vellous that the whole should have started
from a single kopeck."

"Had it started otherwise, the thing could never have been done at all.
Such is the normal course. He who is born with thousands, and is brought
up to thousands, will never acquire a single kopeck more, for he will
have been set up with the amenities of life in advance, and so never
come to stand in need of anything. It is necessary to begin from the
beginning rather than from the middle; from a kopeck rather than from a
rouble; from the bottom rather than from the top. For only thus will a
man get to know the men and conditions among which his career will have
to be carved. That is to say, through encountering the rough and the
tumble of life, and through learning that every kopeck has to be beaten
out with a three-kopeck nail, and through worsting knave after knave, he
will acquire such a degree of perspicuity and wariness that he will err
in nothing which he may tackle, and never come to ruin. Believe me, it
is so. The beginning, and not the middle, is the right starting point.
No one who comes to me and says, 'Give me a hundred thousand roubles,
and I will grow rich in no time,' do I believe, for he is likely to meet
with failure rather than with the success of which he is so assured.
'Tis with a kopeck, and with a kopeck only, that a man must begin."

"If that is so, _I_ shall grow rich," said Chichikov, involuntarily
remembering the dead souls. "For of a surety _I_ began with nothing."

"Constantine, pray allow Paul Ivanovitch to retire to rest," put in
the lady of the house. "It is high time, and I am sure you have talked
enough."

"Yes, beyond a doubt you will grow rich," continued Kostanzhoglo,
without heeding his wife. "For towards you there will run rivers and
rivers of gold, until you will not know what to do with all your gains."

As though spellbound, Chichikov sat in an aureate world of ever-growing
dreams and fantasies. All his thoughts were in a whirl, and on a carpet
of future wealth his tumultuous imagination was weaving golden patterns,
while ever in his ears were ringing the words, "towards you there will
run rivers and rivers of gold."

"Really, Constantine, DO allow Paul Ivanovitch to go to bed."

"What on earth is the matter?" retorted the master of the household
testily. "Pray go yourself if you wish to." Then he stopped short, for
the snoring of Platon was filling the whole room, and also--outrivalling
it--that of the dog