Dead Souls: Chapter 1

Chapter 1

PART II

CHAPTER I

Why do I so persistently paint the poverty, the imperfections of
Russian life, and delve into the remotest depths, the most retired
holes and corners, of our Empire for my subjects? The answer is that
there is nothing else to be done when an author's idiosyncrasy happens
to incline him that way. So again we find ourselves in a retired spot.
But what a spot!

Imagine, if you can, a mountain range like a gigantic fortress, with
embrasures and bastions which appear to soar a thousand versts towards
the heights of heaven, and, towering grandly over a boundless expanse
of plain, are broken up into precipitous, overhanging limestone
cliffs. Here and there those cliffs are seamed with water-courses and
gullies, while at other points they are rounded off into spurs of
green--spurs now coated with fleece-like tufts of young undergrowth,
now studded with the stumps of felled trees, now covered with timber
which has, by some miracle, escaped the woodman's axe. Also, a river
winds awhile between its banks, then leaves the meadow land, divides
into runlets (all flashing in the sun like fire), plunges, re-united,
into the midst of a thicket of elder, birth, and pine, and, lastly,
speeds triumphantly past bridges and mills and weirs which seem to be
lying in wait for it at every turn.

At one particular spot the steep flank of the mountain range is
covered with billowy verdure of denser growth than the rest; and here
the aid of skilful planting, added to the shelter afforded by a rugged
ravine, has enabled the flora of north and south so to be brought
together that, twined about with sinuous hop-tendrils, the oak, the
spruce fir, the wild pear, the maple, the cherry, the thorn, and the
mountain ash either assist or check one another's growth, and
everywhere cover the declivity with their straggling profusion. Also,
at the edge of the summit there can be seen mingling with the green of
the trees the red roofs of a manorial homestead, while behind the
upper stories of the mansion proper and its carved balcony and a great
semi-circular window there gleam the tiles and gables of some
peasants' huts. Lastly, over this combination of trees and roofs there
rises--overtopping everything with its gilded, sparkling steeple--an
old village church. On each of its pinnacles a cross of carved gilt is
stayed with supports of similar gilding and design; with the result
that from a distance the gilded portions have the effect of hanging
without visible agency in the air. And the whole--the three successive
tiers of woodland, roofs, and crosses whole--lies exquisitely mirrored
in the river below, where hollow willows, grotesquely shaped (some of
them rooted on the river's banks, and some in the water itself, and
all drooping their branches until their leaves have formed a tangle
with the water lilies which float on the surface), seem to be gazing
at the marvellous reflection at their feet.

Thus the view from below is beautiful indeed. But the view from above
is even better. No guest, no visitor, could stand on the balcony of
the mansion and remain indifferent. So boundless is the panorama
revealed that surprise would cause him to catch at his breath, and
exclaim: "Lord of Heaven, but what a prospect!" Beyond meadows studded
with spinneys and water-mills lie forests belted with green; while
beyond, again, there can be seen showing through the slightly misty
air strips of yellow heath, and, again, wide-rolling forests (as blue
as the sea or a cloud), and more heath, paler than the first, but
still yellow. Finally, on the far horizon a range of chalk-topped
hills gleams white, even in dull weather, as though it were lightened
with perpetual sunshine; and here and there on the dazzling whiteness
of its lower slopes some plaster-like, nebulous patches represent
far-off villages which lie too remote for the eye to discern their
details. Indeed, only when the sunlight touches a steeple to gold does
one realise that each such patch is a human settlement. Finally, all
is wrapped in an immensity of silence which even the far, faint echoes
of persons singing in the void of the plain cannot shatter.

Even after gazing at the spectacle for a couple of hours or so, the
visitor would still find nothing to say, save: "Lord of Heaven, but
what a prospect!" Then who is the dweller in, the proprietor of, this
manor--a manor to which, as to an impregnable fortress, entrance
cannot be gained from the side where we have been standing, but only
from the other approach, where a few scattered oaks offer hospitable
welcome to the visitor, and then, spreading above him their spacious
branches (as in friendly embrace), accompany him to the facade of the
mansion whose top we have been regarding from the reverse aspect, but
which now stands frontwise on to us, and has, on one side of it, a row
of peasants' huts with red tiles and carved gables, and, on the other,
the village church, with those glittering golden crosses and gilded
open-work charms which seem to hang suspended in the air? Yes,
indeed!--to what fortunate individual does this corner of the world
belong? It belongs to Andrei Ivanovitch Tientietnikov, landowner of
the canton of Tremalakhan, and, withal, a bachelor of about thirty.

Should my lady readers ask of me what manner of man is Tientietnikov,
and what are his attributes and peculiarities, I should refer them to
his neighbours. Of these, a member of the almost extinct tribe of
intelligent staff officers on the retired list once summed up
Tientietnikov in the phrase, "He is an absolute blockhead;" while a
General who resided ten versts away was heard to remark that "he is a
young man who, though not exactly a fool, has at least too much
crowded into his head. I myself might have been of use to him, for not
only do I maintain certain connections with St. Petersburg, but
also--" And the General left his sentence unfinished. Thirdly, a
captain-superintendent of rural police happened to remark in the
course of conversation: "To-morrow I must go and see Tientietnikov
about his arrears." Lastly, a peasant of Tientietnikov's own village,
when asked what his barin was like, returned no answer at all. All of
which would appear to show that Tientietnikov was not exactly looked
upon with favour.

To speak dispassionately, however, he was not a bad sort of
fellow--merely a star-gazer; and since the world contains many
watchers of the skies, why should Tientietnikov not have been one of
them? However, let me describe in detail a specimen day of his
existence--one that will closely resemble the rest, and then the
reader will be enabled to judge of Tientietnikov's character, and how
far his life corresponded to the beauties of nature with which he
lived surrounded.

On the morning of the specimen day in question he awoke very late,
and, raising himself to a sitting posture, rubbed his eyes. And since
those eyes were small, the process of rubbing them occupied a very
long time, and throughout its continuance there stood waiting by the
door his valet, Mikhailo, armed with a towel and basin. For one hour,
for two hours, did poor Mikhailo stand there: then he departed to the
kitchen, and returned to find his master still rubbing his eyes as he
sat on the bed. At length, however, Tientietnikov rose, washed
himself, donned a dressing-gown, and moved into the drawing-room for
morning tea, coffee, cocoa, and warm milk; of all of which he partook
but sparingly, while munching a piece of bread, and scattering tobacco
ash with complete insouciance. Two hours did he sit over this meal,
then poured himself out another cup of the rapidly cooling tea, and
walked to the window. This faced the courtyard, and outside it, as
usual, there took place the following daily altercation between a serf
named Grigory (who purported to act as butler) and the housekeeper,
Perfilievna.

Grigory. Ah, you nuisance, you good-for-nothing, you had better hold
your stupid tongue.

Perfilievna. Yes; and don't you wish that I would?

Grigory. What? You so thick with that bailiff of yours, you
housekeeping jade!

Perfilievna. Nay, he is as big a thief as you are. Do you think the
barin doesn't know you? And there he is! He must have heard
everything!

Grigory. Where?

Perfilievna. There--sitting by the window, and looking at us!

Next, to complete the hubbub, a serf child which had been clouted by
its mother broke out into a bawl, while a borzoi puppy which had
happened to get splashed with boiling water by the cook fell to
yelping vociferously. In short, the place soon became a babel of
shouts and squeals, and, after watching and listening for a time, the
barin found it so impossible to concentrate his mind upon anything
that he sent out word that the noise would have to be abated.

