Dead Souls
Again, to the question of whether or not Chichikov had schemed to abduct
the Governor’s daughter, and also whether it was true that he, Nozdrev,
had undertaken to aid and abet him in the act, the witness replied that,
had he not undertaken to do so, the affair would never have come off. At
this point the witness pulled himself up, on realising that he had told
a lie which might get him into trouble; but his tongue was not to be
denied--the details trembling on its tip were too alluring, and he
even went on to cite the name of the village church where the pair
had arranged to be married, that of the priest who had performed
the ceremony, the amount of the fees paid for the same (seventy-five
roubles), and statements (1) that the priest had refused to solemnise
the wedding until Chichikov had frightened him by threatening to expose
the fact that he (the priest) had married Mikhail, a local corn dealer,
to his paramour, and (2) that Chichikov had ordered both a koliaska for
the couple’s conveyance and relays of horses from the post-houses on the
road. Nay, the narrative, as detailed by Nozdrev, even reached the
point of his mentioning certain of the postillions by name! Next, the
tchinovniks sounded him on the question of Chichikov’s possible identity
with Napoleon; but before long they had reason to regret the step, for
Nozdrev responded with a rambling rigmarole such as bore no resemblance
to anything possibly conceivable. Finally, the majority of the audience
left the room, and only the Chief of Police remained to listen (in the
hope of gathering something more); but at last even he found himself
forced to disclaim the speaker with a gesture which said: “The devil
only knows what the fellow is talking about!” and so voiced the general
opinion that it was no use trying to gather figs of thistles.
Meanwhile Chichikov knew nothing of these events; for, having contracted
a slight chill, coupled with a sore throat, he had decided to keep his
room for three days; during which time he gargled his throat with
milk and fig juice, consumed the fruit from which the juice had been
extracted, and wore around his neck a poultice of camomile and camphor.
Also, to while away the hours, he made new and more detailed lists of
the souls which he had bought, perused a work by the Duchesse de la
Valliere [36], rummaged in his portmanteau, looked through various
articles and papers which he discovered in his dispatch-box, and found
every one of these occupations tedious. Nor could he understand why
none of his official friends had come to see him and inquire after his
health, seeing that, not long since, there had been standing in front of
the inn the drozhkis both of the Postmaster, the Public Prosecutor, and
the President of the Council. He wondered and wondered, and then, with
a shrug of his shoulders, fell to pacing the room. At length he felt
better, and his spirits rose at the prospect of once more going out into
the fresh air; wherefore, having shaved a plentiful growth of hair from
his face, he dressed with such alacrity as almost to cause a split
in his trousers, sprinkled himself with eau-de-Cologne, and wrapping
himself in warm clothes, and turning up the collar of his coat, sallied
forth into the street. His first destination was intended to be the
Governor’s mansion, and, as he walked along, certain thoughts concerning
the Governor’s daughter would keep whirling through his head, so that
almost he forgot where he was, and took to smiling and cracking jokes to
himself.
Arrived at the Governor’s entrance, he was about to divest himself
of his scarf when a Swiss footman greeted him with the words, “I am
forbidden to admit you.”
“What?” he exclaimed. “You do not know me? Look at me again, and see if
you do not recognise me.”
“Of course I recognise you,” the footman replied. “I have seen you
before, but have been ordered to admit any one else rather than Monsieur
Chichikov.”
“Indeed? And why so?”
“Those are my orders, and they must be obeyed,” said the footman,
confronting Chichikov with none of that politeness with which, on
former occasions, he had hastened to divest our hero of his wrappings.
Evidently he was of opinion that, since the gentry declined to receive
the visitor, the latter must certainly be a rogue.
“I cannot understand it,” said Chichikov to himself. Then he departed,
and made his way to the house of the President of the Council. But so
put about was that official by Chichikov’s entry that he could not utter
two consecutive words--he could only murmur some rubbish which left both
his visitor and himself out of countenance. Chichikov wondered, as he
left the house, what the President’s muttered words could have meant,
but failed to make head or tail of them. Next, he visited, in turn, the
Chief of Police, the Vice-Governor, the Postmaster, and others; but in
each case he either failed to be accorded admittance or was received
so strangely, and with such a measure of constraint and conversational
awkwardness and absence of mind and embarrassment, that he began to fear
for the sanity of his hosts. Again and again did he strive to divine
the cause, but could not do so; so he went wandering aimlessly about
the town, without succeeding in making up his mind whether he or
the officials had gone crazy. At length, in a state bordering upon
bewilderment, he returned to the inn--to the establishment whence, that
every afternoon, he had set forth in such exuberance of spirits. Feeling
the need of something to do, he ordered tea, and, still marvelling at
the strangeness of his position, was about to pour out the beverage when
the door opened and Nozdrev made his appearance.
“What says the proverb?” he began. “‘To see a friend, seven versts is
not too long a round to make.’ I happened to be passing the house, saw a
light in your window, and thought to myself: ‘Now, suppose I were to run
up and pay him a visit? It is unlikely that he will be asleep.’ Ah, ha!
