Dead Souls
change into the other britchka.”
“Come, come! The thing is not to be thought of.”
The flaxen-haired man was one of those people in whose character, at
first sight, there seems to lurk a certain grain of stubbornness--so
much so that, almost before one has begun to speak, they are ready to
dispute one’s words, and to disagree with anything that may be opposed
to their peculiar form of opinion. For instance, they will decline to
have folly called wisdom, or any tune danced to but their own. Always,
however, will there become manifest in their character a soft spot, and
in the end they will accept what hitherto they have denied, and call
what is foolish sensible, and even dance--yes, better than any one else
will do--to a tune set by some one else. In short, they generally begin
well, but always end badly.
“Rubbish!” said Nozdrev in answer to a further objection on his
brother-in-law’s part. And, sure enough, no sooner had Nozdrev clapped
his cap upon his head than the flaxen-haired man started to follow him
and his companion.
“But the gentleman has not paid for the vodka?” put in the old woman.
“All right, all right, good mother. Look here, brother-in-law. Pay her,
will you, for I have not a kopeck left.”
“How much?” inquired the brother-in-law.
“What, sir? Eighty kopecks, if you please,” replied the old woman.
“A lie! Give her half a rouble. That will be quite enough.”
“No, it will NOT, barin,” protested the old woman. However, she took the
money gratefully, and even ran to the door to open it for the gentlemen.
As a matter of fact, she had lost nothing by the transaction, since she
had demanded fully a quarter more than the vodka was worth.
The travellers then took their seats, and since Chichikov’s britchka
kept alongside the britchka wherein Nozdrev and his brother-in-law were
seated, it was possible for all three men to converse together as they
proceeded. Behind them came Nozdrev’s smaller buggy, with its team
of lean stage horses and Porphyri and the puppy. But inasmuch as the
conversation which the travellers maintained was not of a kind likely
to interest the reader, I might do worse than say something concerning
Nozdrev himself, seeing that he is destined to play no small role in our
story.
Nozdrev’s face will be familiar to the reader, seeing that every one
must have encountered many such. Fellows of the kind are known as
“gay young sparks,” and, even in their boyhood and school days, earn a
reputation for being bons camarades (though with it all they come in for
some hard knocks) for the reason that their faces evince an element of
frankness, directness, and enterprise which enables them soon to make
friends, and, almost before you have had time to look around, to start
addressing you in the second person singular. Yet, while cementing such
friendships for all eternity, almost always they begin quarrelling the
same evening, since, throughout, they are a loquacious, dissipated,
high-spirited, over-showy tribe. Indeed, at thirty-five Nozdrev was just
what he had been an eighteen and twenty--he was just such a lover of
fast living. Nor had his marriage in any way changed him, and the less
so since his wife had soon departed to another world, and left behind
her two children, whom he did not want, and who were therefore placed
in the charge of a good-looking nursemaid. Never at any time could he
remain at home for more than a single day, for his keen scent could
range over scores and scores of versts, and detect any fair which
promised balls and crowds. Consequently in a trice he would be
there--quarrelling, and creating disturbances over the gaming-table
(like all men of his type, he had a perfect passion for cards) yet
playing neither a faultless nor an over-clean game, since he was both
a blunderer and able to indulge in a large number of illicit cuts and
other devices. The result was that the game often ended in another kind
of sport altogether. That is to say, either he received a good kicking,
or he had his thick and very handsome whiskers pulled; with the result
that on certain occasions he returned home with one of those appendages
looking decidedly ragged. Yet his plump, healthy-looking cheeks were
so robustly constituted, and contained such an abundance of recreative
vigour, that a new whisker soon sprouted in place of the old one, and
even surpassed its predecessor. Again (and the following is a phenomenon
peculiar to Russia) a very short time would have elapsed before once
more he would be consorting with the very cronies who had recently
cuffed him--and consorting with them as though nothing whatsoever had
happened--no reference to the subject being made by him, and they too
holding their tongues.
In short, Nozdrev was, as it were, a man of incident. Never was he
present at any gathering without some sort of a fracas occurring
thereat. Either he would require to be expelled from the room by
gendarmes, or his friends would have to kick him out into the street. At
all events, should neither of those occurrences take place, at least he
did something of a nature which would not otherwise have been witnessed.
That is to say, should he not play the fool in a buffet to such an
extent as to make every one smile, you may be sure that he was engaged
in lying to a degree which at times abashed even himself. Moreover, the
man lied without reason. For instance, he would begin telling a story to
the effect that he possessed a blue-coated or a red-coated horse; until,
in the end, his listeners would be forced to leave him with the remark,
“You are giving us some fine stuff, old fellow!” Also, men like Nozdrev
have a passion for insulting their neighbours without the least excuse
afforded. (For that matter, even a man of good standing and of
respectable exterior--a man with a star on his breast--may unexpectedly
press your hand one day, and begin talking to you on subjects of a
nature to give food for serious thought. Yet just as unexpectedly may
that man start abusing you to your face--and do so in a manner worthy of
a collegiate registrar rather than of a man who wears a star on his
breast and aspires to converse on subjects which merit reflection. All
that one can do in such a case is to stand shrugging one’s shoulders in
amazement.) Well, Nozdrev had just such a weakness. The more he became
friendly with a man, the sooner would he insult him, and be ready to
spread calumnies as to his reputation. Yet all the while he would
consider himself the insulted one’s friend, and, should he meet him
again, would greet him in the most amicable style possible, and say,
“You rascal, why have you given up coming to see me.” Thus, taken all
round, Nozdrev was a person of many aspects and numerous potentialities.
