Dead Souls (24 page)

This gave Ivan Antonovitch to understand that the visitor was a man of
strong character—a man from whom nothing more was to be expected.

"Why have you gone and purchased souls from Plushkin?" whispered
Sobakevitch in Chichikov's other ear.

"Why did YOU go and add the woman Vorobei to your list?" retorted Chichikov.

"Vorobei? Who is Vorobei?"

"The woman 'Elizabet' Vorobei—'Elizabet,' not 'Elizabeta?'"

"I added no such name," replied Sobakevitch, and straightway joined
the other guests.

At length the party arrived at the residence of the Chief of Police.
The latter proved indeed a man of spells, for no sooner had he learnt
what was afoot than he summoned a brisk young constable, whispered in
his ear, adding laconically, "You understand, do you not?" and brought
it about that, during the time that the guests were cutting for
partners at whist in an adjoining room, the dining-table became laden
with sturgeon, caviare, salmon, herrings, cheese, smoked tongue, fresh
roe, and a potted variety of the same—all procured from the local
fish market, and reinforced with additions from the host's own
kitchen. The fact was that the worthy Chief of Police filled the
office of a sort of father and general benefactor to the town, and
that he moved among the citizens as though they constituted part and
parcel of his own family, and watched over their shops and markets as
though those establishments were merely his own private larder.
Indeed, it would be difficult to say—so thoroughly did he perform his
duties in this respect—whether the post most fitted him, or he the
post. Matters were also so arranged that though his income more than
doubled that of his predecessors, he had never lost the affection of
his fellow townsmen. In particular did the tradesmen love him, since
he was never above standing godfather to their children or dining at
their tables. True, he had differences of opinion with them, and
serious differences at that; but always these were skilfully adjusted
by his slapping the offended ones jovially on the shoulder, drinking a
glass of tea with them, promising to call at their houses and play a
game of chess, asking after their belongings, and, should he learn
that a child of theirs was ill, prescribing the proper medicine. In
short, he bore the reputation of being a very good fellow.

On perceiving the feast to be ready, the host proposed that his guests
should finish their whist after luncheon; whereupon all proceeded to
the room whence for some time past an agreeable odour had been
tickling the nostrils of those present, and towards the door of which
Sobakevitch in particular had been glancing since the moment when he
had caught sight of a huge sturgeon reposing on the sideboard. After a
glassful of warm, olive-coloured vodka apiece—vodka of the tint to be
seen only in the species of Siberian stone whereof seals are cut—the
company applied themselves to knife-and-fork work, and, in so doing,
evinced their several characteristics and tastes. For instance,
Sobakevitch, disdaining lesser trifles, tackled the large sturgeon,
and, during the time that his fellow guests were eating minor
comestibles, and drinking and talking, contrived to consume more than
a quarter of the whole fish; so that, on the host remembering the
creature, and, with fork in hand, leading the way in its direction and
saying, "What, gentlemen, think you of this striking product of
nature?" there ensued the discovery that of the said product of nature
there remained little beyond the tail, while Sobakevitch, with an air
as though at least HE had not eaten it, was engaged in plunging his
fork into a much more diminutive piece of fish which happened to be
resting on an adjacent platter. After his divorce from the sturgeon,
Sobakevitch ate and drank no more, but sat frowning and blinking in an
armchair.

Apparently the host was not a man who believed in sparing the wine,
for the toasts drunk were innumerable. The first toast (as the reader
may guess) was quaffed to the health of the new landowner of Kherson;
the second to the prosperity of his peasants and their safe
transferment; and the third to the beauty of his future wife—a
compliment which brought to our hero's lips a flickering smile.
Lastly, he received from the company a pressing, as well as an
unanimous, invitation to extend his stay in town for at least another
fortnight, and, in the meanwhile, to allow a wife to be found for him.

"Quite so," agreed the President. "Fight us tooth and nail though you
may, we intend to have you married. You have happened upon us by
chance, and you shall have no reason to repent of it. We are in
earnest on this subject."

"But why should I fight you tooth and nail?" said Chichikov, smiling.
"Marriage would not come amiss to me, were I but provided with a
betrothed."

"Then a betrothed you shall have. Why not? We will do as you wish."

"Very well," assented Chichikov.

