Dead Souls (38 page)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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