Dead Souls
yearning to set things straight--in other words, to approximate his
personality to that of a stationmaster or a director of posts. In short,
almost every man has his hobby or his leaning; yet Manilov had none
such, for at home he spoke little, and spent the greater part of
his time in meditation--though God only knows what that meditation
comprised! Nor can it be said that he took much interest in the
management of his estate, for he never rode into the country, and the
estate practically managed itself. Whenever the bailiff said to him, “It
might be well to have such-and-such a thing done,” he would reply, “Yes,
that is not a bad idea,” and then go on smoking his pipe--a habit which
he had acquired during his service in the army, where he had been looked
upon as an officer of modesty, delicacy, and refinement. “Yes, it is NOT
a bad idea,” he would repeat. Again, whenever a peasant approached him
and, rubbing the back of his neck, said “Barin, may I have leave to go
and work for myself, in order that I may earn my obrok [9]?” he would
snap out, with pipe in mouth as usual, “Yes, go!” and never trouble his
head as to whether the peasant’s real object might not be to go and get
drunk. True, at intervals he would say, while gazing from the verandah
to the courtyard, and from the courtyard to the pond, that it would be
indeed splendid if a carriage drive could suddenly materialise, and the
pond as suddenly become spanned with a stone bridge, and little shops
as suddenly arise whence pedlars could dispense the petty merchandise of
the kind which peasantry most need. And at such moments his eyes
would grow winning, and his features assume an expression of intense
satisfaction. Yet never did these projects pass beyond the stage of
debate. Likewise there lay in his study a book with the fourteenth page
permanently turned down. It was a book which he had been reading for
the past two years! In general, something seemed to be wanting in the
establishment. For instance, although the drawing-room was filled with
beautiful furniture, and upholstered in some fine silken material which
clearly had cost no inconsiderable sum, two of the chairs lacked
any covering but bast, and for some years past the master had been
accustomed to warn his guests with the words, “Do not sit upon these
chairs; they are not yet ready for use.” Another room contained no
furniture at all, although, a few days after the marriage, it had been
said: “My dear, to-morrow let us set about procuring at least some
TEMPORARY furniture for this room.” Also, every evening would see placed
upon the drawing-room table a fine bronze candelabrum, a statuette
representative of the Three Graces, a tray inlaid with mother-of-pearl,
and a rickety, lop-sided copper invalide. Yet of the fact that all four
articles were thickly coated with grease neither the master of the
house nor the mistress nor the servants seemed to entertain the least
suspicion. At the same time, Manilov and his wife were quite satisfied
with each other. More than eight years had elapsed since their marriage,
yet one of them was for ever offering his or her partner a piece of
apple or a bonbon or a nut, while murmuring some tender something which
voiced a whole-hearted affection. “Open your mouth, dearest”--thus ran
the formula--“and let me pop into it this titbit.” You may be sure that
on such occasions the “dearest mouth” parted its lips most graciously!
For their mutual birthdays the pair always contrived some “surprise
present” in the shape of a glass receptacle for tooth-powder, or what
not; and as they sat together on the sofa he would suddenly, and for
some unknown reason, lay aside his pipe, and she her work (if at the
moment she happened to be holding it in her hands) and husband and wife
would imprint upon one another’s cheeks such a prolonged and languishing
kiss that during its continuance you could have smoked a small cigar. In
short, they were what is known as “a very happy couple.” Yet it may be
remarked that a household requires other pursuits to be engaged in than
lengthy embracings and the preparing of cunning “surprises.” Yes, many
a function calls for fulfilment. For instance, why should it be thought
foolish or low to superintend the kitchen? Why should care not be taken
that the storeroom never lacks supplies? Why should a housekeeper be
allowed to thieve? Why should slovenly and drunken servants exist?
Why should a domestic staff be suffered in indulge in bouts of
unconscionable debauchery during its leisure time? Yet none of these
things were thought worthy of consideration by Manilov’s wife, for she
had been gently brought up, and gentle nurture, as we all know, is to
be acquired only in boarding schools, and boarding schools, as we know,
hold the three principal subjects which constitute the basis of human
virtue to be the French language (a thing indispensable to the happiness
of married life), piano-playing (a thing wherewith to beguile
a husband’s leisure moments), and that particular department of
housewifery which is comprised in the knitting of purses and other
“surprises.” Nevertheless changes and improvements have begun to take
place, since things now are governed more by the personal inclinations
and idiosyncracies of the keepers of such establishments. For instance,
in some seminaries the regimen places piano-playing first, and the
French language second, and then the above department of housewifery;
while in other seminaries the knitting of “surprises” heads the list,
and then the French language, and then the playing of pianos--so diverse
are the systems in force! None the less, I may remark that Madame
Manilov--
But let me confess that I always shrink from saying too much about
ladies. Moreover, it is time that we returned to our heroes, who, during
the past few minutes, have been standing in front of the drawing-room
door, and engaged in urging one another to enter first.
“Pray be so good as not to inconvenience yourself on my account,” said
Chichikov. “_I_ will follow YOU.”
“No, Paul Ivanovitch--no! You are my guest.” And Manilov pointed towards
the doorway.
