Dead Souls
gifted with a peculiarly robust temperament kept supplying the part of
contrabasso, so that his growls resembled the rumbling of a bass singer
when a chorus is in full cry, and the tenors are rising on tiptoe in
their efforts to compass a particularly high note, and the whole body of
choristers are wagging their heads before approaching a climax, and
this contrabasso alone is tucking his bearded chin into his collar, and
sinking almost to a squatting posture on the floor, in order to produce
a note which shall cause the windows to shiver and their panes to crack.
Naturally, from a canine chorus of such executants it might reasonably
be inferred that the establishment was one of the utmost respectability.
To that, however, our damp, cold hero gave not a thought, for all his
mind was fixed upon bed. Indeed, the britchka had hardly come to a
standstill before he leapt out upon the doorstep, missed his footing,
and came within an ace of falling. To meet him there issued a female
younger than the first, but very closely resembling her; and on his
being conducted to the parlour, a couple of glances showed him that the
room was hung with old striped curtains, and ornamented with pictures
of birds and small, antique mirrors--the latter set in dark frames which
were carved to resemble scrolls of foliage. Behind each mirror was stuck
either a letter or an old pack of cards or a stocking, while on the wall
hung a clock with a flowered dial. More, however, Chichikov could not
discern, for his eyelids were as heavy as though smeared with treacle.
Presently the lady of the house herself entered--an elderly woman in a
sort of nightcap (hastily put on) and a flannel neck wrap. She belonged
to that class of lady landowners who are for ever lamenting failures of
the harvest and their losses thereby; to the class who, drooping their
heads despondently, are all the while stuffing money into striped
purses, which they keep hoarded in the drawers of cupboards. Into one
purse they will stuff rouble pieces, into another half roubles, and into
a third tchetvertachki [13], although from their mien you would suppose
that the cupboard contained only linen and nightshirts and skeins of
wool and the piece of shabby material which is destined--should the
old gown become scorched during the baking of holiday cakes and other
dainties, or should it fall into pieces of itself--to become converted
into a new dress. But the gown never does get burnt or wear out, for
the reason that the lady is too careful; wherefore the piece of shabby
material reposes in its unmade-up condition until the priest advises
that it be given to the niece of some widowed sister, together with a
quantity of other such rubbish.
Chichikov apologised for having disturbed the household with his
unexpected arrival.
“Not at all, not at all,” replied the lady. “But in what dreadful
weather God has brought you hither! What wind and what rain! You could
not help losing your way. Pray excuse us for being unable to make better
preparations for you at this time of night.”
Suddenly there broke in upon the hostess’ words the sound of a strange
hissing, a sound so loud that the guest started in alarm, and the more
so seeing that it increased until the room seemed filled with adders. On
glancing upwards, however, he recovered his composure, for he perceived
the sound to be emanating from the clock, which appeared to be in a mind
to strike. To the hissing sound there succeeded a wheezing one, until,
putting forth its best efforts, the thing struck two with as much
clatter as though some one had been hitting an iron pot with a
cudgel. That done, the pendulum returned to its right-left, right-left
oscillation.
Chichikov thanked his hostess kindly, and said that he needed nothing,
and she must not put herself about: only for rest was he longing--though
also he should like to know whither he had arrived, and whether the
distance to the country house of land-owner Sobakevitch was anything
very great. To this the lady replied that she had never so much as heard
the name, since no gentleman of the name resided in the locality.
“But at least you are acquainted with landowner Manilov?” continued
Chichikov.
“No. Who is he?”
“Another landed proprietor, madam.”
“Well, neither have I heard of him. No such landowner lives hereabouts.”
“Then who ARE your local landowners?”
“Bobrov, Svinin, Kanapatiev, Khapakin, Trepakin, and Plieshakov.”
“Are they rich men?”
“No, none of them. One of them may own twenty souls, and another thirty,
but of gentry who own a hundred there are none.”
Chichikov reflected that he had indeed fallen into an aristocratic
wilderness!
“At all events, is the town far away?” he inquired.
“About sixty versts. How sorry I am that I have nothing for you to eat!
Should you care to drink some tea?”
“I thank you, good mother, but I require nothing beyond a bed.”
“Well, after such a journey you must indeed be needing rest, so you
shall lie upon this sofa. Fetinia, bring a quilt and some pillows and
sheets. What weather God has sent us! And what dreadful thunder! Ever
since sunset I have had a candle burning before the ikon in my bedroom.
My God! Why, your back and sides are as muddy as a boar’s! However have
you managed to get into such a state?”
“That I am nothing worse than muddy is indeed fortunate, since, but for
the Almighty, I should have had my ribs broken.”
“Dear, dear! To think of all that you must have been through. Had I not
better wipe your back?”
“I thank you, I thank you, but you need not trouble. Merely be so good
as to tell your maid to dry my clothes.”
“Do you hear that, Fetinia?” said the hostess, turning to a woman who
was engaged in dragging in a feather bed and deluging the room with
feathers. “Take this coat and this vest, and, after drying them before
the fire--just as we used to do for your late master--give them a good
rub, and fold them up neatly.”
