Dead Souls (46 page)

Kostanzhoglo's mellifluous periods fell upon Chichikov's ear like the
notes of a bird of paradise. From time to time he gulped, and his
softened eyes expressed the pleasure which it gave him to listen.

"Constantine, it is time to leave the table," said the lady of the
house, rising from her seat. Every one followed her example, and
Chichikov once again acted as his hostess's escort—although with less
dexterity of deportment than before, owing to the fact that this time
his thoughts were occupied with more essential matters of procedure.

"In spite of what you say," remarked Platon as he walked behind the
pair, "I, for my part, find these things wearisome."

But the master of the house paid no attention to his remark, for he
was reflecting that his guest was no fool, but a man of serious
thought and speech who did not take things lightly. And, with the
thought, Kostanzhoglo grew lighter in soul, as though he had warmed
himself with his own words, and were exulting in the fact that he had
found some one capable of listening to good advice.

When they had settled themselves in the cosy, candle-lighted
drawing-room, with its balcony and the glass door opening out into the
garden—a door through which the stars could be seen glittering amid
the slumbering tops of the trees—Chichikov felt more comfortable than
he had done for many a day past. It was as though, after long
journeying, his own roof-tree had received him once more—had received
him when his quest had been accomplished, when all that he wished for
had been gained, when his travelling-staff had been laid aside with
the words "It is finished." And of this seductive frame of mind the
true source had been the eloquent discourse of his hospitable host.
Yes, for every man there exist certain things which, instantly that
they are said, seem to touch him more closely, more intimately, than
anything has done before. Nor is it an uncommon occurrence that in the
most unexpected fashion, and in the most retired of retreats, one will
suddenly come face to face with a man whose burning periods will lead
one to forget oneself and the tracklessness of the route and the
discomfort of one's nightly halting-places, and the futility of crazes
and the falseness of tricks by which one human being deceives another.
And at once there will become engraven upon one's memory—vividly, and
for all time—the evening thus spent. And of that evening one's
remembrance will hold true, both as to who was present, and where each
such person sat, and what he or she was wearing, and what the walls
and the stove and other trifling features of the room looked like.

In the same way did Chichikov note each detail that evening—both the
appointments of the agreeable, but not luxuriously furnished, room,
and the good-humoured expression which reigned on the face of the
thoughtful host, and the design of the curtains, and the amber-mounted
pipe smoked by Platon, and the way in which he kept puffing smoke into
the fat jowl of the dog Yarb, and the sneeze which, on each such
occasion, Yarb vented, and the laughter of the pleasant-faced hostess
(though always followed by the words "Pray do not tease him any more")
and the cheerful candle-light, and the cricket chirping in a corner,
and the glass door, and the spring night which, laying its elbows upon
the tree-tops, and spangled with stars, and vocal with the
nightingales which were pouring forth warbled ditties from the
recesses of the foliage, kept glancing through the door, and regarding
the company within.

"How it delights me to hear your words, good Constantine
Thedorovitch!" said Chichikov. "Indeed, nowhere in Russia have I met
with a man of equal intellect."

Kostanzhoglo smiled, while realising that the compliment was scarcely
deserved.

"If you want a man of GENUINE intellect," he said, "I can tell you
of one. He is a man whose boot soles are worth more than my whole body."

"Who may he be?" asked Chichikov in astonishment.

"Murazov, our local Commissioner of Taxes."

"Ah! I have heard of him before," remarked Chichikov.

"He is a man who, were he not the director of an estate, might well be
a director of the Empire. And were the Empire under my direction, I
should at once appoint him my Minister of Finance."

"I have heard tales beyond belief concerning him—for instance, that
he has acquired ten million roubles."

"Ten? More than forty. Soon half Russia will be in his hands."

"You don't say so?" cried Chichikov in amazement.

