Tchitchikoff listened and listened, looking the colonel steadily in the eye the while, and he finally said to himself, “Evidently enough, there’s no need to stand on ceremony with this man.” Thereupon, he immediately stated that he wished to buy some serfs, obtain the necessary deeds of sale, and fulfil all the formalities.
“So far as I can judge by your words,” said the colonel, in a good deal of confusion, “this is a request you present, is it not?”
“Exactly so.”
“In that case, put it in writing. It will go to the commission for the reception of reports, which after having passed opinion upon it, will send it to me. From me it will go to the committee of rural affairs. Thence, after sundry amendments, it will pass to the superintendent. The superintendent will then communicate with my secretary.”
“Good gracious!” exclaimed Tchitchikoff. “God knows how long it will take to transact the business in writing! You see, the souls I want are—after a fashion—dead.”
“Very good. Then write that the souls are, after a fashion, dead.”
“But how can dead souls be written down? It is impossible to inscribe them like that, for although they are dead, it must appear as though they were alive.”
“Good. Then write, ‘but it is necessary, or it is requisite, it is desirable, it is demanded,’ in fact, anything you like, ‘that they shall appear as though alive.’ This cannot be transacted in any other way than by writing. England, and even Napoleon has set the example. I will detail a commissioner, who will conduct you to all the departments.”
He touched a bell. A man, the secretary, made his appearance.
“Send me a commissioner!” The commissioner, something between a peasant and an official, also appeared. “This man here will conduct you to all these indispensable places.” So said the colonel.
Tchitchikoff decided to accompany the commissioner and inspect the indispensable departments out of curiosity. The department for the reception of reports existed as yet only upon the sign-board, and the doors were locked. The head of affairs here had been transferred to the newly instituted committee of rural building. His place had at first been supplied by the colonel’s valet, named Berezovsky; who also had since been ordered off to the committee on construction. They knocked at the department of rural affairs—and there things were undergoing re-arrangement; however, finally they routed out a drunken man, but got no satisfaction from him. “Everything is in a nonsensical state here,” remarked the commissioner to Tchitchikoff, at last. “The master is being led by the nose. The building commission rules everything: it tears everybody from his business, and sends him wherever it sees fit. And the only profit in the whole affair is derived by the commission.” This fellow was evidently displeased with the commission.
When Tchitchikoff glanced around him, he saw building going on everywhere. He did not care to push his inspection farther. On his return, he told the colonel that things were in a bad way, that there was nothing but confusion in the place, that it was impossible to make head or tail of it, and that there was no commission for the reception of reports at all, simply a desperate set of thieves.
The colonel boiled over with righteous indignation, pressing Tchitchikoff’s hand warmly in token of his gratitude. Then, immediately snatching up pen and paper, he wrote down eight questions of the most searching nature: On what ground had the building commission disposed, in this high-handed manner, of officials who were not subject to its authority? How could the director-in-chief permit the superintendent of works to set out on an investigation without having first resigned his post? And how could the committee