The next item was that, a couple of hours before luncheon time, he
withdrew to his study, to set about employing himself upon a weighty
work which was to consider Russia from every point of view: from the
political, from the philosophical, and from the religious, as well as
to resolve various problems which had arisen to confront the Empire,
and to define clearly the great future to which the country stood
ordained. In short, it was to be the species of compilation in which
the man of the day so much delights. Yet the colossal undertaking had
progressed but little beyond the sphere of projection, since, after a
pen had been gnawed awhile, and a few strokes had been committed to
paper, the whole would be laid aside in favour of the reading of some
book; and that reading would continue also during luncheon and be
followed by the lighting of a pipe, the playing of a solitary game of
chess, and the doing of more or less nothing for the rest of the day.

The foregoing will give the reader a pretty clear idea of the manner
in which it was possible for this man of thirty-three to waste his
time. Clad constantly in slippers and a dressing-gown, Tientietnikov
never went out, never indulged in any form of dissipation, and never
walked upstairs. Nothing did he care for fresh air, and would bestow
not a passing glance upon all those beauties of the countryside which
moved visitors to such ecstatic admiration. From this the reader will
see that Andrei Ivanovitch Tientietnikov belonged to that band of
sluggards whom we always have with us, and who, whatever be their
present appellation, used to be known by the nicknames of "lollopers,"
"bed pressers," and "marmots." Whether the type is a type originating
at birth, or a type resulting from untoward circumstances in later
life, it is impossible to say. A better course than to attempt to
answer that question would be to recount the story of Tientietnikov's
boyhood and upbringing.

Everything connected with the latter seemed to promise success, for at
twelve years of age the boy--keen-witted, but dreamy of temperament,
and inclined to delicacy--was sent to an educational establishment
presided over by an exceptional type of master. The idol of his
pupils, and the admiration of his assistants, Alexander Petrovitch
was gifted with an extraordinary measure of good sense. How thoroughly
he knew the peculiarities of the Russian of his day! How well he
understood boys! How capable he was of drawing them out! Not a
practical joker in the school but, after perpetrating a prank, would
voluntarily approach his preceptor and make to him free confession.
True, the preceptor would put a stern face upon the matter, yet the
culprit would depart with head held higher, not lower, than before,
since in Alexander Petrovitch there was something which
heartened--something which seemed to say to a delinquent: "Forward
you! Rise to your feet again, even though you have fallen!" Not
lectures on good behaviour was it, therefore, that fell from his lips,
but rather the injunction, "I want to see intelligence, and nothing
else. The boy who devotes his attention to becoming clever will never
play the fool, for under such circumstances, folly disappears of
itself." And so folly did, for the boy who failed to strive in the
desired direction incurred the contempt of all his comrades, and even
dunces and fools of senior standing did not dare to raise a finger
when saluted by their juniors with opprobrious epithets. Yet "This is
too much," certain folk would say to Alexander. "The result will be
that your students will turn out prigs." "But no," he would reply.
"Not at all. You see, I make it my principle to keep the incapables
for a single term only, since that is enough for them; but to the
clever ones I allot a double course of instruction." And, true enough,
any lad of brains was retained for this finishing course. Yet he did
not repress all boyish playfulness, since he declared it to be as
necessary as a rash to a doctor, inasmuch as it enabled him to
diagnose what lay hidden within.

Consequently, how the boys loved him! Never was there such an
attachment between master and pupils. And even later, during the
foolish years, when foolish things attract, the measure of affection
which Alexander Petrovitch retained was extraordinary. In fact, to the
day of his death, every former pupil would celebrate the birthday of
his late master by raising his glass in gratitude to the mentor dead
and buried--then close his eyelids upon the tears which would come
trickling through them. Even the slightest word of encouragement from
Alexander Petrovitch could throw a lad into a transport of tremulous
joy, and arouse in him an honourable emulation of his fellows. Boys of
small capacity he did not long retain in his establishment; whereas
those who possessed exceptional talent he put through an extra course
of schooling. This senior class--a class composed of
specially-selected pupils--was a very different affair from what
usually obtains in other colleges. Only when a boy had attained its
ranks did Alexander demand of him what other masters indiscreetly
require of mere infants--namely the superior frame of mind which,
while never indulging in mockery, can itself bear ridicule, and
disregard the fool, and keep its temper, and repress itself, and
eschew revenge, and calmly, proudly retain its tranquillity of soul.
In short, whatever avails to form a boy into a man of assured
character, that did Alexander Petrovitch employ during the pupil's
youth, as well as constantly put him to the test. How well he
understood the art of life!

Of assistant tutors he kept but few, since most of the necessary
instruction he imparted in person, and, without pedantic terminology
and inflated diction and views, could so transmit to his listeners the
inmost spirit of a lesson that even the youngest present absorbed its
essential elements. Also, of studies he selected none but those which
may help a boy to become a good citizen; and therefore most of the
lectures which he delivered consisted of discourses on what may be
awaiting a youth, as well as of such demarcations of life's field that
the pupil, though seated, as yet, only at the desk, could beforehand
bear his part in that field both in thought and spirit. Nor did the
master CONCEAL anything. That is to say, without mincing words, he
invariably set before his hearers the sorrows and the difficulties
which may confront a man, the trials and the temptations which may
beset him. And this he did in terms as though, in every possible
calling and capacity, he himself had experienced the same.
Consequently, either the vigorous development of self-respect or the
constant stimulus of the master's eye (which seemed to say to the
pupil, "Forward!"--that word which has become so familiar to the
contemporary Russian, that word which has worked such wonders upon his
sensitive temperament); one or the other, I repeat, would from the
first cause the pupil to tackle difficulties, and only difficulties,
and to hunger for prowess only where the path was arduous, and
obstacles were many, and it was necessary to display the utmost
strength of mind. Indeed, few completed the course of which I have
spoken without issuing therefrom reliable, seasoned fighters who could
keep their heads in the most embarrassing of official positions, and
at times when older and wiser men, distracted with the annoyances of
life, had either abandoned everything or, grown slack and indifferent,
had surrendered to the bribe-takers and the rascals. In short, no
ex-pupil of Alexander Petrovitch ever wavered from the right road,
but, familiar with life and with men, armed with the weapons of
prudence, exerted a powerful influence upon wrongdoers.

For a long time past the ardent young Tientietnikov's excitable heart
had also beat at the thought that one day he might attain the senior
class described. And, indeed, what better teacher could he have had
befall him than its preceptor? Yet just at the moment when he had been
transferred thereto, just at the moment when he had reached the
coveted position, did his instructor come suddenly by his death! This
was indeed a blow for the boy--indeed a terrible initial loss! In his
eyes everything connected with the school seemed to undergo a
change--the chief reason being the fact that to the place of the
deceased headmaster there succeeded a certain Thedor Ivanovitch, who
at once began to insist upon certain external rules, and to demand of
the boys what ought rightly to have been demanded only of adults. That
is to say, since the lads' frank and open demeanour savoured to him
only of lack of discipline, he announced (as though in deliberate
spite of his predecessor) that he cared nothing for progress and
intellect, but that heed was to be paid only to good behaviour. Yet,
curiously enough, good behaviour was just what he never obtained, for
every kind of secret prank became the rule; and while, by day, there
reigned restraint and conspiracy, by night there began to take place
chambering and wantonness.

