Dead Souls

by Nikolai Vasilevich Gogol

  CHAPTER III

  Meanwhile, Chichikov, seated in his britchka and bowling along theturnpike, was feeling greatly pleased with himself. From the precedingchapter the reader will have gathered the principal subject of his bentand inclinations: wherefore it is no matter for wonder that his bodyand his soul had ended by becoming wholly immersed therein. To allappearances the thoughts, the calculations, and the projects whichwere now reflected in his face partook of a pleasant nature, sincemomentarily they kept leaving behind them a satisfied smile. Indeed, soengrossed was he that he never noticed that his coachman, elated withthe hospitality of Manilov's domestics, was making remarks of a didacticnature to the off horse of the troika [11], a skewbald. This skewbaldwas a knowing animal, and made only a show of pulling; whereas itscomrades, the middle horse (a bay, and known as the Assessor, owing tohis having been acquired from a gentleman of that rank) and the nearhorse (a roan), would do their work gallantly, and even evince in theireyes the pleasure which they derived from their exertions.

  "Ah, you rascal, you rascal! I'll get the better of you!" ejaculatedSelifan as he sat up and gave the lazy one a cut with his whip. "YOUknow your business all right, you German pantaloon! The bay is a goodfellow, and does his duty, and I will give him a bit over his feed, forhe is a horse to be respected; and the Assessor too is a good horse. Butwhat are YOU shaking your ears for? You are a fool, so just mind whenyou're spoken to. 'Tis good advice I'm giving you, you blockhead. Ah!You CAN travel when you like." And he gave the animal another cut,and then shouted to the trio, "Gee up, my beauties!" and drew his whipgently across the backs of the skewbald's comrades--not as a punishment,but as a sign of his approval. That done, he addressed himself to theskewbald again.

  "Do you think," he cried, "that I don't see what you are doing? You canbehave quite decently when you like, and make a man respect you."

  With that he fell to recalling certain reminiscences.

  "They were NICE folk, those folk at the gentleman's yonder," he mused."I DO love a chat with a man when he is a good sort. With a man of thatkind I am always hail-fellow-well-met, and glad to drink a glass oftea with him, or to eat a biscuit. One CAN'T help respecting a decentfellow. For instance, this gentleman of mine--why, every one looks upto him, for he has been in the Government's service, and is a CollegiateCouncillor."

  Thus soliloquising, he passed to more remote abstractions; until, hadChichikov been listening, he would have learnt a number of interestingdetails concerning himself. However, his thoughts were wholly occupiedwith his own subject, so much so that not until a loud clap of thunderawoke him from his reverie did he glance around him. The sky wascompletely covered with clouds, and the dusty turnpike beginning tobe sprinkled with drops of rain. At length a second and a nearer and alouder peal resounded, and the rain descended as from a bucket. Fallingslantwise, it beat upon one side of the basketwork of the tilt until thesplashings began to spurt into his face, and he found himself forced todraw the curtains (fitted with circular openings through which to obtaina glimpse of the wayside view), and to shout to Selifan to quicken hispace. Upon that the coachman, interrupted in the middle of his harangue,bethought him that no time was to be lost; wherefore, extracting fromunder the box-seat a piece of old blanket, he covered over his sleeves,resumed the reins, and cheered on his threefold team (which, it maybe said, had so completely succumbed to the influence of the pleasantlassitude induced by Selifan's discourse that it had taken to scarcelyplacing one leg before the other). Unfortunately, Selifan could notclearly remember whether two turnings had been passed or three. Indeed,on collecting his faculties, and dimly recalling the lie of the road,he became filled with a shrewd suspicion that A VERY LARGE NUMBER ofturnings had been passed. But since, at moments which call for a hastydecision, a Russian is quick to discover what may conceivably bethe best course to take, our coachman put away from him all ulteriorreasoning, and, turning to the right at the next cross-road, shouted,"Hi, my beauties!" and set off at a gallop. Never for a moment did hestop to think whither the road might lead him!

  It was long before the clouds had discharged their burden, and,meanwhile, the dust on the road became kneaded into mire, and thehorses' task of pulling the britchka heavier and heavier. Also,Chichikov had taken alarm at his continued failure to catch sight ofSobakevitch's country house. According to his calculations, it ought tohave been reached long ago. He gazed about him on every side, but thedarkness was too dense for the eye to pierce.

  "Selifan!" he exclaimed, leaning forward in the britchka.

  "What is it, barin?" replied the coachman.

  "Can you see the country house anywhere?"

  "No, barin." After which, with a flourish of the whip, the man brokeinto a sort of endless, drawling song. In that song everything hada place. By "everything" I mean both the various encouraging andstimulating cries with which Russian folk urge on their horses, and arandom, unpremeditated selection of adjectives.

  Meanwhile Chichikov began to notice that the britchka was swayingviolently, and dealing him occasional bumps. Consequently he suspectedthat it had left the road and was being dragged over a ploughed field.Upon Selifan's mind there appeared to have dawned a similar inkling, forhe had ceased to hold forth.

  "You rascal, what road are you following?" inquired Chichikov.

  "I don't know," retorted the coachman. "What can a man do at a time ofnight when the darkness won't let him even see his whip?" And as Selifanspoke the vehicle tilted to an angle which left Chichikov no choice butto hang on with hands and teeth. At length he realised the fact thatSelifan was drunk.

  "Stop, stop, or you will upset us!" he shouted to the fellow.

  "No, no, barin," replied Selifan. "HOW could I upset you? To upsetpeople is wrong. I know that very well, and should never dream of suchconduct."

