Authors: Nikolai Gogol
Poor Khlobuev remained silent, as before.
The elder man took his two hands in his.
"Semen Semenovitch," he said, "you cannot think how much I pity you,
or how much I have had you in my thoughts. Listen to me. In the
monastery there is a recluse who never looks upon a human face. Of all
men whom I know he has the broadest mind, and he breaks not his
silence save to give advice. To him I went and said that I had a
friend (though I did not actually mention your name) who was in great
trouble of soul. Suddenly the recluse interrupted me with the words:
'God's work first, and our own last. There is need for a church to be
built, but no money wherewith to build it. Money must be collected to
that end.' Then he shut to the wicket. I wondered to myself what this
could mean, and concluded that the recluse had been unwilling to
accord me his counsel. Next I repaired to the Archimandrite, and had
scarce reached his door when he inquired of me whether I could commend
to him a man meet to be entrusted with the collection of alms for a
church—a man who should belong to the dvoriane or to the more
lettered merchants, but who would guard the trust as he would guard
the salvation of his soul. On the instant thought I to myself: 'Why
should not the Holy Father appoint my friend Semen Semenovitch? For
the way of suffering would benefit him greatly; and as he passed with
his ledger from landowner to peasant, and from peasant to townsman, he
would learn where folk dwell, and who stands in need of aught, and
thus would become better acquainted with the countryside than folk who
dwell in cities. And, thus become, he would find that his services
were always in demand.' Only of late did the Governor-General say to
me that, could he but be furnished with the name of a secretary who
should know his work not only by the book but also by experience, he
would give him a great sum, since nothing is to be learned by the
former means, and, through it, much confusion arises."
"You confound me, you overwhelm me!" said Khlobuev, staring at his
companion in open-eyed astonishment. "I can scarcely believe that your
words are true, seeing that for such a trust an active, indefatigable
man would be necessary. Moreover, how could I leave my wife and
children unprovided for?"
"Have no fear," said Murazov, "I myself will take them under my care,
as well as procure for the children a tutor. Far better and nobler
were it for you to be travelling with a wallet, and asking alms on
behalf of God, then to be remaining here and asking alms for yourself
alone. Likewise, I will furnish you with a tilt-waggon, so that you
may be saved some of the hardships of the journey, and thus be
preserved in good health. Also, I will give you some money for the
journey, in order that, as you pass on your way, you may give to those
who stand in greater need than their fellows. Thus, if, before giving,
you assure yourself that the recipient of the alms is worthy of the
same, you will do much good; and as you travel you will become
acquainted with all men and sundry, and they will treat you, not as a
tchinovnik to be feared, but as one to whom, as a petitioner on behalf
of the Church, they may unloose their tongues without peril."
"I feel that the scheme is a splendid one, and would gladly bear my
part in it were it not likely to exceed my strength."
"What is there that does NOT exceed your strength?" said Murazov.
"Nothing is wholly proportionate to it—everything surpasses it. Help
from above is necessary: otherwise we are all powerless. Strength
comes of prayer, and of prayer alone. When a man crosses himself, and
cries, 'Lord, have mercy upon me!' he soon stems the current and wins
to the shore. Nor need you take any prolonged thought concerning this
matter. All that you need do is to accept it as a commission sent of
God. The tilt-waggon can be prepared for you immediately; and then, as
soon as you have been to the Archimandrite for your book of accounts
and his blessing, you will be free to start on your journey."
"I submit myself to you, and accept the commission as a divine trust."
And even as Khlobuev spoke he felt renewed vigour and confidence arise
in his soul, and his mind begin to awake to a sense of hopefulness of
eventually being able to put to flight his troubles. And even as it
was, the world seemed to be growing dim to his eyes. . . .
