CHAPTER V
Tchitchikov was lolling on the sofa dressed in a new Persian dressing-gown of gold-coloured brocade, and bargaining with a dealer in contraband goods, of Jewish extraction and German accent; before them lay a piece of the very finest Dutch linen for shirts, and two cardboard boxes of excellent soap of the finest quality (it was the same sort of soap that he used to get hold of when he was in the Customs; it really had the property of imparting an incredible freshness to the complexion, and a surprising whiteness to the cheeks). While he was, like a connoisseur, purchasing these products so indispensable for a man of culture, he heard the rumble of an approaching carriage which set the walls and windows of the room faintly vibrating, and his Excellency Alexey Ivanovitch Lyenitsyn walked into the room.
'I appeal to your Excellency's judgment: what do you say to this linen and to this soap, and what do you think of this thing I bought yesterday?' As he spoke Tchitchikov put on his head a cap embroidered with gold and beads and looked like a Persian Shah, full of stateliness and dignity.
But without answering his question, his Excellency said:
'I have to speak to you about something important.' His face looked troubled. The worthy dealer with the German accent was at once dismissed, and they were left alone.
'Do you know, something unpleasant has happened. Another will has been found which the old lady made ten years ago. Half the property is left to a monastery and the other half to her two protégées, to be equally divided between them and nothing else to any one.'
Tchitchikov was aghast.
'But that will is all nonsense. It means nothing, it is cancelled by the second.'
'But it is not stated in that second will that it cancels the first.'
'That's a matter of course: the second cancels the first. It's nonsense. That first will is of no consequence. I know the deceased's intentions perfectly. I was with her. Who signed this will? Who were the witnesses?'
'It was witnessed in the regular way at the court. The witnesses were Havanov and Burmilov, the former judge.'
'That's bad,' thought Tchitchikov, 'Havanov's said to be honest. Burmilov is a canting old hypocrite, he reads the lessons in church.'
'Come, it is nonsense, nonsense,' he said aloud, and all at once he felt that he had determination enough to deal with any emergency. 'I know better; I was present at the deceased lady's last moments. I know all about it better than any one. I am ready to take my oath in person.'
These words and the air of decision with which they were uttered reassured Lyenitsyn.
He had been much perturbed and had almost been suspecting there might have been something underhand on Tchitchikov's part in regard to the will (though of course he could never have conceived what had really happened). Now he reproached himself with being suspicious. His readiness to take an oath seemed a clear proof that Tchitchikov … We cannot say if Pavel Ivanovitch would really have had the hardihood to take a solemn oath about it, but he had the hardihood to say that he would.
'Don't worry yourself and set your mind at rest, I will go and discuss the matter with some lawyers. You ought not to be brought into the matter at all. You ought to be entirely outside it. I can stay in the town now as long as I like.'
Tchitchikov immediately ordered his carriage and set out to visit a lawyer. This lawyer was a man of exceptional experience. He had been on his trial for the last fifteen years, and he had somehow managed to make it impossible that he should be dismissed from his post. Every one knew that he deserved, six times over deserved, to be sent to a penal settlement for his exploits. He was suspected on all sides, but it was never possible to bring complete proof and evidence against him. There really was something mysterious about it, and we might confidently have called him a sorcerer if our story had been cast in the dark ages.
The lawyer impressed Tchitchikov by the coldness of his expression and the greasiness of his dressing-gown, which was in striking contrast to the very good mahogany furniture, the gold clock under a glass shade, the chandelier that peeped through a muslin cover, put on to preserve it, and in fact to all the objects round them which bore the unmistakable imprint of enlightened European culture.
Not baulked by the sceptical air of the lawyer, Tchitchikov proceeded to explain the difficult points of the case, and drew an alluring picture of the gratitude that would inevitably reward his kind advice and interest.
The lawyer replied to this by pointing out the uncertainty of all things earthly, and subtly suggested that a bird in the hand was worth two in the bush.
There was nothing for it, he had to give him the bird in the hand. The philosopher's sceptical frigidity vanished instantly. It turned out that he was the most good-natured of men, very ready to talk and a most agreeable talker, no less tactful in his manners than Tchitchikov himself.
'Instead of making a long business of it, allow me to suggest that you have very likely not examined the will properly: probably there is some little note in it. You should take it home for the time. Although of course it is against the law to take such things into one's own keeping, yet if you ask certain officials in the proper way … I will use my influence too.'
'I understand,' thought Tchitchikov, and said, 'I really don't quite remember whether there is a note in it or not,' just as though he had not written the will himself.
'The very best thing is for you to look into that. However, in any case,' he added very good-naturedly, 'set your mind completely at rest and don't be bothered by anything, even if something worse happened. Never despair of anything: there is nothing in the world that can't be set right. Look at me, I am always calm. Whatever charges are brought against me my composure is never disturbed.'
There certainly was an extraordinary composure on the face of the lawyer-philosopher.
'Of course that's of the first importance,' Tchitchikov said. 'But you must admit that there may be cases and circumstances, and such false charges made by one's enemies and such difficult positions that all composure is destroyed.'
'Believe me, that is weakness,' the philosophical lawyer replied very calmly and good-naturedly. 'Only take care that the statement of the case should always rest on documentary evidence, that nothing should be left to verbal evidence. And as soon as you see the case is approaching a dénouement and likely to be settled, try, not to justify and defend yourself, but simply to complicate it by introducing new facts, and thus …'
'You mean so as to …?'
'Complicate it and nothing more,' answered the philosopher, 'introduce into the case other extraneous circumstances which will bring other people into it; make it complicated and nothing more, and then let some official from Petersburg unravel it, let him unravel it, let him unravel it!' he repeated, looking into Tchitchikov's eyes with peculiar pleasure, as a teacher looks at a pupil while explaining to him a tricky passage in the Russian grammar.
'Yes, it is very well if one can get hold of circumstances which are calculated to throw dust in their eyes,' said Tchitchikov, also looking with pleasure into the philosopher's eyes like a pupil who has grasped the tricky passage explained to him by the teacher.
'The circumstances will turn up, they will turn up! Believe me: by constant practice the brain becomes apt at finding them. First of all remember that you will be helped. A complicated case is a godsend for many people: more officials are required, and they are paid more for it. … In short, we must drag into the case as many people as possible. There is no harm in some coming into it for nothing: it's for them to defend themselves, you know. … They have to draw up their answers in writing. They have to ransom themselves. … All that is bread and butter. Believe me that as soon as things begin to be critical, the first resource is complicating them. You can complicate things and muddle them, so that no one can make head or tail of it. Why am I so calm? Because I know that as soon as things begin to go badly, I'll involve every one in it, the governor and the vice-governor and the police-master and the treasurer—I'll bring them all into it. I know all their circumstances: who is on bad terms with whom and who wants to score off whom. Then let them all get out of it, and while they are doing it other people will have time to make their fortunes. You can only catch crayfish in troubled waters, you know. They are all only waiting to trouble them.' Here the philosophic lawyer gazed into Tchitchikov's eyes again with the satisfaction of a teacher who explains a still more tricky passage in the Russian grammar.
'Yes, this is a wise man, certainly,' thought Tchitchikov, and parted from the lawyer in the happiest and most cheerful frame of mind.
Completely reassured and fortified, he flung himself with careless agility on the resilient cushions of the carriage, told Selifan to draw back the hood of the carriage (he had had the hood up and even the leather covers buttoned on his way to the lawyer's) and settled himself like a retired colonel of the Hussars, or even like Vishnepokromov himself, jauntily crossing one leg over the other, turning affably towards the people he met, and beaming under his new silk hat which was tilted a little over one ear. Selifan was told to turn in the direction of the bazaar. Both the travelling dealers and the local shopkeepers standing at their doors took off their hats respectfully, and Tchitchikov not without dignity lifted his in response. Many of them he knew already; others, though strangers, were so charmed by the smart air of the gentleman who knew so well how to deport himself, that they greeted him as though they too were acquaintances. There was a continual fair going on in the town of Tfooslavl. As soon as the horse fair and the agricultural fair were over, there followed one for the sale of drapery for gentlemen of the utmost refinement. Dealers who arrived in wheeled carriages stayed on till they had to depart in sledges.