Also, certain changes in the curriculum of studies came about, for
there were engaged new teachers who held new views and opinions, and
confused their hearers with a multitude of new terms and phrases, and
displayed in their exposition of things both logical sequence and a
zest for modern discovery and much warmth of individual bias. Yet
their instruction, alas! contained no LIFE--in the mouths of those
teachers a dead language savoured merely of carrion. Thus everything
connected with the school underwent a radical alteration, and respect
for authority and the authorities waned, and tutors and ushers came to
be dubbed "Old Thedor," "Crusty," and the like. And sundry other
things began to take place--things which necessitated many a penalty
and expulsion; until, within a couple of years, no one who had known
the school in former days would now have recognised it.

Nevertheless Tientietnikov, a youth of retiring disposition,
experienced no leanings towards the nocturnal orgies of his
companions, orgies during which the latter used to flirt with damsels
before the very windows of the headmaster's rooms, nor yet towards
their mockery of all that was sacred, simply because fate had cast in
their way an injudicious priest. No, despite its dreaminess, his soul
ever remembered its celestial origin, and could not be diverted from
the path of virtue. Yet still he hung his head, for, while his
ambition had come to life, it could find no sort of outlet. Truly
'twere well if it had NOT come to life, for throughout the time that
he was listening to professors who gesticulated on their chairs he
could not help remembering the old preceptor who, invariably cool and
calm, had yet known how to make himself understood. To what subjects,
to what lectures, did the boy not have to listen!--to lectures on
medicine, and on philosophy, and on law, and on a version of general
history so enlarged that even three years failed to enable the
professor to do more than finish the introduction thereto, and also
the account of the development of some self-governing towns in
Germany. None of the stuff remained fixed in Tientietnikov's brain
save as shapeless clots; for though his native intellect could not
tell him how instruction ought to be imparted, it at least told him
that THIS was not the way. And frequently, at such moments he would
recall Alexander Petrovitch, and give way to such grief that scarcely
did he know what he was doing.

But youth is fortunate in the fact that always before it there lies a
future; and in proportion as the time for his leaving school drew
nigh, Tientietnikov's heart began to beat higher and higher, and he
said to himself: "This is not life, but only a preparation for life.
True life is to be found in the Public Service. There at least will
there be scope for activity." So, bestowing not a glance upon that
beautiful corner of the world which never failed to strike the guest
or chance visitor with amazement, and reverencing not a whit the dust
of his ancestors, he followed the example of most ambitious men of his
class by repairing to St. Petersburg (whither, as we know, the more
spirited youth of Russia from every quarter gravitates--there to enter
the Public Service, to shine, to obtain promotion, and, in a word, to
scale the topmost peaks of that pale, cold, deceptive elevation which
is known as society). But the real starting-point of Tientietnikov's
ambition was the moment when his uncle (one State Councillor Onifri
Ivanovitch) instilled into him the maxim that the only means to
success in the Service lay in good handwriting, and that, without that
accomplishment, no one could ever hope to become a Minister or
Statesman. Thus, with great difficulty, and also with the help of his
uncle's influence, young Tientietnikov at length succeeded in being
posted to a Department. On the day that he was conducted into a
splendid, shining hall--a hall fitted with inlaid floors and lacquered
desks as fine as though this were actually the place where the great
ones of the Empire met for discussion of the fortunes of the State; on
the day that he saw legions of handsome gentlemen of the quill-driving
profession making loud scratchings with pens, and cocking their heads
to one side; lastly on the day that he saw himself also allotted a
desk, and requested to copy a document which appeared purposely to be
one of the pettiest possible order (as a matter of fact it related to
a sum of three roubles, and had taken half a year to produce)--well,
at that moment a curious, an unwonted sensation seized upon the
inexperienced youth, for the gentlemen around him appeared so exactly
like a lot of college students. And, the further to complete the
resemblance, some of them were engaged in reading trashy translated
novels, which they kept hurriedly thrusting between the sheets of
their apportioned work whenever the Director appeared, as though to
convey the impression that it was to that work alone that they were
applying themselves. In short, the scene seemed to Tientietnikov
strange, and his former pursuits more important than his present, and
his preparation for the Service preferable to the Service itself. Yes,
suddenly he felt a longing for his old school; and as suddenly, and
with all the vividness of life, there appeared before his vision the
figure of Alexander Petrovitch. He almost burst into tears as he
beheld his old master, and the room seemed to swim before his eyes,
and the tchinovniks and the desks to become a blur, and his sight to
grow dim. Then he thought to himself with an effort: "No, no! I WILL
apply myself to my work, however petty it be at first." And hardening
his heart and recovering his spirit, he determined then and there to
perform his duties in such a manner as should be an example to the rest.

But where are compensations to be found? Even in St. Petersburg,
despite its grim and murky exterior, they exist. Yes, even though
thirty degrees of keen, cracking frost may have bound the streets, and
the family of the North Wind be wailing there, and the Snowstorm Witch
have heaped high the pavements, and be blinding the eyes, and
powdering beards and fur collars and the shaggy manes of horses--even
THEN there will be shining hospitably through the swirling
snowflakes a fourth-floor window where, in a cosy room, and by the
light of modest candles, and to the hiss of the samovar, there will be
in progress a discussion which warms the heart and soul, or else a
reading aloud of a brilliant page of one of those inspired Russian
poets with whom God has dowered us, while the breast of each member of
the company is heaving with a rapture unknown under a noontide sky.

Gradually, therefore, Tientietnikov grew more at home in the Service.
Yet never did it become, for him, the main pursuit, the main object in
life, which he had expected. No, it remained but one of a secondary
kind. That is to say, it served merely to divide up his time, and
enable him the more to value his hours of leisure. Nevertheless, just
when his uncle was beginning to flatter himself that his nephew was
destined to succeed in the profession, the said nephew elected to ruin
his every hope. Thus it befell. Tientietnikov's friends (he had many)
included among their number a couple of fellows of the species known
as "embittered." That is to say, though good-natured souls of that
curiously restless type which cannot endure injustice, nor anything
which it conceives to be such, they were thoroughly unbalanced of
conduct themselves, and, while demanding general agreement with their
views, treated those of others with the scantiest of ceremony.
Nevertheless these two associates exercised upon Tientietnikov--both
by the fire of their eloquence and by the form of their noble
dissatisfaction with society--a very strong influence; with the result
that, through arousing in him an innate tendency to nervous
resentment, they led him also to notice trifles which before had
escaped his attention. An instance of this is seen in the fact that he
conceived against Thedor Thedorovitch Lienitsin, Director of one of
the Departments which was quartered in the splendid range of offices
before mentioned, a dislike which proved the cause of his discerning n
the man a host of hitherto unmarked imperfections. Above all things
did Tientietnikov take it into his head that, when conversing with his
superiors, Lienitsin became, of the moment, a stick of luscious
sweetmeat, but that, when conversing with his inferiors, he
approximated more to a vinegar cruet. Certain it is that, like all
petty-minded individuals, Lienitsin made a note of any one who failed
to offer him a greeting on festival days, and that he revenged himself
upon any one whose visiting-card had not been handed to his butler.
Eventually the youth's aversion almost attained the point of hysteria;
until he felt that, come what might, he MUST insult the fellow in
some fashion. To that task he applied himself con amore; and so
thoroughly that he met with complete success. That is to say, he
seized on an occasion to address Lienitsin in such fashion that the
delinquent received notice either to apologies or to leave the
Service; and when of these alternatives he chose the latter his uncle
came to him, and made a terrified appeal. "For God's sake remember
what you are doing!" he cried. "To think that, after beginning your
career so well, you should abandon it merely for the reason that you
have not fallen in with the sort of Director whom you prefer! What do
you mean by it, what do you mean by it? Were others to regard things
in the same way, the Service would find itself without a single
individual. Reconsider your conduct--forego your pride and conceit,
and make Lienitsin amends."

