Kirushka! Bring that bottle of champagne.”
“Nothing to eat, yet champagne to drink!” reflected Chichikov. As for
Platon, he did not know WHAT to think.
In Khlobuev’s eyes it was de rigueur that he should provide a guest with
champagne; but, though he had sent to the town for some, he had been met
with a blank refusal to forward even a bottle of kvass on credit.
Only the discovery of a French dealer who had recently transferred his
business from St. Petersburg, and opened a connection on a system
of general credit, saved the situation by placing Khlobuev under the
obligation of patronising him.
The company drank three glassfuls apiece, and so grew more cheerful.
In particular did Khlobuev expand, and wax full of civility and
friendliness, and scatter witticisms and anecdotes to right and left.
What knowledge of men and the world did his utterances display! How well
and accurately could he divine things! With what appositeness did he
sketch the neighbouring landowners! How clearly he exposed their
faults and failings! How thoroughly he knew the story of certain ruined
gentry--the story of how, why, and through what cause they had fallen
upon evil days! With what comic originality could he describe their
little habits and customs!
In short, his guests found themselves charmed with his discourse, and
felt inclined to vote him a man of first-rate intellect.
“What most surprises me,” said Chichikov, “is how, in view of your
ability, you come to be so destitute of means or resources.”
“But I have plenty of both,” said Khlobuev, and with that went on to
deliver himself of a perfect avalanche of projects. Yet those projects
proved to be so uncouth, so clumsy, so little the outcome of a knowledge
of men and things, that his hearers could only shrug their shoulders and
mentally exclaim: “Good Lord! What a difference between worldly wisdom