Dead Souls

"It never happens otherwise. It's the rightful order of things," said Kostanzhoglo. "He who was born with thousands, who was brought up on thousands, will acquire no more: he already has his whims and whatnot! One ought to begin from the beginning, not from the middle. From below, one ought to begin from below. Only then do you get to know well the people and life amidst which you'll have to make shift afterwards. Once you've suffered this or that on your own hide, and have learned that every kopeck is nailed down with a three-kopeck nail, and have gone through every torment, then you'll grow so wise and well schooled that you won't blunder or go amiss in any undertaking. Believe me, it's the truth. One ought to begin from the beginning, not from the middle. If anyone says to me: 'Give me a hundred thousand and I'll get rich at once'—I won't believe him: he's striking at random, not with certainty. One ought to begin with a kopeck!"

"In that case I'll get rich," said Chichikov, "because I'm beginning, so to speak, from almost nothing."

He had in mind the dead souls.

"Konstantin, it's time we let Pavel Ivanovich rest and get some sleep," said the mistress, "but you keep babbling."

"And you will certainly get rich," said Kostanzhoglo, not listening to the mistress. "Rivers, rivers of gold will flow to you. You won't know what to do with such money."

Pavel Ivanovich sat as one enchanted, and his thoughts were whirling in a golden realm of growing dreams and reveries.

"Really, Konstantin, it's time Pavel Ivanovich slept."

"But what is it to you? Go yourself, if you want to," the host said, and stopped: loudly, through the whole room, came the snoring of Platonov, after whom Yarb began to snore even louder. For a long time already a distant banging on iron rails had been heard. It was getting past midnight. Kostanzhoglo observed that it was indeed time to retire. They all wandered off, having wished each other good night and hastening to make use of the wish.

Only Chichikov was unable to sleep. His thoughts were wakeful. He was pondering how to become a landowner like Kostanzhoglo. After his conversation with the host, everything had become so clear; the possibility of getting rich seemed so obvious. The difficult matter of management had now become so plain and simple, and seemed so suited to his very nature, that he began to have serious thoughts of acquiring not an imaginary but a real estate; he decided then and there that with the money he would get from the bank for mortgaging his fantastic souls, he would acquire a by no means fantastic estate. He already saw himself acting and managing precisely as Kostanzhoglo instructed—efficiently, prudently, not introducing anything new before learning thoroughly everything old, examining everything with his own eyes, getting to know all the muzhiks, spurning all excesses, giving himself only to work and management. He already anticipated beforehand the pleasure he would feel when a harmonious order was established and all the springs of management began working briskly, energetically pushing each other. Work would be at the boil, and just as a well-running mill swiftly produces flour from grain, so all sorts of trash and rubbish would start producing pure gold, pure gold. The wondrous proprietor stood before him every moment. He was the first man in the whole of Russia for whom he felt personal respect. Until now he had respected men either for their high rank or for their great wealth! He had never yet respected any man for his intelligence proper. Kostanzhoglo was the first. Chichikov also understood that there was no point in talking with such a man about dead souls, and that the mere mention of it would be inappropriate. He was now occupied with another project—to buy Khlobuev's estate. He had ten thousand: another ten thousand he meant to borrow from Kostanzhoglo, who had just himself announced his readiness to help anyone who wished to get rich and take up estate management. The remaining ten thousand he could pledge to pay later, once the souls had been mortgaged. He could not yet mortgage all the souls he had bought, because there was still no land for him to resettle them on. Though he averred that he had land in Kherson province, it as yet existed mostly in intent. The intention was still to buy up land in Kherson province because it was sold there for next to nothing and was even given away free, if only people would settle there. He also thought about the need to hurry up and buy whatever runaway and dead souls could be found, because landowners were hastening to mortgage their estates, and it might soon be that in all Russia there was no corner left not mortgaged to the treasury. All these thoughts filled his head one after another and kept him from sleeping. Finally sleep, which for four full hours had held the whole house, as they say, in its embrace, finally took Chichikov into its embrace as well. He fell fast asleep.

Chapter Four