"But, dear Uncle," the nephew replied, "that is not the point. The
point is, not that I should find an apology difficult to offer, seeing
that, since Lienitsin is my superior, and I ought not to have
addressed him as I did, I am clearly in the wrong. Rather, the point
is the following. To my charge there has been committed the
performance of another kind of service. That is to say, I am the owner
of three hundred peasant souls, a badly administered estate, and a
fool of a bailiff. That being so, whereas the State will lose little
by having to fill my stool with another copyist, it will lose very
much by causing three hundred peasant souls to fail in the payment of
their taxes. As I say (how am I to put it?), I am a landowner who has
preferred to enter the Public Service. Now, should I employ myself
henceforth in conserving, restoring, and improving the fortunes of the
souls whom God has entrusted to my care, and thereby provide the State
with three hundred law-abiding, sober, hard-working taxpayers, how
will that service of mine rank as inferior to the service of a
department-directing fool like Lienitsin?"

On hearing this speech, the State Councillor could only gape, for he
had not expected Tientietnikov's torrent of words. He reflected a few
moments, and then murmured:

"Yes, but, but--but how can a man like you retire to rustication in
the country? What society will you get there? Here one meets at least
a general or a prince sometimes; indeed, no matter whom you pass in
the street, that person represents gas lamps and European
civilisation; but in the country, no matter what part of it you are
in, not a soul is to be encountered save muzhiks and their women. Why
should you go and condemn yourself to a state of vegetation like
that?"

Nevertheless the uncle's expostulations fell upon deaf ears, for
already the nephew was beginning to think of his estate as a retreat
of a type more likely to nourish the intellectual faculties and afford
the only profitable field of activity. After unearthing one or two
modern works on agriculture, therefore, he, two weeks later, found
himself in the neighbourhood of the home where his boyhood had been
spent, and approaching the spot which never failed to enthral the
visitor or guest. And in the young man's breast there was beginning to
palpitate a new feeling--in the young man's soul there were
reawakening old, long-concealed impressions; with the result that many
a spot which had long been faded from his memory now filled him with
interest, and the beautiful views on the estate found him gazing at
them like a newcomer, and with a beating heart. Yes, as the road wound
through a narrow ravine, and became engulfed in a forest where, both
above and below, he saw three-centuries-old oaks which three men could
not have spanned, and where Siberian firs and elms overtopped even the
poplars, and as he asked the peasants to tell him to whom the forest
belonged, and they replied, "To Tientietnikov," and he issued from the
forest, and proceeded on his way through meadows, and past spinneys of
elder, and of old and young willows, and arrived in sight of the
distant range of hills, and, crossing by two different bridges the
winding river (which he left successively to right and to left of him
as he did so), he again questioned some peasants concerning the
ownership of the meadows and the flooded lands, and was again informed
that they all belonged to Tientietnikov, and then, ascending a rise,
reached a tableland where, on one side, lay ungarnered fields of wheat
and rye and barley, and, on the other, the country already traversed
(but which now showed in shortened perspective), and then plunged
into the shade of some forked, umbrageous trees which stood scattered
over turf and extended to the manor-house itself, and caught glimpses
of the carved huts of the peasants, and of the red roofs of the stone
manorial outbuildings, and of the glittering pinnacles of the church,
and felt his heart beating, and knew, without being told by any one,
whither he had at length arrived--well, then the feeling which had
been growing within his soul burst forth, and he cried in ecstasy:

"Why have I been a fool so long? Why, seeing that fate has appointed
me to be ruler of an earthly paradise, did I prefer to bind myself in
servitude as a scribe of lifeless documents? To think that, after I
had been nurtured and schooled and stored with all the knowledge
necessary for the diffusion of good among those under me, and for the
improvement of my domain, and for the fulfilment of the manifold
duties of a landowner who is at once judge, administrator, and
constable of his people, I should have entrusted my estate to an
ignorant bailiff, and sought to maintain an absentee guardianship over
the affairs of serfs whom I have never met, and of whose capabilities
and characters I am yet ignorant! To think that I should have deemed
true estate-management inferior to a documentary, fantastical
management of provinces which lie a thousand versts away, and which my
foot has never trod, and where I could never have effected aught but
blunders and irregularities!"

Meanwhile another spectacle was being prepared for him. On learning
that the barin was approaching the mansion, the muzhiks collected on
the verandah in very variety of picturesque dress and tonsure; and
when these good folk surrounded him, and there arose a resounding
shout of "Here is our Foster Father! He has remembered us!" and, in
spite of themselves, some of the older men and women began weeping as
they recalled his grandfather and great-grandfather, he himself could
not restrain his tears, but reflected: "How much affection! And in
return for what? In return for my never having come to see them--in
return for my never having taken the least interest in their affairs!"
And then and there he registered a mental vow to share their every
task and occupation.

So he applied himself to supervising and administering. He reduced the
amount of the barstchina[1], he decreased the number of working-days
for the owner, and he augmented the sum of the peasants' leisure-time.
He also dismissed the fool of a bailiff, and took to bearing a
personal hand in everything--to being present in the fields, at the
threshing-floor, at the kilns, at the wharf, at the freighting of
barges and rafts, and at their conveyance down the river: wherefore
even the lazy hands began to look to themselves. But this did not last
long. The peasant is an observant individual, and Tientietnikov's
muzhiks soon scented the fact that, though energetic and desirous of
doing much, the barin had no notion how to do it, nor even how to set
about it--that, in short, he spoke by the book rather than out of his
personal knowledge. Consequently things resulted, not in master and
men failing to understand one another, but in their not singing
together, in their not producing the very same note.

[1] In the days of serfdom, the rate of forced labour--so many hours
or so many days per week--which the serf had to perform for his
proprietor.

That is to say, it was not long before Tientietnikov noticed that on
the manorial lands, nothing prospered to the extent that it did on the
peasants'. The manorial crops were sown in good time, and came up
well, and every one appeared to work his best, so much so that
Tientietnikov, who supervised the whole, frequently ordered mugs of
vodka to be served out as a reward for the excellence of the labour
performed. Yet the rye on the peasants' land had formed into ear, and
the oats had begun to shoot their grain, and the millet had filled
before, on the manorial lands, the corn had so much as grown to stalk,
or the ears had sprouted in embryo. In short, gradually the barin
realised that, in spite of favours conferred, the peasants were
playing the rogue with him. Next he resorted to remonstrance, but was
met with the reply, "How could we not do our best for our barin? You
yourself saw how well we laboured at the ploughing and the sowing, for
you gave us mugs of vodka for our pains."

"Then why have things turned out so badly?" the barin persisted.

"Who can say? It must be that a grub has eaten the crop from below.
Besides, what a summer has it been--never a drop of rain!"

Nevertheless, the barin noted that no grub had eaten the PEASANTS'
crops, as well as that the rain had fallen in the most curious
fashion--namely, in patches. It had obliged the muzhiks, but had shed
a mere sprinkling for the barin.