'Pray walk in!' a shopkeeper, in a German coat of Moscow cut, with a round shaven chin, and an expression of the most refined gentility, said at the cloth shop, with a polite swagger, as he held his hat in his outstretched hand.
Tchitchikov went into the shop. 'Show me some cloth, my good man.'
The agreeable shopkeeper promptly lifted the flap of the counter and so making way for himself, stood with his back to his wares and his face to his customer. So standing and still holding his hat in his hand he greeted Tchitchikov once more. Then putting his hat on his head and leaning over with both hands on the counter, said: 'What sort of cloth? Do you prefer it of English make or of home manufacture?'
'Home manufacture,' said Tchitchikov, 'but of the best sort that goes under the name of English.'
'What colours do you desire?' asked the shopkeeper, still agreeably swaying with his two hands pressed on the table.
'Some dark colour, olive or bottle green, shot with something approaching the cranberry colour,' said Tchitchikov.
'I may say that I can give you a first-class article as good as anything in Petersburg or Moscow,' said the shopkeeper, clambering up to get a roll of cloth; he flung it lightly on the counter, unrolled it from the other end, and held it up to the light. 'What a sheen! The most fashionable, the latest style!' The cloth shone as though it were of silk. The shopkeeper divined that he had before him a connoisseur in cloth and did not care to begin with the ten rouble quality.
'Very fair,' said Tchitchikov, barely glancing at it. 'Look here, my good man, show me now what you are keeping to show me last, and a colour that has more … more red sheen in it.'
'I understand: you really desire the colour that is just coming into fashion. I have got a cloth of the very finest quality. But I must warn you that it is a very high price, but there, it is of the very highest quality.'
The roll fell from above. The shopkeeper unrolled it with still greater dexterity; he caught hold of the other end and displayed a really silky-looking material, and held it up to Tchitchikov, so that the latter could not only see but also sniff at it, merely saying:
'Here is a bit of cloth! the colour of the smoke and flame of Navarino!!
They came to terms over the price. The arshin rod like an enchanter's wand promptly cut off enough for a coat and breeches for Tchitchikov. Making a nick with the scissors the shopkeeper with both hands neatly tore the cloth right across the whole width of the stuff, at the conclusion of which operation he bowed to Tchitchikov with the most ingratiating affability. The cloth was promptly rolled up and neatly wrapped in paper; the parcel was tied up with fine twine. Tchitchikov was about to put his hand in his pocket, but he was aware of a very refined arm agreeably encircling his waist, while his ears were greeted with the words: 'What are you buying there, my good friend?'
'Oh, a most agreeable and unexpected meeting!' cried Tchitchikov.
'An agreeable encounter,' said the voice of the person whose arm was round his waist. It was Vishnepokromov.
'I was just going to pass the shop without noticing, when suddenly I saw a familiar face—I couldn't deny myself the pleasure! There is no doubt that the cloth is ever so much better this year. It used to be a shame, a disgrace! I never could find anything decent. … I am ready to pay forty roubles, fifty even, but give me something good. … What I think is: either have a thing that really is the best, or else have nothing at all. Isn't that right?'
'Perfectly right!' said Tchitchikov. 'Why give oneself a lot of trouble if not to have really good things.'
'Show me some cloth at a moderate price,' they heard a voice say behind them, which seemed to Tchitchikov familiar. He turned round and saw Hlobuev. It did not seem that he was buying cloth from extravagance, for the coat he had on was very shabby.
'Ah, Pavel Ivanovitch! Do let me have a talk with you at last. There's no meeting with you anywhere. I have been to find you several times; you were never at home.'
'My good friend, I have been so busy that upon my soul I have had no time.' He looked from side to side as though trying to escape from an interview, and he saw Murazov coming into the shop. 'Afanasy Vassilyevitch! Ah, upon my word!' said Tchitchikov. 'What a delightful meeting!' and after him Vishnepokromov repeated, 'Afanasy Vassilyevitch!' Hlobuev repeated, 'Afanasy Vassilyevitch!' And last of all the well-bred shopkeeper, taking his hat from his head and flourishing it with his arm stretched out at full length, brought out, 'Afanasy Vassilyevitch, our humble respects!' On all the faces appeared that doglike ingratiating servility which sinful man exhibits before a millionaire,
The old man greeted all of them and turned at once to Hlobuev:
'Pardon me, I saw you from a distance going into the shop and ventured to disturb you. If you will be free in a little while and will be passing by my house, do me the favour to come in for a few minutes. I want to have a talk with you.'
Hlobuev answered, 'Very good, Afanasy Vassilyevitch.'
And the old man bowing to all of them again went out.
'It makes me feel quite giddy,' said Tchitchikov, 'when I think that that man has ten millions. It's positively incredible.'
'It isn't the right state of things though,' said Vishnepokromov, 'capital ought not to be in one man's hands. That is the subject of ever so many treatises all over Europe nowadays. If you have money, well, share it with others: entertain, give balls, keep up a beneficent luxury that gives bread to tradesmen and artisans.'
'I can't understand it,' said Tchitchikov. 'Ten millions and he lives like a humble peasant! Why, goodness knows what one might do with ten millions! Why, one might so arrange one's affairs as to keep no company but that of princes and generals.'
'Yes,' the shopkeeper put in, 'it really is a lack of refinement. If a merchant becomes distinguished, he is no longer a merchant but is in a way a financier. In that case I would take a box at the theatre and wouldn't marry my daughter to a humble colonel! I'd marry her to a general or nobody. I shouldn't think much of a colonel. I should have to have a confectioner to get my dinner, not a cook.'
'Yes, upon my word,' said Vishnepokromov, 'there is no denying that one could do anything with ten millions. Just give me ten millions and you would see what I would do with it.'
'No,' thought Tchitchikov, 'you wouldn't do much good with ten millions. But if I were given ten millions, I really should do something.'
'And if I only had ten millions!' thought Hlobuev, 'I would not do as I have done in the past, I wouldn't spend it so insanely. After such a terrible experience one learns the value of every farthing. Ah, I should do differently now …' And then after a few moments' reflection he inwardly asked himself, 'Would you really manage more sensibly now?' and with a gesture of despair, he added, 'The devil! I expect I should squander it just the same as before,' and going out of the shop he set off to Murazov's, wishing to know what the latter had to tell him.
'I was waiting for you, Pyotr Petrovitch!' said Murazov, seeing Hlobuev as he came in. 'Please come into my room,' and he drew Hlobuev into the room with which the reader is already familiar, less luxurious than that of a government clerk with a salary of seven hundred roubles a year. 'Tell me, I suppose your circumstances are easier now? I suppose you must have got something from your aunt anyway?'
'What shall I say, Afanasy Vassilyevitch? I don't know whether my position is any better. All that came to me was fifty serfs and thirty thousand roubles, with which I shall have to pay part of my debts, and then I shall have absolutely nothing again. And the worst of it is there has been a dirty business about this will. There has been such dishonesty, Afanasy Vassilyevitch! I'll tell you all about it and you will be amazed at the things that have been done. That Tchitchikov …'
'Excuse me, Pyotr Petrovitch; but before we talk about that Tchitchikov let me talk about you. Tell me how much in your opinion would be necessary and sufficient to get you out of your difficulties?'
'Why, to get out of my difficulties, to pay off all my debts and to be able to live on the most moderate scale, I should need at least a hundred thousand or more.'
'Well, and if you had that how would you arrange your life?'
'Why then I should take a modest flat, devote myself to my children's education, for it is no good for me to go into the service, I am not fit for anything.'
'And why are you fit for nothing?'