Meanwhile, plea after plea had been presented to the legal
authorities, and daily were relatives whom no one had before heard of
putting in an appearance. Yes, like vultures to a corpse did these
good folk come flocking to the immense property which Madam Khanasarov
had left behind her. Everywhere were heard rumours against Chichikov,
rumours with regard to the validity of the second will, rumours with
regard to will number one, and rumours of larceny and concealment of
funds. Also, there came to hand information with regard both to
Chichikov's purchase of dead souls and to his conniving at contraband
goods during his service in the Customs Department. In short, every
possible item of evidence was exhumed, and the whole of his previous
history investigated. How the authorities had come to suspect and to
ascertain all this God only knows, but the fact remains that there had
fallen into the hands of those authorities information concerning
matters of which Chichikov had believed only himself and the four
walls to be aware. True, for a time these matters remained within the
cognisance of none but the functionaries concerned, and failed to
reach Chichikov's ears; but at length a letter from a confidential
friend gave him reason to think that the fat was about to fall into
the fire. Said the letter briefly: "Dear sir, I beg to advise you that
possibly legal trouble is pending, but that you have no cause for
uneasiness, seeing that everything will be attended to by yours very
truly." Yet, in spite of its tenor, the epistle reassured its
recipient. "What a genius the fellow is!" thought Chichikov to
himself. Next, to complete his satisfaction, his tailor arrived with
the new suit which he had ordered. Not without a certain sense of
pride did our hero inspect the frockcoat of smoked grey shot with
flame colour and look at it from every point of view, and then try on
the breeches—the latter fitting him like a picture, and quite
concealing any deficiencies in the matter of his thighs and calves
(though, when buckled behind, they left his stomach projecting like a
drum). True, the customer remarked that there appeared to be a slight
tightness under the right armpit, but the smiling tailor only rejoined
that that would cause the waist to fit all the better. "Sir," he said
triumphantly, "you may rest assured that the work has been executed
exactly as it ought to have been executed. No one, except in St.
Petersburg, could have done it better." As a matter of fact, the
tailor himself hailed from St. Petersburg, but called himself on his
signboard "Foreign Costumier from London and Paris"—the truth being
that by the use of a double-barrelled flourish of cities superior to
mere "Karlsruhe" and "Copenhagen" he designed to acquire business and
cut out his local rivals.
Chichikov graciously settled the man's account, and, as soon as he had
gone, paraded at leisure, and con amore, and after the manner of an
artist of aesthetic taste, before the mirror. Somehow he seemed to
look better than ever in the suit, for his cheeks had now taken on a
still more interesting air, and his chin an added seductiveness, while
his white collar lent tone to his neck, the blue satin tie heightened
the effect of the collar, the fashionable dickey set off the tie, the
rich satin waistcoat emphasised the dickey, and the
smoked-grey-shot-with-flame-colour frockcoat, shining like silk,
splendidly rounded off the whole. When he turned to the right he
looked well: when he turned to the left he looked even better. In
short, it was a costume worthy of a Lord Chamberlain or the species of
dandy who shrinks from swearing in the Russian language, but amply
relieves his feelings in the language of France. Next, inclining his
head slightly to one side, our hero endeavoured to pose as though he
were addressing a middle-aged lady of exquisite refinement; and the
result of these efforts was a picture which any artist might have
yearned to portray. Next, his delight led him gracefully to execute a
hop in ballet fashion, so that the wardrobe trembled and a bottle of
eau-de-Cologne came crashing to the floor. Yet even this contretemps
did not upset him; he merely called the offending bottle a fool, and
then debated whom first he should visit in his attractive guise.
Suddenly there resounded through the hall a clatter of spurred heels,
and then the voice of a gendarme saying: "You are commanded to present
yourself before the Governor-General!" Turning round, Chichikov stared
in horror at the spectacle presented; for in the doorway there was
standing an apparition wearing a huge moustache, a helmet surmounted
with a horsehair plume, a pair of crossed shoulder-belts, and a
gigantic sword! A whole army might have been combined into a single
individual! And when Chichikov opened his mouth to speak the
apparition repeated, "You are commanded to present yourself before the
Governor-General," and at the same moment our hero caught sight both
of a second apparition outside the door and of a coach waiting beneath
the window. What was to be done? Nothing whatever was possible. Just
as he stood—in his smoked-grey-shot-with-flame-colour suit—he had
then and there to enter the vehicle, and, shaking in every limb, and
with a gendarme seated by his side, to start for the residence of the
Governor-General.