"Bravo, bravo!" the company shouted. "Long live Paul Ivanovitch!
Hurrah! Hurrah!" And with that every one approached to clink glasses
with him, and he readily accepted the compliment, and accepted it many
times in succession. Indeed, as the hours passed on, the hilarity of
the company increased yet further, and more than once the President (a
man of great urbanity when thoroughly in his cups) embraced the chief
guest of the day with the heartfelt words, "My dearest fellow! My own
most precious of friends!" Nay, he even started to crack his fingers,
to dance around Chichikov's chair, and to sing snatches of a popular
song. To the champagne succeeded Hungarian wine, which had the effect
of still further heartening and enlivening the company. By this time
every one had forgotten about whist, and given himself up to shouting
and disputing. Every conceivable subject was discussed, including
politics and military affairs; and in this connection guests voiced
jejune opinions for the expression of which they would, at any other
time, have soundly spanked their offspring. Chichikov, like the rest,
had never before felt so gay, and, imagining himself really and truly
to be a landowner of Kherson, spoke of various improvements in
agriculture, of the three-field system of tillage
^[33]
, and of the
beatific felicity of a union between two kindred souls. Also, he
started to recite poetry to Sobakevitch, who blinked as he listened,
for he greatly desired to go to sleep. At length the guest of the
evening realised that matters had gone far enough, so begged to be
given a lift home, and was accommodated with the Public Prosecutor's
drozhki. Luckily the driver of the vehicle was a practised man at his
work, for, while driving with one hand, he succeeded in leaning
backwards and, with the other, holding Chichikov securely in his
place. Arrived at the inn, our hero continued babbling awhile about a
flaxen-haired damsel with rosy lips and a dimple in her right cheek,
about villages of his in Kherson, and about the amount of his capital.
Nay, he even issued seignorial instructions that Selifan should go and
muster the peasants about to be transferred, and make a complete and
detailed inventory of them. For a while Selifan listened in silence;
then he left the room, and instructed Petrushka to help the barin to
undress. As it happened, Chichikov's boots had no sooner been removed
than he managed to perform the rest of his toilet without assistance,
to roll on to the bed (which creaked terribly as he did so), and to
sink into a sleep in every way worthy of a landowner of Kherson.
Meanwhile Petrushka had taken his master's coat and trousers of
bilberry-coloured check into the corridor; where, spreading them over
a clothes' horse, he started to flick and to brush them, and to fill
the whole corridor with dust. Just as he was about to replace them in
his master's room he happened to glance over the railing of the
gallery, and saw Selifan returning from the stable. Glances were
exchanged, and in an instant the pair had arrived at an instinctive
understanding—an understanding to the effect that the barin was sound
asleep, and that therefore one might consider one's own pleasure a
little. Accordingly Petrushka proceeded to restore the coat and
trousers to their appointed places, and then descended the stairs;
whereafter he and Selifan left the house together. Not a word passed
between them as to the object of their expedition. On the contrary,
they talked solely of extraneous subjects. Yet their walk did not take
them far; it took them only to the other side of the street, and
thence into an establishment which immediately confronted the inn.
Entering a mean, dirty courtyard covered with glass, they passed
thence into a cellar where a number of customers were seated around
small wooden tables. What thereafter was done by Selifan and Petrushka
God alone knows. At all events, within an hour's time they issued, arm
in arm, and in profound silence, yet remaining markedly assiduous to
one another, and ever ready to help one another around an awkward
corner. Still linked together—never once releasing their mutual
hold—they spent the next quarter of an hour in attempting to
negotiate the stairs of the inn; but at length even that ascent had
been mastered, and they proceeded further on their way. Halting before
his mean little pallet, Petrushka stood awhile in thought. His
difficulty was how best to assume a recumbent position. Eventually he
lay down on his face, with his legs trailing over the floor; after
which Selifan also stretched himself upon the pallet, with his head
resting upon Petrushka's stomach, and his mind wholly oblivious of the
fact that he ought not to have been sleeping there at all, but in the
servant's quarters, or in the stable beside his horses. Scarcely a
moment had passed before the pair were plunged in slumber and emitting
the most raucous snores; to which their master (next door) responded
with snores of a whistling and nasal order. Indeed, before long every
one in the inn had followed their soothing example, and the hostelry
lay plunged in complete restfulness. Only in the window of the room of
the newly-arrived lieutenant from Riazan did a light remain burning.
Evidently he was a devotee of boots, for he had purchased four pairs,
and was now trying on a fifth. Several times he approached the bed
with a view to taking off the boots and retiring to rest; but each
time he failed, for the reason that the boots were so alluring in
their make that he had no choice but to lift up first one foot, and
then the other, for the purpose of scanning their elegant welts.

It was not long before Chichikov's purchases had become the talk of
the town; and various were the opinions expressed as to whether or not
it was expedient to procure peasants for transferment. Indeed such was
the interest taken by certain citizens in the matter that they advised
the purchaser to provide himself and his convoy with an escort, in
order to ensure their safe arrival at the appointed destination; but
though Chichikov thanked the donors of this advice for the same, and
declared that he should be very glad, in case of need, to avail
himself of it, he declared also that there was no real need for an
escort, seeing that the peasants whom he had purchased were
exceptionally peace-loving folk, and that, being themselves consenting
parties to the transferment, they would undoubtedly prove in every way
tractable.