  Here he started to turn the vehicle round a little--and kept on doing sountil the britchka capsized on to its side, and Chichikov landed in themud on his hands and knees. Fortunately Selifan succeeded in stoppingthe horses, although they would have stopped of themselves, seeingthat they were utterly worn out. This unforeseen catastrophe evidentlyastonished their driver. Slipping from the box, he stood resting hishands against the side of the britchka, while Chichikov tumbled andfloundered about in the mud, in a vain endeavour to wriggle clear of thestuff.

  "Ah, you!" said Selifan meditatively to the britchka. "To think ofupsetting us like this!"

  "You are as drunk as a lord!" exclaimed Chichikov.

  "No, no, barin. Drunk, indeed? Why, I know my manners too well. A wordor two with a friend--that is all that I have taken. Any one may talkwith a decent man when he meets him. There is nothing wrong inthat. Also, we had a snack together. There is nothing wrong in asnack--especially a snack with a decent man."

  "What did I say to you when last you got drunk?" asked Chichikov. "Haveyou forgotten what I said then?"

  "No, no, barin. HOW could I forget it? I know what is what, and knowthat it is not right to get drunk. All that I have been having is a wordor two with a decent man, for the reason that--"

  "Well, if I lay the whip about you, you'll know then how to talk to adecent fellow, I'll warrant!"

  "As you please, barin," replied the complacent Selifan. "Should youwhip me, you will whip me, and I shall have nothing to complain of. Whyshould you not whip me if I deserve it? 'Tis for you to do as you like.Whippings are necessary sometimes, for a peasant often plays the fool,and discipline ought to be maintained. If I have deserved it, beat me.Why should you not?"

  This reasoning seemed, at the moment, irrefutable, and Chichikov saidnothing more. Fortunately fate had decided to take pity on the pair, forfrom afar their ears caught the barking of a dog. Plucking up courage,Chichikov gave orders for the britchka to be righted, and the horses tobe urged forward; and since a Russian driver has at least this merit,that, owing to a keen sense of smell being able to take the placeof eyesight, he can, if necessary, drive at random and yet reach adestination of some sort, Selifan succeeded, thou
gh powerless to discerna single object, in directing his steeds to a country house near by, andthat with such a certainty of instinct that it was not until the shaftshad collided with a garden wall, and thereby made it clear that toproceed another pace was impossible, that he stopped. All that Chichikovcould discern through the thick veil of pouring rain was somethingwhich resembled a verandah. So he dispatched Selifan to search for theentrance gates, and that process would have lasted indefinitely had itnot been shortened by the circumstance that, in Russia, the place ofa Swiss footman is frequently taken by watchdogs; of which animals anumber now proclaimed the travellers' presence so loudly that Chichikovfound himself forced to stop his ears. Next, a light gleamed in oneof the windows, and filtered in a thin stream to the garden wall--thusrevealing the whereabouts of the entrance gates; whereupon Selifanfell to knocking at the gates until the bolts of the house door werewithdrawn and there issued therefrom a figure clad in a rough cloak.

  "Who is that knocking? What have you come for?" shouted the hoarse voiceof an elderly woman.

  "We are travellers, good mother," said Chichikov. "Pray allow us tospend the night here."

  "Out upon you for a pair of gadabouts!" retorted the old woman. "A finetime of night to be arriving! We don't keep an hotel, mind you. This isa lady's residence."

  "But what are we to do, mother? We have lost our way, and cannot spendthe night out of doors in such weather."

  "No, we cannot. The night is dark and cold," added Selifan.

  "Hold your tongue, you fool!" exclaimed Chichikov.

  "Who ARE you, then?" inquired the old woman.

  "A dvorianin [12], good mother."

  Somehow the word dvorianin seemed to give the old woman food forthought.

  "Wait a moment," she said, "and I will tell the mistress."

  Two minutes later she returned with a lantern in her hand, the gateswere opened, and a light glimmered in a second window. Entering thecourtyard, the britchka halted before a moderate-sized mansion. Thedarkness did not permit of very accurate observation being made,but, apparently, the windows only of one-half of the building wereilluminated, while a quagmire in front of the door reflected the beamsfrom the same. Meanwhile the rain continued to beat sonorously down uponthe wooden roof, and could be heard trickling into a water butt; norfor a single moment did the dogs cease to bark with all the strength oftheir lungs. One of them, throwing up its head, kept venting a howlof such energy and duration that the animal seemed to be howling for ahandsome wager; while another, cutting in between the yelpings of thefirst animal, kept restlessly reiterating, like a postman's bell, thenotes of a very young puppy. Finally, an old hound which appeared to begifted with a peculiarly robust temperament kept supplying the part ofcontrabasso, so that his growls resembled the rumbling of a bass singerwhen a chorus is in full cry, and the tenors are rising on tiptoe intheir efforts to compass a particularly high note, and the whole body ofchoristers are wagging their heads before approaching a climax, andthis contrabasso alone is tucking his bearded chin into his collar, andsinking almost to a squatting posture on the floor, in order to producea note which shall cause the windows to shiver and their panes to crack.Naturally, from a canine chorus of such executants it might reasonablybe inferred that the establishment was one of the utmost respectability.To that, however, our damp, cold hero gave not a thought, for all hismind was fixed upon bed. Indeed, the britchka had hardly come to astandstill before he leapt out upon the doorstep, missed his footing,and came within an ace of falling. To meet him there issued a femaleyounger than the first, but very closely resembling her; and on hisbeing conducted to the parlour, a couple of glances showed him that theroom was hung with old striped curtains, and ornamented with picturesof birds and small, antique mirrors--the latter set in dark frames whichwere carved to resemble scrolls of foliage. Behind each mirror was stuckeither a letter or an old pack of cards or a stocking, while on the wallhung a clock with a flowered dial. More, however, Chichikov could notdiscern, for his eyelids were as heavy as though smeared with treacle.Presently the lady of the house herself entered--an elderly woman in asort of nightcap (hastily put on) and a flannel neck wrap. She belongedto that class of lady landowners who are for ever lamenting failures ofthe harvest and their losses thereby; to the class who, drooping theirheads despondently, are all the while stuffing money into stripedpurses, which they keep hoarded in the drawers of cupboards. Into onepurse they will stuff rouble pieces, into another half roubles, and intoa third tchetvertachki [13], although from their mien you would supposethat the cupboard contained only linen and nightshirts and skeins ofwool and the piece of shabby material which is destined--should theold gown become scorched during the baking of holiday cakes and otherdainties, or should it fall into pieces of itself--to become convertedinto a new dress. But the gown never does get burnt or wear out, forthe reason that the lady is too careful; wherefore the piece of shabbymaterial reposes in its unmade-up condition until the priest advisesthat it be given to the niece of some widowed sister, together with aquantity of other such rubbish.

