CHAPTER V
Certainly Chichikov was a thorough coward, for, although the britchkapursued its headlong course until Nozdrev's establishment haddisappeared behind hillocks and hedgerows, our hero continued to glancenervously behind him, as though every moment expecting to see a sternchase begin. His breath came with difficulty, and when he tried hisheart with his hands he could feel it fluttering like a quail caught ina net.
"What a sweat the fellow has thrown me into!" he thought to himself,while many a dire and forceful aspiration passed through his mind.Indeed, the expressions to which he gave vent were most inelegantin their nature. But what was to be done next? He was a Russianand thoroughly aroused. The affair had been no joke. "But for theSuperintendent," he reflected, "I might never again have looked uponGod's daylight--I might have vanished like a bubble on a pool, and leftneither trace nor posterity nor property nor an honourable name for myfuture offspring to inherit!" (it seemed that our hero was particularlyanxious with regard to his possible issue).
"What a scurvy barin!" mused Selifan as he drove along. "Never have Iseen such a barin. I should like to spit in his face. 'Tis better toallow a man nothing to eat than to refuse to feed a horse properly. Ahorse needs his oats--they are his proper fare. Even if you make a manprocure a meal at his own expense, don't deny a horse his oats, for heought always to have them."
An equally poor opinion of Nozdrev seemed to be cherished also bythe steeds, for not only were the bay and the Assessor clearly out ofspirits, but even the skewbald was wearing a dejected air. True, at homethe skewbald got none but the poorer sorts of oats to eat, and Selifannever filled his trough without having first called him a villain; butat least they WERE oats, and not hay--they were stuff which could bechewed with a certain amount of relish. Also, there was the fact thatat intervals he could intrude his long nose into his companions' troughs(especially when Selifan happened to be absent from the stable) andascertain what THEIR provender was like. But at Nozdrev's there hadbeen nothing but hay! That was not right. All three horses felt greatlydiscontented.
But presently the malcontents had their reflections cut short in a veryrude and unexpected manner. That is to say, they were brought backto practicalities by coming into violent collision with a six-horsedvehicle, while upon their heads descended both a babel of cries from theladies inside and a storm of curses and abuse from the coachman. "Ah,you damned fool!" he vociferated. "I shouted to you loud enough! Drawout, you old raven, and keep to the right! Are you drunk?" Selifanhimself felt conscious that he had been careless, but since a Russiandoes not care to admit a fault in the presence of strangers, he retortedwith dignity: "Why have you run into US? Did you leave your eyes behindyou at the last tavern that you stopped at?" With that he started toback the britchka, in the hope that it might get clear of the other'sharness; but this would not do, for the pair were too hopelesslyintertwined. Meanwhile the skewbald snuffed curiously at his newacquaintances as they stood planted on either side of him; while theladies in the vehicle regarded the scene with an expression of terror.One of them was an old woman, and the other a damsel of about sixteen. Amass of golden hair fell daintily from a small head, and the oval ofher comely face was as shapely as an egg, and white with the transparentwhiteness seen when the hands of a housewife hold a new-laid egg tothe light to let the sun's rays filter through its shell. The same tintmarked the maiden's ears where they glowed in the sunshine, and,in short, what with the tears in her wide-open, arresting eyes, shepresented so attractive a picture that our hero bestowed upon it morethan a passing glance before he turned his attention to the hubbub whichwas being raised among the horses and the coachmen.
"Back out, you rook of Nizhni Novgorod!" the strangers' coachmanshouted. Selifan tightened his reins, and the other driver did the same.The horses stepped back a little, and then came together again--thistime getting a leg or two over the traces. In fact, so pleased did theskewbald seem with his new friends that he refused to stir from themelee into which an unforeseen chance had plunged him. Laying his muzzlelovingly upon the neck of one of his recently-acquired acquaintances,he seemed to be whispering something in that acquaintance's ear--andwhispering pretty nonsense, too, to judge from the way in which thatconfidant kept shaking his ears.
