Dead Souls
“To the province of Kherson.”
“Indeed? That region contains some splendid land,” said the President;
whereupon he proceeded to expatiate on the fertility of the Kherson
pastures.
“And have you MUCH land there?” he continued.
“Yes; quite sufficient to accommodate the serfs whom I have purchased.”
“And is there a river on the estate or a lake?”
“Both.”
After this reply Chichikov involuntarily threw a glance at Sobakevitch;
and though that landowner’s face was as motionless as every other, the
other seemed to detect in it: “You liar! Don’t tell ME that you own both
a river and a lake, as well as the land which you say you do.”
Whilst the foregoing conversation had been in progress, various
witnesses had been arriving on the scene. They consisted of the
constantly blinking Public Prosecutor, the Inspector of the Medical
Department, and others--all, to quote Sobakevitch, “men who cumbered
the ground for nothing.” With some of them, however, Chichikov was
altogether unacquainted, since certain substitutes and supernumeraries
had to be pressed into the service from among the ranks of the
subordinate staff. There also arrived, in answer to the summons, not
only the son of Father Cyril before mentioned, but also Father Cyril
himself. Each such witness appended to his signature a full list of his
dignities and qualifications: one man in printed characters, another in
a flowing hand, a third in topsy-turvy characters of a kind never before
seen in the Russian alphabet, and so forth. Meanwhile our friend Ivan
Antonovitch comported himself with not a little address; and after the
indentures had been signed, docketed, and registered, Chichikov
found himself called upon to pay only the merest trifle in the way of
Government percentage and fees for publishing the transaction in the
Official Gazette. The reason of this was that the President had given
orders that only half the usual charges were to be exacted from the
present purchaser--the remaining half being somehow debited to the
account of another applicant for serf registration.
“And now,” said Ivan Grigorievitch when all was completed, “we need only
to wet the bargain.”
“For that too I am ready,” said Chichikov. “Do you but name the hour.
If, in return for your most agreeable company, I were not to set a few
champagne corks flying, I should be indeed in default.”
“But we are not going to let you charge yourself with anything
whatsoever. WE must provide the champagne, for you are our guest, and
it is for us--it is our duty, it is our bounden obligation--to entertain
you. Look here, gentlemen. Let us adjourn to the house of the Chief
of Police. He is the magician who needs but to wink when passing a
fishmonger’s or a wine merchant’s. Not only shall we fare well at his
place, but also we shall get a game of whist.”
To this proposal no one had any objection to offer, for the mere mention
of the fish shop aroused the witnesses’ appetite. Consequently, the
ceremony being over, there was a general reaching for hats and caps.
As the party were passing through the general office, Ivan Antonovitch
whispered in Chichikov’s ear, with a courteous inclination of his
jug-shaped physiognomy:
“You have given a hundred thousand roubles for the serfs, but have paid
ME only a trifle for my trouble.”
“Yes,” replied Chichikov with a similar whisper, “but what sort of serfs
do you suppose them to be? They are a poor, useless lot, and not worth
even half the purchase money.”
This gave Ivan Antonovitch to understand that the visitor was a man of
strong character--a man from whom nothing more was to be expected.
“Why have you gone and purchased souls from Plushkin?” whispered
Sobakevitch in Chichikov’s other ear.
“Why did YOU go and add the woman Vorobei to your list?” retorted
Chichikov.
“Vorobei? Who is Vorobei?”
“The woman ‘Elizabet’ Vorobei--‘Elizabet,’ not ‘Elizabeta?’”
“I added no such name,” replied Sobakevitch, and straightway joined the
other guests.
At length the party arrived at the residence of the Chief of Police. The
latter proved indeed a man of spells, for no sooner had he learnt what
was afoot than he summoned a brisk young constable, whispered in his
ear, adding laconically, “You understand, do you not?” and brought it
about that, during the time that the guests were cutting for partners at
whist in an adjoining room, the dining-table became laden with sturgeon,
caviare, salmon, herrings, cheese, smoked tongue, fresh roe, and a
potted variety of the same--all procured from the local fish market, and
reinforced with additions from the host’s own kitchen. The fact was that
the worthy Chief of Police filled the office of a sort of father and
general benefactor to the town, and that he moved among the citizens as
though they constituted part and parcel of his own family, and watched
over their shops and markets as though those establishments were
merely his own private larder. Indeed, it would be difficult to say--so
thoroughly did he perform his duties in this respect--whether the post
most fitted him, or he the post. Matters were also so arranged that
though his income more than doubled that of his predecessors, he had
never lost the affection of his fellow townsmen. In particular did the
tradesmen love him, since he was never above standing godfather to their
children or dining at their tables. True, he had differences of opinion
with them, and serious differences at that; but always these were
skilfully adjusted by his slapping the offended ones jovially on the
shoulder, drinking a glass of tea with them, promising to call at their
houses and play a game of chess, asking after their belongings, and,
should he learn that a child of theirs was ill, prescribing the proper
medicine. In short, he bore the reputation of being a very good fellow.
