Dead Souls
had, two years ago, been a truly magnificent dog. At all events, so said
Nozdrev. Next came another bitch--also blind; then an inspection of
the water-mill, which lacked the spindle-socket wherein the upper stone
ought to have been revolving--“fluttering,” to use the Russian peasant’s
quaint expression. “But never mind,” said Nozdrev. “Let us proceed to
the blacksmith’s shop.” So to the blacksmith’s shop the party proceeded,
and when the said shop had been viewed, Nozdrev said as he pointed to a
field:
“In this field I have seen such numbers of hares as to render the ground
quite invisible. Indeed, on one occasion I, with my own hands, caught a
hare by the hind legs.”
“You never caught a hare by the hind legs with your hands!” remarked the
brother-in-law.
“But I DID” reiterated Nozdrev. “However, let me show you the boundary
where my lands come to an end.”
So saying, he started to conduct his guests across a field which
consisted mostly of moleheaps, and in which the party had to pick their
way between strips of ploughed land and of harrowed. Soon Chichikov
began to feel weary, for the terrain was so low-lying that in many spots
water could be heard squelching underfoot, and though for a while the
visitors watched their feet, and stepped carefully, they soon perceived
that such a course availed them nothing, and took to following their
noses, without either selecting or avoiding the spots where the mire
happened to be deeper or the reverse. At length, when a considerable
distance had been covered, they caught sight of a boundary-post and a
narrow ditch.
“That is the boundary,” said Nozdrev. “Everything that you see on this
side of the post is mine, as well as the forest on the other side of it,
and what lies beyond the forest.”
“WHEN did that forest become yours?” asked the brother-in-law. “It
cannot be long since you purchased it, for it never USED to be yours.”
“Yes, it isn’t long since I purchased it,” said Nozdrev.
“How long?”
“How long? Why, I purchased it three days ago, and gave a pretty sum for
it, as the devil knows!”
“Indeed? Why, three days ago you were at the fair?”
“Wiseacre! Cannot one be at a fair and buy land at the same time? Yes, I
WAS at the fair, and my steward bought the land in my absence.”
“Oh, your STEWARD bought it.” The brother-in-law seemed doubtful, and
shook his head.
The guests returned by the same route as that by which they had come;
whereafter, on reaching the house, Nozdrev conducted them to his study,
which contained not a trace of the things usually to be found in such
apartments--such things as books and papers. On the contrary, the only
articles to be seen were a sword and a brace of guns--the one “of them
worth three hundred roubles,” and the other “about eight hundred.” The
brother-in-law inspected the articles in question, and then shook
his head as before. Next, the visitors were shown some “real Turkish”
daggers, of which one bore the inadvertent inscription, “Saveli
Sibiriakov [19], Master Cutler.” Then came a barrel-organ, on which
Nozdrev started to play some tune or another. For a while the sounds
were not wholly unpleasing, but suddenly something seemed to go wrong,
for a mazurka started, to be followed by “Marlborough has gone to the
war,” and to this, again, there succeeded an antiquated waltz. Also,
long after Nozdrev had ceased to turn the handle, one particularly
shrill-pitched pipe which had, throughout, refused to harmonise with the
rest kept up a protracted whistling on its own account. Then followed
an exhibition of tobacco pipes--pipes of clay, of wood, of meerschaum,
pipes smoked and non-smoked; pipes wrapped in chamois leather and not
so wrapped; an amber-mounted hookah (a stake won at cards) and a tobacco
pouch (worked, it was alleged, by some countess who had fallen in love
with Nozdrev at a posthouse, and whose handiwork Nozdrev averred
to constitute the “sublimity of superfluity”--a term which, in the
Nozdrevian vocabulary, purported to signify the acme of perfection).
Finally, after some hors-d’oeuvres of sturgeon’s back, they sat down
to table--the time being then nearly five o’clock. But the meal did not
constitute by any means the best of which Chichikov had ever partaken,
seeing that some of the dishes were overcooked, and others were scarcely
cooked at all. Evidently their compounder had trusted chiefly to
inspiration--she had laid hold of the first thing which had happened to
come to hand. For instance, had pepper represented the nearest article
within reach, she had added pepper wholesale. Had a cabbage chanced to
be so encountered, she had pressed it also into the service. And the
same with milk, bacon, and peas. In short, her rule seemed to have been
“Make a hot dish of some sort, and some sort of taste will result.” For
the rest, Nozdrev drew heavily upon the wine. Even before the soup
had been served, he had poured out for each guest a bumper of port and
another of “haut” sauterne. (Never in provincial towns is ordinary,
vulgar sauterne even procurable.) Next, he called for a bottle of
madeira--“as fine a tipple as ever a field-marshall drank”; but the
madeira only burnt the mouth, since the dealers, familiar with the taste
of our landed gentry (who love “good” madeira) invariably doctor the
stuff with copious dashes of rum and Imperial vodka, in the hope that
Russian stomachs will thus be enabled to carry off the lot. After this
bottle Nozdrev called for another and “a very special” brand--a brand
which he declared to consist of a blend of burgundy and champagne, and
of which he poured generous measures into the glasses of Chichikov
and the brother-in-law as they sat to right and left of him. But since
Chichikov noticed that, after doing so, he added only a scanty modicum
of the mixture to his own tumbler, our hero determined to be cautious,
and therefore took advantage of a moment when Nozdrev had again plunged
into conversation and was yet a third time engaged in refilling his
brother-in-law’s glass, to contrive to upset his (Chichikov’s)
glass over his plate. In time there came also to table a tart of
mountain-ashberries--berries which the host declared to equal, in taste,
ripe plums, but which, curiously enough, smacked more of corn brandy.