At length peasants from a village which happened to be near the scene ofthe accident tackled the mess; and since a spectacle of that kind is tothe Russian muzhik what a newspaper or a club-meeting is to the German,the vehicles soon became the centre of a crowd, and the village denudedeven of its old women and children. The traces were disentangled, and afew slaps on the nose forced the skewbald to draw back a little; afterwhich the teams were straightened out and separated. Nevertheless,either sheer obstinacy or vexation at being parted from their newfriends caused the strange team absolutely to refuse to move a leg.Their driver laid the whip about them, but still they stood as thoughrooted to the spot. At length the participatory efforts of the peasantsrose to an unprecedented degree of enthusiasm, and they shouted in anintermittent chorus the advice, "Do you, Andrusha, take the head of thetrace horse on the right, while Uncle Mitai mounts the shaft horse. Getup, Uncle Mitai." Upon that the lean, long, and red-bearded Uncle Mitaimounted the shaft horse; in which position he looked like a villagesteeple or the winder which is used to raise water from wells. Thecoachman whipped up his steeds afresh, but nothing came of it, andUncle Mitai had proved useless. "Hold on, hold on!" shouted the peasantsagain. "Do you, Uncle Mitai, mount the trace horse, while Uncle Minaimounts the shaft horse." Whereupon Uncle Minai--a peasant with a pair ofbroad shoulders, a beard as black as charcoal, and a belly like thehuge samovar in which sbiten is brewed for all attending a localmarket--hastened to seat himself upon the shaft horse, which almostsank to the ground beneath his weight. "NOW they will go all right!" themuzhiks exclaimed. "Lay it on hot, lay it on hot! Give that sorrel horsethe whip, and make him squirm like a koramora [22]." Nevertheless, theaffair in no way progressed; wherefore, seeing that flogging was ofno use, Uncles Mitai and Minai BOTH mounted the sorrel, while Andrushaseated himself upon the trace horse. Then the coachman himself lostpatience, and sent the two Uncles about their business--and not beforeit was time, seeing that the horses were steaming in a way that made itclear that, unless they were first winded, they would never reach thenext posthouse. So they were given a moment's rest. That done, theymoved off of their own accord!
Throughout, Chichikov had been gazing at the young unknown withgreat attention, and had even made one or two attempts to enter intoconversation with her: but without success. Indeed, when the ladiesdeparted, it was as in a dream that he saw the girl's comely presence,the delicate features of her face, and the slender outline of her formvanish from his sight; it was as in a dream that once more he saw onlythe road, the britchka, the three horses, Selifan, and the bare, emptyfields. Everywhere in life--yes, even in the plainest, the dingiestranks of society, as much as in those which are uniformly bright andpresentable--a man may happen upon some phenomenon which is so entirelydifferent from those which have hitherto fallen to his lot. Everywherethrough the web of sorrow of which our lives are woven there maysuddenly break a clear, radiant thread of joy; even as suddenly alongthe street of some poor, poverty-stricken village which, ordinarily,sees nought but a farm waggon there may came bowling a gorgeous coachwith plated harness, picturesque horses, and a glitter of glass, so thatthe peasants stand gaping, and do not resume their caps until long afterthe strange equipage has become lost to sight. Thus the golden-hairedmaiden makes a sudden, unexpected appearance in our story, and assuddenly, as unexpectedly, disappears. Indeed, had it not been that theperson concerned was Chichikov, and not some youth of twenty summers--ahussar or a student or, in general, a man standing on the thresholdof life--what thoughts would not have sprung to birth, and stirred andspoken, within him; for what a length of time would he not have stoodentranced as he stared into the distance and forgot alike his journey,the business still to be done, the possibility of incurring loss throughlingering
--himself, his vocation, the world, and everything else thatthe world contains!
But in the present case the hero was a man of middle-age, and ofcautious and frigid temperament. True, he pondered over the incident,but in more deliberate fashion than a younger man would have done. Thatis to say, his reflections were not so irresponsible and unsteady. "Shewas a comely damsel," he said to himself as he opened his snuff-box andtook a pinch. "But the important point is: Is she also a NICE DAMSEL?One thing she has in her favour--and that is that she appears only justto have left school, and not to have had time to become womanly in theworser sense. At present, therefore, she is like a child. Everything inher is simple, and she says just what she thinks, and laughs merely whenshe feels inclined. Such a damsel might be made into anything--or shemight be turned into worthless rubbish. The latter, I surmise, fortrudging after her she will have a fond mother and a bevy of aunts,and so forth--persons who, within a year, will have filled her withwomanishness to the point where her own father wouldn't know her. Andto that there will be added pride and affectation, and she will beginto observe established rules, and to rack her brains as to how, and howmuch, she ought to talk, and to whom, and where, and so forth. Everymoment will see her growing timorous and confused lest she be saying toomuch. Finally, she will develop into a confirmed prevaricator, and endby marrying the devil knows whom!" Chichikov paused awhile. Then he wenton: "Yet I should like to know who she is, and who her father is, andwhether he is a rich landowner of good standing, or merely a respectableman who has acquired a fortune in the service of the Government.Should he allow her, on marriage, a dowry of, say, two hundred thousandroubles, she will be a very nice catch indeed. She might even, so tospeak, make a man of good breeding happy."
Indeed, so attractively did the idea of the two hundred thousandroubles begin to dance before his imagination that he felt a twinge ofself-reproach because, during the hubbub, he had not inquired of thepostillion or the coachman who the travellers might be. But soon thesight of Sobakevitch's country house dissipated his thoughts, and forcedhim to return to his stock subject of reflection.