On perceiving the feast to be ready, the host proposed that his guests
should finish their whist after luncheon; whereupon all proceeded to the
room whence for some time past an agreeable odour had been tickling the
nostrils of those present, and towards the door of which Sobakevitch in
particular had been glancing since the moment when he had caught sight
of a huge sturgeon reposing on the sideboard. After a glassful of warm,
olive-coloured vodka apiece--vodka of the tint to be seen only in the
species of Siberian stone whereof seals are cut--the company applied
themselves to knife-and-fork work, and, in so doing, evinced their
several characteristics and tastes. For instance, Sobakevitch,
disdaining lesser trifles, tackled the large sturgeon, and, during the
time that his fellow guests were eating minor comestibles, and drinking
and talking, contrived to consume more than a quarter of the whole fish;
so that, on the host remembering the creature, and, with fork in hand,
leading the way in its direction and saying, “What, gentlemen, think you
of this striking product of nature?” there ensued the discovery that of
the said product of nature there remained little beyond the tail, while
Sobakevitch, with an air as though at least HE had not eaten it, was
engaged in plunging his fork into a much more diminutive piece of fish
which happened to be resting on an adjacent platter. After his divorce
from the sturgeon, Sobakevitch ate and drank no more, but sat frowning
and blinking in an armchair.
Apparently the host was not a man who believed in sparing the wine, for
the toasts drunk were innumerable. The first toast (as the reader may
guess) was quaffed to the health of the new landowner of Kherson; the
second to the prosperity of his peasants and their safe transferment;
and the third to the beauty of his future wife--a compliment which
brought to our hero’s lips a flickering smile. Lastly, he received from
the company a pressing, as well as an unanimous, invitation to extend
his stay in town for at least another fortnight, and, in the meanwhile,
to allow a wife to be found for him.
“Quite so,” agreed the President. “Fight us tooth and nail though you
may, we intend to have you married. You have happened upon us by chance,
and you shall have no reason to repent of it. We are in earnest on this
subject.”
“But why should I fight you tooth and nail?” said Chichikov, smiling.
“Marriage would not come amiss to me, were I but provided with a
betrothed.”
“Then a betrothed you shall have. Why not? We will do as you wish.”
“Very well,” assented Chichikov.
“Bravo, bravo!” the company shouted. “Long live Paul Ivanovitch! Hurrah!
Hurrah!” And with that every one approached to clink glasses with him,
and he readily accepted the compliment, and accepted it many times in
succession. Indeed, as the hours passed on, the hilarity of the company
increased yet further, and more than once the President (a man of great
urbanity when thoroughly in his cups) embraced the chief guest of the
day with the heartfelt words, “My dearest fellow! My own most precious
of friends!” Nay, he even started to crack his fingers, to dance around
Chichikov’s chair, and to sing snatches of a popular song. To the
champagne succeeded Hungarian wine, which had the effect of still
further heartening and enlivening the company. By this time every
one had forgotten about whist, and given himself up to shouting and
disputing. Every conceivable subject was discussed, including politics
and military affairs; and in this connection guests voiced jejune
opinions for the expression of which they would, at any other time, have
soundly spanked their offspring. Chichikov, like the rest, had never
before felt so gay, and, imagining himself really and truly to be a
landowner of Kherson, spoke of various improvements in agriculture, of
the three-field system of tillage [33], and of the beatific felicity of
a union between two kindred souls. Also, he started to recite poetry to
Sobakevitch, who blinked as he listened, for he greatly desired to go to
sleep. At length the guest of the evening realised that matters had gone
far enough, so begged to be given a lift home, and was accommodated with
the Public Prosecutor’s drozhki. Luckily the driver of the vehicle was
a practised man at his work, for, while driving with one hand, he
succeeded in leaning backwards and, with the other, holding Chichikov
securely in his place. Arrived at the inn, our hero continued babbling
awhile about a flaxen-haired damsel with rosy lips and a dimple in her
right cheek, about villages of his in Kherson, and about the amount of
his capital. Nay, he even issued seignorial instructions that Selifan
should go and muster the peasants about to be transferred, and make a
complete and detailed inventory of them. For a while Selifan listened
in silence; then he left the room, and instructed Petrushka to help the
barin to undress. As it happened, Chichikov’s boots had no sooner
been removed than he managed to perform the rest of his toilet without
assistance, to roll on to the bed (which creaked terribly as he did so),
and to sink into a sleep in every way worthy of a landowner of Kherson.
Meanwhile Petrushka had taken his master’s coat and trousers of
bilberry-coloured check into the corridor; where, spreading them over a
clothes’ horse, he started to flick and to brush them, and to fill the
whole corridor with dust. Just as he was about to replace them in his
master’s room he happened to glance over the railing of the gallery, and
saw Selifan returning from the stable. Glances were exchanged, and in
an instant the pair had arrived at an instinctive understanding--an
understanding to the effect that the barin was sound asleep, and that
therefore one might consider one’s own pleasure a little. Accordingly
Petrushka proceeded to restore the coat and trousers to their appointed
places, and then descended the stairs; whereafter he and Selifan left