Still more difficult did he find it to deal with the peasant women.
Ever and anon they would beg to be excused from work, or start making
complaints of the severity of the barstchina. Indeed, they were
terrible folk! However, Tientietnikov abolished the majority of the
tithes of linen, hedge fruit, mushrooms, and nuts, and also reduced by
one-half other tasks proper to the women, in the hope that they would
devote their spare time to their own domestic concerns--namely, to
sewing and mending, and to making clothes for their husbands, and to
increasing the area of their kitchen gardens. Yet no such result came
about. On the contrary, such a pitch did the idleness, the
quarrelsomeness, and the intriguing and caballing of the fair sex
attain that their helpmeets were for ever coming to the barin with a
request that he would rid one or another of his wife, since she had
become a nuisance, and to live with her was impossible.

Next, hardening his heart, the barin attempted severity. But of what
avail was severity? The peasant woman remained always the peasant
woman, and would come and whine that she was sick and ailing, and keep
pitifully hugging to herself the mean and filthy rags which she had
donned for the occasion. And when poor Tientietnikov found himself
unable to say more to her than just, "Get out of my sight, and may the
Lord go with you!" the next item in the comedy would be that he would
see her, even as she was leaving his gates, fall to contending with a
neighbour for, say, the possession of a turnip, and dealing out slaps
in the face such as even a strong, healthy man could scarcely have
compassed!

Again, amongst other things, Tientietnikov conceived the idea of
establishing a school for his people; but the scheme resulted in a
farce which left him in sackcloth and ashes. In the same way he found
that, when it came to a question of dispensing justice and of
adjusting disputes, the host of juridical subtleties with which the
professors had provided him proved absolutely useless. That is to say,
the one party lied, and the other party lied, and only the devil could
have decided between them. Consequently he himself perceived that a
knowledge of mankind would have availed him more than all the legal
refinements and philosophical maxims in the world could do. He lacked
something; and though he could not divine what it was, the situation
brought about was the common one of the barin failing to understand
the peasant, and the peasant failing to understand the barin, and both
becoming disaffected. In the end, these difficulties so chilled
Tientietnikov's enthusiasm that he took to supervising the labours of
the field with greatly diminished attention. That is to say, no matter
whether the scythes were softly swishing through the grass, or ricks
were being built, or rafts were being loaded, he would allow his eyes
to wander from his men, and to fall to gazing at, say, a red-billed,
red-legged heron which, after strutting along the bank of a stream,
would have caught a fish in its beak, and be holding it awhile, as
though in doubt whether to swallow it. Next he would glance towards
the spot where a similar bird, but one not yet in possession of a
fish, was engaged in watching the doings of its mate. Lastly, with
eyebrows knitted, and face turned to scan the zenith, he would drink
in the smell of the fields, and fall to listening to the winged
population of the air as from earth and sky alike the manifold music
of winged creatures combined in a single harmonious chorus. In the rye
the quail would be calling, and, in the grass, the corncrake, and over
them would be wheeling flocks of twittering linnets. Also, the
jacksnipe would be uttering its croak, and the lark executing its
roulades where it had become lost in the sunshine, and cranes sending
forth their trumpet-like challenge as they deployed towards the zenith
in triangle-shaped flocks. In fact, the neighbourhood would seem to
have become converted into one great concert of melody. O Creator, how
fair is Thy world where, in remote, rural seclusion, it lies apart
from cities and from highways!

But soon even this began to pall upon Tientietnikov, and he ceased
altogether to visit his fields, or to do aught but shut himself up in
his rooms, where he refused to receive even the bailiff when that
functionary called with his reports. Again, although, until now, he
had to a certain extent associated with a retired colonel of
hussars--a man saturated with tobacco smoke--and also with a student
of pronounced, but immature, opinions who culled the bulk of his
wisdom from contemporary newspapers and pamphlets, he found, as time
went on, that these companions proved as tedious as the rest, and came
to think their conversation superficial, and their European method of
comporting themselves--that is to say, the method of conversing with
much slapping of knees and a great deal of bowing and
gesticulation--too direct and unadorned. So these and every one else
he decided to "drop," and carried this resolution into effect with a
certain amount of rudeness. On the next occasion that Varvar
Nikolaievitch Vishnepokromov called to indulge in a free-and-easy
symposium on politics, philosophy, literature, morals, and the state
of financial affairs in England (he was, in all matters which admit of
superficial discussion, the pleasantest fellow alive, seeing that he
was a typical representative both of the retired fire-eater and of the
school of thought which is now becoming the rage)--when, I say, this
next happened, Tientietnikov merely sent out to say that he was not at
home, and then carefully showed himself at the window. Host and guest
exchanged glances, and, while the one muttered through his teeth "The
cur!" the other relieved his feelings with a remark or two on swine.
Thus the acquaintance came to an abrupt end, and from that time forth
no visitor called at the mansion.

Tientietnikov in no way regretted this, for he could now devote
himself wholly to the projection of a great work on Russia. Of the
scale on which this composition was conceived the reader is already
aware. The reader also knows how strange, how unsystematic, was the
system employed in it. Yet to say that Tientietnikov never awoke from
his lethargy would not be altogether true. On the contrary, when the
post brought him newspapers and reviews, and he saw in their printed
pages, perhaps, the well-known name of some former comrade who had
succeeded in the great field of Public Service, or had conferred upon
science and the world's work some notable contribution, he would
succumb to secret and suppressed grief, and involuntarily there would
burst from his soul an expression of aching, voiceless regret that he
himself had done so little. And at these times his existence would
seem to him odious and repellent; at these times there would uprise
before him the memory of his school days, and the figure of Alexander
Petrovitch, as vivid as in life. And, slowly welling, the tears would
course over Tientietnikov's cheeks.

What meant these repinings? Was there not disclosed in them the secret
of his galling spiritual pain--the fact that he had failed to order
his life aright, to confirm the lofty aims with which he had started
his course; the fact that, always poorly equipped with experience, he
had failed to attain the better and the higher state, and there to
strengthen himself for the overcoming of hindrances and obstacles; the
fact that, dissolving like overheated metal, his bounteous store of
superior instincts had failed to take the final tempering; the fact
that the tutor of his boyhood, a man in a thousand, had prematurely
died, and left to Tientietnikov no one who could restore to him the
moral strength shattered by vacillation and the will power weakened by
want of virility--no one, in short, who could cry hearteningly to his
soul "Forward!"--the word for which the Russian of every degree, of
every class, of every occupation, of every school of thought, is for
ever hungering.

Indeed, WHERE is the man who can cry aloud for any of us, in the

Russian tongue dear to our soul, the all-compelling command
"Forward!"? Who is there who, knowing the strength and the nature and
the inmost depths of the Russian genius, can by a single magic
incantation divert our ideals to the higher life? Were there such a
man, with what tears, with what affection, would not the grateful sons
of Russia repay him! Yet age succeeds to age, and our callow youth
still lies wrapped in shameful sloth, or strives and struggles to no
purpose. God has not yet given us the man able to sound the call.