Next, the company consumed a sort of pasty of which the precise name has
escaped me, but which the host rendered differently even on the second
occasion of its being mentioned. The meal over, and the whole tale of
wines tried, the guests still retained their seats--a circumstance which
embarrassed Chichikov, seeing that he had no mind to propound his pet
scheme in the presence of Nozdrev’s brother-in-law, who was a complete
stranger to him. No, that subject called for amicable and PRIVATE
conversation. Nevertheless, the brother-in-law appeared to bode little
danger, seeing that he had taken on board a full cargo, and was now
engaged in doing nothing of a more menacing nature than picking his
nose. At length he himself noticed that he was not altogether in a
responsible condition; wherefore he rose and began to make excuses for
departing homewards, though in a tone so drowsy and lethargic that, to
quote the Russian proverb, he might almost have been “pulling a collar
on to a horse by the clasps.”
“No, no!” cried Nozdrev. “I am NOT going to let you go.”
“But I MUST go,” replied the brother-in-law. “Don’t try to hinder me.
You are annoying me greatly.”
“Rubbish! We are going to play a game of banker.”
“No, no. You must play it without me, my friend. My wife is expecting me
at home, and I must go and tell her all about the fair. Yes, I MUST go
if I am to please her. Do not try to detain me.”
“Your wife be--! But have you REALLY an important piece of business with
her?”
“No, no, my friend. The real reason is that she is a good and trustful
woman, and that she does a great deal for me. The tears spring to my
eyes as I think of it. Do not detain me. As an honourable man I say that
I must go. Of that I do assure you in all sincerity.”
“Oh, let him go,” put in Chichikov under his breath. “What use will he
be here?”
“Very well,” said Nozdrev, “though, damn it, I do not like fellows who
lose their heads.” Then he added to his brother-in-law: “All right,
Thetuk [20]. Off you go to your wife and your woman’s talk and may the
devil go with you!”
“Do not insult me with the term Thetuk,” retorted the brother-in-law.
“To her I owe my life, and she is a dear, good woman, and has shown me
much affection. At the very thought of it I could weep. You see, she
will be asking me what I have seen at the fair, and tell her about it I
must, for she is such a dear, good woman.”
“Then off you go to her with your pack of lies. Here is your cap.”
“No, good friend, you are not to speak of her like that. By so doing you
offend me greatly--I say that she is a dear, good woman.”
“Then run along home to her.”
“Yes, I am just going. Excuse me for having been unable to stay. Gladly
would I have stayed, but really I cannot.”
The brother-in-law repeated his excuses again and again without noticing
that he had entered the britchka, that it had passed through the gates,
and that he was now in the open country. Permissibly we may suppose that
his wife succeeded in gleaning from him few details of the fair.
“What a fool!” said Nozdrev as, standing by the window, he watched the
departing vehicle. “Yet his off-horse is not such a bad one. For a long
time past I have been wanting to get hold of it. A man like that is
simply impossible. Yes, he is a Thetuk, a regular Thetuk.”
With that they repaired to the parlour, where, on Porphyri bringing
candles, Chichikov perceived that his host had produced a pack of cards.
“I tell you what,” said Nozdrev, pressing the sides of the pack
together, and then slightly bending them, so that the pack cracked and
a card flew out. “How would it be if, to pass the time, I were to make a
bank of three hundred?”
Chichikov pretended not to have heard him, but remarked with an air of
having just recollected a forgotten point:
“By the way, I had omitted to say that I have a request to make of you.”
“What request?”
“First give me your word that you will grant it.”
“What is the request, I say?”
“Then you give me your word, do you?”
“Certainly.”
“Your word of honour?”
“My word of honour.”
“This, then, is my request. I presume that you have a large number
of dead serfs whose names have not yet been removed from the revision
list?”
“I have. But why do you ask?”
“Because I want you to make them over to me.”
“Of what use would they be to you?”
“Never mind. I have a purpose in wanting them.”
“What purpose?”
“A purpose which is strictly my own affair. In short, I need them.”
“You seem to have hatched a very fine scheme. Out with it, now! What is
in the wind?”
“How could I have hatched such a scheme as you say? One could not very
well hatch a scheme out of such a trifle as this.”
“Then for what purpose do you want the serfs?”
“Oh, the curiosity of the man! He wants to poke his fingers into and
smell over every detail!”
“Why do you decline to say what is in your mind? At all events, until
you DO say I shall not move in the matter.”
“But how would it benefit you to know what my plans are? A whim has
seized me. That is all. Nor are you playing fair. You have given me your
word of honour, yet now you are trying to back out of it.”
“No matter what you desire me to do, I decline to do it until you have
told me your purpose.”
“What am I to say to the fellow?” thought Chichikov. He reflected for
a moment, and then explained that he wanted the dead souls in order
to acquire a better standing in society, since at present he possessed
little landed property, and only a handful of serfs.