Dead Souls (28 page)

Having done their business with the Governor's wife, the ladies' party
descended upon the male section, with a view to influencing it to
their own side by asserting that the dead souls were an invention used
solely for the purpose of diverting suspicion and successfully
affecting the abduction. And, indeed, more than one man was converted,
and joined the feminine camp, in spite of the fact that thereby such
seceders incurred strong names from their late comrades—names such as
"old women," "petticoats," and others of a nature peculiarly offensive
to the male sex.

Also, however much they might arm themselves and take the field, the
men could not compass such orderliness within their ranks as could the
women. With the former everything was of the antiquated and rough-hewn
and ill-fitting and unsuitable and badly-adapted and inferior kind;
their heads were full of nothing but discord and triviality and
confusion and slovenliness of thought. In brief, they displayed
everywhere the male bent, the rude, ponderous nature which is
incapable either of managing a household or of jumping to a
conclusion, as well as remains always distrustful and lazy and full of
constant doubt and everlasting timidity. For instance, the men's party
declared that the whole story was rubbish—that the alleged abduction
of the Governor's daughter was the work rather of a military than of a
civilian culprit; that the ladies were lying when they accused
Chichikov of the deed; that a woman was like a money-bag—whatsoever
you put into her she thenceforth retained; that the subject which
really demanded attention was the dead souls, of which the devil only
knew the meaning, but in which there certainly lurked something that
was contrary to good order and discipline. One reason why the men's
party was so certain that the dead souls connoted something contrary
to good order and discipline, was that there had just been appointed
to the province a new Governor-General—an event which, of course, had
thrown the whole army of provincial tchinovniks into a state of great
excitement, seeing that they knew that before long there would ensue
transferments and sentences of censure, as well as the series of
official dinners with which a Governor-General is accustomed to
entertain his subordinates. "Alas," thought the army of tchinovniks,
"it is probable that, should he learn of the gross reports at present
afloat in our town, he will make such a fuss that we shall never hear
the last of them." In particular did the Director of the Medical
Department turn pale at the thought that possibly the new
Governor-General would surmise the term "dead folk" to connote
patients in the local hospitals who, for want of proper preventative
measures, had died of sporadic fever. Indeed, might it not be that
Chichikov was neither more nor less than an emissary of the said
Governor-General, sent to conduct a secret inquiry? Accordingly he
(the Director of the Medical Department) communicated this last
supposition to the President of the Council, who, though at first
inclined to ejaculate "Rubbish!" suddenly turned pale on propounding
to himself the theory. "What if the souls purchased by Chichikov
should REALLY be dead ones?"—a terrible thought considering that
he, the President, had permitted their transferment to be registered,
and had himself acted as Plushkin's representative! What if these
things should reach the Governor-General's ears? He mentioned the
matter to one friend and another, and they, in their turn, went white
to the lips, for panic spreads faster and is even more destructive,
than the dreaded black death. Also, to add to the tchinovniks'
troubles, it so befell that just at this juncture there came into the
local Governor's hands two documents of great importance. The first of
them contained advices that, according to received evidence and
reports, there was operating in the province a forger of rouble-notes
who had been passing under various aliases and must therefore be
sought for with the utmost diligence; while the second document was a
letter from the Governor of a neighbouring province with regard to a
malefactor who had there evaded apprehension—a letter conveying also
a warning that, if in the province of the town of N. there should
appear any suspicious individual who could produce neither references
nor passports, he was to be arrested forthwith. These two documents
left every one thunderstruck, for they knocked on the head all
previous conceptions and theories. Not for a moment could it be
supposed that the former document referred to Chichikov; yet, as each
man pondered the position from his own point of view, he remembered
that no one REALLY knew who Chichikov was; as also that his vague
references to himself had—yes!—included statements that his career
in the service had suffered much to the cause of Truth, and that he
possessed a number of enemies who were seeking his life. This gave the
tchinovniks further food for thought. Perhaps his life really DID
stand in danger? Perhaps he really WAS being sought for by some one?
Perhaps he really HAD done something of the kind above referred to?
As a matter of fact, who was he?—not that it could actually be
supposed that he was a forger of notes, still less a brigand, seeing
that his exterior was respectable in the highest degree. Yet who was
he? At length the tchinovniks decided to make enquiries among those of
whom he had purchased souls, in order that at least it might be learnt
what the purchases had consisted of, and what exactly underlay them,
and whether, in passing, he had explained to any one his real
intentions, or revealed to any one his identity. In the first
instance, therefore, resort was had to Korobotchka. Yet little was
gleaned from that source—merely a statement that he had bought of her
some souls for fifteen roubles apiece, and also a quantity of
feathers, while promising also to buy some other commodities in the
future, seeing that, in particular, he had entered into a contract
with the Treasury for lard, a fact constituting fairly presumptive
proof that the man was a rogue, seeing that just such another fellow
had bought a quantity of feathers, yet had cheated folk all round,
and, in particular, had done the Archpriest out of over a hundred
roubles. Thus the net result of Madame's cross-examination was to
convince the tchinovniks that she was a garrulous, silly old woman.
With regard to Manilov, he replied that he would answer for Chichikov
as he would for himself, and that he would gladly sacrifice his
property in toto if thereby he could attain even a tithe of the
qualities which Paul Ivanovitch possessed. Finally, he delivered on
Chichikov, with acutely-knitted brows, a eulogy couched in the most
charming of terms, and coupled with sundry sentiments on the subject
of friendship and affection in general. True, these remarks sufficed
to indicate the tender impulses of the speaker's heart, but also they
did nothing to enlighten his examiners concerning the business that
was actually at hand. As for Sobakevitch, that landowner replied that
he considered Chichikov an excellent fellow, as well as that the souls
whom he had sold to his visitor had been in the truest sense of the
word alive, but that he could not answer for anything which might
occur in the future, seeing that any difficulties which might arise in
the course of the actual transferment of souls would not be HIS fault,
in view of the fact that God was lord of all, and that fevers and other
mortal complaints were so numerous in the world, and that instances
of whole villages perishing through the same could be found on record.