'Why, what am I fitted for? You can see for yourself that I can't very well begin as a copying clerk. You forget that I have a family. I am forty, already my back aches, I have grown lazy; and they wouldn't give me more important positions; I am not in their good books, you know. I confess that I wouldn't accept what is called a profitable post. I am a good-for-nothing person and a gambler, perhaps, and anything you like, but I am not going to take bribes. I couldn't get on with the Krasnonosovs and the Samosvitovs!'
'All the same, pardon me, I can't understand how one can exist without some path in life; how can you go forward except on a road; how can you advance without the earth under your feet; how can you float when your boat is not in the water? Life, you know, is a journey. Pardon me, Pyotr Petrovitch, but the gentlemen of whom you were speaking are, anyway, on some sort of a road, at any rate they are working. Well, suppose they have turned aside from the strait way, as happens to every simple mortal; still there is hope that they will wander back again. He who goes forward is bound to arrive; there is hope that he may find the road. But how can he who stands idle come upon any road? The road will not come to me, you know.'
'Believe me, Afanasy Vassilyevitch, I feel that you are perfectly right … but I must tell you that all capacity for action is dead in me; I cannot see that I can be of any service to any one in the world. I feel that I am an absolutely useless log. In old days when I was younger I used to think that it was all a question of money, that if I had had hundreds of thousands, I might have made hundreds of people happy; that I might have helped poor artists, might have founded libraries and made collections. I have some taste and I know that in many respects I could have managed better than those of our own rich men who do all that sort of thing so stupidly. But now I see that that too is vanity and that there is not much sense in it. No, Afanasy Vassilyevitch, I am good for nothing, absolutely nothing, I tell you. I am not fit for any sort of work.'
'Listen, Pyotr Petrovitch! You pray and go to church, you miss neither matins nor vespers, I know that. Though you are not fond of early rising you get up early and go to service—you go at four o'clock in the morning when no one is getting up.'
'That is a different matter, Afanasy Vassilyevitch. I do that for the salvation of my soul, because I am convinced that thereby I do to some extent make up for my idle life, that however bad I may be, yet humble prayer and some self-denial has a value in the eyes of the Lord. I tell you that I pray, without faith,—but still I pray. I have a feeling that there is a Master on Whom everything depends, just as horses and cattle feel they have a rightful master.'
'So that you pray to please Him to Whom you pray and to save your soul, and that gives you strength and energy to get out of bed. Believe me, that if you would undertake your duties in the same way as you serve Him to Whom you pray, you would develop a capacity for action, and nobody would be able to turn you from it.'
'Afanasy Vassilyevitch! I tell you again, that's a different thing. In the first case I see anyway what I am doing. I tell you I am ready to go into a monastery, and I would perform the hardest tasks that could be laid upon me because I see for whom I am doing it. It is not for me to reason. In that case I am convinced that those who have set me the task will be called to account; in that case I am obeying, and I know that I am obeying God.'
'And why don't you reason in the same way in worldly affairs? You know in the world too we ought to serve God and no one else. If we serve any other it is only because we believe that it is God's will, and except for that we should not. What else are all the capacities and gifts which differ in every man? Why, they are the instruments of our prayer: in the one case in words, and the other in work. You cannot go into a monastery, you know: you are bound to the world, you have a family.'
Here Murazov paused. Hlobuev too was silent.
'So you think that if for instance you had two hundred thousand roubles your living would be secure and you could live more prudently in the future?'
'Yes, anyway I should occupy myself with what I should be able to do: I should look after the education of my children, I should have the possibility of getting them good teachers.'
'And shall I say to that, Pyotr Petrovitch, that in two years' time you'll be in bondage to debt again as though you were in cords?'
Hlobuev did not speak for a while, then he began hesitatingly:
'Well, after such experiences, though …'
'What's the use of arguing about it!' said Murazov. 'You are a man with a good heart: if a friend comes to you and asks for a loan—you'll give it him; if you see a poor man you will want to help him; if a pleasant guest visits you, you will want to entertain him handsomely, and you will give way to your first impulse of kindness, and will forget your prudence! And last of all, allow me to tell you in all sincerity that you are not capable of bringing up your children. Only the father who has not failed in his own duty can educate his children. And your wife too … She has a good heart too, but she has not had at all the right education for bringing up children. I even doubt—pardon me, Pyotr Petrovitch—whether it will not be bad for your children to be with you!'
Hlobuev pondered; he began mentally looking at himself from every point of view, and felt that Murazov was to some extent right.
'Do you know what, Pyotr Petrovitch; put all that, the care of your children and your affairs into my hands. Leave your wife and your children, I will take care of them. Your circumstances are such, you know, that you are really in my hands; if things go on like this you'll starve. In your position you must be ready to do anything. Do you know Ivan Potapitch?'
'And I have a great respect for him even though he does go about in a peasant's coat.'
'Ivan Potapitch was a millionaire, he married his daughters to officials and lived like a king; when he went bankrupt—what could he do?—he became a clerk. It wasn't pleasant for him to change from a silver dish to a humble bowl: he felt as though he couldn't touch anything. Now Ivan Potapitch could eat from a silver dish but he doesn't care to. He could gather it all together again, but he says: "No, Afanasy Vassilyevitch, now I serve not myself nor for myself, but because it is God's will. … I don't want to do anything to please myself. I listen to you because I want to obey God and not men, and because God speaks only by the lips of the best men. You are wiser than I, and therefore it is not for me to say but for you." That is what Ivan Potapitch says, but to tell the truth he is many times wiser than I am.'
'Afanasy Vassilyevitch! I too am ready to accept your authority over me … to be your servant and what you will; I give myself up to you. But do not give me work beyond my strength: I am no Potapitch, and I tell you I am not fit for anything good.'
'It is not I, Pyotr Petrovitch, sir, that lay it upon you, but since you would like to be of service as you say yourself, here is a godly work for you. There is a church being built by the voluntary offerings of good people. There is not enough money, it must be collected. Put on the humble coat of a peasant. … You know you are a humble man now, a ruined nobleman is no better than a beggar: what's the use of standing on your dignity—with a book in your hand get into a humble cart and go about the towns and the villages; from the bishop you will receive a blessing and a book with numbered pages, and so God be with you.'
Pyotr Petrovitch was amazed at this perfectly new occupation. For him, who was anyway a nobleman of ancient lineage, to set off with a book in his hands, begging for a church and jolting in a cart! But it was impossible to refuse and get out of it; it was a godly work.
'You hesitate?' said Murazov. 'You'll be doing two services in this: one a service to God, and another a service to me.'
'What is the service to you?'
'This is it. Since you will be travelling about those parts where I have not been, you will find out everything on the spot, how the peasants are living, where they are better off, where they are in need, and in what condition they all are. I must tell you that I love the peasants, perhaps because I've come from the peasantry myself. But the trouble is that all sorts of wickedness have become common among them. The heretics and vagrants of all sorts confound them, and some are even rising up in rebellion against those in authority over them, and if a man is oppressed he will readily rebel. Indeed it is not hard to incite a man who is really ill-treated. But the fact is that reforms ought not to begin from below. It's a bad business when men come to blows: there never will be any sense from that—it's a gain to none but the thieves. You are a clever man, you will look about you, you will find out where a man is really suffering from the fault of others, and where from his own restless character, and afterwards you will tell me all about it. In case of need I'll give you a small sum for distribution among those who are really suffering through no fault of their own. It will be serviceable also if you, on your part too, comfort them with words and explain well to them that God has bidden us bear our burdens without repining, and pray when we are unhappy, and not rebel or take matters into our own hands. In fact, speak to them without stirring up one against another and make peace between them. If you see in somebody hatred against any one whatever, do your very utmost.'
'Afanasy Vassilyevitch, the work which you entrust to me is holy work,' said Hlobuev, 'but do think to whom you are entrusting it. You might entrust it to a man of holy life who has himself known how to forgive.'