  Chichikov apologised for having disturbed the household with hisunexpected arrival.

  "Not at all, not at all," replied the lady. "But in what dreadfulweather God has brought you hither! What wind and what rain! You couldnot help losing your way. Pray excuse us for being unable to make betterpreparations for you at this time of night."

  Suddenly there broke in upon the hostess' words the sound of a strangehissing, a sound so loud that the guest started in alarm, and the moreso seeing that it increased until the room seemed filled with adders. Onglancing upwards, however, he recovered his composure, for he perceivedthe sound to be emanating from the clock, which appeared to be in a mindto strike. To the hissing sound there succeeded a wheezing one, until,putting forth its best efforts, the thing struck two with as muchclatter as though some one had been hitting an iron pot with acudgel. That done, the pendulum returned to its right-left, right-leftoscillation.

  Chichikov thanked his hostess kindly, and said that he needed nothing,and she must not put herself about: only for rest was he longing--thoughalso he should like to know whither he had arrived, and whether thedistance to the country house of land-owner Sobakevitch was anythingvery great. To this the lady replied that she had never so much as heardthe name, since no gentleman of the name resided in the locality.

  "But at least you are acquainted with landowner Manilov?" continuedChichikov.

  "No. Who is he?"

  "Another landed proprietor, madam."

  "Well, neither have I heard of him. No such landowner lives hereabouts."

  "Then who ARE your local landowners?"

  "Bobrov, Svinin, Kanapatiev, Khapakin, Trepakin, and Plieshakov."

  "Are they rich men?"

  "No, none of them. One of them may own twenty souls, and another thirty,but of gentry who own a hundred there are none."

  Chichikov reflected that he had indeed fallen into an aristocraticwilderness!

  "At all events, is the town far away?" he inquired.

  "About sixty versts. How sorry I am that I have nothing for you to eat!Should you care to drink some tea?"

  "I thank you, good mother, but I require nothing beyond a bed."

  "Well, after such a journey you must indeed be needing rest, so youshall lie upon this sofa. Fetinia, bring a quilt and some pillows andsheets. What weather God has sent us! And what dreadful thunder! Eversince sunset I have had a candle burning before the ikon in my bedroom.My God! Why, your back and sides are as muddy as a boar's! However haveyou managed to get into such a state?"

  "That I am nothing worse than muddy is indeed fortunate, since, but forthe Almighty, I should have had my ribs broken."

  "Dear, dear! To think of all that you must have been through. Had I notbetter wipe your back?"

  "I thank you, I thank you, but you need not trouble. Merely be so goodas to tell your maid to dry my clothes."

  "Do you hear that, Fetinia?" said the hostess, turning to a woman whowa
s engaged in dragging in a feather bed and deluging the room withfeathers. "Take this coat and this vest, and, after drying them beforethe fire--just as we used to do for your late master--give them a goodrub, and fold them up neatly."

  "Very well, mistress," said Fetinia, spreading some sheets over the bed,and arranging the pillows.

  "Now your bed is ready for you," said the hostess to Chichikov."Good-night, dear sir. I wish you good-night. Is there anything elsethat you require? Perhaps you would like to have your heels tickledbefore retiring to rest? Never could my late husband get to sleepwithout that having been done."

