Dead Souls
Chichikov’s extraordinary request interrupted the dreamer’s reflections,
and he found his brain powerless to digest it, seeing that, turn and
turn the matter about as he might, he could not properly explain its
bearing. Smoking his pipe, he sat where he was until supper time.
CHAPTER III
Meanwhile, Chichikov, seated in his britchka and bowling along the
turnpike, was feeling greatly pleased with himself. From the preceding
chapter the reader will have gathered the principal subject of his bent
and inclinations: wherefore it is no matter for wonder that his body
and his soul had ended by becoming wholly immersed therein. To all
appearances the thoughts, the calculations, and the projects which
were now reflected in his face partook of a pleasant nature, since
momentarily they kept leaving behind them a satisfied smile. Indeed, so
engrossed was he that he never noticed that his coachman, elated with
the hospitality of Manilov’s domestics, was making remarks of a didactic
nature to the off horse of the troika [11], a skewbald. This skewbald
was a knowing animal, and made only a show of pulling; whereas its
comrades, the middle horse (a bay, and known as the Assessor, owing to
his having been acquired from a gentleman of that rank) and the near
horse (a roan), would do their work gallantly, and even evince in their
eyes the pleasure which they derived from their exertions.
“Ah, you rascal, you rascal! I’ll get the better of you!” ejaculated
Selifan as he sat up and gave the lazy one a cut with his whip. “YOU
know your business all right, you German pantaloon! The bay is a good
fellow, and does his duty, and I will give him a bit over his feed, for
he is a horse to be respected; and the Assessor too is a good horse. But
what are YOU shaking your ears for? You are a fool, so just mind when
you’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 whip
gently 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 the
skewbald again.
“Do you think,” he cried, “that I don’t see what you are doing? You can
behave 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 that
kind I am always hail-fellow-well-met, and glad to drink a glass of
tea with him, or to eat a biscuit. One CAN’T help respecting a decent
fellow. For instance, this gentleman of mine--why, every one looks up
to him, for he has been in the Government’s service, and is a Collegiate
Councillor.”
Thus soliloquising, he passed to more remote abstractions; until, had
Chichikov been listening, he would have learnt a number of interesting
details concerning himself. However, his thoughts were wholly occupied
with his own subject, so much so that not until a loud clap of thunder
awoke him from his reverie did he glance around him. The sky was
completely covered with clouds, and the dusty turnpike beginning to
be sprinkled with drops of rain. At length a second and a nearer and a
louder peal resounded, and the rain descended as from a bucket. Falling
slantwise, it beat upon one side of the basketwork of the tilt until the
splashings began to spurt into his face, and he found himself forced to
draw the curtains (fitted with circular openings through which to obtain
a glimpse of the wayside view), and to shout to Selifan to quicken his
pace. Upon that the coachman, interrupted in the middle of his harangue,
bethought him that no time was to be lost; wherefore, extracting from
under the box-seat a piece of old blanket, he covered over his sleeves,
resumed the reins, and cheered on his threefold team (which, it may
be said, had so completely succumbed to the influence of the pleasant
lassitude induced by Selifan’s discourse that it had taken to scarcely
placing one leg before the other). Unfortunately, Selifan could not
clearly 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 of
turnings had been passed. But since, at moments which call for a hasty
decision, a Russian is quick to discover what may conceivably be
the best course to take, our coachman put away from him all ulterior
reasoning, 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 he
stop 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 the
horses’ task of pulling the britchka heavier and heavier. Also,
Chichikov had taken alarm at his continued failure to catch sight of
Sobakevitch’s country house. According to his calculations, it ought to
have been reached long ago. He gazed about him on every side, but the
darkness 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 broke
into a sort of endless, drawling song. In that song everything had
a place. By “everything” I mean both the various encouraging and
stimulating cries with which Russian folk urge on their horses, and a
random, unpremeditated selection of adjectives.