Sobakevitch's country house and estate were of very fair size, and oneach side of the mansion were expanses of birch and pine forest in twoshades of green. The wooden edifice itself had dark-grey walls and ared-gabled roof, for it was a mansion of the kind which Russia buildsfor her military settlers and for German colonists. A noticeablecircumstance was the fact that the taste of the architect had differedfrom that of the proprietor--the former having manifestly been a pedantand desirous of symmetry, and the latter having wished only for comfort.Consequently he (the proprietor) had dispensed with all windows on oneside of the mansion, and had caused to be inserted, in their place, onlya small aperture which, doubtless, was intended to light an otherwisedark lumber-room. Likewise, the architect's best efforts had failed tocause the pediment to stand in the centre of the building, since theproprietor had had one of its four original columns removed. Evidentlydurability had been considered throughout, for the courtyard wasenclosed by a strong and very high wooden fence, and both the stables,the coach-house, and the culinary premises were partially constructed ofbeams warranted to last for centuries. Nay, even the wooden huts of thepeasantry were wonderful in the solidity of their construction, andnot a clay wall or a carved pattern or other device was to be seen.Everything fitted exactly into its right place, and even the draw-wellof the mansion was fashioned of the oakwood usually thought suitableonly for mills or ships. In short, wherever Chichikov's eye turned hesaw nothing that was not free from shoddy make and well and skilfullyarranged. As he approached the entrance steps he caught sight of twofaces peering from a window. One of them was that of a woman in a mobcapwith features as long and as narrow as a cucumber, and the other thatof a man with features as broad and as short as the Moldavian pumpkins(known as gorlianki) whereof balallaiki--the species of light,two-stringed instrument which constitutes the pride and the joy ofthe gay young fellow of twenty as he sits winking and smiling at thewhite-necked, white-bosomed maidens who have gathered to listen to hislow-pitched tinkling--are fashioned. This scrutiny made, both faceswithdrew, and there came out on to the entrance steps a lacquey cladin a grey jacket and a stiff blue collar. This functionary conductedChichikov into the hall, where he was met by the master of the househimself, who requested his guest to enter, and then led him into theinner part of the mansion.
A covert glance at Sobakevitch showed our hero that his host exactlyresembled a moderate-sized bear. To complete the resemblance,Sobakevitch's long frockcoat and baggy trousers were of the precisecolour of a bear's hide, while, when shuffling across the floor, he madea criss-cross motion of the legs, and had, in addition, a constant habitof treading upon his companion's toes. As for his face, it was of thewarm, ardent tint of a piatok [23]. Persons of this kind--personsto whose designing nature has devoted not much thought, and in thefashioning of whose frames she has used no instruments so delicate as afile or a gimlet and so forth--are not uncommon. Such persons she merelyroughhews. One cut with a hatchet, and there results a nose; anothersuch cut with a hatchet, and there materialises a pair of lips; twothrusts with a drill, and there issues a pair of eyes. Lastly, scorningto plane down the roughness, she sends out that person into the world,saying: "There is another live creature." Sobakevitch was just such aragged, curiously put together figure--though the above model would seemto have been followed more in his upper portion than in his lower. Oneresult was that he seldom turned his head to look at the person withwhom he was speaking, but, rather, directed his eyes towards, say, thestove corner or the doorway. As host and guest crossed the dining-roomChichikov directed a second glance at his companion. "He is a bear, andnothing but a bear," he thought to himself. And, indeed, the strangecomparison was inevitable. Incidentally, Sobakevitch's Christian nameand patronymic were Michael Semenovitch. Of his habit of treading uponother people's toes Chichikov had become fully aware; wherefore hestepped cautiously, and, throughout, allowed his host to take thelead. As a matter of fact, Sobakevitch himself seemed conscious of hisfailing, for at intervals he would inquire: "I hope I have not hurtyou?" and Chichikov, with a word of thanks, would reply that as yet hehad sustained no injury.
At length they reached the drawing-room, where Sobakevitch pointed toan armchair, and invited his guest to be seated. Chichikov gazed withinterest at the walls and the pictures. In every such picture there wereportrayed either young men or Greek generals of the type of Movrogordato(clad in a red uniform and breaches), Kanaris, and others; and all theseheroes were depicted with a solidity of thigh and a wealth of moustachewhich made the beholder simply shudder with awe. Among them there wereplaced also, according to some unknown system, and for some unknownreason, firstly, Bagration [24]--tall and thin, and with a cluster ofsmall flags and cannon beneath him, and the whole set in the narrowestof frames--and, secondly, the Greek heroine, Bobelina, whose legs lookedlarger than do the whole bodies of the drawing-room dandies of thepresent day. Apparently the master of the house was himself a man ofhealth and strength, and therefore liked to have his apartments adornedwith none but folk of equal vigour and robustness. Lastly, in thewindow, and suspended cheek by jowl with Bobelina, there hung a cagewhence at intervals there peered forth a white-spotted blackbird.Like everything else in the apartment, it bore a strong resemblance toSobakevitch. When host and guest had been conversing for two minutes orso the door opened, and there entered the hostess--a tall lady in a capadorned with ribands of domestic colouring and manufacture. She entereddeliberately, and held her head as erect as a palm.
