ne factory. But my brother Nicholai was not worried about that;
he ordered twenty gooseberry-bushes and settled down to a country life.

"Last year I paid him a visit. I thought I'd go and see how things were
with him. In his letters my brother called his estate Tchimbarshov
Corner, or Himalayskoe. I arrived at Himalayskoe in the afternoon. It
was hot. There were ditches, fences, hedges, rows of young fir-trees,
trees everywhere, and there was no telling how to cross the yard or
where to put your horse. I went to the house and was met by a red-haired
dog, as fat as a pig. He tried to bark but felt too lazy. Out of the
kitchen came the cook, barefooted, and also as fat as a pig, and said
that the master was having his afternoon rest. I went in to my brother
and found him sitting on his bed with his knees covered with a blanket;
he looked old, stout, flabby; his cheeks, nose, and lips were pendulous.
I half expected him to grunt like a pig.

"We embraced and shed a tear of joy and also of sadness to think that
we had once been young, but were now both going grey and nearing death.
He dressed and took me to see his estate.

"'Well? How are you getting on?' I asked.

"'All right, thank God. I am doing very well.'

"He was no longer the poor, tired official, but a real landowner and a
person of consequence. He had got used to the place and liked it, ate a
great deal, took Russian baths, was growing fat, had already gone to law
with the parish and the two factories, and was much offended if the
peasants did not call him 'Your Lordship.' And, like a good landowner,
he looked after his soul and did good works pompously, never simply.
What good works? He cured the peasants of all kinds of diseases with
soda and castor-oil, and on his birthday he would have a thanksgiving
service held in the middle of the village, and would treat the peasants
to half a bucket of vodka, which he thought the right thing to do. Ah!
Those horrible buckets of vodka. One day a greasy landowner will drag
the peasants before the Zembro Court for trespass, and the next, if
it's a holiday, he will give them a bucket of vodka, and they drink and
shout Hooray! and lick his boots in their drunkenness. A change to good
eating and idleness always fills a Russian with the most preposterous
self-conceit. Nicholai Ivanich who, when he was in the Exchequer, was
terrified to have an opinion of his own, now imagined that what he said
was law. 'Education is necess