"Yes, certainly. The man who has only a hundred thousand roubles to
work with grows rich but slowly, whereas he who has millions at his
disposal can operate over a greater radius, and so back whatsoever he
undertakes with twice or thrice the money which can be brought against
him. Consequently his field becomes so spacious that he ends by having
no rivals. Yes, no one can compete with him, and, whatsoever price he
may fix for a given commodity, at that price it will have to remain,
nor will any man be able to outbid it."

"My God!" muttered Chichikov, crossing himself, and staring at
Kostanzhoglo with his breath catching in his throat. "The mind cannot
grasp it—it petrifies one's thoughts with awe. You see folk
marvelling at what Science has achieved in the matter of investigating
the habits of cowbugs, but to me it is a far more marvellous thing
that in the hands of a single mortal there can become accumulated such
gigantic sums of money. But may I ask whether the great fortune of
which you speak has been acquired through honest means?"

"Yes; through means of the most irreproachable kind—through the most
honourable of methods."

"Yet so improbable does it seem that I can scarcely believe it.
Thousands I could understand, but millions—!"

"On the contrary, to make thousands honestly is a far more difficult
matter than to make millions. Millions are easily come by, for a
millionaire has no need to resort to crooked ways; the way lies
straight before him, and he needs but to annex whatsoever he comes
across. No rival will spring up to oppose him, for no rival will be
sufficiently strong, and since the millionaire can operate over an
extensive radius, he can bring (as I have said) two or three roubles
to bear upon any one else's one. Consequently, what interest will he
derive from a thousand roubles? Why, ten or twenty per cent. at the
least."

"And it is beyond measure marvellous that the whole should have
started from a single kopeck."

"Had it started otherwise, the thing could never have been done at
all. Such is the normal course. He who is born with thousands, and is
brought up to thousands, will never acquire a single kopeck more, for
he will have been set up with the amenities of life in advance, and
so never come to stand in need of anything. It is necessary to begin
from the beginning rather than from the middle; from a kopeck rather
than from a rouble; from the bottom rather than from the top. For only
thus will a man get to know the men and conditions among which his
career will have to be carved. That is to say, through encountering
the rough and the tumble of life, and through learning that every
kopeck has to be beaten out with a three-kopeck nail, and through
worsting knave after knave, he will acquire such a degree of
perspicuity and wariness that he will err in nothing which he may
tackle, and never come to ruin. Believe me, it is so. The beginning,
and not the middle, is the right starting point. No one who comes to
me and says, 'Give me a hundred thousand roubles, and I will grow rich
in no time,' do I believe, for he is likely to meet with failure
rather than with the success of which he is so assured. 'Tis with a
kopeck, and with a kopeck only, that a man must begin."

"If that is so,
I
shall grow rich," said Chichikov, involuntarily
remembering the dead souls. "For of a surety
I
began with nothing."

"Constantine, pray allow Paul Ivanovitch to retire to rest," put in
the lady of the house. "It is high time, and I am sure you have talked
enough."

"Yes, beyond a doubt you will grow rich," continued Kostanzhoglo,
without heeding his wife. "For towards you there will run rivers and
rivers of gold, until you will not know what to do with all your
gains."

As though spellbound, Chichikov sat in an aureate world of
ever-growing dreams and fantasies. All his thoughts were in a whirl,
and on a carpet of future wealth his tumultuous imagination was
weaving golden patterns, while ever in his ears were ringing the
words, "towards you there will run rivers and rivers of gold."

"Really, Constantine, DO allow Paul Ivanovitch to go to bed."

"What on earth is the matter?" retorted the master of the household
testily. "Pray go yourself if you wish to." Then he stopped short, for
the snoring of Platon was filling the whole room, and
also—outrivalling it—that of the dog Yarb. This caused Kostanzhoglo
to realise that bedtime really had arrived; wherefore, after he had
shaken Platon out of his slumbers, and bidden Chichikov good night,
all dispersed to their several chambers, and became plunged in sleep.