  But the guest declined the proffered heel-tickling, and, on his hostesstaking her departure, hastened to divest himself of his clothing, bothupper and under, and to hand the garments to Fetinia. She wished himgood-night, and removed the wet trappings; after which he found himselfalone. Not without satisfaction did he eye his bed, which reachedalmost to the ceiling. Clearly Fetinia was a past mistress in the art ofbeating up such a couch, and, as the result, he had no sooner mountedit with the aid of a chair than it sank well-nigh to the floor, and thefeathers, squeezed out of their proper confines, flew hither and thitherinto every corner of the apartment. Nevertheless he extinguished thecandle, covered himself over with the chintz quilt, snuggled downbeneath it, and instantly fell asleep. Next day it was late in themorning before he awoke. Through the window the sun was shining into hiseyes, and the flies which, overnight, had been roosting quietly on thewalls and ceiling now turned their attention to the visitor. One settledon his lip, another on his ear, a third hovered as though intendingto lodge in his very eye, and a fourth had the temerity to alightjust under his nostrils. In his drowsy condition he inhaled the latterinsect, sneezed violently, and so returned to consciousness. Heglanced around the room, and perceived that not all the pictures wererepresentative of birds, since among them hung also a portrait ofKutuzov [14] and an oil painting of an old man in a uniform with redfacings such as were worn in the days of the Emperor Paul [15]. At thismoment the clock uttered its usual hissing sound, and struck ten, whilea woman's face peered in at the door, but at once withdrew, for thereason that, with the object of sleeping as well as possible, Chichikovhad removed every stitch of his clothing. Somehow the face seemed to himfamiliar, and he set himself to recall whose it could be. At length herecollected that it was the face of his hostess. His clothes he foundlying, clean and dry, beside him; so he dressed and approached themirror, meanwhile sneezing again with such vehemence that a cock whichhappened at the moment to be near the window (which was situated at nogreat distance from the ground) chuckled a short, sharp phrase. Probablyit meant, in the bird's alien tongue, "Good morning to you!" Chichikovretorted by calling the bird a fool, and then himself approached thewindow to look at the view. It appeared to comprise a poulterer'spremises. At all events, the narrow yard in front of the window was fullof poultry and other domestic creatures--of game fowls and barn doorfowls, with, among them, a cock which strutted with measured gait, andkept shaking its comb, and tilting its head as though it were trying tolisten to something. Also, a sow and her family were helping to gracethe scene. First, she rooted among a heap of litter; then, in passing,she ate up a young pullet; lastly, she proceeded carelessly to munchsome pieces of melon rind. To this small yard or poultry-run a lengthof planking served as a fence, while beyond it lay a kitchen gardencontaining cabbages, onions, potatoes, beetroots, and other householdvegetables. Also, the garden contained a few stray fruit trees thatwere covered with netting to protect them from the magpies and sparrows;flocks of which were even then wheeling and darting from one spot toanother. For the same reason a number of scarecrows with outstretchedarms stood reared on long poles, with, surmounting one of the figures,a cast-off cap of the hostess's. Beyond the garden again there stood anumber of peasants' huts. Though scattered, instead of being arranged inregular rows, these appeared to Chichikov's eye to comprise well-to-doinhabitants, since all rotten planks in their roofing had been replacedwith new ones, and none of their doors were askew, and such of theirtiltsheds as faced him evinced evidence of a presence of a sparewaggon--in some cases almost a new one.

  "This lady owns by no means a poor village," said Chichikov to himself;wherefore he decided then and there to have a talk with his hostess, andto cultivate her closer acquaintance. Accordingly he peeped through thechink of the door whence her head had recently protruded, and, on seeingher seated at a tea table, entered and greeted her with a cheerful,kindly smile.

  "Good morning, dear sir," she responded as she rose. "How have youslept?" She was dressed in better style than she had been on theprevious evening. That is to say, she was now wearing a gown of somedark colour, and lacked her nightcap, and had swathed her neck insomething stiff.

  "I have slept exceedingly well," replied Chichikov, seating himself upona chair. "And how are YOU, good madam?"

  "But poorly, my dear sir."

  "And why so?"

  "Because I cannot sleep. A pain has taken me in my middle, and my legs,from the ankles upwards, are aching as though they were broken."

  "That will pass, that will pass, good mother. You must pay no attentionto it."

  "God grant that it MAY pass. However, I have been rubbing myself withlard and turpentine. What sort of tea will you take? In this jar I havesome of the scented kind."

  "Excellent, good mother! Then I will take that."

  Probably the reader will have noticed that, for all his expressions ofsolicitude, Chichikov's tone towards his hostess partook of a freer, amore unceremonious, nature than that which he had adopted towards MadamManilov. And here I should like to assert that, howsoever much, incertain respects, we Russians may be surpassed by foreigners, at leastwe surpass them in adroitness of manner. In fact the various shades andsubtleties of our social intercourse defy enumeration. A Frenchman ora German would be incapable of envisaging and understanding all itspeculiarities and differences, for his tone in speaking to a millionairediffers but little from that which he employs towards a smalltobacconist--and that in spite of the circumstance that he is accustomedto cringe before the former. With us, however, things are different. InRussian society there exist clever folk who can speak in one manner toa landowner possessed of two hundred peasant souls, and in another toa landowner possessed of three hundred, and in another to a landownerpossessed of five hundred. In short, up to the number of a millionsouls the Russian will have ready for each landowner a suitable mode ofaddress. For example, suppose that somewhere there exists a governmentoffice, and that in that office there exists a director. I would beg ofyou to contemplate him as he sits among his myrmidons. Sheer nervousnesswill prevent you from uttering a word in his presence, so great are thepride and superiority depicted on his countenance. Also, were you tosketch him, you would be sketching a veritable Prometheus, for hisglance is as that of an eagle, and he walks with measured, statelystride. Yet no sooner will the eagle have left the room to seek thestudy of his superior officer than he will go scurrying along (papersheld close to his nose) like any partridge. But in society, and at theevening party (should the rest of those present be of lesser rank thanhimself) the Prometheus will once more become Prometheus, and the manwho stands a step below him will treat him in a way never dreamt of byOvid, seeing that each fly is of lesser account than its superior fly,and becomes, in the presence of the latter, even as a grain of sand."Surely that is not Ivan Petrovitch?" you will say of such and such aman as you regard him. "Ivan Petrovitch is tall, whereas this man issmall and spare. Ivan Petrovitch has a loud, deep voice, and neversmiles, whereas this man (whoever he may be) is twittering like asparrow, and smiling all the time." Yet approach and take a good look atthe fellow and you will see that is IS Ivan Petrovitch. "Alack, alack!"will be the only remark you can make.

