Dead Souls
opposite sides of a mirror. At length Manilov picked up his pipe, and,
while doing so, glanced covertly at Chichikov to see whether there was
any trace of a smile to be detected on his lips--whether, in short, he
was joking. But nothing of the sort could be discerned. On the contrary,
Chichikov’s face looked graver than usual. Next, Manilov wondered
whether, for some unknown reason, his guest had lost his wits; wherefore
he spent some time in gazing at him with anxious intentness. But the
guest’s eyes seemed clear--they contained no spark of the wild, restless
fire which is apt to wander in the eyes of madmen. All was as it should
be. Consequently, in spite of Manilov’s cogitations, he could think
of nothing better to do than to sit letting a stream of tobacco smoke
escape from his mouth.
“So,” continued Chichikov, “what I desire to know is whether you are
willing to hand over to me--to resign--these actually non-living, but
legally living, peasants; or whether you have any better proposal to
make?”
Manilov felt too confused and confounded to do aught but continue
staring at his interlocutor.
“I think that you are disturbing yourself unnecessarily,” was
Chichikov’s next remark.
“I? Oh no! Not at all!” stammered Manilov. “Only--pardon me--I do not
quite comprehend you. You see, never has it fallen to my lot to acquire
the brilliant polish which is, so to speak, manifest in your every
movement. Nor have I ever been able to attain the art of expressing
myself well. Consequently, although there is a possibility that in
the--er--utterances which have just fallen from your lips there may
lie something else concealed, it may equally be that--er--you have been
pleased so to express yourself for the sake of the beauty of the terms
wherein that expression found shape?”
“Oh, no,” asserted Chichikov. “I mean what I say and no more. My
reference to such of your pleasant souls as are dead was intended to be
taken literally.”
Manilov still felt at a loss--though he was conscious that he MUST do
something, he MUST propound some question. But what question? The devil
alone knew! In the end he merely expelled some more tobacco smoke--this
time from his nostrils as well as from his mouth.
“So,” went on Chichikov, “if no obstacle stands in the way, we might as
well proceed to the completion of the purchase.”
“What? Of the purchase of the dead souls?”
“Of the ‘dead’ souls? Oh dear no! Let us write them down as LIVING ones,
seeing that that is how they figure in the census returns. Never do I
permit myself to step outside the civil law, great though has been
the harm which that rule has wrought me in my career. In my eyes an
obligation is a sacred thing. In the presence of the law I am dumb.”
These last words reassured Manilov not a little: yet still the meaning
of the affair remained to him a mystery. By way of answer, he fell to
sucking at his pipe with such vehemence that at length the pipe began
to gurgle like a bassoon. It was as though he had been seeking of
it inspiration in the present unheard-of juncture. But the pipe only
gurgled, et praeterea nihil.
“Perhaps you feel doubtful about the proposal?” said Chichikov.
“Not at all,” replied Manilov. “But you will, I know, excuse me if I
say (and I say it out of no spirit of prejudice, nor yet as criticising
yourself in any way)--you will, I know, excuse me if I say that possibly
this--er--this, er, SCHEME of yours, this--er--TRANSACTION of yours, may
fail altogether to accord with the Civil Statutes and Provisions of the
Realm?”
And Manilov, with a slight gesture of the head, looked meaningly into
Chichikov’s face, while displaying in his every feature, including
his closely-compressed lips, such an expression of profundity as
never before was seen on any human countenance--unless on that of some
particularly sapient Minister of State who is debating some particularly
abstruse problem.
Nevertheless Chichikov rejoined that the kind of scheme or transaction
which he had adumbrated in no way clashed with the Civil Statutes and
Provisions of Russia; to which he added that the Treasury would even
BENEFIT by the enterprise, seeing it would draw therefrom the usual
legal percentage.
“What, then, do you propose?” asked Manilov.
“I propose only what is above-board, and nothing else.”
“Then, that being so, it is another matter, and I have nothing to urge
against it,” said Manilov, apparently reassured to the full.
“Very well,” remarked Chichikov. “Then we need only to agree as to the
price.”
“As to the price?” began Manilov, and then stopped. Presently he went
on: “Surely you cannot suppose me capable of taking money for souls
which, in one sense at least, have completed their existence? Seeing
that this fantastic whim of yours (if I may so call it?) has seized
upon you to the extent that it has, I, on my side, shall be ready to
surrender to you those souls UNCONDITIONALLY, and to charge myself with
the whole expenses of the sale.”
I should be greatly to blame if I were to omit that, as soon as Manilov
had pronounced these words, the face of his guest became replete with
satisfaction. Indeed, grave and prudent a man though Chichikov was,
he had much ado to refrain from executing a leap that would have done
credit to a goat (an animal which, as we all know, finds itself moved
to such exertions only during moments of the most ecstatic joy).
Nevertheless the guest did at least execute such a convulsive shuffle
that the material with which the cushions of the chair were covered came
apart, and Manilov gazed at him with some misgiving. Finally Chichikov’s
gratitude led him to plunge into a stream of acknowledgement of a
vehemence which caused his host to grow confused, to blush, to shake
his head in deprecation, and to end by declaring that the concession was
nothing, and that, his one desire being to manifest the dictates of
his heart and the psychic magnetism which his friend exercised, he, in
short, looked upon the dead souls as so much worthless rubbish.