One circumstance which almost aroused Tientietnikov, which almost
brought about a revolution in his character, was the fact that he came
very near to falling in love. Yet even this resulted in nothing. Ten
versts away there lived the general whom we have heard expressing
himself in highly uncomplimentary terms concerning Tientietnikov. He
maintained a General-like establishment, dispensed hospitality (that
is to say, was glad when his neighbours came to pay him their
respects, though he himself never went out), spoke always in a hoarse
voice, read a certain number of books, and had a daughter--a curious,
unfamiliar type, but full of life as life itself. This maiden's name
was Ulinka, and she had been strangely brought up, for, losing her
mother in early childhood, she had subsequently received instruction
at the hands of an English governess who knew not a single word of
Russian. Moreover her father, though excessively fond of her, treated
her always as a toy; with the result that, as she grew to years of
discretion, she became wholly wayward and spoilt. Indeed, had any one
seen the sudden rage which would gather on her beautiful young
forehead when she was engaged in a heated dispute with her father, he
would have thought her one of the most capricious beings in the world.
Yet that rage gathered only when she had heard of injustice or harsh
treatment, and never because she desired to argue on her own behalf,
or to attempt to justify her own conduct. Also, that anger would
disappear as soon as ever she saw any one whom she had formerly
disliked fall upon evil times, and, at his first request for alms
would, without consideration or subsequent regret, hand him her purse
and its whole contents. Yes, her every act was strenuous, and when she
spoke her whole personality seemed to be following hot-foot upon her
thought--both her expression of face and her diction and the movements
of her hands. Nay, the very folds of her frock had a similar
appearance of striving; until one would have thought that all her self
were flying in pursuit of her words. Nor did she know reticence:
before any one she would disclose her mind, and no force could compel
her to maintain silence when she desired to speak. Also, her
enchanting, peculiar gait--a gait which belonged to her alone--was so
absolutely free and unfettered that every one involuntarily gave her
way. Lastly, in her presence churls seemed to become confused and fall
to silence, and even the roughest and most outspoken would lose their
heads, and have not a word to say; whereas the shy man would find
himself able to converse as never in his life before, and would feel,
from the first, as though he had seen her and known her at some
previous period--during the days of some unremembered childhood, when
he was at home, and spending a merry evening among a crowd of romping
children. And for long afterwards he would feel as though his man's
intellect and estate were a burden.

This was what now befell Tientietnikov; and as it did so a new feeling
entered into his soul, and his dreamy life lightened for a moment.

At first the General used to receive him with hospitable civility, but
permanent concord between them proved impossible; their conversation
always merged into dissension and soreness, seeing that, while the
General could not bear to be contradicted or worsted in an argument,
Tientietnikov was a man of extreme sensitiveness. True, for the
daughter's sake, the father was for a while deferred to, and thus
peace was maintained; but this lasted only until the time when there
arrived, on a visit to the General, two kinswomen of his--the Countess
Bordirev and the Princess Uziakin, retired Court dames, but ladies who
still kept up a certain connection with Court circles, and therefore
were much fawned upon by their host. No sooner had they appeared on
the scene than (so it seemed to Tientietnikov) the General's attitude
towards the young man became colder--either he ceased to notice him at
all or he spoke to him familiarly, and as to a person having no
standing in society. This offended Tientietnikov deeply, and though,
when at length he spoke out on the subject, he retained sufficient
presence of mind to compress his lips, and to preserve a gentle and
courteous tone, his face flushed and his inner man was boiling.

"General," he said, "I thank you for your condescension. By addressing
me in the second person singular, you have admitted me to the circle
of your most intimate friends. Indeed, were it not that a difference
of years forbids any familiarity on my part, I should answer you in
similar fashion."

The General sat aghast. At length, rallying his tongue and his
faculties, he replied that, though he had spoken with a lack of
ceremony, he had used the term "thou" merely as an elderly man
naturally employs it towards a junior (he made no reference to
difference of rank).

Nevertheless, the acquaintance broke off here, and with it any
possibility of love-making. The light which had shed a momentary gleam
before Tientietnikov's eyes had become extinguished for ever, and upon
it there followed a darkness denser than before. Henceforth everything
conduced to evolve the regime which the reader has noted--that regime
of sloth and inaction which converted Tientietnikov's residence into a
place of dirt and neglect. For days at a time would a broom and a heap
of dust be left lying in the middle of a room, and trousers tossing
about the salon, and pairs of worn-out braces adorning the what-not
near the sofa. In short, so mean and untidy did Tientietnikov's mode
of life become, that not only his servants, but even his very poultry
ceased to treat him with respect. Taking up a pen, he would spend
hours in idly sketching houses, huts, waggons, troikas, and flourishes
on a piece of paper; while at other times, when he had sunk into a
reverie, the pen would, all unknowingly, sketch a small head which had
delicate features, a pair of quick, penetrating eyes, and a raised
coiffure. Then suddenly the dreamer would perceive, to his surprise,
that the pen had executed the portrait of a maiden whose picture no
artist could adequately have painted; and therewith his despondency
would become greater than ever, and, believing that happiness did not
exist on earth, he would relapse into increased ennui, increased
neglect of his responsibilities.

But one morning he noticed, on moving to the window after breakfast,
that not a word was proceeding either from the butler or the
housekeeper, but that, on the contrary, the courtyard seemed to smack
of a certain bustle and excitement. This was because through the
entrance gates (which the kitchen maid and the scullion had run to
open) there were appearing the noses of three horses--one to the
right, one in the middle, and one to the left, after the fashion of
triumphal groups of statuary. Above them, on the box seat, were seated
a coachman and a valet, while behind, again, there could be discerned
a gentleman in a scarf and a fur cap. Only when the equipage had
entered the courtyard did it stand revealed as a light spring
britchka. And as it came to a halt, there leapt on to the verandah of
the mansion an individual of respectable exterior, and possessed of
the art of moving with the neatness and alertness of a military man.

Upon this Tientietnikov's heart stood still. He was unused to
receiving visitors, and for the moment conceived the new arrival to be
a Government official, sent to question him concerning an abortive
society to which he had formerly belonged. (Here the author may
interpolate the fact that, in Tientietnikov's early days, the young
man had become mixed up in a very absurd affair. That is to say, a
couple of philosophers belonging to a regiment of hussars had,
together with an aesthete who had not yet completed his student's
course and a gambler who had squandered his all, formed a secret
society of philanthropic aims under the presidency of a certain old
rascal of a freemason and the ruined gambler aforesaid. The scope of
the society's work was to be extensive: it was to bring lasting
happiness to humanity at large, from the banks of the Thames to the
shores of Kamtchatka. But for this much money was needed: wherefore
from the noble-minded members of the society generous contributions
were demanded, and then forwarded to a destination known only to the
supreme authorities of the concern. As for Tientietnikov's adhesion,
it was brought about by the two friends already alluded to as
"embittered"--good-hearted souls whom the wear and tear of their
efforts on behalf of science, civilisation, and the future
emancipation of mankind had ended by converting into confirmed
drunkards. Perhaps it need hardly be said that Tientietnikov soon
discovered how things stood, and withdrew from the association; but,
meanwhile, the latter had had the misfortune so to have engaged in
dealings not wholly creditable to gentlemen of noble origin as
likewise to have become entangled in dealings with the police.
Consequently, it is not to be wondered at that, though Tientietnikov
had long severed his connection with the society and its policy, he
still remained uneasy in his mind as to what might even yet be the
result.)