Finally, our friends the tchinovniks found themselves compelled to
resort to an expedient which, though not particularly savoury, is not
infrequently employed—namely, the expedient of getting lacqueys
quietly to approach the servants of the person concerning whom
information is desired, and to ascertain from them (the servants)
certain details with regard to their master's life and antecedents.
Yet even from this source very little was obtained, since Petrushka
provided his interrogators merely with a taste of the smell of his
living-room, and Selifan confined his replies to a statement that the
barin had "been in the employment of the State, and also had served in
the Customs."

In short, the sum total of the results gathered by the tchinovniks was
that they still stood in ignorance of Chichikov's identity, but that
he MUST be some one; wherefore it was decided to hold a final debate
on the subject on what ought to be done, and who Chichikov could
possibly be, and whether or not he was a man who ought to be
apprehended and detained as not respectable, or whether he was a man
who might himself be able to apprehend and detain THEM as persons
lacking in respectability. The debate in question, it was proposed,
should be held at the residence of the Chief of Police, who is known
to our readers as the father and the general benefactor of the town.

On assembling at the residence indicated, the tchinovniks had occasion
to remark that, owing to all these cares and excitements, every one of
their number had grown thinner. Yes, the appointment of a new
Governor-General, coupled with the rumours described and the reception
of the two serious documents above-mentioned, had left manifest traces
upon the features of every one present. More than one frockcoat had
come to look too large for its wearer, and more than one frame had
fallen away, including the frames of the President of the Council, the
Director of the Medical Department, and the Public Prosecutor. Even a
certain Semen Ivanovitch, who, for some reason or another, was never
alluded to by his family name, but who wore on his index finger a ring
with which he was accustomed to dazzle his lady friends, had
diminished in bulk. Yet, as always happens at such junctures, there
were also present a score of brazen individuals who had succeeded in
NOT losing their presence of mind, even though they constituted a
mere sprinkling. Of them the Postmaster formed one, since he was a man
of equable temperament who could always say: "WE know you,
Governor-Generals! We have seen three or four of you come and go,
whereas WE have been sitting on the same stools these thirty years."
Nevertheless a prominent feature of the gathering was the total
absence of what is vulgarly known as "common sense." In general, we
Russians do not make a good show at representative assemblies, for the
reason that, unless there be in authority a leading spirit to control
the rest, the affair always develops into confusion. Why this should
be so one could hardly say, but at all events a success is scored only
by such gatherings as have for their object dining and festivity—to
wit, gatherings at clubs or in German-run restaurants. However, on the
present occasion, the meeting was NOT one of this kind; it was a
meeting convoked of necessity, and likely in view of the threatened
calamity to affect every tchinovnik in the place. Also, in addition to
the great divergency of views expressed thereat, there was visible in
all the speakers an invincible tendency to indecision which led them
at one moment to make assertions, and at the next to contradict the
same. But on at least one point all seemed to agree—namely, that
Chichikov's appearance and conversation were too respectable for him
to be a forger or a disguised brigand. That is to say, all SEEMED to
agree on the point; until a sudden shout arose from the direction of
the Postmaster, who for some time past had been sitting plunged in thought.

