“And why should he say that?” asked the mollified General. “I bear him no grudge. In fact, I have never cherished aught but a sincere liking for him, a sincere esteem, and do not doubt but that, in time, he may become a useful member of society.”
“In the words which you have been good enough to utter,” said Chichikov with a bow, “there is embodied much justice. Yes, Tientietnikov is in very truth a man of worth. Not only does he possess the gift of eloquence, but also he is a master of the pen.”
“Ah, yes; he DOES write rubbish of some sort, doesn’t he? Verses, or something of the kind?”
“Not rubbish, your Excellency, but practical stuff. In short, he is inditing a history.”
“A HISTORY? But a history of what?”
“A history of, of—” For a moment or two Chichikov hesitated. Then, whether because it was a General that was seated in front of him, or because he desired to impart greater importance to the subject which he was about to invent, he concluded: “A history of Generals, your Excellency.”
“Of Generals? Of WHAT Generals?”
“Of Generals generally—of Generals at large. That is to say, and to be more precise, a history of the Generals of our fatherland.”
By this time Chichikov was floundering badly. Mentally he spat upon himself and reflected: “Gracious heavens! What rubbish I am talking!”
“Pardon me,” went on his interlocutor, “but I do not quite understand you. Is Tientietnikov producing a history of a given period, or only a history made up of a series of biographies? Also, is he including ALL our Generals, or only those who took part in the campaign of 1812?”