However, his fears vanished the instant that the guest saluted him
with marked politeness and explained, with many deferential poises of
the head, and in terms at once civil and concise, that for some time
past he (the newcomer) had been touring the Russian Empire on business
and in the pursuit of knowledge, that the Empire abounded in objects
of interest--not to mention a plenitude of manufactures and a great
diversity of soil, and that, in spite of the fact that he was greatly
struck with the amenities of his host's domain, he would certainly not
have presumed to intrude at such an inconvenient hour but for the
circumstance that the inclement spring weather, added to the state of
the roads, had necessitated sundry repairs to his carriage at the
hands of wheelwrights and blacksmiths. Finally he declared that, even
if this last had NOT happened, he would still have felt unable to
deny himself the pleasure of offering to his host that meed of homage
which was the latter's due.

This speech--a speech of fascinating bonhomie--delivered, the guest
executed a sort of shuffle with a half-boot of patent leather studded
with buttons of mother-of-pearl, and followed that up by (in spite of
his pronounced rotundity of figure) stepping backwards with all the
elan of an india-rubber ball.

From this the somewhat reassured Tientietnikov concluded that his
visitor must be a literary, knowledge-seeking professor who was
engaged in roaming the country in search of botanical specimens and
fossils; wherefore he hastened to express both his readiness to
further the visitor's objects (whatever they might be) and his
personal willingness to provide him with the requisite wheelwrights
and blacksmiths. Meanwhile he begged his guest to consider himself at
home, and, after seating him in an armchair, made preparations to
listen to the newcomer's discourse on natural history.

But the newcomer applied himself, rather, to phenomena of the internal
world, saying that his life might be likened to a barque tossed on the
crests of perfidious billows, that in his time he had been fated to
play many parts, and that on more than one occasion his life had stood
in danger at the hands of foes. At the same time, these tidings were
communicated in a manner calculated to show that the speaker was also
a man of PRACTICAL capabilities. In conclusion, the visitor took out
a cambric pocket-handkerchief, and sneezed into it with a vehemence
wholly new to Tientietnikov's experience. In fact, the sneeze rather
resembled the note which, at times, the trombone of an orchestra
appears to utter not so much from its proper place on the platform as
from the immediate neighbourhood of the listener's ear. And as the
echoes of the drowsy mansion resounded to the report of the explosion
there followed upon the same a wave of perfume, skilfully wafted
abroad with a flourish of the eau-de-Cologne-scented handkerchief.

By this time the reader will have guessed that the visitor was none
other than our old and respected friend Paul Ivanovitch Chichikov.
Naturally, time had not spared him his share of anxieties and alarms;
wherefore his exterior had come to look a trifle more elderly, his
frockcoat had taken on a suggestion of shabbiness, and britchka,
coachman, valet, horses, and harness alike had about them a sort of
second-hand, worse-for-wear effect. Evidently the Chichikovian
finances were not in the most flourishing of conditions. Nevertheless,
the old expression of face, the old air of breeding and refinement,
remained unimpaired, and our hero had even improved in the art of
walking and turning with grace, and of dexterously crossing one leg
over the other when taking a seat. Also, his mildness of diction, his
discreet moderation of word and phrase, survived in, if anything,
increased measure, and he bore himself with a skill which caused his
tactfulness to surpass itself in sureness of aplomb. And all these
accomplishments had their effect further heightened by a snowy
immaculateness of collar and dickey, and an absence of dust from his
frockcoat, as complete as though he had just arrived to attend a
nameday festival. Lastly, his cheeks and chin were of such neat
clean-shavenness that no one but a blind man could have failed to
admire their rounded contours.

From that moment onwards great changes took place in Tientietnikov's
establishment, and certain of its rooms assumed an unwonted air of
cleanliness and order. The rooms in question were those assigned to
Chichikov, while one other apartment--a little front chamber opening
into the hall--became permeated with Petrushka's own peculiar smell.
But this lasted only for a little while, for presently Petrushka was
transferred to the servants' quarters, a course which ought to have
been adopted in the first instance.

During the initial days of Chichikov's sojourn, Tientietnikov feared
rather to lose his independence, inasmuch as he thought that his guest
might hamper his movements, and bring about alterations in the
established routine of the place. But these fears proved groundless,
for Paul Ivanovitch displayed an extraordinary aptitude for
accommodating himself to his new position. To begin with, he
encouraged his host in his philosophical inertia by saying that the
latter would help Tientietnikov to become a centenarian. Next, in the
matter of a life of isolation, he hit things off exactly by remarking
that such a life bred in a man a capacity for high thinking. Lastly,
as he inspected the library and dilated on books in general, he
contrived an opportunity to observe that literature safeguarded a man
from a tendency to waste his time. In short, the few words of which he
delivered himself were brief, but invariably to the point. And this
discretion of speech was outdone by his discretion of conduct. That is
to say, whether entering or leaving the room, he never wearied his
host with a question if Tientietnikov had the air of being disinclined
to talk; and with equal satisfaction the guest could either play chess
or hold his tongue. Consequently Tientietnikov said to himself:

"For the first time in my life I have met with a man with whom it is
possible to live. In general, not many of the type exist in Russia,
and, though clever, good-humoured, well-educated men abound, one would
be hard put to it to find an individual of equable temperament with
whom one could share a roof for centuries without a quarrel arising.
Anyway, Chichikov is the first of his sort that I have met."

For his part, Chichikov was only too delighted to reside with a person
so quiet and agreeable as his host. Of a wandering life he was
temporarily weary, and to rest, even for a month, in such a beautiful
spot, and in sight of green fields and the slow flowering of spring,
was likely to benefit him also from the hygienic point of view. And,
indeed, a more delightful retreat in which to recuperate could not
possibly have been found. The spring, long retarded by previous cold,
had now begun in all its comeliness, and life was rampant. Already,
over the first emerald of the grass, the dandelion was showing yellow,
and the red-pink anemone was hanging its tender head; while the
surface of every pond was a swarm of dancing gnats and midges, and the
water-spider was being joined in their pursuit by birds which gathered
from every quarter to the vantage-ground of the dry reeds. Every
species of creature also seemed to be assembling in concourse, and
taking stock of one another. Suddenly the earth became populous, the
forest had opened its eyes, and the meadows were lifting up their
voice in song. In the same way had choral dances begun to be weaved in
the village, and everywhere that the eye turned there was merriment.
What brightness in the green of nature, what freshness in the air,
what singing of birds in the gardens of the mansion, what general joy
and rapture and exaltation! Particularly in the village might the
shouting and singing have been in honour of a wedding!

Chichikov walked hither, thither, and everywhere--a pursuit for which
there was ample choice and facility. At one time he would direct his
steps along the edge of the flat tableland, and contemplate the depths
below, where still there lay sheets of water left by the floods of
winter, and where the island-like patches of forest showed leafless
boughs; while at another time he would plunge into the thicket and
ravine country, where nests of birds weighted branches almost to the
ground, and the sky was darkened with the criss-cross flight of cawing
rooks. Again, the drier portions of the meadows could be crossed to
the river wharves, whence the first barges were just beginning to set
forth with pea-meal and barley and wheat, while at the same time one's
ear would be caught with the sound of some mill resuming its functions
as once more the water turned the wheel. Chichikov would also walk
afield to watch the early tillage operations of the season, and
observe how the blackness of a new furrow would make its way across
the expanse of green, and how the sower, rhythmically striking his
hand against the pannier slung across his breast, would scatter his
fistfuls of seed with equal distribution, apportioning not a grain too
much to one side or to the other.