  Let us return to our characters in real life. We have seen that, on thisoccasion, Chichikov decided to dispense with ceremony; wherefore, takingup the teapot, he went on as follows:

  "You have a nice little village here
, madam. How many souls does itcontain?"

  "A little less than eighty, dear sir. But the times are hard, and I havelost a great deal through last year's harvest having proved a failure."

  "But your peasants look fine, strong fellows. May I enquire your name?Through arriving so late at night I have quite lost my wits."

  "Korobotchka, the widow of a Collegiate Secretary."

  "I humbly thank you. And your Christian name and patronymic?"

  "Nastasia Petrovna."

  "Nastasia Petrovna! Those are excellent names. I have a maternal auntnamed like yourself."

  "And YOUR name?" queried the lady. "May I take it that you are aGovernment Assessor?"

  "No, madam," replied Chichikov with a smile. "I am not an Assessor, buta traveller on private business."

  "Then you must be a buyer of produce? How I regret that I have sold myhoney so cheaply to other buyers! Otherwise YOU might have bought it,dear sir."

  "I never buy honey."

  "Then WHAT do you buy, pray? Hemp? I have a little of that by me, butnot more than half a pood [16] or so."

  "No, madam. It is in other wares that I deal. Tell me, have you, of lateyears, lost many of your peasants by death?"

  "Yes; no fewer than eighteen," responded the old lady with a sigh. "Sucha fine lot, too--all good workers! True, others have since grown up,but of what use are THEY? Mere striplings. When the Assessor last calledupon me I could have wept; for, though those workmen of mine are dead,I have to keep on paying for them as though they were still alive! Andonly last week my blacksmith got burnt to death! Such a clever hand athis trade he was!"

  "What? A fire occurred at your place?"

  "No, no, God preserve us all! It was not so bad as that. You mustunderstand that the blacksmith SET HIMSELF on fire--he got set on firein his bowels through overdrinking. Yes, all of a sudden there burstfrom him a blue flame, and he smouldered and smouldered until he hadturned as black as a piece of charcoal! Yet what a clever blacksmith hewas! And now I have no horses to drive out with, for there is no one toshoe them."

  "In everything the will of God, madam," said Chichikov with a sigh."Against the divine wisdom it is not for us to rebel. Pray hand themover to me, Nastasia Petrovna."

  "Hand over whom?"

  "The dead peasants."

  "But how could I do that?"

  "Quite simply. Sell them to me, and I will give you some money inexchange."

  "But how am I to sell them to you? I scarcely understand what you mean.Am I to dig them up again from the ground?"

  Chichikov perceived that the old lady was altogether at sea, and that hemust explain the matter; wherefore in a few words he informed her thatthe transfer or purchase of the souls in question would take placemerely on paper--that the said souls would be listed as still alive.

  "And what good would they be to you?" asked his hostess, staring at himwith her eyes distended.

  "That is MY affair."

  "But they are DEAD souls."

  "Who said they were not? The mere fact of their being dead entails uponyou a loss as dead as the souls, for you have to continue paying taxupon them, whereas MY plan is to relieve you both of the tax and of theresultant trouble. NOW do you understand? And I will not only do asI say, but also hand you over fifteen roubles per soul. Is that clearenough?"

  "Yes--but I do not know," said his hostess diffidently. "You see, neverbefore have I sold dead souls."

  "Quite so. It would be a surprising thing if you had. But surely you donot think that these dead souls are in the least worth keeping?"

  "Oh, no, indeed! Why should they be worth keeping? I am sure they arenot so. The only thing which troubles me is the fact that they areDEAD."

  "She seems a truly obstinate old woman!" was Chichikov's inward comment."Look here, madam," he added aloud. "You reason well, but you are simplyruining yourself by continuing to pay the tax upon dead souls as thoughthey were still alive."

  "Oh, good sir, do not speak of it!" the lady exclaimed. "Three weeks agoI took a hundred and fifty roubles to that Assessor, and buttered himup, and--"

  "Then you see how it is, do you not? Remember that, according to myplan, you will never again have to butter up the Assessor, seeing thatit will be I who will be paying for those peasants--_I_, not YOU, for Ishall have taken over the dues upon them, and have transferred them tomyself as so many bona fide serfs. Do you understand AT LAST?"

  However, the old lady still communed with herself. She could see thatthe transaction would be to her advantage, yet it was one of such anovel and unprecedented nature that she was beginning to fear lest thispurchaser of souls intended to cheat her. Certainly he had come from Godonly knew where, and at the dead of night, too!

  "But, sir, I have never in my life sold dead folk--only living ones.Three years ago I transferred two wenches to Protopopov for a hundredroubles apiece, and he thanked me kindly, for they turned out splendidworkers--able to make napkins or anything else.

  "Yes, but with the living we have nothing to do, damn it! I am askingyou only about DEAD folk."

  "Yes, yes, of course. But at first sight I felt afraid lest I should beincurring a loss--lest you should be wishing to outwit me, good sir.You see, the dead souls are worth rather more than you have offered forthem."

  "See here, madam. (What a woman it is!) HOW could they be worth more?Think for yourself. They are so much loss to you--so much loss, do youunderstand? Take any worthless, rubbishy article you like--a piece ofold rag, for example. That rag will yet fetch its price, for it can bebought for paper-making. But these dead souls are good for NOTHING ATALL. Can you name anything that they ARE good for?"