Meanwhile Chichikov began to notice that the britchka was swaying
violently, and dealing him occasional bumps. Consequently he suspected
that 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, for
he 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 of
night when the darkness won’t let him even see his whip?” And as Selifan
spoke the vehicle tilted to an angle which left Chichikov no choice but
to hang on with hands and teeth. At length he realised the fact that
Selifan 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 upset
people is wrong. I know that very well, and should never dream of such
conduct.”
Here he started to turn the vehicle round a little--and kept on doing so
until the britchka capsized on to its side, and Chichikov landed in the
mud on his hands and knees. Fortunately Selifan succeeded in stopping
the horses, although they would have stopped of themselves, seeing
that they were utterly worn out. This unforeseen catastrophe evidently
astonished their driver. Slipping from the box, he stood resting his
hands against the side of the britchka, while Chichikov tumbled and
floundered about in the mud, in a vain endeavour to wriggle clear of the
stuff.
“Ah, you!” said Selifan meditatively to the britchka. “To think of
upsetting 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 word
or two with a friend--that is all that I have taken. Any one may talk
with a decent man when he meets him. There is nothing wrong in
that. Also, we had a snack together. There is nothing wrong in a
snack--especially a snack with a decent man.”
“What did I say to you when last you got drunk?” asked Chichikov. “Have
you forgotten what I said then?”
“No, no, barin. HOW could I forget it? I know what is what, and know
that it is not right to get drunk. All that I have been having is a word
or 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 a
decent fellow, I’ll warrant!”
“As you please, barin,” replied the complacent Selifan. “Should you
whip me, you will whip me, and I shall have nothing to complain of. Why
should 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 said
nothing more. Fortunately fate had decided to take pity on the pair, for
from afar their ears caught the barking of a dog. Plucking up courage,
Chichikov gave orders for the britchka to be righted, and the horses to
be 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 place
of eyesight, he can, if necessary, drive at random and yet reach a
destination of some sort, Selifan succeeded, though powerless to discern
a single object, in directing his steeds to a country house near by, and
that with such a certainty of instinct that it was not until the shafts
had collided with a garden wall, and thereby made it clear that to
proceed another pace was impossible, that he stopped. All that Chichikov
could discern through the thick veil of pouring rain was something
which resembled a verandah. So he dispatched Selifan to search for the
entrance gates, and that process would have lasted indefinitely had it
not been shortened by the circumstance that, in Russia, the place of
a Swiss footman is frequently taken by watchdogs; of which animals a
number now proclaimed the travellers’ presence so loudly that Chichikov
found himself forced to stop his ears. Next, a light gleamed in one
of the windows, and filtered in a thin stream to the garden wall--thus
revealing the whereabouts of the entrance gates; whereupon Selifan
fell to knocking at the gates until the bolts of the house door were
withdrawn and there issued therefrom a figure clad in a rough cloak.
“Who is that knocking? What have you come for?” shouted the hoarse voice
of an elderly woman.
“We are travellers, good mother,” said Chichikov. “Pray allow us to
spend the night here.”
“Out upon you for a pair of gadabouts!” retorted the old woman. “A fine
time of night to be arriving! We don’t keep an hotel, mind you. This is
a lady’s residence.”
“But what are we to do, mother? We have lost our way, and cannot spend
the 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 for
thought.
“Wait a moment,” she said, “and I will tell the mistress.”
Two minutes later she returned with a lantern in her hand, the gates
were opened, and a light glimmered in a second window. Entering the
courtyard, the britchka halted before a moderate-sized mansion. The
darkness did not permit of very accurate observation being made,
but, apparently, the windows only of one-half of the building were
illuminated, while a quagmire in front of the door reflected the beams
from the same. Meanwhile the rain continued to beat sonorously down upon
the wooden roof, and could be heard trickling into a water butt; nor
for a single moment did the dogs cease to bark with all the strength of
their lungs. One of them, throwing up its head, kept venting a howl
of such energy and duration that the animal seemed to be howling for a
handsome wager; while another, cutting in between the yelpings of the
first animal, kept restlessly reiterating, like a postman’s bell, the
notes of a very young puppy. Finally, an old hound which appeared to be