'Well, and I am not saying that you should do all that, but so far as possible do all that you can. Anyway you will come back knowing a great deal about those parts and will have an idea of the condition of that district. An official never gets into personal contact, and the peasant will not be open with him. While you, begging for the church, will have a look at every one—at the artisan, at the merchant, and will have the chance of questioning every one. I tell you this because the governor-general particularly needs such men; and passing by all official posts you will be receiving one in which your life will not be useless.'
'I will try, I will do my best as far as in me lies,' said Hlobuev. And there was a perceptible note of confidence in his voice, he straightened his back and held his head up like a man on whom the light of hope has dawned. 'I see that God has blessed you with understanding, and you know some things better than we short-sighted people.'
'Now allow me to ask you,' said Murazov, 'what about Tchitchikov, and what's the meaning of this business?'
'I can tell you the most unheard-of things about Tchitchikov. He does such things. … Do you know, Afanasy Vassilyevitch, that the will was forged? The real one has been found, in which everything was left to her protégées.'
'You don't say so? But who forged the false will?'
'The fact is that it was an abominable business! They say it was Tchitchikov, and that the will was signed after her death: they dressed up some woman to take the place of the deceased, and she it was signed it. It was a scandalous thing in fact. It's suspected that government officials had a hand in it too. They say the governor-general knows about it. They say that thousands of petitions have been sent in. Suitors have turned up for Marya Yeremyevna already; two official persons are fighting over her. So that's what's going on, Afanasy Vassilyevitch!'
'I've heard nothing about it, and it certainly is a shady business. Pavel Ivanovitch Tchitchikov is certainly a most enigmatical person,' said Murazov.
'I sent in a petition for myself too, to remind them that there is a near kinsman …'
'They may all fight it out together for me,' thought Hlobuev as he went out. 'Afanasy Vassilyevitch is no fool. No doubt he has given me this commission with intention. I must carry it out, that's all.'
He began thinking about the journey while Murazov was still repeating to himself: 'Most enigmatical man, Pavel Ivanovitch Tchitchikov. If only such will and perseverance were devoted to a good object!'
Meanwhile petition after petition poured into the law-courts. Relations turned up of whom nobody had heard before. Just as carrion birds flock about a dead body, so everybody pounced upon the immense property left by the old lady: there were secret reports upon Tchitchikov, upon the forgery of the last will, upon the forgery of the first will also, evidence of the theft and concealment of sums of money. Evidence was even produced incriminating Tchitchikov for the purchase of dead souls and for the smuggling of contraband goods at the time when he was in the Customs. They dug up everything and found out all his previous history. God knows how they scented it out and how they learned it. Evidence was even produced regarding matters of which Tchitchikov supposed that no one knew but himself and four walls. For a time all this was a judicial secret, and had not reached his ears, though a trustworthy note, which he very soon received from his lawyer, gave him some idea that a fine mess was brewing. The note was brief: 'I hasten to inform you that there is going to be a great scrimmage; but remember that it never does to be agitated. The great thing is to be calm. We will manage everything.' This note completely reassured Tchitchikov. 'That man's a real genius,' he said when he had read the note. To complete his good humour at that moment the tailor brought his new suit. Tchitchikov conceived an intense desire to behold himself in his new dress-coat of the 'flame and smoke of Navarino.' He pulled on the breeches which set wonderfully upon him, so that it was a perfect picture. … Such thighs … it was such a splendid fit, the calves too, the cloth brought out every detail and made them look even more resilient. When he drew the buckle behind him, his stomach was like a drum. He beat on it with a brush, saying: 'What a fool he is and yet he completes the picture!' The coat seemed to be even better than the breeches, there was not a wrinkle, it fitted tightly on both sides and flared out at the waist, showing off the smart curve of his figure. On Tchitchikov's remarking that it cut him a little under the left armpit, the tailor merely smiled: that made it set still better on the figure.
'Set your mind at rest as regards the cut, set your mind at rest,' he repeated with undisguised triumph, 'there is not a cut like that anywhere but in Petersburg.'
The tailor himself came from Petersburg and had put up on his sign-board: "Foreign tailor from London and Paris." He was not fond of doing things by halves, and wanted to ram both cities at once down the throats of other tailors, so that for the future no one should display those names, but might simply write themselves down as coming from some paltry 'Carlsruhe' or 'Copenhagen.'
Tchitchikov paid the tailor with magnanimous liberality, and left alone, began scrutinising himself at his leisure in the looking-glass with the eye of an artist, with aesthetic emotion and con amore. It seemed to make everything even better than before: his cheeks looked more interesting, his chin more alluring, the white collar gave a tone to the cheeks, the dark-blue satin cravat gave a tone to the collar; the new-fashioned fold of the shirt-front gave a tone to the cravat, the rich velvet waistcoat gave a tone to the shirt-front, and the coat of the 'smoke and flame of Navarino,' shimmering like silk, gave a tone to everything. He turned to the right—it was good! He turned to the left—that was better still! He had the figure of a kammerherr, or of an attaché on a foreign diplomatic mission, or of a gentleman who speaks French so beautifully that a Frenchman is nothing to him, and who even in a rage never demeans himself with a Russian word, but swears in French. Such refinement! Putting his head a little on one side he tried to assume the attitude in which he would address a lady of middle age, and of the most modern culture: it made a perfect picture. Painter, take a brush and paint him! In his delight he cut a little caper after the fashion of an entrechat. The chest of drawers shook and a bottle of eau-de-Cologne fell on the floor; but this did not trouble him in the least. He very naturally called the bottle a silly thing, and began wondering: 'To whom shall I pay my first visit? The best of all …'
When all at once in the passage there was a clanking of spurs and behold! a gendarme, fully armed, as though he had been a whole troop of soldiers. 'You are commanded to appear before the governor-general this instant!' Tchitchikov was aghast; before him loomed a whiskered monster with a horse's tail on his head, a bandolier over his right shoulder, a bandolier over his left shoulder, a huge sabre hanging at his side. He fancied that on the other side was hanging a gun and God knows what else besides. He was like a whole regiment in himself. Tchitchikov was beginning to protest. The monster said roughly: 'You are commanded to come at once!' Through the door in the hall he caught a glimpse of another monster; he looked out of window, there was a carriage. What could he do? Just as he was, in his coat of the 'smoke and flame of Navarino' he had to get into it, and trembling all over he drove off with the gendarmes beside him.
They did not even let him get his breath in the hall. 'Go in! the prince is expecting you,' said the clerk on duty. He caught glimpses, as through a mist, of the hall with the couriers receiving envelopes, then of a big room which he crossed, thinking: 'This is how men are seized and without trial, without anything, sent straight to Siberia.' His heart beat more violently than the most passionate lover's. At last a door was thrown open before him: and he was confronted with a study, with portfolios, shelves and books, and the prince, the embodiment of anger.
'The author of my ruin!' thought Tchitchikov, 'he'll be the ruin of my life,' and he almost fell fainting: 'he will slay me as a wolf slays a lamb!'
'I spared you, I allowed you to stay in the town when you ought to have been in prison, and you have disgraced yourself again with the foulest dishonesty with which a man has ever disgraced himself.' The prince's lips trembled with anger.
'What foul action and dishonesty, your Excellency?' asked Tchitchikov, trembling in every limb.
'The woman who signed the will at your instigation,' said the prince, coming closer and looking Tchitchikov straight in the face, 'has been arrested and will stand beside you.'
Tchitchikov turned as pale as a sheet. 'Your Excellency! I will tell you the whole truth of the matter; I am to blame, I am truly to blame, but not so much to blame, my enemies have traduced me.'
'No one can traduce you, because your infamy is many times worse than any slanderer could invent. I believe you have never done anything in your life that was not dishonest. Every farthing you have gained has been gained in some dishonest way, by thieving and dishonesty that deserves the knout and Siberia! No, enough! You will be removed to prison this minute and there, side by side with the lowest scoundrels and robbers, you must wait for your fate to be decided. And even that is too merciful, for you are far worse than they are: they are in smock and sheepskin while you …' He glanced at the coat of the 'smoke and flame of Navarino,' and, taking hold of the bellpull, rang.