And even in the hall of that establishment no time was given him to
pull himself together, for at once an aide-de-camp said: "Go inside
immediately, for the Prince is awaiting you." And as in a dream did
our hero see a vestibule where couriers were being handed dispatches,
and then a salon which he crossed with the thought, "I suppose I am
not to be allowed a trial, but shall be sent straight to Siberia!" And
at the thought his heart started beating in a manner which the most
jealous of lovers could not have rivalled. At length there opened a
door, and before him he saw a study full of portfolios, ledgers, and
dispatch-boxes, with, standing behind them, the gravely menacing
figure of the Prince.
"There stands my executioner," thought Chichikov to himself. "He is
about to tear me to pieces as a wolf tears a lamb."
Indeed, the Prince's lips were simply quivering with rage.
"Once before did I spare you," he said, "and allow you to remain in
the town when you ought to have been in prison: yet your only return
for my clemency has been to revert to a career of fraud—and of fraud
as dishonourable as ever a man engaged in."
"To what dishonourable fraud do you refer, your Highness?" asked
Chichikov, trembling from head to foot.
The Prince approached, and looked him straight in the eyes.
"Let me tell you," he said, "that the woman whom you induced to
witness a certain will has been arrested, and that you will be
confronted with her."
The world seemed suddenly to grow dim before Chichikov's sight.
"Your Highness," he gasped, "I will tell you the whole truth, and
nothing but the truth. I am guilty—yes, I am guilty; but I am not so
guilty as you think, for I was led away by rascals."
"That any one can have led you away is impossible," retorted the
Prince. "Recorded against your name there stand more felonies than
even the most hardened liar could have invented. I believe that never
in your life have you done a deed not innately dishonourable—that not
a kopeck have you ever obtained by aught but shameful methods of
trickery and theft, the penalty for which is Siberia and the knut. But
enough of this! From this room you will be conveyed to prison, where,
with other rogues and thieves, you will be confined until your trial
may come on. And this is lenient treatment on my part, for you are
worse, far worse, than the felons who will be your companions. THEY
are but poor men in smocks and sheepskins, whereas YOU—" Without
concluding his words, the Prince shot a glance at Chichikov's
smoked-grey-shot-with-flame-colour apparel.
Then he touched a bell.
"Your Highness," cried Chichikov, "have mercy upon me! You are the
father of a family! Spare me for the sake of my aged mother!"
"Rubbish!" exclaimed the Prince. "Even as before you besought me for
the sake of a wife and children whom you did not even possess, so now
you would speak to me of an aged mother!"
"Your Highness," protested Chichikov, "though I am a wretch and the
lowest of rascals, and though it is true that I lied when I told you
that I possessed a wife and children, I swear that, as God is my
witness, it has always been my DESIRE to possess a wife, and to
fulfil all the duties of a man and a citizen, and to earn the respect
of my fellows and the authorities. But what could be done against the
force of circumstances? By hook or by crook I have ever been forced to
win a living, though confronted at every step by wiles and temptations
and traitorous enemies and despoilers. So much has this been so that
my life has, throughout, resembled a barque tossed by tempestuous
waves, a barque driven at the mercy of the winds. Ah, I am only a man,
your Highness!"
And in a moment the tears had gushed in torrents from his eyes, and he
had fallen forward at the Prince's feet—fallen forward just as he
was, in his smoked-grey-shot-with-flame-colour frockcoat, his velvet
waistcoat, his satin tie, and his exquisitely fitting breeches, while
from his neatly brushed pate, as again and again he struck his hand
against his forehead, there came an odorous whiff of best-quality
eau-de-Cologne.
"Away with him!" exclaimed the Prince to the gendarme who had just
entered. "Summon the escort to remove him."
"Your Highness!" Chichikov cried again as he clasped the Prince's
knees; but, shuddering all over, and struggling to free himself, the
Prince repeated his order for the prisoner's removal.