  "True, true--they ARE good for nothing. But what troubles me is the factthat they are dead."

  "What a blockhead of a creature!" said Chichikov to himself, for he wasbeginning to lose patience. "Bless her heart, I may as well be going.She has thrown me into a perfect sweat, the cursed old shrew!"

  He took a handkerchief from his pocket, and wiped the perspiration fromhis brow. Yet he need not have flown into such a passion. More than onerespected statesman reveals himself, when confronted with a businessmatter, to be just such another as Madam Korobotchka, in that, once hehas got an idea into his head, there is no getting it out of him--youmay ply him with daylight-clear arguments, yet they will reboundfrom his brain as an india-rubber ball rebounds from a flagstone.Nevertheless, wiping away the perspiration, Chichikov resolved to trywhether he could not bring her back to the road by another path.

  "Madam," he said, "either you are declining to understand what I say oryou are talking for the mere sake of talking. If I hand you over somemoney--fifteen roubles for each soul, do you understand?--it is MONEY,not something which can be picked up haphazard on the street. Forinstance, tell me how much you sold your honey for?"

  "For twelve roubles per pood."

  "Ah! Then by those words, madam, you have laid a trifling sin upon yoursoul; for you did NOT sell the honey for twelve roubles."

  "By the Lord God I did!"

  "Well, well! Never mind. Honey is only honey. Now, you had collectedthat stuff, it may be, for a year, and with infinite care and labour.You had fussed after it, you had trotted to and fro, you had duly frozenout the bees, and you had fed them in the cellar throughout the winter.But these dead souls of which I speak are quite another matter, for inthis case you have put forth no exertions--it was merely God's will thatthey should leave the world, and thus decrease the personnel of yourestablishment. In the former case you received (so you allege) twelveroubles per pood for your labour; but in this case you will receivemoney for having done nothing at all. Nor will you receive twelveroubles per item, but FIFTEEN--and roubles not in silver, but roubles ingood paper currency."

  That these powerful inducements would certainly cause the old woman toyield Chichikov had not a doubt.

  "True," his hostess replied. "But how strangely business comes to me asa widow! Perhaps I had better wait a little longer, seeing that otherbuyers might com
e along, and I might be able to compare prices."

  "For shame, madam! For shame! Think what you are saying. Who else, Iwould ask, would care to buy those souls? What use could they be to anyone?"

  "If that is so, they might come in useful to ME," mused the old womanaloud; after which she sat staring at Chichikov with her mouth open anda face of nervous expectancy as to his possible rejoinder.

  "Dead folk useful in a household!" he exclaimed. "Why, what could you dowith them? Set them up on poles to frighten away the sparrows from yourgarden?"

  "The Lord save us, but what things you say!" she ejaculated, crossingherself.

  "Well, WHAT could you do with them? By this time they are so much bonesand earth. That is all there is left of them. Their transfer to myselfwould be ON PAPER only. Come, come! At least give me an answer."

  Again the old woman communed with herself.

  "What are you thinking of, Nastasia Petrovna?" inquired Chichikov.

  "I am thinking that I scarcely know what to do. Perhaps I had bettersell you some hemp?"

  "What do I want with hemp? Pardon me, but just when I have made to youa different proposal altogether you begin fussing about hemp! Hemp ishemp, and though I may want some when I NEXT visit you, I should like toknow what you have to say to the suggestion under discussion."

  "Well, I think it a very queer bargain. Never have I heard of such athing."

  Upon this Chichikov lost all patience, upset his chair, and bid her goto the devil; of which personage even the mere mention terrified herextremely.

  "Do not speak of him, I beg of you!" she cried, turning pale. "May God,rather, bless him! Last night was the third night that he has appearedto me in a dream. You see, after saying my prayers, I bethought meof telling my fortune by the cards; and God must have sent him as apunishment. He looked so horrible, and had horns longer than a bull's!"

  "I wonder you don't see SCORES of devils in your dreams! Merely out ofChristian charity he had come to you to say, 'I perceive a poor widowgoing to rack and ruin, and likely soon to stand in danger of want.'Well, go to rack and ruin--yes, you and all your village together!"

  "The insults!" exclaimed the old woman, glancing at her visitor interror.

  "I should think so!" continued Chichikov. "Indeed, I cannot find wordsto describe you. To say no more about it, you are like a dog in amanger. You don't want to eat the hay yourself, yet you won't letanyone else touch it. All that I am seeking to do is to purchasecertain domestic products of yours, for the reason that I have certainGovernment contracts to fulfil." This last he added in passing, andwithout any ulterior motive, save that it came to him as a happythought. Nevertheless the mention of Government contracts exercised apowerful influence upon Nastasia Petrovna, and she hastened to say in atone that was almost supplicatory:

  "Why should you be so angry with me? Had I known that you were going tolose your temper in this way, I should never have discussed the matter."

  "No wonder that I lose my temper! An egg too many is no great matter,yet it may prove exceedingly annoying."

  "Well, well, I will let you have the souls for fifteen roubles each.Also, with regard to those contracts, do not forget me if at any timeyou should find yourself in need of rye-meal or buckwheat or groats ordead meat."

  "No, I shall NEVER forget you, madam!" he said, wiping his forehead,where three separate streams of perspiration were trickling down hisface. Then he asked her whether in the town she had any acquaintance oragent whom she could empower to complete the transference of the serfs,and to carry out whatsoever else might be necessary.

  "Certainly," replied Madame Korobotchka. "The son of our archpriest,Father Cyril, himself is a lawyer."