'Your Excellency,' shrieked Tchitchikov, 'be merciful! You are the father of a family. Me I do not ask you to spare, I have an old mother!'
'You are lying,' cried the prince wrathfully. 'Last time you besought me for the sake of your wife and children, though you haven't any; now it is your mother!'
'Your Excellency! I am a scoundrel and the meanest wretch,' said Tchitchikov. 'I was lying indeed, I had neither wife nor children; but God is my witness I have always longed to have a wife and to fulfil the duties of a man and a citizen, that I might really deserve the respect of my fellows and my superiors. … But what a calamitous concatenation of circumstances! With my heart's blood, your Excellency, I have had to earn a bare subsistence. At every step snares and temptation, enemies, and men ready to ruin and plunder me. My whole life has been like a ship on the ocean waves. I am a man, your Excellency!'
Tears suddenly gushed from his eyes. He fell at the prince's feet, just as he was, in his coat of the 'smoke and flame of Navarino,' in his velvet waistcoat and satin cravat, in his marvellously cut breeches and well-arranged hair that diffused a scent of eau-de-Cologne.
'Do not come near me! Call the soldier to take him!' said the prince to the attendant who entered.
'Your Excellency!' cried Tchitchikov, clasping the prince's boot in both arms.
A shudder of repulsion ran through every fibre of the prince.
'Get away, I tell you!' he said, trying to pull his leg out of Tchitchikov's embrace.
'Your Excellency! I will not move from the spot till you have mercy on me!' said Tchitchikov, not letting go his hold but pressing the prince's boot to his bosom, and together with it moving over the floor in his coat of the 'smoke and flame of Navarino.'
'Get away, I tell you!' said the prince, with that inexplicable feeling of repulsion which a man experiences at the sight of a hideous insect which he cannot bring himself to stamp upon. He shook himself so violently that Tchitchikov got a kick on his cheek, his agreeably rounded chin and teeth; but he did not let go of the foot, but pressed the boot still more warmly in his embrace. Two stalwart gendarmes dragged him away by force, and taking him under the arms led him through all the rooms. He was pale, shattered, in that numbly terrified condition in which a man is thrown who sees before him the black form of inevitable death, that monster so terrible and alien to our nature. …
Just in the doorway on the stairs he met Murazov. A ray of hope instantly gleamed upon him. In one instant he tore himself with unnatural force out of the hands of the gendarmes and fell at the feet of the astounded old man.
'My good sir, Pavel Ivanovitch, what is the matter?'
'Save me! they are taking me to prison, to death …' The gendarmes seized him and led him away, without letting him have a hearing.
A damp stinking cell, smelling of soldiers' boots and leg wrappers, an unpainted table, two wretched chairs, a window with iron gratings, a dilapidated stove which smoked through a crack but gave no heat, this was the abode in which our Tchitchikov, who had just begun to taste the sweets of life and to attract the attention of his countrymen, found himself in his delicate new coat of the 'smoke and flame of Navarino.' They had not even let him arrange to take the most necessary articles, to take his case in which he had his money, his portmanteau in which he had his wardrobe. His papers relating to his purchase of dead souls, all were now in the hands of the officials! He grovelled on the floor, and the gnawing worm of terrible, hopeless grief coiled about his heart. With increasing rapidity, it began corroding his heart, which was utterly defenceless. Another such day, another day of such misery and there would have been no Tchitchikov left. But some one was keeping vigilant watch over Tchitchikov and holding out a hand to save him. An hour after he had reached this terrible plight, the doors of the prison opened, and old Murazov walked in.
If a draught of spring water were poured down the throat of a man tortured by burning thirst he would not have been so revived as poor Tchitchikov.
'My saviour!' said Tchitchikov, jumping up from the floor on which he had flung himself in heartrending grief; instantly he kissed his hand and pressed it to his bosom. 'God will reward you for visiting the unhappy!'
He burst into tears.
The old man looked at him with an expression of pain and distress and said only: 'Ah, Pavel Ivanovitch! Pavel Ivanovitch, what have you done!'
'I have done everything that the basest man might have done. But judge, judge, can I be treated like this? I am a nobleman. Without trial, without inquiry I have been flung into prison, everything has been taken from me: my things, my case … there is money in it, property, all my property, Afanasy Vassilyevitch, the property I have acquired by blood and sweat …'
And unable to restrain the rush of fresh grief that flooded his heart he sobbed loudly on a note which carried through the thick walls of the prison and resounded with a hollow echo in the distance, he tore off his satin cravat and gripping himself near his collar tore his coat of the 'flame and smoke of Navarino.'
'Pavel Ivanovitch, anyway you must take leave of your property and of everything in the world: you have fallen under the sway of implacable law and not under the authority of any man.'
'I have been my own ruin, I feel that I have been my own ruin. I could not stop in time. But what is such a fearful punishment for, Afanasy Vassilyevitch! Am I a robber? Have I made any one unhappy? By toil and sweat, by bloody sweat I have made my hard-earned kopecks. What have I made my money for? To live out the remnant of my days in comfort, to leave something to my wife and the children whom I had intended to have for the welfare, for the service of my country. I have not been straightforward, I admit it … what could I do? for I saw that I could never get there by the straight road, and that the shortest way was by the crooked path. But I have toiled, I have exerted myself. While those blackguards who take thousands in the courts—and not as though it were from the government—they rob poor people of their last kopeck, they fleece those who have nothing! Afanasy Vassilyevitch, I have not been profligate, I've not been drunken. … And what toil, what iron endurance I have shown! Yes, I have, I may say, paid for every kopeck I have gained by suffering, suffering! Let any one of them endure what I have! What, what has all my life been? A bitter struggle, a ship tossing in the waves. And all at once to be deprived of what I have earned, Afanasy Vassilyevitch, of what I have won by such struggles …' He could not finish but broke into loud sobs with an unbearable ache in his heart. He sank on to a chair and tore the rent skirt of his smart coat completely off, flung it to a distance and putting both hands up to his hair, of which he had always taken such scrupulous care, tore it mercilessly, taking pleasure in the pain by which he hoped to stifle the insufferable ache in his heart.
'Ah, Pavel Ivanovitch, Pavel Ivanovitch!' said Murazov, looking mournfully at him and shaking his head. 'I keep thinking what a man you might have made if with the same energy and patience you had applied yourself to honest labour and for a better object! If only any one of those who care for what is good had used as much energy in its service as you have to gain your kopecks! … And had been capable of sacrificing personal vanity and pride, without sparing himself, for a good cause as you have done to gain your kopecks!'
'Afanasy Vassilyevitch!' said poor Tchitchikov, and he clutched the old man's hands in both of his. 'Oh, if I could but be set free and could regain my property! I swear to you that I would lead a very different life from this hour! Save me, benefactor, save me!'
'What can I do? I should have to fight against the law. Even supposing I brought myself to do that, the prince is a just man, nothing would induce him to transgress it.'
'Benefactor! you can do anything. It is not the law that terrifies me—I can find means for outwitting the law—but the fact that … I have been flung into prison, that I am lying here abandoned like a dog, while my property, my papers, my case … save me!'
He embraced the old man's feet and watered them with his tears.
'Ah, Pavel Ivanovitch, Pavel Ivanovitch!' said the old man, shaking his head. 'That property has blinded you! For the sake of it you have not thought of your poor soul.'
'I will think of my soul too, but save me!'