"This is my wife, Theodulia Ivanovna," said Sobakevitch.
Chichikov approached and took her hand. The fact that she raised itnearly to the level of his lips apprised him of the circumstance that ithad just been rinsed in cucumber oil.
"My dear, allow me to introduce Paul Ivanovitch Chichikov," addedSobakevitch. "He has the honour of being acquainted both with ourGovernor and with our Postmaster."
Upon this Th
eodulia Ivanovna requested her guest to be seated, andaccompanied the invitation with the kind of bow usually employed only byactresses who are playing the role of queens. Next, she took a seat uponthe sofa, drew around her her merino gown, and sat thereafter withoutmoving an eyelid or an eyebrow. As for Chichikov, he glanced upwards,and once more caught sight of Kanaris with his fat thighs andinterminable moustache, and of Bobelina and the blackbird. For fullyfive minutes all present preserved a complete silence--the only soundaudible being that of the blackbird's beak against the wooden floor ofthe cage as the creature fished for grains of corn. Meanwhile Chichikovagain surveyed the room, and saw that everything in it was massive andclumsy in the highest degree; as also that everything was curiously inkeeping with the master of the house. For example, in one corner of theapartment there stood a hazelwood bureau with a bulging body on fourgrotesque legs--the perfect image of a bear. Also, the tables and thechairs were of the same ponderous, unrestful order, and every singlearticle in the room appeared to be saying either, "I, too, am aSobakevitch," or "I am exactly like Sobakevitch."
"I heard speak of you one day when I was visiting the President of theCouncil," said Chichikov, on perceiving that no one else had a mind tobegin a conversation. "That was on Thursday last. We had a very pleasantevening."
"Yes, on that occasion I was not there," replied Sobakevitch.
"What a nice man he is!"
"Who is?" inquired Sobakevitch, gazing into the corner by the stove.
"The President of the Local Council."
"Did he seem so to you? True, he is a mason, but he is also the greatestfool that the world ever saw."
Chichikov started a little at this mordant criticism, but soon pulledhimself together again, and continued:
"Of course, every man has his weakness. Yet the President seems to be anexcellent fellow."
"And do you think the same of the Governor?"
"Yes. Why not?"
"Because there exists no greater rogue than he."
"What? The Governor a rogue?" ejaculated Chichikov, at a loss tounderstand how the official in question could come to be numbered withthieves. "Let me say that I should never have guessed it. Permit mealso to remark that his conduct would hardly seem to bear out youropinion--he seems so gentle a man." And in proof of this Chichikovcited the purses which the Governor knitted, and also expatiated on themildness of his features.
"He has the face of a robber," said Sobakevitch. "Were you to give him aknife, and to turn him loose on a turnpike, he would cut your throat fortwo kopecks. And the same with the Vice-Governor. The pair are just Gogand Magog."
"Evidently he is not on good terms with them," thought Chichikov tohimself. "I had better pass to the Chief of Police, which whom he DOESseem to be friendly." Accordingly he added aloud: "For my own part, Ishould give the preference to the Head of the Gendarmery. What a frank,outspoken nature he has! And what an element of simplicity does hisexpression contain!"
"He is mean to the core," remarked Sobakevitch coldly. "He will sell youand cheat you, and then dine at your table. Yes, I know them all, andevery one of them is a swindler, and the town a nest of rascals engagedin robbing one another. Not a man of the lot is there but would sellChrist. Yet stay: ONE decent fellow there is--the Public Prosecutor;though even HE, if the truth be told, is little better than a pig."
After these eulogia Chichikov saw that it would be useless to continuerunning through the list of officials--more especially since suddenly hehad remembered that Sobakevitch was not at any time given to commendinghis fellow man.
"Let us go to luncheon, my dear," put in Theodulia Ivanovna to herspouse.
"Yes; pray come to table," said Sobakevitch to his guest; whereupon theyconsumed the customary glass of vodka (accompanied by sundry snacks ofsalted cucumber and other dainties) with which Russians, both in townand country, preface a meal. Then they filed into the dining-room in thewake of the hostess, who sailed on ahead like a goose swimming across apond. The small dining-table was found to be laid for four persons--thefourth place being occupied by a lady or a young girl (it would havebeen difficult to say which exactly) who might have been either arelative, the housekeeper, or a casual visitor. Certain persons in theworld exist, not as personalities in themselves, but as spots or speckson the personalities of others. Always they are to be seen sitting inthe same place, and holding their heads at exactly the same angle, sothat one comes within an ace of mistaking them for furniture, and thinksto oneself that never since the day of their birth can they have spokena single word.