“Not at all,” replied Chichikov, pressing his hand; after which
he heaved a profound sigh. Indeed, he seemed in the right mood for
outpourings of the heart, for he continued--not without a ring of
emotion in his tone: “If you but knew the service which you have
rendered to an apparently insignificant individual who is devoid both
of family and kindred! For what have I not suffered in my time--I, a
drifting barque amid the tempestuous billows of life? What harryings,
what persecutions, have I not known? Of what grief have I not tasted?
And why? Simply because I have ever kept the truth in view, because ever
I have preserved inviolate an unsullied conscience, because ever I have
stretched out a helping hand to the defenceless widow and the hapless
orphan!” After which outpouring Chichikov pulled out his handkerchief,
and wiped away a brimming tear.
Manilov’s heart was moved to the core. Again and again did the two
friends press one another’s hands in silence as they gazed into one
another’s tear-filled eyes. Indeed, Manilov COULD not let go our hero’s
hand, but clasped it with such warmth that the hero in question began
to feel himself at a loss how best to wrench it free: until, quietly
withdrawing it, he observed that to have the purchase completed as
speedily as possible would not be a bad thing; wherefore he himself
would at once return to the town to arrange matters. Taking up his hat,
therefore, he rose to make his adieus.
“What? Are you departing already?” said Manilov, suddenly recovering
himself, and experiencing a sense of misgiving. At that moment his wife
sailed into the room.
“Is Paul Ivanovitch leaving us so soon, dearest Lizanka?” she said with
an air of regret.
“Yes. Surely it must be that we have wearied him?” her spouse replied.
“By no means,” asserted Chichikov, pressing his hand to his heart. “In
this breast, madam, will abide for ever the pleasant memory of the time
which I have spent with you. Believe me, I could conceive of no greater
blessing than to reside, if not under the same roof as yourselves, at
all events in your immediate neighbourhood.”
“Indeed?” exclaimed Manilov, greatly pleased with the idea. “How
splendid it would be if you DID come to reside under our roof, so that
we could recline under an elm tree together, and talk philosophy, and
delve to the very root of things!”
“Yes, it WOULD be a paradisaical existence!” agreed Chichikov with a
sigh. Nevertheless he shook hands with Madame. “Farewell, sudarina,” he
said. “And farewell to YOU, my esteemed host. Do not forget what I have
requested you to do.”
“Rest assured that I will not,” responded Manilov. “Only for a couple of
days will you and I be parted from one another.”
With that the party moved into the drawing-room.
“Farewell, dearest children,” Chichikov went on as he caught sight of
Alkid and Themistocleus, who were playing with a wooden hussar which
lacked both a nose and one arm. “Farewell, dearest pets. Pardon me for
having brought you no presents, but, to tell you the truth, I was not,
until my visit, aware of your existence. However, now that I shall be
coming again, I will not fail to bring you gifts. Themistocleus, to you
I will bring a sword. You would like that, would you not?”
“I should,” replied Themistocleus.
“And to you, Alkid, I will bring a drum. That would suit you, would it
not?” And he bowed in Alkid’s direction.
“Zeth--a drum,” lisped the boy, hanging his head.
“Good! Then a drum it shall be--SUCH a beautiful drum! What a
tur-r-r-ru-ing and a tra-ta-ta-ta-ing you will be able to kick up!
Farewell, my darling.” And, kissing the boy’s head, he turned to Manilov
and Madame with the slight smile which one assumes before assuring
parents of the guileless merits of their offspring.
“But you had better stay, Paul Ivanovitch,” said the father as the trio
stepped out on to the verandah. “See how the clouds are gathering!”
“They are only small ones,” replied Chichikov.
“And you know your way to Sobakevitch’s?”
“No, I do not, and should be glad if you would direct me.”
“If you like I will tell your coachman.” And in very civil fashion
Manilov did so, even going so far as to address the man in the second
person plural. On hearing that he was to pass two turnings, and then to
take a third, Selifan remarked, “We shall get there all right, sir,” and
Chichikov departed amid a profound salvo of salutations and wavings of
handkerchiefs on the part of his host and hostess, who raised themselves
on tiptoe in their enthusiasm.
For a long while Manilov stood following the departing britchka with his
eyes. In fact, he continued to smoke his pipe and gaze after the
vehicle even when it had become lost to view. Then he re-entered the
drawing-room, seated himself upon a chair, and surrendered his mind to
the thought that he had shown his guest most excellent entertainment.
Next, his mind passed imperceptibly to other matters, until at last it
lost itself God only knows where. He thought of the amenities of a life,
of friendship, and of how nice it would be to live with a comrade on,
say, the bank of some river, and to span the river with a bridge of his
own, and to build an enormous mansion with a facade lofty enough even to
afford a view to Moscow. On that facade he and his wife and friend would
drink afternoon tea in the open air, and discuss interesting subjects;
after which, in a fine carriage, they would drive to some reunion or
other, where with their pleasant manners they would so charm the company
that the Imperial Government, on learning of their merits, would raise
the pair to the grade of General or God knows what--that is to say, to
heights whereof even Manilov himself could form no idea. Then suddenly