"
I
can tell you," he cried, "who Chichikov is!"

"Who, then?" replied the crowd in great excitement.

"He is none other than Captain Kopeikin."

"And who may Captain Kopeikin be?"

Taking a pinch of snuff (which he did with the lid of his snuff-box
half-open, lest some extraneous person should contrive to insert a not
over-clean finger into the stuff), the Postmaster related the
following story
^[35]
.

"After fighting in the campaign of 1812, there was sent home, wounded,
a certain Captain Kopeikin—a headstrong, lively blade who, whether on
duty or under arrest, made things lively for everybody. Now, since at
Krasni or at Leipzig (it matters not which) he had lost an arm and a
leg, and in those days no provision was made for wounded soldiers, and
he could not work with his left arm alone, he set out to see his
father. Unfortunately his father could only just support himself, and
was forced to tell his son so; wherefore the Captain decided to go and
apply for help in St. Petersburg, seeing that he had risked his life
for his country, and had lost much blood in its service. You can
imagine him arriving in the capital on a baggage waggon—in the
capital which is like no other city in the world! Before him there lay
spread out the whole field of life, like a sort of Arabian Nights—a
picture made up of the Nevski Prospect, Gorokhovaia Street, countless
tapering spires, and a number of bridges apparently supported on
nothing—in fact, a regular second Nineveh. Well, he made shift to
hire a lodging, but found everything so wonderfully furnished with
blinds and Persian carpets and so forth that he saw it would mean
throwing away a lot of money. True, as one walks the streets of St.
Petersburg one seems to smell money by the thousand roubles, but our
friend Kopeikin's bank was limited to a few score coppers and a little
silver—not enough to buy a village with! At length, at the price of a
rouble a day, he obtained a lodging in the sort of tavern where the
daily ration is a bowl of cabbage soup and a crust of bread; and as he
felt that he could not manage to live very long on fare of that kind
he asked folk what he had better do. 'What you had better do?' they
said. 'Well the Government is not here—it is in Paris, and the troops
have not yet returned from the war; but there is a TEMPORARY
Commission sitting, and you had better go and see what IT can do for
you.' 'All right!' he said. 'I will go and tell the Commission that I
have shed my blood, and sacrificed my life, for my country.' And he
got up early one morning, and shaved himself with his left hand (since
the expense of a barber was not worth while), and set out, wooden leg
and all, to see the President of the Commission. But first he asked
where the President lived, and was told that his house was in
Naberezhnaia Street. And you may be sure that it was no peasant's hut,
with its glazed windows and great mirrors and statues and lacqueys and
brass door handles! Rather, it was the sort of place which you would
enter only after you had bought a cheap cake of soap and indulged in a
two hours' wash. Also, at the entrance there was posted a grand Swiss
footman with a baton and an embroidered collar—a fellow looking like
a fat, over-fed pug dog. However, friend Kopeikin managed to get
himself and his wooden leg into the reception room, and there squeezed
himself away into a corner, for fear lest he should knock down the
gilded china with his elbow. And he stood waiting in great
satisfaction at having arrived before the President had so much as
left his bed and been served with his silver wash-basin. Nevertheless,
it was only when Kopeikin had been waiting four hours that a breakfast
waiter entered to say, 'The President will soon be here.' By now the
room was as full of people as a plate is of beans, and when the
President left the breakfast-room he brought with him, oh, such
dignity and refinement, and such an air of the metropolis! First he
walked up to one person, and then up to another, saying: 'What do
YOU want? And what do YOU want? What can I do for YOU? What is
YOUR business?' And at length he stopped before Kopeikin, and
Kopeikin said to him: 'I have shed my blood, and lost both an arm and
a leg, for my country, and am unable to work. Might I therefore dare
to ask you for a little help, if the regulations should permit of it,
or for a gratuity, or for a pension, or something of the kind?' Then
the President looked at him, and saw that one of his legs was indeed a
wooden one, and that an empty right sleeve was pinned to his uniform.
'Very well,' he said. 'Come to me again in a few days' time.' Upon
this friend Kopeikin felt delighted. 'NOW I have done my job!' he
thought to himself; and you may imagine how gaily he trotted along the
pavement, and how he dropped into a tavern for a glass of vodka, and
how he ordered a cutlet and some caper sauce and some other things for
luncheon, and how he called for a bottle of wine, and how he went to
the theatre in the evening! In short, he did himself thoroughly well.
Next, he saw in the street a young English lady, as graceful as a
swan, and set off after her on his wooden leg. 'But no,' he thought to
