Мертвые души
Chapter 3
Overhisfacethedarkshadowofhypochondriahadcastacloud,andfurrowshadformedonhisbrowandtemples,andhiseverygesturebespoketheinfluenceofahot,nervousrancour.
“Butallowmeoncemoretodirectyourattentiontothesubjectofourrecentlyinterruptedconversation,”persistedChichikovashesippedaglassofexcellentraspberrywine.“Thatistosay,supposingIweretoacquirethepropertywhichyouhavebeengoodenoughtobringtomynotice,howlongwouldittakemetogrowrich?”
“Thatwoulddependonyourself,”repliedKostanzhoglowithgrimabruptnessandevidentill-humour.“Youmighteithergrowrichquicklyoryoumightnevergrowrichatall.Ifyoumadeupyourmindtogrowrich,soonerorlateryouwouldfindyourselfawealthyman.”
“Indeed!”ejaculatedChichikov.
“Yes,”repliedKostanzhoglo,assharplyasthoughhewereangrywithChichikov.“Youwouldmerelyneedtobefondofwork:otherwiseyouwouldeffectnothing.Themainthingistolikelookingafteryourproperty.Believeme,youwouldnevergrowwearyofdoingso.Peoplewouldhaveitthatlifeinthecountryisdull;whereas,ifIweretospendasingledayasitisspentbysomefolk,withtheirstupidclubsandtheirrestaurantsandtheirtheatres,Ishoulddieofennui.Thefools,theidiots,thegenerationsofblinddullards!Butalandownerneverfindsthedayswearisome—hehasnotthetime.Inhislifenotamomentremainsunoccupied;itisfulltothebrim.Andwithitallgoesanendlessvarietyofoccupations.