'Pavel Ivanovitch!' said Murazov, and he paused. 'To save you is not in my power, you see it yourself. But I will do everything I can to alleviate your lot and set you free. I don't know whether I shall succeed in doing that, but I will try. If I should succeed beyond my expectation, Pavel Ivanovitch, I beg of you a favour in return for my trouble; abandon all these crooked means of making gain. I tell you on my honour that if I were deprived of all my property—and I have more than you—I should not weep. Aie, aie, it is not those possessions which can be confiscated that matter, but those which no one can steal or take away from us! You have lived in the world long enough. You yourself call your life a ship tossing in the waves. You have already enough to last you for the rest of your days. Settle in a quiet corner near to a church and to good simple people, or if you are possessed by a great desire to leave descendants, marry a good girl, not rich but accustomed to moderation and simple housekeeping (and truly you will not regret it). Forget this noisy world and all its alluring luxuries, let it forget you too. There is no peacefulness in it. You see that all in it are enemies, tempters or traitors.'
Tchitchikov pondered. Something strange, feelings hitherto unknown to him which he could not account for, rose in his heart: it seemed as though something were trying to awaken in him, something suppressed from childhood by the harsh, dead discipline of his dreary boyhood, by the desolateness of his home, his solitude, the niggardliness and poverty of his first impressions, and as though something, in bondage to the stern fate that looked mournfully at him as through a window darkened by the snowstorms of winter, were trying to break its chains.
'Only save me, Afanasy Vassilyevitch!' he cried, and I will lead a different life, I will follow your advice! I give you my word.'
'Mind, Pavel Ivanovitch, there is no going back from your word,' said Murazov, holding his hand.
'I might go back from it perhaps, had it not been for this terrible lesson,' said poor Tchitchikov with a sigh, and he added: 'but the lesson is bitter; a bitter, bitter lesson, Afanasy Vassilyevitch!'
'It is a good thing it is bitter. Thank God for it, and pray to Him. I will go and do my best.' Saying this the old man withdrew.
Tchitchikov no longer wept or tore his coat and hair; he was calm.
'Yes, it is enough!' he said at last, 'a different life, a different life! It is high time indeed to become a decent man. Oh, if only I can somehow get out of this and go off with only a little capital, I will settle far away. … If I can but get back my papers … and the deeds of purchase …' he mused a little: 'well? why abandon that which I have gained with such labour? I won't buy any more but I must mortgage those. Getting them cost me such labour! I shall mortgage them so as to buy an estate with the money. I shall become a landowner, because one can do a great deal of good in that position.'
And the feelings which had taken possession of him when he was at Skudronzhoglo's rose up in his heart again, and he recalled the latter's charming clever talk about the fruitfulness and usefulness of work on the land as he sat in the warm evening light. The country suddenly seemed to him delightful, as though he had been able at the moment to feel all its charms.
'We are foolish, we race after vanity!' he said at last. 'Really it is from idleness! Everything is near, everything is at hand, but we run to the ends of the earth. Is not life as good if one is buried in the wilds? Pleasure is really to be found in work. Skudronzhoglo is right. And nothing is sweeter than the fruit of one's own labours. … Yes, I will work, I will settle in the country, and I will work honestly so as to have a good influence on others. Why, I am not utterly good-for-nothing, am I? I have the very abilities for making a good manager; I have the qualities of carefulness, promptitude, good sense and even perseverance. I have only to make up my mind. Only now I feel truly and clearly that there is a duty which a man ought to perform on earth, without tearing himself away from the place and the niche in which he has been placed.'
And a life of toil, away from the noise of cities and from all the temptations that man has devised in his idleness, rose up before him in such vivid colour that he almost forgot all the horror of his position, and perhaps was even ready to thank providence for this bitter trial, if only they would release him, and let him have at least a part of his property. But … the door of his filthy prison opened and there walked in a certain official, one Samosvitov, an epicure, a capital companion, a rake and a sly beast as his colleagues said of him. In time of war this man would have performed marvels: he would have been sent to make his way through impassable dangerous places, to steal a cannon from under the very nose of the enemy, that would have been the very task for him. But lacking a military career he had thrown his energies into civil life, and, instead of feats for which he would have been with good reason decorated, he did all sorts of nasty and abominable things. Incredible to relate, he was quite good to his comrades, he never sold them to any one, and when he had given a promise he kept it; but those in authority over him he regarded as something like the battery of the enemy through which he had to make his way, taking advantage of every weak spot or gap in their defences. …
'We know all about your position, we've heard all about it!' he said, when he saw that the door was close shut behind him. 'Never mind, never mind! Don't be downcast, everything will be put right. We will all work for you and are your servants! Thirty thousand for all and nothing more!'
'Really,' cried Tchitchikov, 'and shall I be entirely acquitted?'
'Entirely! And you will get compensation too for damages.'
'And for your trouble? …'
'Thirty thousand, that's for all together—for our fellows and for the governor-general's and for the secretary.'
'But excuse me, how can I—all my things, my writing-case. … It's all been sealed up now, under guard. …'
'Within an hour you shall have it all. You shake hands on it, eh?'
Tchitchikov gave his hand. His heart was throbbing, and he could not believe that it was possible. …
'Farewell for the time then! Our mutual friend commissioned me to tell you that the great thing is calm and presence of mind.'
'H'm!' thought Tchitchikov. 'I understand, the lawyer!'
Samosvitov withdrew. Tchitchikov left alone was still unable to believe what he had said, when, less than an hour after their conversation, his case was brought him, with papers, money and everything in perfect order. Samosvitov had gone as though armed with authority, he had scolded the sentinels for not being careful enough, had ordered the man in charge to put more soldiers on watch for greater security, had not only taken the case, but had even removed from it all papers that could have compromised Tchitchikov in any way; he had tied all this up together, put a seal on it and commanded the very same soldier to take it promptly to Tchitchikov himself under cover of necessaries for the night, so that Tchitchikov received together with his papers all the warm things needed for covering his frail body. It delighted him unutterably to receive all this so quickly. He was buoyed up by fresh hopes and already beginning again to dream of certain things; an evening at the theatre, a dancer after whom he was dangling. The country and a peaceful life began to seem duller while the town with its noise and bustle was more full of colour and brighter again. … Oh, life!
Meanwhile the case was developing into unlimited proportions in the courts and legal offices. The clerks' pens were busily at work and the legal bigwigs were deeply engaged, as they took their snuff with the feelings of an artist admiring their own crooked handiwork. Tchitchikov's lawyer was working the whole mechanism unseen, like a hidden magician; before any one had time to look round he had them all in a complete tangle. The case grew more and more complicated. Samosvitov excelled himself in his incredible audacity and the boldness of his schemes. Having found out where the woman who had been arrested was in custody, he went straight to the place and walked in with such swagger and authority, that the sentry saluted him and stood at attention.
'Have you been standing here long?'
'Since the morning, your honour.'
'Is it long before you are relieved?'
'Three hours, your honour.'
'I shall want you. I'll tell the officer to send another to take your place.'
'Certainly, your honour.'
And going home without a minute's delay he dressed up as a gendarme himself, repaired to the house where Tchitchikov was under guard, seized the first woman he came across and handed her over to two bold young officials who were also adepts and went off himself in his whiskers, with a gun in his hand, to the sentinel:
'You can go, the commanding officer sent me to take your place.' He changed guns with the sentry. That was all that was wanted. Meanwhile the place of the first woman arrested was filled by another who knew nothing about the case, and did not understand what was said to her. The first was hidden away so effectually that it was never discovered what had become of her.
While Samosvitov was hard at work disguised as a warrior, Tchitchikov's lawyer was working miracles on the civilian side. He let the governor know in a roundabout way that the prosecutor was writing a secret report about him; he let the gendarmes' clerk hear that an official staying secretly in the town was writing a report against him, while he assured this secret official that there was a still more secret official who was giving information about him, and he brought them all into such a position that they were obliged to come to him for advice.