"My dear," said Sobakevitch, "the cabbage soup is excellent." With thathe finished his portion, and helped himself to a generous measure ofniania [25]--the dish which follows shtchi and consists of a sheep'sstomach stuffed with black porridge, brains, and other things. "Whatniania this is!" he added to Chichikov. "Never would you get such stuffin a town, where one is given the devil knows what."
"Nevertheless the Governor keeps a fair table," said Chichikov.
"Yes, but do you know what all the stuff is MADE OF?" retortedSobakevitch. "If you DID know you would never touch it."
"Of course I am not in a position to say how it is prepared, but atleast the pork cutlets and the boiled fish seemed excellent."
"Ah, it might have been thought so; yet I know the way in which suchthings are bought in the market-place. They are bought by some rascal ofa cook whom a Frenchman has taught how to skin a tomcat and then serveit up as hare."
"Ugh! What horrible things you say!" put in Madame.
"Well, my dear, that is how things are done, and it is no fault of minethat it is so. Moreover, everything that is left over--everything thatWE (pardon me for mentioning it) cast into the slop-pail--is used bysuch folk for making soup."
"Always at table you begin talking like this!" objected his helpmeet.
"And why not?" said Sobakevitch. "I tell you straight that I would noteat such nastiness, even had I made it myself. Sugar a frog as muchas you like, but never shall it pass MY lips. Nor would I swallow anoyster, for I know only too well what an oyster may resemble. Buthave some mutton, friend Chichikov. It is shoulder of mutton, andvery different stuff from the mutton which they cook in noblekitchens--mutton which has been kicking about the market-place four daysor more. All that sort of cookery has been invented by French and Germandoctors, and I should like to hang them for having done so. They go andprescribe diets and a hunger cure as though what suits their flaccidGerman systems will agree with a Russian stomach! Such devices are nogood at all." Sobakevitch shook his head wrathfully. "Fellows likethose are for ever talking of civilisation. As if THAT sort of thing wascivilisation! Phew!" (Perhaps the speaker's concluding exclamation wouldhave been even stronger had he not been seated at table.) "For myself, Iwill have none of it. When I eat pork at a meal, give me the WHOLE pig;when mutton, the WHOLE sheep; when goose, the WHOLE of the bird. Twodishes are better than a thousand, provided that one can eat of them asmuch as one wants."
And he proceeded to put precept into practice by taking half theshoulder of mutton on to his plate, and then devouring it down to thelast morsel of gristle and bone.
"My word!" reflected Chichikov. "The fellow has a pretty good holdingcapacity!"
"None of it for me," repeated Sobakevitch as he wiped his hands on hisnapkin. "I don't intend to be like a fellow named Plushkin, who ownseight hundred souls, yet dines worse than does my shepherd."
"Who is Plushkin?" asked Chichikov.
"A miser," replied Sobakevitch. "Such a miser as never you couldimagine. Even convicts in prison live better than he does. And hestarves his servants as well."
"Really?" ejaculated Chichikov, greatly interested. "Should you, then,say that he has lost many peasants by death?"
"Certainly. They keep dying like flies."
"Then how far from here does he reside?"
"About five versts."
"Only five versts?" exclaimed Chichikov, feeling his heart beatingjoyously. "Ought one, when leaving your gates,
to turn to the right orto the left?"
"I should be sorry to tell you the way to the house of such a cur," saidSobakevitch. "A man had far better go to hell than to Plushkin's."
"Quite so," responded Chichikov. "My only reason for asking you isthat it interests me to become acquainted with any and every sort oflocality."
To the shoulder of mutton there succeeded, in turn, cutlets (each onelarger than a plate), a turkey of about the size of a calf, eggs, rice,pastry, and every conceivable thing which could possibly be put into astomach. There the meal ended. When he rose from table Chichikov felt asthough a pood's weight were inside him. In the drawing-room the companyfound dessert awaiting them in the shape of pears, plums, and apples;but since neither host nor guest could tackle these particular daintiesthe hostess removed them to another room. Taking advantage of herabsence, Chichikov turned to Sobakevitch (who, prone in an armchair,seemed, after his ponderous meal, to be capable of doing littlebeyond belching and grunting--each such grunt or belch necessitating asubsequent signing of the cross over the mouth), and intimated to hima desire to have a little private conversation concerning a certainmatter. At this moment the hostess returned.
"Here is more dessert," she said. "Pray have a few radishes stewed inhoney."
"Later, later," replied Sobakevitch. "Do you go to your room, and PaulIvanovitch and I will take off our coats and have a nap."
Upon this the good lady expressed her readiness to send for feather bedsand cushions, but her husband expressed a preference for slumbering inan armchair, and she therefore departed. When she had gone Sobakevitchinclined his head in an attitude of willingness to listen to Chichikov'sbusiness. Our hero began in a sort of detached manner--touching lightlyupon the subject of the Russian Empire, and expatiating upon theimmensity of the same, and saying that even the Empire of Ancient Romehad been of considerably smaller dimensions. Meanwhile Sobakevitch satwith his head drooping.
