Dead Souls
something in his thoughts. Then he said:
“Nevertheless it is as I say. You committed the injustice in the case of
the lad Dierpiennikov.”
“What, Athanasi Vassilievitch? The fellow had infringed one of the
Fundamental Laws! He had been found guilty of treason!”
“I am not seeking to justify him; I am only asking you whether you think
it right that an inexperienced youth who had been tempted and led away
by others should have received the same sentence as the man who
had taken the chief part in the affair. That is to say, although
Dierpiennikov and the man Voron-Drianni received an equal measure of
punishment, their CRIMINALITY was not equal.”
“If,” exclaimed the Prince excitedly, “you know anything further
concerning the case, for God’s sake tell it me at once. Only the other
day did I forward a recommendation that St. Petersburg should remit a
portion of the sentence.”
“Your Highness,” replied Murazov, “I do not mean that I know of
anything which does not lie also within your own cognisance, though one
circumstance there was which might have told in the lad’s favour had he
not refused to admit it, lest another should suffer injury. All that
I have in my mind is this. On that occasion were you not a little
over-hasty in coming to a conclusion? You will understand, of course,
that I am judging only according to my own poor lights, and for the
reason that on more than one occasion you have urged me to be frank. In
the days when I myself acted as a chief of gendarmery I came in contact
with a great number of accused--some of them bad, some of them good; and
in each case I found it well also to consider a man’s past career, for
the reason that, unless one views things calmly, instead of at once
decrying a man, he is apt to take alarm, and to make it impossible
thereafter to get any real confession from him. If, on the other hand,
you question a man as friend might question friend, the result will be
that straightway he will tell you everything, nor ask for mitigation of
his penalty, nor bear you the least malice, in that he will understand
that it is not you who have punished him, but the law.”
The Prince relapsed into thought; until presently there entered a young
tchinovnik. Portfolio in hand, this official stood waiting respectfully.
Care and hard work had already imprinted their insignia upon his fresh
young face; for evidently he had not been in the Service for nothing. As
a matter of fact, his greatest joy was to labour at a tangled case, and
successfully to unravel it.
[At this point a long hiatus occurs in the original.]
“I will send corn to the localities where famine is worst,” said
Murazov, “for I understand that sort of work better than do the
tchinovniks, and will personally see to the needs of each person. Also,
if you will allow me, your Highness, I will go and have a talk with the
Raskolniki. They are more likely to listen to a plain man than to an
official. God knows whether I shall succeed in calming them, but at
least no tchinovnik could do so, for officials of the kind merely draw
up reports and lose their way among their own documents--with the result
that nothing comes of it. Nor will I accept from you any money for these
purposes, since I am ashamed to devote as much as a thought to my own
pocket at a time when men are dying of hunger. I have a large stock of
grain lying in my granaries; in addition to which, I have sent orders to
Siberia that a new consignment shall be forwarded me before the coming
summer.”
“Of a surety will God reward you for your services, Athanasi
Vassilievitch! Not another word will I say to you on the subject, for
you yourself feel that any words from me would be inadequate. Yet tell
me one thing: I refer to the case of which you know. Have I the right to
pass over the case? Also, would it be just and honourable on my part to
let the offending tchinovniks go unpunished?”
“Your Highness, it is impossible to return a definite answer to those
two questions: and the more so because many rascals are at heart men of
rectitude. Human problems are difficult things to solve. Sometimes a man
may be drawn into a vicious circle, so that, having once entered it, he
ceases to be himself.”
“But what would the tchinovniks say if I allowed the case to be passed
over? Would not some of them turn up their noses at me, and declare
that they have effected my intimidation? Surely they would be the last
persons in the world to respect me for my action?”
“Your Highness, I think this: that your best course would be to call
them together, and to inform them that you know everything, and to
explain to them your personal attitude (exactly as you have explained
it to me), and to end by at once requesting their advice and asking
them what each of them would have done had he been placed in similar
circumstances.”
“What? You think that those tchinovniks would be so accessible to lofty
motives that they would cease thereafter to be venal and meticulous? I
should be laughed at for my pains.”
“I think not, your Highness. Even the baser section of humanity
possesses a certain sense of equity. Your wisest plan, your Highness,
would be to conceal nothing and to speak to them as you have just spoken
to me. If, at present, they imagine you to be ambitious and proud
and unapproachable and self-assured, your action would afford them
an opportunity of seeing how the case really stands. Why should you
hesitate? You would but be exercising your undoubted right. Speak to
them as though delivering not a message of your own, but a message from
God.”
“I will think it over,” the Prince said musingly, “and meanwhile I thank
you from my heart for your good advice.”
“Also, I should order Chichikov to leave the town,” suggested Murazov.
“Yes, I will do so. Tell him from me that he is to depart hence as
quickly as possible, and that the further he should remove himself, the
better it will be for him. Also, tell him that it is only owing to your
efforts that he has received a pardon at my hands.”