  Upon that Chichikov begged her to accord the gentleman in question apower of attorney, while, to save extra trouble, he himself would thenand there compose the requisite letter.

  "It would be a fine thing if he were to buy up all my meal and stockfor the Government," thought Madame to herself. "I must encourage him alittle. There has been some dough standing ready since last night, so Iwill go and tell Fetinia to try a few pancakes. Also, it might be wellto try him with an egg pie. We make then nicely here, and they do nottake long in the making."

  So she departed to translate her thoughts into action, as well as tosupplement the pie with other products of the domestic cuisine; while,for his part, Chichikov returned to the drawing-room where he had spentthe night, in order to procure from his dispatch-box the necessarywriting-paper. The room had now been set in order, the sumptuousfeather bed removed, and a table set before the sofa. Depositing hisdispatch-box upon the table, he heaved a gentle sigh on becoming awarethat he was so soaked with perspiration that he might almost havebeen dipped in a river. Everything, from his shirt to his socks,was dripping. "May she starve to death, the cursed old harridan!" heejaculated after a moment's rest. Then he opened his dispatch-box. Inpassing, I may say that I feel certain that at least SOME of my readerswill be curious to know the contents and the internal arrangements ofthat receptacle. Why should I not gratify their curiosity? To beginwith, the centre of the box contained a soap-dish, with, disposed aroundit, six or seven compartments for razors. Next came square partitionsfor a sand-box [17] and an inkstand, as well as (scooped out in theirmidst) a hollow of pens, sealing-wax, and anything else that requiredmore room. Lastly there were all sorts of little divisions, both withand without lids, for articles of a smaller nature, such as visitingcards, memorial cards, theatre tickets, and things which Chichikov hadlaid by as souvenirs. This portion of the box could be taken out, andbelow it were both a space for manuscripts and a secret money-box--thelatter made to draw out from the side of the receptacle.

  Chichikov set to work to clean a pen, and then to write. Presently hishostess entered the room.

  "What a beautiful box you have got, my dear sir!" she exclaimed as shetook a seat beside him. "Probably you bought it in Moscow?"

  "Yes--in Moscow," replied Chichikov without interrupting his writing.

  "I thought so. One CAN get good things there. Three years ago my sisterbrought me a few pairs of warm shoes for my sons, and they were suchexcellent articles! To this day my boys wear them. And what nice stampedpaper you have!" (she had peered into the dispatch-box, where, sureenough, there lay a further store of the paper in question). "Would youmind letting me have a sheet of it? I am without any at all, although Ishall soon have to be presenting a plea to the land court, and possessnot a morsel of paper to write it on."

  Upon this Chichikov explained that the paper was not the sort properfor the purpose--that it was meant for serf-indenturing, and not forthe framing of pleas. Nevertheless, to quiet her, he gave her a sheetstamped to the value of a rouble. Next, he handed her the letter tosign, and requested, in return, a list of her peasants. Unfortunately,such a list had never been compiled, let alone any copies of it, and theonly way in which she knew the peasants' names was by heart. However, hetold her to dictate them. Some of the names greatly astonished our hero,so, still more, did the surnames. Indeed, frequently, on hearing thelatter, he had to pause before writing them down. Especially did he haltbefore a certain "Peter Saveliev Neuvazhai Korito." "What a string oftitles!" involuntarily he ejaculated. To the Christian name of anotherserf was appended "Korovi Kirpitch," and to that of a third "KolesoIvan." However, at length the list was compiled, and he caught a deepbreath; which latter proceeding caused him to catch also the attractiveodour of something fried in fat.

  "I beseech you to have a morsel," murmured his hostess. Chichikov lookedup, and saw that the table was spread with mushrooms, pies, and otherviands.

  "Try this freshly-made pie and an egg," continued Madame.

  Chichikov did so, and having eaten more than half of what she offeredhim, praised the pie highly. Indeed, it was a toothsome dish, and, afterhis difficulties and exertions with his hostess, it tasted even betterthan it might otherwise have done.

  "And also a few pancakes?" suggested Madame.

  For answer Chichiko
v folded three together, and, having dipped them inmelted butter, consigned the lot to his mouth, and then wiped hismouth with a napkin. Twice more was the process repeated, and thenhe requested his hostess to order the britchka to be got ready. Indispatching Fetinia with the necessary instructions, she ordered her toreturn with a second batch of hot pancakes.

  "Your pancakes are indeed splendid," said Chichikov, applying himself tothe second consignment of fried dainties when they had arrived.

  "Yes, we make them well here," replied Madame. "Yet how unfortunate itis that the harvest should have proved so poor as to have prevented mefrom earning anything on my--But why should you be in such a hurry todepart, good sir?" She broke off on seeing Chichikov reach for his cap."The britchka is not yet ready."

  "Then it is being got so, madam, it is being got so, and I shall need amoment or two to pack my things."

  "As you please, dear sir; but do not forget me in connection with thoseGovernment contracts."

  "No, I have said that NEVER shall I forget you," replied Chichikov as hehurried into the hall.

  "And would you like to buy some lard?" continued his hostess, pursuinghim.

  "Lard? Oh certainly. Why not? Only, only--I will do so ANOTHER time."

  "I shall have some ready at about Christmas."

  "Quite so, madam. THEN I will buy anything and everything--the lardincluded."

  "And perhaps you will be wanting also some feathers? I shall be havingsome for sale about St. Philip's Day."

  "Very well, very well, madam."

  "There you see!" she remarked as they stepped out on to the verandah."The britchka is NOT yet ready."