In fact, Chichikov went everywhere. He chatted and talked, now with
the bailiff, now with a peasant, now with a miller, and inquired into
the manner and nature of everything, and sought information as to how
an estate was managed, and at what price corn was selling, and what
species of grain was best for spring and autumn grinding, and what was
the name of each peasant, and who were his kinsfolk, and where he had
bought his cow, and what he fed his pigs on. Chichikov also made
inquiry concerning the number of peasants who had lately died: but of
these there appeared to be few. And suddenly his quick eye discerned
that Tientietnikov's estate was not being worked as it might have
been--that much neglect and listlessness and pilfering and drunkenness
was abroad; and on perceiving this, he thought to himself: "What a
fool is that Tientietnikov! To think of letting a property like this
decay when he might be drawing from it an income of fifty thousand
roubles a year!"

Also, more than once, while taking these walks, our hero pondered the
idea of himself becoming a landowner--not now, of course, but later,
when his chief aim should have been achieved, and he had got into his
hands the necessary means for living the quiet life of the proprietor
of an estate. Yes, and at these times there would include itself in
his castle-building the figure of a young, fresh, fair-faced maiden of
the mercantile or other rich grade of society, a woman who could both
play and sing. He also dreamed of little descendants who should
perpetuate the name of Chichikov; perhaps a frolicsome little boy and
a fair young daughter, or possibly, two boys and quite two or three
daughters; so that all should know that he had really lived and had
his being, that he had not merely roamed the world like a spectre or a
shadow; so that for him and his the country should never be put to
shame. And from that he would go on to fancy that a title appended to
his rank would not be a bad thing--the title of State Councillor, for
instance, which was deserving of all honour and respect. Ah, it is a
common thing for a man who is taking a solitary walk so to detach
himself from the irksome realities of the present that he is able to
stir and to excite and to provoke his imagination to the conception of
things he knows can never really come to pass!

Chichikov's servants also found the mansion to their taste, and, like
their master, speedily made themselves at home in it. In particular
did Petrushka make friends with Grigory the butler, although at first
the pair showed a tendency to outbrag one another--Petrushka beginning
by throwing dust in Grigory's eyes on the score of his (Petrushka's)
travels, and Grigory taking him down a peg or two by referring to St.
Petersburg (a city which Petrushka had never visited), and Petrushka
seeking to recover lost ground by dilating on towns which he HAD
visited, and Grigory capping this by naming some town which is not to
be found on any map in existence, and then estimating the journey
thither as at least thirty thousand versts--a statement which would so
completely flabbergast the henchman of Chichikov's suite that he would
be left staring open-mouthed, amid the general laughter of the
domestic staff. However, as I say, the pair ended by swearing eternal
friendship with one another, and making a practice of resorting to the
village tavern in company.

For Selifan, however, the place had a charm of a different kind. That
is to say, each evening there would take place in the village a
singing of songs and a weaving of country dances; and so shapely and
buxom were the maidens--maidens of a type hard to find in our
present-day villages on large estates--that he would stand for hours
wondering which of them was the best. White-necked and white-bosomed,
all had great roving eyes, the gait of peacocks, and hair reaching to
the waist. And as, with his hands clasping theirs, he glided hither
and thither in the dance, or retired backwards towards a wall with a
row of other young fellows, and then, with them, returned to meet the
damsels--all singing in chorus (and laughing as they sang it),
"Boyars, show me my bridegroom!" and dusk was falling gently, and from
the other side of the river there kept coming far, faint, plaintive
echoes of the melody--well, then our Selifan hardly knew whether he
were standing upon his head or his heels. Later, when sleeping and
when waking, both at noon and at twilight, he would seem still to be
holding a pair of white hands, and moving in the dance.

Chichikov's horses also found nothing of which to disapprove. Yes,
both the bay, the Assessor, and the skewbald accounted residence at
Tientietnikov's a most comfortable affair, and voted the oats
excellent, and the arrangement of the stables beyond all cavil. True,
on this occasion each horse had a stall to himself; yet, by looking
over the intervening partition, it was possible always to see one's
fellows, and, should a neighbour take it into his head to utter a
neigh, to answer it at once.

As for the errand which had hitherto led Chichikov to travel about
Russia, he had now decided to move very cautiously and secretly in the
matter. In fact, on noticing that Tientietnikov went in absorbedly for
reading and for talking philosophy, the visitor said to himself,
"No--I had better begin at the other end," and proceeded first to feel
his way among the servants of the establishment. From them he learnt
several things, and, in particular, that the barin had been wont to go
and call upon a certain General in the neighbourhood, and that the
General possessed a daughter, and that she and Tientietnikov had had
an affair of some sort, but that the pair had subsequently parted, and
gone their several ways. For that matter, Chichikov himself had
noticed that Tientietnikov was in the habit of drawing heads of which
each representation exactly resembled the rest.

Once, as he sat tapping his silver snuff-box after luncheon, Chichikov
remarked:

"One thing you lack, and only one, Andrei Ivanovitch."

"What is that?" asked his host.

"A female friend or two," replied Chichikov.

Tientietnikov made no rejoinder, and the conversation came temporarily
to an end.

But Chichikov was not to be discouraged; wherefore, while waiting for
supper and talking on different subjects, he seized an opportunity to
interject:

"Do you know, it would do you no harm to marry."

As before, Tientietnikov did not reply, and the renewed mention of the
subject seemed to have annoyed him.

For the third time--it was after supper--Chichikov returned to the
charge by remarking:

"To-day, as I was walking round your property, I could not help
thinking that marriage would do you a great deal of good. Otherwise
you will develop into a hypochondriac."

Whether Chichikov's words now voiced sufficiently the note of
persuasion, or whether Tientietnikov happened, at the moment, to be
unusually disposed to frankness, at all events the young landowner
sighed, and then responded as he expelled a puff of tobacco smoke:

"To attain anything, Paul Ivanovitch, one needs to have been born
under a lucky star."

And he related to his guest the whole history of his acquaintanceship
and subsequent rupture with the General.

As Chichikov listened to the recital, and gradually realised that the
affair had arisen merely out of a chance word on the General's part,
he was astounded beyond measure, and gazed at Tientietnikov without
knowing what to make of him.

"Andrei Ivanovitch," he said at length, "what was there to take
offence at?"

"Nothing, as regards the actual words spoken," replied the other. "The
offence lay, rather, in the insult conveyed in the General's tone."
Tientietnikov was a kindly and peaceable man, yet his eyes flashed as
he said this, and his voice vibrated with wounded feeling.

"Yet, even then, need you have taken it so much amiss?"

"What? Could I have gone on visiting him as before?"

"Certainly. No great harm had been done?"

"I disagree with you. Had he been an old man in a humble station of
life, instead of a proud and swaggering officer, I should not have
minded so much. But, as it was, I could not, and would not, brook his
words."

"A curious fellow, this Tientietnikov!" thought Chichikov to himself.

"A curious fellow, this Chichikov!" was Tientietnikov's inward
reflection.

"I tell you what," resumed Chichikov. "To-morrow I myself will go and
see the General."

"To what purpose?" asked Tientietnikov, with astonishment and distrust
in his eyes.

"To offer him an assurance of my personal respect."

"A strange fellow, this Chichikov!" reflected Tientietnikov.

"A strange fellow, this Tientietnikov!" thought Chichikov, and then
added aloud: "Yes, I will go and see him at ten o'clock to-morrow; but
since my britchka is not yet altogether in travelling order, would you
be so good as to lend me your koliaska for the purpose?"

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