In one and the same breath would he propose to go with you whithersoever
you might choose (even to the very ends of the world should you so
require) or to enter upon any sort of an enterprise with you, or to
exchange any commodity for any other commodity which you might care to
name. Guns, horses, dogs, all were subjects for barter--though not for
profit so far as YOU were concerned. Such traits are mostly the outcome
of a boisterous temperament, as is additionally exemplified by the fact
that if at a fair he chanced to fall in with a simpleton and to fleece
him, he would then proceed to buy a quantity of the very first articles
which came to hand--horse-collars, cigar-lighters, dresses for his
nursemaid, foals, raisins, silver ewers, lengths of holland, wheatmeal,
tobacco, revolvers, dried herrings, pictures, whetstones, crockery,
boots, and so forth, until every atom of his money was exhausted. Yet
seldom were these articles conveyed home, since, as a rule, the same day
saw them lost to some more skilful gambler, in addition to his pipe, his
tobacco-pouch, his mouthpiece, his four-horsed turn-out, and his
coachman: with the result that, stripped to his very shirt, he would be
forced to beg the loan of a vehicle from a friend.
Such was Nozdrev. Some may say that characters of his type have become
extinct, that Nozdrevs no longer exist. Alas! such as say this will
be wrong; for many a day must pass before the Nozdrevs will have
disappeared from our ken. Everywhere they are to be seen in our
midst--the only difference between the new and the old being a
difference of garments. Persons of superficial observation are apt to
consider that a man clad in a different coat is quite a different person
from what he used to be.
To continue. The three vehicles bowled up to the steps of Nozdrev’s
house, and their occupants alighted. But no preparations whatsoever had
been made for the guest’s reception, for on some wooden trestles in
the centre of the dining-room a couple of peasants were engaged in
whitewashing the ceiling and drawling out an endless song as they
splashed their stuff about the floor. Hastily bidding peasants and
trestles to be gone, Nozdrev departed to another room with further
instructions. Indeed, so audible was the sound of his voice as he
ordered dinner that Chichikov--who was beginning to feel hungry once
more--was enabled to gather that it would be at least five o’clock
before a meal of any kind would be available. On his return, Nozdrev
invited his companions to inspect his establishment--even though as
early as two o’clock he had to announce that nothing more was to be
seen.
The tour began with a view of the stables, where the party saw two mares
(the one a grey, and the other a roan) and a colt; which latter animal,
though far from showy, Nozdrev declared to have cost him ten thousand
roubles.
“You NEVER paid ten thousand roubles for the brute!” exclaimed the
brother-in-law. “He isn’t worth even a thousand.”
“By God, I DID pay ten thousand!” asserted Nozdrev.
“You can swear that as much as you like,” retorted the other.
“Will you bet that I did not?” asked Nozdrev, but the brother-in-law
declined the offer.
Next, Nozdrev showed his guests some empty stalls where a number of
equally fine animals (so he alleged) had lately stood. Also there was on
view the goat which an old belief still considers to be an indispensable
adjunct to such places, even though its apparent use is to pace up and
down beneath the noses of the horses as though the place belonged to it.
Thereafter the host took his guests to look at a young wolf which he had
got tied to a chain. “He is fed on nothing but raw meat,” he explained,
“for I want him to grow up as fierce as possible.” Then the party
inspected a pond in which there were “fish of such a size that it would
take two men all their time to lift one of them out.”
This piece of information was received with renewed incredulity on the
part of the brother-in-law.
“Now, Chichikov,” went on Nozdrev, “let me show you a truly magnificent
brace of dogs. The hardness of their muscles will surprise you, and they
have jowls as sharp as needles.”
So saying, he led the way to a small, but neatly-built, shed surrounded
on every side with a fenced-in run. Entering this run, the visitors
beheld a number of dogs of all sorts and sizes and colours. In their
midst Nozdrev looked like a father lording it over his family circle.
Erecting their tails--their “stems,” as dog fanciers call those
members--the animals came bounding to greet the party, and fully a score
of them laid their paws upon Chichikov’s shoulders. Indeed, one dog was
moved with such friendliness that, standing on its hind legs, it licked
him on the lips, and so forced him to spit. That done, the visitors duly
inspected the couple already mentioned, and expressed astonishment at
their muscles. True enough, they were fine animals. Next, the party
looked at a Crimean bitch which, though blind and fast nearing her end,