I see tea on your table! Good! Then I will drink a cup with you, for I
had wretched stuff for dinner, and it is beginning to lie heavy on my
stomach. Also, tell your man to fill me a pipe. Where is your own pipe?”
“I never smoke,” rejoined Chichikov drily.
“Rubbish! As if I did not know what a chimney-pot you are! What is your
man’s name? Hi, Vakhramei! Come here!”
“Petrushka is his name, not Vakhramei.”
“Indeed? But you USED to have a man called Vakhramei, didn’t you?”
“No, never.”
“Oh, well. Then it must be Derebin’s man I am thinking of. What a lucky
fellow that Derebin is! An aunt of his has gone and quarrelled with her
son for marrying a serf woman, and has left all her property to HIM,
to Derebin. Would that _I_ had an aunt of that kind to provide against
future contingencies! But why have you been hiding yourself away? I
suppose the reason has been that you go in for abstruse subjects and are
fond of reading” (why Nozdrev should have drawn these conclusions no one
could possibly have said--least of all Chichikov himself). “By the way,
I can tell you of something that would have found you scope for your
satirical vein” (the conclusion as to Chichikov’s “satirical vein” was,
as before, altogether unwarranted on Nozdrev’s part). “That is to say,
you would have seen merchant Likhachev losing a pile of money at play.
My word, you would have laughed! A fellow with me named Perependev said:
‘Would that Chichikov had been here! It would have been the very thing
for him!’” (As a matter of fact, never since the day of his birth had
Nozdrev met any one of the name of Perependev.) “However, my friend, you
must admit that you treated me rather badly the day that we played that
game of chess; but, as I won the game, I bear you no malice. A propos,
I am just from the President’s, and ought to tell you that the feeling
against you in the town is very strong, for every one believes you to be
a forger of currency notes. I myself was sent for and questioned
about you, but I stuck up for you through thick and thin, and told
the tchinovniks that I had been at school with you, and had known your
father. In fact, I gave the fellows a knock or two for themselves.”
“You say that I am believed to be a forger?” said Chichikov, starting
from his seat.
“Yes,” said Nozdrev. “Why have you gone and frightened everybody as you
have done? Some of our folk are almost out of their minds about it, and
declare you to be either a brigand in disguise or a spy. Yesterday the
Public Prosecutor even died of it, and is to be buried to-morrow”
(this was true in so far as that, on the previous day, the official in
question had had a fatal stroke--probably induced by the excitement of
the public meeting). “Of course, _I_ don’t suppose you to be anything of
the kind, but, you see, these fellows are in a blue funk about the new
Governor-General, for they think he will make trouble for them over your
affair. A propos, he is believed to be a man who puts on airs, and turns
up his nose at everything; and if so, he will get on badly with the
dvoriane, seeing that fellows of that sort need to be humoured a bit.
Yes, my word! Should the new Governor-General shut himself up in his
study, and give no balls, there will be the very devil to pay! By the
way, Chichikov, that is a risky scheme of yours.”
“What scheme to you mean?” Chichikov asked uneasily.
“Why, that scheme of carrying off the Governor’s daughter. However, to
tell the truth, I was expecting something of the kind. No sooner did
I see you and her together at the ball than I said to myself: ‘Ah, ha!
Chichikov is not here for nothing!’ For my own part, I think you have
made a poor choice, for I can see nothing in her at all. On the other
hand, the niece of a friend of mine named Bikusov--she IS a girl, and no
mistake! A regular what you might call ‘miracle in muslin!’”
“What on earth are you talking about?” asked Chichikov with his eyes
distended. “HOW could I carry off the Governor’s daughter? What on earth
do you mean?”
“Come, come! What a secretive fellow you are! My only object in having
come to see you is to lend you a helping hand in the matter. Look here.
On condition that you will lend me three thousand roubles, I will stand
you the cost of the wedding, the koliaska, and the relays of horses. I
must have the money even if I die for it.”
Throughout Nozdrev’s maunderings Chichikov had been rubbing his eyes to
ascertain whether or not he was dreaming. What with the charge of being
a forger, the accusation of having schemed an abduction, the death of
the Public Prosecutor (whatever might have been its cause), and the
advent of a new Governor-General, he felt utterly dismayed.
“Things having come to their present pass,” he reflected, “I had better
not linger here--I had better be off at once.”
Getting rid of Nozdrev as soon as he could, he sent for Selifan, and
ordered him to be up at daybreak, in order to clean the britchka and to
have everything ready for a start at six o’clock. Yet, though Selifan
replied, “Very well, Paul Ivanovitch,” he hesitated awhile by the door.
Next, Chichikov bid Petrushka get out the dusty portmanteau from under
the bed, and then set to work to cram into it, pell-mell, socks, shirts,
collars (both clean and dirty), boot trees, a calendar, and a variety of
other articles. Everything went into the receptacle just as it came
to hand, since his one object was to obviate any possible delay in
the morning’s departure. Meanwhile the reluctant Selifan slowly, very
slowly, left the room, as slowly descended the staircase (on each
separate step of which he left a muddy foot-print), and, finally, halted
to scratch his head. What that scratching may have meant no one could
say; for, with the Russian populace, such a scratching may mean any one
of a hundred things.