“Very well, mistress,” said Fetinia, spreading some sheets over the bed,
and arranging the pillows.
“Now your bed is ready for you,” said the hostess to Chichikov.
“Good-night, dear sir. I wish you good-night. Is there anything else
that you require? Perhaps you would like to have your heels tickled
before retiring to rest? Never could my late husband get to sleep
without that having been done.”
But the guest declined the proffered heel-tickling, and, on his hostess
taking her departure, hastened to divest himself of his clothing, both
upper and under, and to hand the garments to Fetinia. She wished him
good-night, and removed the wet trappings; after which he found himself
alone. Not without satisfaction did he eye his bed, which reached
almost to the ceiling. Clearly Fetinia was a past mistress in the art of
beating up such a couch, and, as the result, he had no sooner mounted
it with the aid of a chair than it sank well-nigh to the floor, and the
feathers, squeezed out of their proper confines, flew hither and thither
into every corner of the apartment. Nevertheless he extinguished the
candle, covered himself over with the chintz quilt, snuggled down
beneath it, and instantly fell asleep. Next day it was late in the
morning before he awoke. Through the window the sun was shining into his
eyes, and the flies which, overnight, had been roosting quietly on the
walls and ceiling now turned their attention to the visitor. One settled
on his lip, another on his ear, a third hovered as though intending
to lodge in his very eye, and a fourth had the temerity to alight
just under his nostrils. In his drowsy condition he inhaled the latter
insect, sneezed violently, and so returned to consciousness. He
glanced around the room, and perceived that not all the pictures were
representative of birds, since among them hung also a portrait of
Kutuzov [14] and an oil painting of an old man in a uniform with red
facings such as were worn in the days of the Emperor Paul [15]. At this
moment the clock uttered its usual hissing sound, and struck ten, while
a woman’s face peered in at the door, but at once withdrew, for the
reason that, with the object of sleeping as well as possible, Chichikov
had removed every stitch of his clothing. Somehow the face seemed to him
familiar, and he set himself to recall whose it could be. At length he
recollected that it was the face of his hostess. His clothes he found
lying, clean and dry, beside him; so he dressed and approached the
mirror, meanwhile sneezing again with such vehemence that a cock which
happened at the moment to be near the window (which was situated at no
great distance from the ground) chuckled a short, sharp phrase. Probably
it meant, in the bird’s alien tongue, “Good morning to you!” Chichikov
retorted by calling the bird a fool, and then himself approached the
window to look at the view. It appeared to comprise a poulterer’s
premises. At all events, the narrow yard in front of the window was full
of poultry and other domestic creatures--of game fowls and barn door
fowls, with, among them, a cock which strutted with measured gait, and
kept shaking its comb, and tilting its head as though it were trying to
listen to something. Also, a sow and her family were helping to grace
the scene. First, she rooted among a heap of litter; then, in passing,
she ate up a young pullet; lastly, she proceeded carelessly to munch
some pieces of melon rind. To this small yard or poultry-run a length
of planking served as a fence, while beyond it lay a kitchen garden
containing cabbages, onions, potatoes, beetroots, and other household
vegetables. Also, the garden contained a few stray fruit trees that
were covered with netting to protect them from the magpies and sparrows;
flocks of which were even then wheeling and darting from one spot to
another. For the same reason a number of scarecrows with outstretched
arms stood reared on long poles, with, surmounting one of the figures,
a cast-off cap of the hostess’s. Beyond the garden again there stood a
number of peasants’ huts. Though scattered, instead of being arranged in
regular rows, these appeared to Chichikov’s eye to comprise well-to-do
inhabitants, since all rotten planks in their roofing had been replaced
with new ones, and none of their doors were askew, and such of their
tiltsheds as faced him evinced evidence of a presence of a spare
waggon--in some cases almost a new one.
“This lady owns by no means a poor village,” said Chichikov to himself;
wherefore he decided then and there to have a talk with his hostess, and
to cultivate her closer acquaintance. Accordingly he peeped through the
chink of the door whence her head had recently protruded, and, on seeing
her seated at a tea table, entered and greeted her with a cheerful,
kindly smile.
“Good morning, dear sir,” she responded as she rose. “How have you
slept?” She was dressed in better style than she had been on the
previous evening. That is to say, she was now wearing a gown of some
dark colour, and lacked her nightcap, and had swathed her neck in
something stiff.
“I have slept exceedingly well,” replied Chichikov, seating himself upon
a chair. “And how are YOU, good madam?”
“But poorly, my dear sir.”
“And why so?”
“Because I cannot sleep. A pain has taken me in my middle, and my legs,
from the ankles upwards, are aching as though they were broken.”
“That will pass, that will pass, good mother. You must pay no attention
to it.”
“God grant that it MAY pass. However, I have been rubbing myself with
lard and turpentine. What sort of tea will you take? In this jar I have
some of the scented kind.”
“Excellent, good mother! Then I will take that.”
Probably the reader will have noticed that, for all his expressions of
solicitude, Chichikov’s tone towards his hostess partook of a freer, a