“Won’t you take some refreshment?” said brother Vasiliy to Tchitchikoff, pointing to the decanters. “These are various kinds of kvas, for which our house has long been celebrated.”

Tchitchikoff poured out a glass from the first decanter; it was mead, such as he had drunk in Poland in days gone by; it sparkled like champagne, and there was so much gas in it that it leapt from his mouth into his nose. “Nectar!” said he. Then he drank a glassful from a second decanter. Its contents were even better than those of the first.

“That’s a liquor, that’s a liquor worth drinking!” said Tchitchikoff. “I may say that I have drunk the very best fruit wine at your brother-in-law, Konstantin Feodorovitch’s, and the very best of kvas at your house.”

“But we have fruit wine also: my sister made this. In what direction do you propose travelling?” asked brother Vasiliy.

“I am travelling,” answered Tchitchikoff, swaying lightly on the bench, and stroking his knee, “not so much on my own account as on the business of others. General Betrishtcheff, my intimate friend, and I may even say my benefactor, has requested me to notify his relatives of his daughter’s marriage. Relatives are relatives, of course: but I am also travelling on my own account, so to speak; for, not to mention the benefitting of health, travelling is, so to speak, a book in itself, and it is a second education to see the world and the different sorts of people.”

Brother Vasiliy fell into thought. “This man speaks rather rhetorically, yet there is some truth in what he says,” thought he. After a brief silence he turned to Platon: “I begin to think, Platon, that travelling may really enliven you. There is nothing the matter with you but spiritual lethargy. You have simply fallen asleep, and that not out of satiety or weariness, but from the lack of vivid impressions and sensations. I am in precisely the contrary condition. I should be very glad not to feel things so acutely, and not to take everything which happens so much to heart.”

“You seemingly like to take things to heart,” replied Platon. “You search out disquiet, and manufacture troubles for yourself.”

“Why should I manufacture them, when something disagreeable is lying in wait at every step?” said Vasiliy. “Have you heard of the trick that Lyenitzuin has played us during your absence? He has seized the bit of wild land where we celebrate the red hill. In the first place, I will not surrender that land for any money whatever. My peasants celebrate the Krasnaya Gorka4 there every spring, and all the memories of the village are bound up with it: in my eyes, a custom is a sacred thing, and I am ready to make any sacrifice for its sake.”

“He does not know that, and that is the reason why he has seized the land,” said Platon. “He is a new- comer; he has only just arrived from Petersburg; things must be explained and made clear to him.”

“He knows, he knows perfectly well. I sent him word, but he replied impertinently.”

“You will have to go to him yourself, and explain matters. Talk it over with him yourself.”

“No, indeed! He puts on too many airs altogether. I will not go near him. Go yourself, if you like.”

“I would go were it not for the fact that I have nothing to do with the management of affairs. He might mislead and cheat me.”

“I will go, if you think proper,” said Tchitchikoff.

Vasiliy glanced at our hero and thought, “This man must be very fond of travelling!”

“Only tell me what sort of a person this Lyenitzuin is,” pursued Tchitchikoff, “and the scope of the matter.”


  By PanEris using Melati.

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