One particularly good result of this advertisement of his scheme was
that he came to rank as neither more nor less than a millionaire.
Consequently, much as the inhabitants had liked our hero in the first
instance (as seen in Chapter I.), they now liked him more than ever.
As a matter of fact, they were citizens of an exceptionally quiet,
good-natured, easy-going disposition; and some of them were even
well-educated. For instance, the President of the Local Council could
recite the whole of Zhukovski's LUDMILLA by heart, and give such an
impressive rendering of the passage "The pine forest was asleep and
the valley at rest" (as well as of the exclamation "Phew!") that one
felt, as he did so, that the pine forest and the valley really WERE
as he described them. The effect was also further heightened by the
manner in which, at such moments, he assumed the most portentous
frown. For his part, the Postmaster went in more for philosophy, and
diligently perused such works as Young's Night Thoughts, and
Eckharthausen's A Key to the Mysteries of Nature; of which latter
work he would make copious extracts, though no one had the slightest
notion what they referred to. For the rest, he was a witty, florid
little individual, and much addicted to a practice of what he called
"embellishing" whatsoever he had to say—a feat which he performed
with the aid of such by-the-way phrases as "my dear sir," "my good
So-and-So," "you know," "you understand," "you may imagine,"
"relatively speaking," "for instance," and "et cetera"; of which
phrases he would add sackfuls to his speech. He could also "embellish"
his words by the simple expedient of half-closing, half-winking one
eye; which trick communicated to some of his satirical utterances
quite a mordant effect. Nor were his colleagues a wit inferior to him
in enlightenment. For instance, one of them made a regular practice of
reading Karamzin, another of conning the Moscow Gazette, and a
third of never looking at a book at all. Likewise, although they were
the sort of men to whom, in their more intimate movements, their wives
would very naturally address such nicknames as "Toby Jug," "Marmot,"
"Fatty," "Pot Belly," "Smutty," "Kiki," and "Buzz-Buzz," they were men
also of good heart, and very ready to extend their hospitality and
their friendship when once a guest had eaten of their bread and salt,
or spent an evening in their company. Particularly, therefore, did
Chichikov earn these good folk's approval with his taking methods and
qualities—so much so that the expression of that approval bid fair to
make it difficult for him to quit the town, seeing that, wherever he
went, the one phrase dinned into his ears was "Stay another week with
us, Paul Ivanovitch." In short, he ceased to be a free agent. But
incomparably more striking was the impression (a matter for unbounded
surprise!) which he produced upon the ladies. Properly to explain this
phenomenon I should need to say a great deal about the ladies
themselves, and to describe in the most vivid of colours their social
intercourse and spiritual qualities. Yet this would be a difficult
thing for me to do, since, on the one hand, I should be hampered by my
boundless respect for the womenfolk of all Civil Service officials,
and, on the other hand—well, simply by the innate arduousness of the
task. The ladies of N. were—But no, I cannot do it; my heart has
already failed me. Come, come! The ladies of N. were distinguished
for—But it is of no use; somehow my pen seems to refuse to move over
the paper—it seems to be weighted as with a plummet of lead. Very
well. That being so, I will merely say a word or two concerning the
most prominent tints on the feminine palette of N.—merely a word or
two concerning the outward appearance of its ladies, and a word or two
concerning their more superficial characteristics. The ladies of N.
were pre-eminently what is known as "presentable." Indeed, in that
respect they might have served as a model to the ladies of many
another town. That is to say, in whatever pertained to "tone,"
etiquette, the intricacies of decorum, and strict observance of the
prevailing mode, they surpassed even the ladies of Moscow and St.
Petersburg, seeing that they dressed with taste, drove about in
carriages in the latest fashions, and never went out without the
escort of a footman in gold-laced livery. Again, they looked upon a
visiting card—even upon a make-shift affair consisting of an ace of
diamonds or a two of clubs—as a sacred thing; so sacred that on one
occasion two closely related ladies who had also been closely attached
friends were known to fall out with one another over the mere fact of
an omission to return a social call! Yes, in spite of the best efforts
of husbands and kinsfolk to reconcile the antagonists, it became clear
that, though all else in the world might conceivably be possible,
never could the hatchet be buried between ladies who had quarrelled
over a neglected visit. Likewise strenuous scenes used to take place
over questions of precedence—scenes of a kind which had the effect of
inspiring husbands to great and knightly ideas on the subject of
protecting the fair. True, never did a duel actually take place, since
all the husbands were officials belonging to the Civil Service; but at
least a given combatant would strive to heap contumely upon his rival,
and, as we all know, that is a resource which may prove even more
effectual than a duel. As regards morality, the ladies of N. were
nothing if not censorious, and would at once be fired with virtuous
indignation when they heard of a case of vice or seduction. Nay, even
to mere frailty they would award the lash without mercy. On the other
hand, should any instance of what they called "third personism" occur
among THEIR OWN circle, it was always kept dark—not a hint of what
was going on being allowed to transpire, and even the wronged husband
holding himself ready, should he meet with, or hear of, the "third
person," to quote, in a mild and rational manner, the proverb, "Whom
concerns it that a friend should consort with friend?" In addition, I
may say that, like most of the female world of St. Petersburg, the
ladies of N. were pre-eminently careful and refined in their choice of
words and phrases. Never did a lady say, "I blew my nose," or "I
perspired," or "I spat." No, it had to be, "I relieved my nose through
the expedient of wiping it with my handkerchief," and so forth. Again,
to say, "This glass, or this plate, smells badly," was forbidden. No,
not even a hint to such an effect was to be dropped. Rather, the
proper phrase, in such a case, was "This glass, or this plate, is not
behaving very well,"—or some such formula.