A regular chaos followed: there was one report on the top of another, and things were on the way of being discovered, such as the sun has never looked upon, and, indeed, such as did not exist at all. Everything was turned to account and brought into the case: the fact that so-and-so was an illegitimate son, and that so-and-so was of such an origin and calling, that so-and-so had a mistress, and whose wife was flirting with whom. Scandals, moral lapses and all sorts of things were so mixed up and intertwined with the story of Tchitchikov and of the dead souls, that it was utterly impossible to make out what was most nonsensical: it all seemed equally absurd. When the papers relating to the case began at last to reach the governor-general, the poor prince could make nothing of them. A very clever and efficient clerk who was commissioned to make a synopsis of them almost went out of his mind; it was utterly impossible to get a connected view of the case. The prince was worried at the time by a number of other matters, one more unpleasant than the other. There was famine in one part of the province. The officials sent to distribute bread had not carried out the relief work properly. In another part of the province heretics began to be active. Some one had spread a rumour among them that an Antichrist had appeared who would not leave even the dead in peace and was buying up dead souls. They did penance and sinned, and on the pretext of catching the Antichrist they made short work of persons who were not the Antichrist. In another district the peasants were revolting against the landowners and the police-captains. Some vagrants had spread rumours among them that the time was at hand when the peasants were to become landowners and wear dress-coats, while the landowners were to wear sheepskins and become peasants, and the whole district, without reflecting that there would be far too many landowners and police-captains, refused to pay their taxes. Forcible measures had to be resorted to. The poor prince was greatly distracted. Just then word was brought him that Murazov had come.
'Show him in,' said the prince.
The old man walked in. …
'So this is your Tchitchikov! You stood up for him and defended him. Now he is mixed up in a crime at which the lowest thief would hesitate.'
'Allow me to say, your Excellency, that I don't quite understand the case.'
'To forge a will and in such a way. … A public flogging is a fit punishment for such a crime.'
'Your Excellency—I do not say it to defend Tchitchikov—but you know it is an unproved charge: the case has not yet been investigated.'
'There is evidence: the woman who was dressed up to personate the deceased has been arrested, I will question her in your presence to show you.'
The prince rang the bell and ordered the woman to be brought—'The one who was arrested,' he said to the attendant.
Murazov was silent.
'It's a most disgraceful affair! And shameful to say, the leading officials of the town and the governor himself are mixed up in it. He ought not to be among the thieves and vagabonds,' said the prince with warmth.
'Well, the governor is a kinsman, he has a right to make a claim; and as for the others who are grabbing at it on all sides, that, your Excellency, is the way of mankind. A wealthy woman has died without making a just and sensible disposition of her property, men have rushed in on all sides eager to get something; that is the way of mankind. …'
'But why do such dirty things? … The scoundrels!' said the prince, with indignation. 'I haven't a single good official, they are all blackguards.'
'Your Excellency! but which of us is as good as we should be? All the officials of our town are men, they have their qualities, and many are very capable at their work, but every one is liable to err.'
'Listen, Afanasy Vassilyevitch, tell me—you are the only man I know to be an honest man—how is it you have this passion for defending every sort of scoundrel?'
'Your Excellency,' said Murazov, 'whoever the man may be whom you call a scoundrel, still he is a man. How can one help defending a man when half the evil deeds that he commits are due to coarseness and ignorance. We do unjust things at every step and not with evil intention. Why, your Excellency, you too have been guilty of great injustice.'
'What!' cried the prince in amazement, completely taken aback by this unexpected turn in the conversation.
Murazov paused as though considering something, and said at last: 'Well, in the case of Derpennikov for instance.'
'Why, do you mean to say that I was unjust? a crime against the fundamental laws of the realm, equivalent to a betrayal of his country! …'
'I am not justifying him. But is it just to condemn a youth who has been seduced and led astray by others through inexperience, as though he were one of the instigators? Why, the same punishment has been given to Derpennikov as to Voronov-Dryanov; and yet their crimes are not the same.'
For God's sake,' said the prince with visible emotion. 'Do you know something about it? Tell me. I have only lately sent to Petersburg to mitigate his punishment.'
'No, your Excellency, I am not speaking because I know something you don't know. Though indeed there is one circumstance which would be in his favour, but he will not himself agree to make use of it, because it will bring trouble on another man. All I think is that your Excellency may have been in too great a hurry then. Pardon me, but to my weak understanding it seems as though a man's previous life should also be taken into consideration, for if one does not look into everything coolly, but makes an outcry from the first, one only terrifies him and gets no real confession; while, if one questions him with sympathy as man to man, he will tell everything of himself and not even ask for mitigation of his sentence, and will feel no bitterness against any one, because he sees clearly that it is not I that am punishing him but the law.'
The prince pondered. At that moment an official came in and stood waiting respectfully with his portfolio. There was a look of hard work and anxiety on his still young and fresh face. It could be seen that it was not for nothing that he served on special commissions. He was one of those few officials who do their work con amore. Not excited by ambition nor desire of gain, nor imitation of others, he worked simply because he was convinced that he ought to be here and in no other place, and that this was the object of his life. To investigate, to analyse, and after extricating all the threads of a tangled case, to make it clear was his task. And his toil and his efforts and his sleepless nights were abundantly rewarded if the case at last began to grow clear before his eyes, and its hidden causes to be laid bare, and he felt he could present it all clearly and distinctly in full words. One may say no schoolboy rejoices more when some difficult sentence is unravelled and the real meaning of a great writer's thought becomes apparent to him, than he rejoiced when an intricate case was disentangled. On the other hand …
(A page of the manuscript was torn out at this
point and a gap appears in the narrative.)
… 'with bread in the parts where there is famine, I know that region better than the officials do: I will find out personally what each one needs. And if you will permit me, your Excellency, I will talk with the heretics too. They will talk more readily with a plain man like me. So God knows, maybe I shall help to settle things with them peacefully. And I will take no money from you because, upon my word, I am ashamed to think of my own gain at such a time when men are dying of hunger. I have a store of bread in readiness, and I have sent to Siberia, and they will bring me more again in the coming summer.'
'God only can reward you, Afanasy Vassilyevitch, I will not say one word to you, for—you may feel it yourself—no word is strong enough for it. But let me say one thing in regard to your request. Tell me yourself: have I the right to leave this case uninvestigated, and will it be honest on my part to forgive the scoundrels?'
'Your Excellency, indeed you must not call them that, for many among them are worthy men. A man's circumstances are often very difficult, your Excellency, very, very difficult. It sometimes happens that a man seems to blame all round and when you go into it, he is not the culprit at all.'
'But what will they say themselves if I drop it? You know there are some among them who will give themselves more airs than ever after that, and will even say that they have frightened me. They will be the last to respect …'
'Your Excellency, allow me to give you my opinion: gather them all together, let them understand that you know all about it, and put before them your own position in exactly the same way as you have graciously done just now before me, and ask them to tell you what each of them would do in your place.'
'But do you imagine that they will be capable of an impulse towards anything more honourable than legal quibbling and filling their pockets? I assure you they will laugh at me.'
'I don't think so, your Excellency. Every Russian, even one worse than the average, has right feelings. Perhaps a Jew might do so, but not a Russian. No, your Excellency, there is no need for you to be reserved. Tell them exactly as you graciously told me. You know they speak ill of you as a proud, ambitious man who believes in himself and will listen to nothing,—so let them see how it really is. Why need you be afraid of them? You are in the right. Tell them as though you were making your confession, not to them but to God Himself.'
'Afanasy Vassilyevitch,' said the prince hesitatingly, 'I will think about that, and meanwhile I thank you very much for your advice.'
'And bid them release Tchitchikov, your Excellency.'
'Tell that Tchitchikov to get out of the place as quickly as possible, and the further he goes the better. Him I could never forgive.'
Murazov bowed and went straight from the prince to Tchitchikov. He found Tchitchikov with cheerfulness already restored, very placidly engaged upon a fairly decent dinner, which had been brought him on china dishes from a very respectable kitchen. From the first sentences of their conversation the old man at once perceived that Tchitchikov had already succeeded in making a secret plan with some one of the tricky officials. He even divined that the unseen hand of the sharp lawyer had some share in this.
