'Country gentlemen are fond of backbiting,' said Tchitchikov.
'Yes, especially among us in our province. … You can't imagine what they say about me. They never speak of me except as a skinflint and a money-grubber of the worst kind. They don't blame themselves for anything. "I have run through my money of course," they say, "but that's because I had higher needs. I must have books. I must live luxuriously to encourage trade; one needn't be ruined if one lived the life of a pig like Skudronzhoglo." You see that's how they go on.'
'I should like to be such a pig!' said Tchitchikov.
'And you know all that's because I don't give dinners, and don't lend them money. I don't give dinners because it would bore me, I am not used to them; but if you like to come and see me and eat what I eat, you are very welcome! That I won't lend money is nonsense. If you come to me really in want and tell me your circumstances and what use you will make of my money, if I see from your words that you'll make a sensible use of it and that it will be of some real benefit to you—I would not refuse you, and would not even take interest. But I am not going to throw my money away. No, you must excuse me! He'll give a dinner to his mistress, or furnish his house on an insane scale, and I'm to lend him the money! …'
Here Skudronzhoglo spat and was almost