  "But it soon will be, it soon will be. Only direct me to the main road."

  "How am I to do that?" said Madame. "'Twould puzzle a wise man to do so,for in these parts there are so many turnings. However, I will send agirl to guide you. You could find room for her on the box-seat, couldyou not?"

  "Yes, of course."

  "Then I will send her. She knows the way thoroughly. Only do not carryher off for good. Already some traders have deprived me of one of mygirls."

  Chichikov reassured his hostess on the point, and Madame plucked upcourage enough to scan, first of all, the housekeeper, who happened tobe issuing from the storehouse with a bowl of honey, and, next, ayoung peasant who happened to be standing at the gates; and, while thusengaged, she became wholly absorbed in her domestic pursuits. Butwhy pay her so much attention? The Widow Korobotchka, Madame Manilov,domestic life, non-domestic life--away with them all! How strangely arethings compounded! In a trice may joy turn to sorrow, should one haltlong enough over it: in a trice only God can say what ideas may strikeone. You may fall even to thinking: "After all, did Madame Korobotchkastand so very low in the scale of human perfection? Was there reallysuch a very great gulf between her and Madame Manilov--between her andthe Madame Manilov whom we have seen entrenched behind the walls of agenteel mansion in which there were a fine staircase of wrought metaland a number of rich carpets; the Madame Manilov who spent most of hertime in yawning behind half-read books, and in hoping for a visit fromsome socially distinguished person in order that she might display herwit and carefully rehearsed thoughts--thoughts which had been de rigeurin town for a week past, yet which referred, not to what was going onin her household or on her estate--both of which properties were at oddsand ends, owing to her ignorance of the art of managing them--but tothe coming political revolution in France and the direction in whichfashionable Catholicism was supposed to be moving? But away with suchthings! Why need we speak of them? Yet how comes it that suddenly intothe midst of our careless, frivolous, unthinking moments there may enteranother, and a very different, tendency?--that the smile may not haveleft a human face before its owner will have radically changed his orher nature (though not his or her environment) with the result thatthe face will suddenly become lit with a radiance never before seenthere?...

  "Here is the britchka, here is the britchka!" exclaimed Chichikov onperceiving that vehicle slowly advancing. "Ah, you blockhead!" hewent on to Selifan. "Why have you been loitering about? I suppose lastnight's fumes have not yet left your brain?"

  To this Selifan returned no reply.

  "Good-bye, madam," added the speaker. "But where is the girl whom youpromised me?"

  "Here, Pelagea!" called the hostess to a wench of about eleven who wasdressed in home-dyed garments and could boast of a pair of bare feetwhich, from a distance, might almost have been mistaken for boots, soencrusted were they with fresh mire. "Here, Pelagea! Come and show thisgentleman the way."

  Selifan helped the girl to ascend to the box-seat. Placing one foot uponthe step by which the gentry mounted, she covered the said step withmud, and then, ascending higher, attained the desired position besidethe coachman. Chichikov followed in her wake (causing the britchka toheel over with his weight as he did so), and then settled himself backinto his place with an "All right! Good-bye, madam!" as the horses movedaway at a trot.

  Selifan looked gloomy as he drove, but also very attentive to hisbusiness. This was invariably his custom when he had committed the faultof getting drunk. Also, the horses looked unusually well-groomed. Inparticular, the collar on one of them had been neatly mended, althoughhitherto its state of dilapidation had been such as perennially to allowthe stuffing to protrude through the leather. The silence preserved waswell-nigh complete. Merely flourishing his whip, Selifan spoke to theteam no word of instruction, although the skewbald was as ready as usualto listen to conversation of a didactic nature, seeing that at suchtimes the reins hung loosely in the hands of the loquacious driver,and the whip wandered merely as a matter of form over the backs of thetroika. This time, however, there could be heard issuing from Selifan'ssullen lips only the uniformly unpleasant exclamation, "Now then, youbrutes! Get on with you, get on with you!" The bay and the Assessor toofelt put out at not hearing themselves called "my pets" or "good lads";while, in addition, the skewbald came in for some nasty cuts across hissleek and ample quarters. "What has put master out like this?" thoughtthe animal as it shook its head. "Heaven knows where he does not keepbeating me--across the back, and even where I am tenderer still. Yes, hekeeps catching the whip in my ears, and lashing me under the belly."

  "To the right, eh?" snapped Selifan to the girl beside him as he pointedto a rain-soaked road which trended away through fresh green fields.

  "No, no," she replied. "I will show you the road when the time comes."

  "Which way, then?" he asked again when they had proceeded a littlefurther.

  "This way." And she pointed to the road just mentioned.

  "Get along with you!" retorted the coachman. "That DOES go to the right.You don't know your right hand from your left."

  The weather was fine, but the ground so excessively sodden that thewheels of the britchka collected mire until they had become caked aswith a layer of felt, a circumstance which greatly increased the weightof the vehicle, and prevented it from clearing the neighbouring parishesbefore the afternoon was arrived. Also, without the girl's help thefinding of the way would have been impossible, since roads wiggled awayin every direction, like crabs released from a net, and, but for theassistance mentioned, Selifan would have found himself left to his owndevices. Presently she pointed to a building ahead, with the words,"THERE is the main road."

  "And what is the building?" asked Selifan.

  "A tavern," she said.

  "Then we can get along by ourselves," he observed. "Do you get down, andbe off home."

  With that he stopped, and helped her to alight--muttering as he did so:"Ah, you blackfooted creature!"

  Chichikov added a copper groat, and she departed well pleased with herride in the gentleman's carriage.