“Make no difficulty about it, I pray,” urged Chichikov. “I beg of you to
make no difficulty about it, but to pass into the room.”
“Pardon me, I will not. Never could I allow so distinguished and so
welcome a guest as yourself to take second place.”
“Why call me ‘distinguished,’ my dear sir? I beg of you to proceed.”
“Nay; be YOU pleased to do so.”
“And why?”
“For the reason which I have stated.” And Manilov smiled his very
pleasantest smile.
Finally the pair entered simultaneously and sideways; with the result
that they jostled one another not a little in the process.
“Allow me to present to you my wife,” continued Manilov. “My dear--Paul
Ivanovitch.”
Upon that Chichikov caught sight of a lady whom hitherto he had
overlooked, but who, with Manilov, was now bowing to him in the doorway.
Not wholly of unpleasing exterior, she was dressed in a well-fitting,
high-necked morning dress of pale-coloured silk; and as the visitor
entered the room her small white hands threw something upon the table
and clutched her embroidered skirt before rising from the sofa where she
had been seated. Not without a sense of pleasure did Chichikov take her
hand as, lisping a little, she declared that she and her husband were
equally gratified by his coming, and that, of late, not a day had passed
without her husband recalling him to mind.
“Yes,” affirmed Manilov; “and every day SHE has said to ME: ‘Why does
not your friend put in an appearance?’ ‘Wait a little dearest,’ I have
always replied. ‘’Twill not be long now before he comes.’ And you HAVE
come, you HAVE honoured us with a visit, you HAVE bestowed upon us a
treat--a treat destined to convert this day into a gala day, a true
birthday of the heart.”
The intimation that matters had reached the point of the occasion being
destined to constitute a “true birthday of the heart” caused Chichikov
to become a little confused; wherefore he made modest reply that, as a
matter of fact, he was neither of distinguished origin nor distinguished
rank.
“Ah, you ARE so,” interrupted Manilov with his fixed and engaging smile.
“You are all that, and more.”
“How like you our town?” queried Madame. “Have you spent an agreeable
time in it?”
“Very,” replied Chichikov. “The town is an exceedingly nice one, and I
have greatly enjoyed its hospitable society.”
“And what do you think of our Governor?”
“Yes; IS he not a most engaging and dignified personage?” added Manilov.
“He is all that,” assented Chichikov. “Indeed, he is a man worthy of the
greatest respect. And how thoroughly he performs his duty according to
his lights! Would that we had more like him!”
“And the tactfulness with which he greets every one!” added Manilov,
smiling, and half-closing his eyes, like a cat which is being tickled
behind the ears.
“Quite so,” assented Chichikov. “He is a man of the most eminent
civility and approachableness. And what an artist! Never should I have
thought he could have worked the marvellous household samplers which he
has done! Some specimens of his needlework which he showed me could not
well have been surpassed by any lady in the land!”
“And the Vice-Governor, too--he is a nice man, is he not?” inquired
Manilov with renewed blinkings of the eyes.
“Who? The Vice-Governor? Yes, a most worthy fellow!” replied Chichikov.
“And what of the Chief of Police? Is it not a fact that he too is in the
highest degree agreeable?”
“Very agreeable indeed. And what a clever, well-read individual! With
him and the Public Prosecutor and the President of the Local Council I
played whist until the cocks uttered their last morning crow. He is a
most excellent fellow.”
“And what of his wife?” queried Madame Manilov. “Is she not a most
gracious personality?”
“One of the best among my limited acquaintance,” agreed Chichikov.
Nor were the President of the Local Council and the Postmaster
overlooked; until the company had run through the whole list of urban
officials. And in every case those officials appeared to be persons of
the highest possible merit.
“Do you devote your time entirely to your estate?” asked Chichikov, in
his turn.
“Well, most of it,” replied Manilov; “though also we pay occasional
visits to the town, in order that we may mingle with a little well-bred
society. One grows a trifle rusty if one lives for ever in retirement.”
“Quite so,” agreed Chichikov.
“Yes, quite so,” capped Manilov. “At the same time, it would be a
different matter if the neighbourhood were a GOOD one--if, for example,
one had a friend with whom one could discuss manners and polite
deportment, or engage in some branch of science, and so stimulate one’s
wits. For that sort of thing gives one’s intellect an airing. It, it--”
At a loss for further words, he ended by remarking that his feelings
were apt to carry him away; after which he continued with a gesture:
“What I mean is that, were that sort of thing possible, I, for
one, could find the country and an isolated life possessed of great
attractions. But, as matters stand, such a thing is NOT possible. All
that I can manage to do is, occasionally, to read a little of A Son of
the Fatherland.”
With these sentiments Chichikov expressed entire agreement: adding that
nothing could be more delightful than to lead a solitary life in which
there should be comprised only the sweet contemplation of nature and the
intermittent perusal of a book.
“Nay, but even THAT were worth nothing had not one a friend with whom to
share one’s life,” remarked Manilov.
“True, true,” agreed Chichikov. “Without a friend, what are all the
treasures in the world? ‘Possess not money,’ a wise man has said, ‘but