Upon that Chichikov sold the old house and its little parcel of land for a thousand roubles, and removed, with his one serf and the serf's family, to the capital, where he set about organising a new establishment and entering the Civil Service.
Simultaneously with his doing so, his old schoolmaster lost (through stupidity or otherwise) the establishment over which he had hitherto presided, and in which he had set so much store by silence and good behaviour.

Grief drove him to drink, and when nothing was left, even for that purpose, he retired--ill, helpless, and starving--into a broken-down, cheerless hovel.

But certain of his former pupils--the same clever, witty lads whom he had once been wont to accuse of impertinence and evil conduct generally--heard of his pitiable plight, and collected for him what money they could, even to the point of selling their own necessaries.

Only Chichikov, when appealed to, pleaded inability, and compromised with a contribution of a single piatak [38]: which his old schoolfellows straightway returned him--full in the face, and accompanied with a shout of "Oh, you skinflint!" As for the poor schoolmaster, when he heard what his former pupils had done, he buried his face in his hands, and the tears gushed from his failing eyes as from those of a helpless infant.

"God has brought you but to weep over my death-bed," he murmured feebly; and added with a profound sigh, on hearing of Chichikov's conduct: "Ah, Pavlushka, how a human being may become changed! Once you were a good lad, and gave me no trouble; but now you are become proud indeed!" Yet let it not be inferred from this that our hero's character had grown so blase and hard, or his conscience so blunted, as to preclude his experiencing a particle of sympathy or compassion.