himself. 'To the devil with that sort of thing just now! I will wait
until I have drawn my pension. For the present I have spent enough.'
(And I may tell you that by now he had got through fully half his
money.) Two or three days later he went to see the President of the
Commission again. 'I should be glad to know,' he said, 'whether by now
you can do anything for me in return for my having shed my blood and
suffered sickness and wounds on military service.' 'First of all,'
said the President, 'I must tell you that nothing can be decided in
your case without the authority of the Supreme Government. Without
that sanction we cannot move in the matter. Surely you see how things
stand until the army shall have returned from the war? All that I can
advise you to do is wait for the Minister to return, and, in the
meanwhile, to have patience. Rest assured that then you will not be
overlooked. And if for the moment you have nothing to live upon, this
is the best that I can do for you.' With that he handed Kopeikin a
trifle until his case should have been decided. However, that was not
what Kopeikin wanted. He had supposed that he would be given a
gratuity of a thousand roubles straight away; whereas, instead of
'Drink and be merry,' it was 'Wait, for the time is not yet.' Thus,
though his head had been full of soup plates and cutlets and English
girls, he now descended the steps with his ears and his tail
down—looking, in fact, like a poodle over which the cook has poured a
bucketful of water. You see, St. Petersburg life had changed him not a
little since first he had got a taste of it, and, now that the devil
only knew how he was going to live, it came all the harder to him that
he should have no more sweets to look forward to. Remember that a man
in the prime of years has an appetite like a wolf; and as he passed a
restaurant he could see a round-faced, holland-shirted, snow-white
aproned fellow of a French chef preparing a dish delicious enough to
make it turn to and eat itself; while, again, as he passed a fruit
shop he could see delicacies looking out of a window for fools to come
and buy them at a hundred roubles apiece. Imagine, therefore, his
position! On the one hand, so to speak, were salmon and water-melons,
while on the other hand was the bitter fare which passed at a tavern
for luncheon. 'Well,' he thought to himself, 'let them do what they
like with me at the Commission, but I intend to go and raise the whole
place, and to tell every blessed functionary there that I have a mind
to do as I choose.' And in truth this bold impertinence of a man did
have the hardihood to return to the Commission. 'What do you want?'
said the President. 'Why are you here for the third time? You have had
your orders given you.' 'I daresay I have,' he retorted, 'but I am not
going to be put off with THEM. I want some cutlets to eat, and a
bottle of French wine, and a chance to go and amuse myself at the
theatre.' 'Pardon me,' said the President. 'What you really need (if I
may venture to mention it) is a little patience. You have been given
something for food until the Military Committee shall have met, and
then, doubtless, you will receive your proper reward, seeing that it
would not be seemly that a man who has served his country should be
left destitute. On the other hand, if, in the meanwhile, you desire to
indulge in cutlets and theatre-going, please understand that we cannot
help you, but you must make your own resources, and try as best you
can to help yourself.' You can imagine that this went in at one of
Kopeikin's ears, and out at the other; that it was like shooting peas
at a stone wall. Accordingly he raised a turmoil which sent the staff
flying. One by one, he gave the mob of secretaries and clerks a real
good hammering. 'You, and you, and you,' he said, 'do not even know
your duties. You are law-breakers.' Yes, he trod every man of them
under foot. At length the General himself arrived from another office,
and sounded the alarm. What was to be done with a fellow like
Kopeikin? The President saw that strong measures were imperative.
'Very well,' he said. 'Since you decline to rest satisfied with what
has been given you, and quietly to await the decision of your case in
St. Petersburg, I must find you a lodging. Here, constable, remove the
man to gaol.' Then a constable who had been called to the door—a
constable three ells in height, and armed with a carbine—a man well
fitted to guard a bank—placed our friend in a police waggon. 'Well,'
reflected Kopeikin, 'at least I shan't have to pay my fare for THIS
ride. That's one comfort.' Again, after he had ridden a little way, he
said to himself: 'they told me at the Commission to go and make my own
means of enjoying myself. Very good. I'll do so.' However, what became
of Kopeikin, and whither he went, is known to no one. He sank, to use
the poet's expression, into the waters of Lethe, and his doings now
lie buried in oblivion. But allow me, gentlemen, to piece together the
further threads of the story. Not two months later there appeared in
the forests of Riazan a band of robbers: and of that band the
chieftain was none other than—"