From that Chichikov went on to remark that, according to the statutes ofthe said Russian Empire (which yielded to none in glory--so much so thatforeigners marvelled at it), peasants on the census lists who had endedtheir earthly careers were nevertheless, on the rendering of new lists,returned equally with the living, to the end that the courts might berelieved of a multitude of trifling, useless emendations which mightcomplicate the already sufficiently complex mechanism of the State.Nevertheless, said Chichikov, the general equity of this measure didnot obviate a certain amount of annoyance to landowners, since it forcedthem to pay upon a non-living article the tax due upon a living. Hence(our hero concluded) he (Chichikov) was prepared, owing to the personalrespect which he felt for Sobakevitch, to relieve him, in part, ofthe irksome obligation referred to (in passing, it may be said thatChichikov referred to his principal point only guardedly, for he calledthe souls which he was seeking not "dead," but "non-existent").
Meanwhile Sobakevitch listened with bent head; though something like atrace of expression dawned in his face as he did so. Ordinarily hisbody lacked a soul--or, if he did possess a soul, he seemed to keep itelsewhere than where it ought to have been; so that, buried beneathmountains (as it were) or enclosed within a massive shell, its movementsproduced no sort of agitation on the surface.
"Well?" said Chichikov--though not without a certain tremor ofdiffidence as to the possible response.
"You are after dead souls?" were Sobakevitch's perfectly simple words.He spoke without the least surprise in his tone, and much as though theconversation had been turning on grain.
"Yes," replied Chichikov, and then, as before, softened down theexpression "dead souls."
"They are to be found," said Sobakevitch. "Why should they not be?"
"Then of course you will be glad to get rid of any that you may chanceto have?"
"Yes, I shall have no objection to SELLING them." At this point thespeaker raised his head a little, for it had struck him that surely thewould-be buyer must have some advantage in view.
"The devil!" thought Chichikov to himself. "Here is he selling the goodsbefore I have even had time to utter a word!"
"And what about the price?" he added aloud. "Of course, the articles arenot of a kind very easy to appraise."
"I should be sorry to ask too much," said Sobakevitch. "How would ahundred roubles per head suit you?"
"What, a hundred roubles per head?" Chichikov stared open-mouthed athis host--doubting whether he had heard aright, or whether his host'sslow-moving tongue might not have inadvertently substituted one word foranother.
"Yes. Is that too much for you?" said Sobakevitch. Then he added: "Whatis your own price?"
"My own price? I think that we cannot properly have understood oneanother--that you must have forgotten of what the goods consist. Withmy hand on my heart do I submit that eight grivni per soul would be ahandsome, a VERY handsome, offer."
"What? Eight grivni?"
"In my opinion, a higher offer would be impossible."
"But I am not a seller of boots."
"No; yet you, for your part, will agree that these souls are not livehuman beings?"
"I suppose you hope to find fools ready to sell you souls on the censuslist for a couple of groats apiece?"
"Pardon me, but why do you use the term 'on the census list'? The soulsthemselves have long since passed away, and have left behind them onlytheir names. Not to trouble you with any further discussion of thesubject, I can offer you a rouble and a half per head, but no more."
"You should be ashamed even to mention such a sum! Since you deal inarticles of this kind, quote me a genuine price."
"I cannot, Michael Semenovitch. Believe me, I cannot. What a mancannot do, that he cannot do." The speaker ended by advancing anotherhalf-rouble per head.
"But why hang back with your money?" said Sobakevitch. "Of a truth I amnot asking much of you. Any other rascal than myself would have cheatedyou by selling you old rubbish instead of good, genuine souls, whereasI should be ready to give you of my best, even were you buying onlynut-kernels. For instance, look at wheelwright Michiev. Never was theresuch a one to build spring carts! And his handiwork was not like yourMoscow handiwork--good only for an hour. No, he did it all himself, evendown to the varnishing."
Chichikov opened his mouth to remark that, nevertheless, the saidMichiev had long since departed this world; but Sobakevitch's eloquencehad got too thoroughly into its stride to admit of any interruption.
"And look, too, at Probka Stepan, the carpenter," his host went on. "Iwill wager my head that nowhere else would you find such a workman. Whata strong fellow he was! He had served in the Guards, and the Lord onlyknows what they had given for him, seeing that he was over three arshinsin height."
Again Chichikov tried to remark that Probka was dead, but Sobakevitch'stongue was borne on the torrent of its own verbiage, and the only thingto be done was to listen.
"And Milushkin, the bricklayer! He could build a stove in any house youliked! And Maksim Teliatnikov, the bootmaker! Anything that he drovehis awl into became a pair of boots--and boots for which you wouldbe thankful, although he WAS a bit foul of the mouth. And EremiSorokoplechin, too! He was the best of the lot, and used to work athis trade in Moscow, where he paid a tax of five hundred roubles. Well,THERE'S an assortment of serfs for you!--a very different assortmentfrom what Plushkin would sell you!"