Murazov bowed, and proceeded from the Prince’s presence to that of
Chichikov. He found the prisoner cheerfully enjoying a hearty dinner
which, under hot covers, had been brought him from an exceedingly
excellent kitchen. But almost the first words which he uttered showed
Murazov that the prisoner had been having dealings with the army of
bribe-takers; as also that in those transactions his lawyer had played
the principal part.
“Listen, Paul Ivanovitch,” the old man said. “I bring you your freedom,
but only on this condition--that you depart out of the town forthwith.
Therefore gather together your effects, and waste not a moment, lest
worse befall you. Also, of all that a certain person has contrived to
do on your behalf I am aware; wherefore let me tell you, as between
ourselves, that should the conspiracy come to light, nothing on earth
can save him, and in his fall he will involve others rather then be left
unaccompanied in the lurch, and not see the guilt shared. How is it that
when I left you recently you were in a better frame of mind than you are
now? I beg of you not to trifle with the matter. Ah me! what boots that
wealth for which men dispute and cut one another’s throats? Do they
think that it is possible to prosper in this world without thinking of
the world to come? Believe me when I say that, until a man shall have
renounced all that leads humanity to contend without giving a thought to
the ordering of spiritual wealth, he will never set his temporal goods
either upon a satisfactory foundation. Yes, even as times of want and
scarcity may come upon nations, so may they come upon individuals. No
matter what may be said to the contrary, the body can never dispense
with the soul. Why, then, will you not try to walk in the right way,
and, by thinking no longer of dead souls, but only of your only living
one, regain, with God’s help, the better road? I too am leaving the town
to-morrow. Hasten, therefore, lest, bereft of my assistance, you meet
with some dire misfortune.”
And the old man departed, leaving Chichikov plunged in thought. Once
more had the gravity of life begun to loom large before him.
“Yes, Murazov was right,” he said to himself. “It is time that I were
moving.”
Leaving the prison--a warder carrying his effects in his wake--he found
Selifan and Petrushka overjoyed at seeing their master once more at
liberty.
“Well, good fellows?” he said kindly. “And now we must pack and be off.”
“True, true, Paul Ivanovitch,” agreed Selifan. “And by this time the
roads will have become firmer, for much snow has fallen. Yes, high time
is it that we were clear of the town. So weary of it am I that the sight
of it hurts my eyes.”
“Go to the coachbuilder’s,” commanded Chichikov, “and have
sledge-runners fitted to the koliaska.”
Chichikov then made his way into the town--though not with the object of
paying farewell visits (in view of recent events, that might have given
rise to some awkwardness), but for the purpose of paying an unobtrusive
call at the shop where he had obtained the cloth for his latest
suit. There he now purchased four more arshins of the same
smoked-grey-shot-with-flame-colour material as he had had before, with
the intention of having it made up by the tailor who had fashioned the
previous costume; and by promising double remuneration he induced the
tailor in question so to hasten the cutting out of the garments that,
through sitting up all night over the work, the man might have the whole
ready by break of day. True, the goods were delivered a trifle after
the appointed hour, yet the following morning saw the coat and breeches
completed; and while the horses were being put to, Chichikov tried on
the clothes, and found them equal to the previous creation, even though
during the process he caught sight of a bald patch on his head, and was
led mournfully to reflect: “Alas! Why did I give way to such despair?
Surely I need not have torn my hair out so freely?”
Then, when the tailor had been paid, our hero left the town. But no
longer was he the old Chichikov--he was only a ruin of what he had been,
and his frame of mind might have been compared to a building recently
pulled down to make room for a new one, while the new one had not yet
been erected owing to the non-receipt of the plans from the architect.
Murazov, too, had departed, but at an earlier hour, and in a tilt-waggon
with Ivan Potapitch.
An hour later the Governor-General issued to all and sundry officials
a notice that, on the occasion of his departure for St. Petersburg,
he would be glad to see the corps of tchinovniks at a private meeting.
Accordingly all ranks and grades of officialdom repaired to his
residence, and there awaited--not without a certain measure of
trepidation and of searching of heart--the Governor-General’s entry.
When that took place he looked neither clear nor dull. Yet his bearing
was proud, and his step assured. The tchinovniks bowed--some of them to
the waist, and he answered their salutations with a slight inclination
of the head. Then he spoke as follows:
“Since I am about to pay a visit to St. Petersburg, I have thought it
right to meet you, and to explain to you privately my reasons for doing
so. An affair of a most scandalous character has taken place in our
midst. To what affair I am referring I think most of those present will
guess. Now, an automatic process has led to that affair bringing about
the discovery of other matters. Those matters are no less dishonourable
than the primary one; and to that I regret to have to add that there
stand involved in them certain persons whom I had hitherto believed
to be honourable. Of the object aimed at by those who have complicated