'Listen, Pavel Ivanovitch,' he said; 'I have brought you freedom on condition that you leave the town at once. Collect all your belongings and go in God's name, without putting it off for a minute, for something worse is coming. I know there is a man who is behind you; so I must tell you in secret that there is something else being discovered, and that no power will save that man now. He of course is glad to drag others down for company and to share the blame. I left you in a very good frame of mind, better than your present one. I am advising you in earnest. Aie, aie, what really matters is not the possessions over which men dispute and for which they murder each other, exactly as though it were possible to gain prosperity in this life without thinking of another life. Believe me, Pavel Ivanovitch, that until men reject everything for which men rend and devour each other on earth, and think of the welfare of their spiritual possessions, it will not be well even with their earthly possessions. Days of hunger and poverty are coming for all the people, and each one severally … that is clear. Whatever you say, you know, the body depends on the soul, how then can you expect things to thrive as they ought? Think not of dead souls but of your own living soul, and in God's name take a different path! I too am leaving the town on the morrow. Make haste or when I am gone there will be trouble.'
Saying this the old man went out. Tchitchikov sank into thought. Again the significance of life seemed to him something worthy of consideration. 'Murazov is right,' he said to himself, 'it is time to take another path!' Saying this he went out of his prison. The sentry carried his case after him. Selifan and Petrushka were indescribably delighted at their master's release.
'Well, my good lads,' said Tchitchikov, addressing them graciously, 'we must pack up and set off.'
'We'll drive in fine style, Pavel Ivanovitch,' said Selifan. 'The road's firm, I'll be bound, snow enough has fallen. It certainly is high time to get out of the town. I am so sick of it I can't bear the sight of it.'
'Go to the carriage-maker's and get the carriage put on runners instead of wheels,' said Tchitchikov. He himself went off to the town, not that he was anxious to pay farewell visits to any one. It would have been rather awkward after all that had happened, especially as there were the most discreditable stories going about the town concerning him. He even avoided meeting any one and only went as stealthily as possible to the merchant's from whom he had bought the cloth of the 'flame and smoke of Navarino,' he took four yards for a coat and breeches, and went off with it himself to the same tailor. For double the price the latter undertook to work at the highest pressure, and set the tailoring population plying their needles, their irons and their teeth all night by candlelight, and the coat was ready next day, though a little late. The horses were all harnessed and waiting. Tchitchikov tried on the coat, however. It was splendid, exactly like the first. But alas! he noticed a smooth white patch upon his head, and murmured sorrowfully: 'What reason was there to abandon myself to such despair? I oughtn't to have torn out my hair anyway.' After settling with the tailor he drove out of the town at last in a strange frame of mind. This was not the old Tchitchikov; this was a sort of wreck of the old Tchitchikov. The inner state of his soul might be compared with a building that has been pulled down to be rebuilt into a new one, and the new one has not yet been begun, because no definite plan has come from the architect, and the workmen are left in suspense.
An hour earlier old Murazov had set off together with Potapitch in a covered cart, and an hour after Tchitchikov's departure an order went forth that the prince wished to see all the officials, every one of them, on the eve of his departure for Petersburg.
In the big hall of the governor-general's house, all the officials of the town were gathered together, from the governor to the humblest titular councillor, chiefs of offices and of departments, councillors, assessors, Kisloyedov, Samosvitov, those who had not taken bribes, and those who had taken bribes, those who had disregarded their conscience, those who had half disregarded it, and those who had not disregarded it at all—all awaited the prince's appearance with a curiosity that was not quite free from uneasiness. The prince came out to them neither gloomy nor severe; there was a calm determination in his step and his glance. All the assembled officials bowed, many making a deep bow from the waist. Acknowledging their greeting with a slight bow, the prince began:
'On the eve of my departure for Petersburg I have thought it proper to have an interview with all of you and even to some extent to explain to you the cause of my departure. A very scandalous affair has been set going among us. I imagine that many of those present know of what affair I am speaking. That affair led to the discovery of others no less dishonourable, in which persons, whom I had hitherto regarded as honest, were actually mixed up. I am aware, indeed, that it was the secret aim in this way to make the affair so intricate that it might turn out to be absolutely impossible to deal with it in the regular way. I know, indeed, who was the chief agent in this, though he very skilfully concealed his share in it. But I beg to inform you that I intend to deal with this matter not by the regular method of investigation through documentary evidence, but by direct court-martial as in time of war, and I trust that the Tsar will give me the right to do so, when I lay this case before him. In such circumstances as these, when there is no possibility of conducting a case in accordance with civil law, when boxes of papers have been burned and when efforts are made by a vast mass of false evidence and lying reports to obscure a case which was somewhat obscure originally—I imagine that a court-martial is the only resource left, and I should like to know your opinion.'
The prince stopped, as though expecting an answer. All stood with their eyes on the floor, many were pale.
'I know, too, of another crime, though those who committed it are fully convinced that it can be known to no one. This case will not be conducted in writing, for I myself shall be the defendant and petitioner, and shall bring forward convincing evidence.'
Some one shuddered among the officials, several of the more timorous were overcome with confusion.
'It goes without saying that those principally responsible must be punished by deprivation of rank and property, and the rest by dismissal from their posts. It goes without saying, that a number of the innocent will suffer, too. It cannot be helped, the case is too disgraceful and cries aloud for legal justice. Though I know that it will not even be a lesson to others, because others will come to take the place of those dismissed, and the very ones who have hitherto been honest will become dishonest, and the very ones who will be deemed worthy of trust will sell and betray that trust—in spite of all that, I must act cruelly, for justice cries aloud, and so you must all look upon me as the callous instrument of justice.'
A shudder involuntarily passed over all their faces.
The prince was calm, his face expressed neither wrath nor indignation.
'Now the very man in whose hands the fate of many lies and whom no supplications could have softened, that very man flings himself now at your feet and entreats you all. All will be forgotten, effaced and forgiven, I will myself be the advocate for all if you grant my request. Here it is. I know that by no means, by no terrors, by no punishments can dishonesty be eradicated, it is too deeply rooted. The dishonest practice of taking bribes has become necessary and inevitable, even for such who are not born to be dishonest. I know that it is almost impossible for many to run counter to the general tendency. But I must now, as at the decisive and sacred moment when it is our task to save our country, when every citizen bears every burden and makes every sacrifice—I must appeal to those at least who still have a Russian heart and who have still some understanding of the word 'honour.' What is the use of discussing which is the more guilty among us! I am perhaps the most guilty of all; I perhaps received you too sternly at first; perhaps by excessive suspicion I repelled those among you who sincerely wished to be of use to me. If they really cared for justice and the good of their country, they ought not to have been offended by the haughtiness of my manner, they ought to overcome their own vanity and sacrifice their personal dignity. It is not possible that I should not have noticed their self-denial and lofty love of justice and should not at last have accepted useful and sensible advice from them. It is anyway more suitable for a subordinate to adapt himself to the character of his chief than for a chief to adapt himself to the character of a subordinate. It is more lawful anyway and easier, because the subordinates have only one chief, while the chief has hundreds of subordinates. But let us lay aside the question of who is most to blame. The point is that it is our task to save our country, that our country is in danger now, not from the invasion of twenty foreign races, but from ourselves; that, besides our lawful government, another rule has been set up, far stronger than any lawful one. Its conditions are established, everything has its price and the prices are a matter of common knowledge. And no ruler, though he were wiser than all the legislators and governors, can cure the evil however he may curtail the activity of bad officials, by putting them under the supervision of other officials. All will be fruitless until every one of us feels that just as at the epoch of the rising up of all the peoples he was armed against the enemy, he must now take his stand against dishonesty. As a Russian, as one bound to you by ties of birth and blood, I now appeal to you. I appeal to those among you who have some conception of what is meant by an honourable way of thinking. I invite you to remember the duty which stands before a man in every position. I invite you to look more closely into your duty and the obligation of your earthly service, for we all have as yet but a dim understanding of it, and we scarcely …'
THE END