"But permit me," at length put in Chichikov, astounded at this flood ofeloquence to which there appeared to be no end. "Permit me, I say, toinquire why you enumerate the talents of the deceased, seeing that theyare all of them dead, and that therefore there can be no sense in doingso. 'A dead body is only good to prop a fence with,' says the proverb."
"Of course they are dead," replied Sobakevitch, but rather as though theidea had only just occurred to him, and was giving him food for thought."But tell me, now: what is the use of listing them as still alive? Andwhat is the use of them themselves? They are flies, not human beings."
"Well," said Chichikov, "they exist, though only in idea."
"Nevertheless, I CANNOT give you more than two roubles per head," saidChichikov.
"Well, as I don't want you to swear that I have asked too much of youand won't meet you halfway, suppose, for friendship's sake, that you payme seventy-five roubles in assignats?"
"Good heavens!" thought Chichikov to himself. "Does the man take me fora fool?" Then he added aloud: "The situation seems to me a strangeone, for it is as though we were performing a stage comedy. No otherexplanation would meet the case. Yet you appear to be a man of sense,and possessed of some education. The matter is a very simple one. Thequestion is: what is a dead soul worth, and is it of any use to anyone?"
"It is of use to YOU, or you would not be buying such articles."
Chichikov bit his lip, and stood at a loss for a retort. He triedto saying something about "family and domestic circumstances," butSobakevitch cut him short with:
"I don't want to know your private affairs, for I never poke my noseinto such things. You need the souls, and I am ready to sell them.Should you not buy them, I think you will repent it."
"Two roubles is my price," repeated Chichikov.
"Come, come! As you have named that sum, I can understand your notliking to go back upon it; but quote me a bona fide figure."
"The devil fly away with him!" mused Chichikov. "However, I will addanother half-rouble." And he did so.
"Indeed!" said Sobakevitch. "Well, my last word upon it is--fiftyroubles in assignats. That will mean a sheer loss to me, for nowhereelse in the world could you buy better souls than mine."
"The old skinflint!" muttered Chichikov. Then he added aloud, withirritation in his tone: "See here. This is a serious matter. Any one butyou would be thankful to get rid of the souls. Only a fool would stickto them, and continue to pay the tax."
"Yes, but remember (and I say it wholly in a friendly way) thattransactions of this kind are not generally allowed, and that any onewould say that a man who engages in them must have some rather doubtfuladvantage in view."
"Have it your own away," said Chichikov, with assumed indifference. "Asa matter of fact, I am not purchasing for profit, as you suppose, but tohumour a certain whim of mine. Two and a half roubles is the most that Ican offer."
"Bless your heart!" retorted the host. "At least give me thirty roublesin assignats, and take the lot."
"No, for I see that you are unwilling to sell. I must say good-day toyou."
"Hold on, hold on!" exclaimed Sobakevitch, retaining his guest's hand,and at the same moment treading heavily upon his toes--so heavily,indeed, that Chichikov gasped and danced with the pain.
"I BEG your pardon!" said Sobakevitch hastily. "Evidently I have hurtyou. Pray sit down again."
"No," retorted Chichikov. "I am merely wasting my time, and must beoff."
"Oh, sit down just for a moment. I have something more agreeable tosay." And, drawing closer to his guest, Sobakevitch whispered in hisear, as though communicating to him a secret: "How about twenty-fiveroubles?"
"No, no, no!" exclaimed Chichikov. "I won't give you even a QUARTER ofthat. I won't advance another kopeck."
For a while Sobakevitch remained silent, and Chichikov did the same.This lasted for a couple of minutes, and, meanwhile, the aquiline-nosedBagration gazed from the wall as though much interested in thebargaining.
"What is your outside price?" at length said Sobakevitch.
"Two and a half roubles."
"Then you seem to rate a human soul at about the same value as a boiledturnip. At least give me THREE roubles."
"No, I cannot."
"Pardon me, but you are an impossible man to deal with. However, eventhough it will mean a dead loss to me, and you have not shown a verynice spirit about it, I cannot well refuse to please a friend. I supposea purchase deed had better be made out in order to have everything inorder?"
"Of course."
"Then for that purpose let us repair to the town."
The affair ended in their deciding to do this on the morrow, and toarrange for the signing of a deed of purchase. Next, Chichikov requesteda list of the peasants; to which Sobakevitch readily agreed. Indeed, hewent to his writing-desk then and there, and started to indite alist which gave not only the peasants' names, but also their latequalifications.