All, that is to say, except Chichikov, whose thoughts remained
wakeful, and who kept wondering and wondering how best he could become
the owner, not of a fictitious, but of a real, estate. The
conversation with his host had made everything clear, had made the
possibility of his acquiring riches manifest, had made the difficult
art of estate management at once easy and understandable; until it
would seem as though particularly was his nature adapted for mastering
the art in question. All that he would need to do would be to mortgage
the dead souls, and then to set up a genuine establishment. Already he
saw himself acting and administering as Kostanzhoglo had advised
him—energetically, and through personal oversight, and undertaking
nothing new until the old had been thoroughly learned, and viewing
everything with his own eyes, and making himself familiar with each
member of his peasantry, and abjuring all superfluities, and giving
himself up to hard work and husbandry. Yes, already could he taste the
pleasure which would be his when he had built up a complete industrial
organisation, and the springs of the industrial machine were in
vigorous working order, and each had become able to reinforce the
other. Labour should be kept in active operation, and, even as, in a
mill, flour comes flowing from grain, so should cash, and yet more
cash, come flowing from every atom of refuse and remnant. And all the
while he could see before him the landowner who was one of the leading
men in Russia, and for whom he had conceived such an unbounded
respect. Hitherto only for rank or for opulence had Chichikov
respected a man—never for mere intellectual power; but now he made a
first exception in favour of Kostanzhoglo, seeing that he felt that
nothing undertaken by his host could possibly come to naught. And
another project which was occupying Chichikov's mind was the project
of purchasing the estate of a certain landowner named Khlobuev.
Already Chichikov had at his disposal ten thousand roubles, and a
further fifteen thousand he would try and borrow of Kostanzhoglo
(seeing that the latter had himself said that he was prepared to help
any one who really desired to grow rich); while, as for the remainder,
he would either raise the sum by mortgaging the estate or force
Khlobuev to wait for it—just to tell him to resort to the courts if
such might be his pleasure.

Long did our hero ponder the scheme; until at length the slumber which
had, these four hours past, been holding the rest of the household in
its embraces enfolded also Chichikov, and he sank into oblivion.

Next day, with Platon and Constantine, Chichikov set forth to
interview Khlobuev, the owner whose estate Constantine had consented
to help Chichikov to purchase with a non-interest-bearing,
uncovenanted loan of ten thousand roubles. Naturally, our hero was in
the highest of spirits. For the first fifteen versts or so the road
led through forest land and tillage belonging to Platon and his
brother-in-law; but directly the limit of these domains was reached,
forest land began to be replaced with swamp, and tillage with waste.
Also, the village in Khlobuev's estate had about it a deserted air,
and as for the proprietor himself, he was discovered in a state of
drowsy dishevelment, having not long left his bed. A man of about
forty, he had his cravat crooked, his frockcoat adorned with a large
stain, and one of his boots worn through. Nevertheless he seemed
delighted to see his visitors.

"What?" he exclaimed. "Constantine Thedorovitch and Platon Mikhalitch?
Really I must rub my eyes! Never again in this world did I look to see
callers arriving. As a rule, folk avoid me like the devil, for they
cannot disabuse their minds of the idea that I am going to ask them
for a loan. Yes, it is my own fault, I know, but what would you? To
the end will swine cheat swine. Pray excuse my costume. You will
observe that my boots are in holes. But how can I afford to get them
mended?"

"Never mind," said Constantine. "We have come on business only. May I
present to you a possible purchaser of your estate, in the person of
Paul Ivanovitch Chichikov?"

"I am indeed glad to meet you!" was Khlobuev's response. "Pray shake
hands with me, Paul Ivanovitch."

Chichikov offered one hand, but not both.

"I can show you a property worth your attention," went on the master
of the estate. "May I ask if you have yet dined?"

"Yes, we have," put in Constantine, desirous of escaping as soon as
possible. "To save you further trouble, let us go and view the estate
at once."

"Very well," replied Khlobuev. "Pray come and inspect my
irregularities and futilities. You have done well to dine beforehand,
for not so much as a fowl is left in the place, so dire are the
extremities to which you see me reduced."