Meanwhile Chichikov, having nothing else to do, stood looking at thespacious form of his host; and as he gazed at his back as broad as thatof a cart horse, and at the legs as massive as the iron standards whichadorn a street, he could not help inwardly ejaculating:
"Truly God has endowed you with much! Though not adjusted with nicety,at least you are strongly built. I wonder whether you were born abear or whether you have come to it through your rustic life, with itstilling of crops and its trading with peasants? Yet no; I believe that,even if you had received a fashionable education, and had mixed withsociety, and had lived in St. Petersburg, you would still have been justthe kulak [26] that you are. The only difference is that circumstances,as they stand, permit of your polishing off a stuffed shoulder of muttonat a meal; whereas in St. Petersburg you would have been unable todo so. Also, as circumstances stand, you have under you a numberof peasants, whom you treat well for the reason that they are yourproperty; whereas, otherwise, you would have had under you tchinovniks[27]: whom you would have bullied because they were NOT your property.Also, you would have robbed the Treasury, since a kulak always remains amoney-grubber."
"The list is ready," said Sobakevitch, turning round.
"Indeed! Then please let me look at it." Chichikov ran his eye over thedocument, and could not but marvel at its neatness and accuracy. Notonly were there set forth in it the trade, the age, and the pedigreeof every serf, but on the margin of the sheet were jotted remarksconcerning each serf's conduct and sobriety. Truly it was a pleasure tolook at it.
"And do you mind handing me the earnest money?" said Sobakevitch.
"Yes, I do. Why need that be done? You can receive the money in a lumpsum as soon as we visit the town."
"But it is always the custom, you know," asserted Sobakevitch.
"Then I cannot follow it, for I have no money with me. However, here areten roubles."
"Ten roubles, indeed? You might as well hand me fifty while you areabout it."
Once more Chichikov started to deny that he had any money upon him, butSobakevitch insisted so strongly that this was not so that at lengththe guest pulled out another fifteen roubles, and added them to the tenalready produced.
"Kindly give me a receipt for the money," he added.
"A receipt? Why should I give you a receipt?"
"Because it is better to do so, in order to guard against mistakes."
"Very well; but first hand me over the money."
"The money? I have it here. Do you write out the receipt, and then themoney shall be yours."
"Pardon me, but how am I to write out the receipt before I have seen thecash?"
Chichikov placed the notes in Sobakevitch's hand; whereupon the hostmoved nearer to the table, and added to the list of serfs a note thathe had received for the peasants, therewith sold, the sum of twenty-fiveroubles, as earnest money. This done, he counted the notes once more.
"This is a very OLD note," he remarked, holding one up to the light."Also, it is a trifle torn. However, in a friendly transaction one mustnot be too particular."
"What a kulak!" thought Chichikov to himself. "And what a brute beast!"
"Then you do not want any WOMEN souls?" quer
ied Sobakevitch.
"I thank you, no."
"I could let you have some cheap--say, as between friends, at a rouble ahead?"
"No, I should have no use for them."
"Then, that being so, there is no more to be said. There is noaccounting for tastes. 'One man loves the priest, and another thepriest's wife,' says the proverb."
Chichikov rose to take his leave. "Once more I would request of you," hesaid, "that the bargain be left as it is."
"Of course, of course. What is done between friends holds good becauseof their mutual friendship. Good-bye, and thank you for your visit. Inadvance I would beg that, whenever you should have an hour or two tospare, you will come and lunch with us again. Perhaps we might be ableto do one another further service?"
"Not if I know it!" reflected Chichikov as he mounted his britchka. "NotI, seeing that I have had two and a half roubles per soul squeezed outof me by a brute of a kulak!"
Altogether he felt dissatisfied with Sobakevitch's behaviour. In spiteof the man being a friend of the Governor and the Chief of Police,he had acted like an outsider in taking money for what was worthlessrubbish. As the britchka left the courtyard Chichikov glanced backand saw Sobakevitch still standing on the verandah--apparently for thepurpose of watching to see which way the guest's carriage would turn.
"The old villain, to be still standing there!" muttered Chichikovthrough his teeth; after which he ordered Selifan to proceed so that thevehicle's progress should be invisible from the mansion--the truthbeing that he had a mind next to visit Plushkin (whose serfs, to quoteSobakevitch, had a habit of dying like flies), but not to let his latehost learn of his intention. Accordingly, on reaching the further end ofthe village, he hailed the first peasant whom he saw--a man who was inthe act of hoisting a ponderous beam on to his shoulder before settingoff with it, ant-like, to his hut.
"Hi!" shouted Chichikov. "How can I reach landowner Plushkin's placewithout first going past the mansion here?"
The peasant seemed nonplussed by the question.
"Don't you know?" queried Chichikov.
"No, barin," replied the peasant.
"What? You don't know skinflint Plushkin who feeds his people so badly?"
"Of course I do!" exclaimed the fellow, and added thereto anuncomplimentary expression of a species not ordinarily employed inpolite society. We may guess that it was a pretty apt expression, sincelong after the man had become lost to view Chichikov was still laughingin his britchka. And, indeed, the language of the Russian populace isalways forcible in its phraseology.
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