 Dead Souls, Part 1, Chapter 2, Section 2. Dead Souls by Nikolai Vasilyevich Gogol. Translated by DJ Hogarth. Part 1, Chapter 2, Section 2, Read by Tisto, T-Y-S-T-O, dot com. It is time that we return 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 Ivanovich, 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 Ivanovich. On 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-colored 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 and 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 are town, queried madam. 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 the 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 everyone, added Manilov, smiling, and half-closing his eyes like a cat which has been tickled behind the ears. Quite so, assented Chichikov, he is a man of the most imminent civility and approachableness. And what an artist! Never should I have thought he could have worked the marvelous 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 blinking 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 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 wist 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 state? 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 forever in retirement. Quite so, agreed Chichikov. Yes, quite so, kept 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 matters 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 to say 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 compromised 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? It's not money, a wise man has said, but rather good friends to whom to turn in case of need. Yes, Paul Ivanovich, said Manilov, with a glance not merely sweet, but positively luscious, a glance akin to the mixture which even clever physicians have to render palatable before they can induce a hesitant patient to take it. Consequently, you may imagine what happiness, what perfect happiness, so to speak, the present occasion has brought me, seeing that I am permitted to converse with you and to enjoy your conversation. But what of my conversation? replied Chichikov, I am an insignificant individual, and beyond that nothing. Oh, Paul Ivanovich, cried the other, permit me to be frank and to say that I would give half my property to possess even a portion of the talents which you possess. On the contrary, I should consider it the highest honour in the world if the links to which this mutual outpouring of soul would have proceeded had not a servant entered to announce luncheon must remain a mystery. I humbly invite you to join us at table, said Manilov. Also, you will pardon us for the fact that we cannot provide a banquet such as is to be obtained in our metropolitan cities. We partake of simple fare, according to Russian custom. We confine ourselves to shiichi, cabbage soup, but we do so with a single heart. Call my humbly beg of you. After another contest for the honour of yielding precedence, Chichikov succeeded in making his way in zigzag fashion to the dining-room, where they found awaiting them a couple of youngsters. These were Manilov's sons, and boys of the age which admits of their presence at table, but necessitates the continued use of high chairs. Beside them was their tutor, who bowed politely and smiled, after which the hostess took her seat before the super-plate, and the guest of honour found himself ensconced between her and the master of the house, while the servant tied up the boy's necks in bibs. What charming children, said Chichikov as he gazed at the pair, and how old are they? The eldest is eight, replied Manilov, and the younger one attained the age of six yesterday. The Mistocleus went on the father, turning to his first-born, who was engaged in striving to free his chin from the bib, with which the footman had encircled it. Upon hearing this distinctly Greek name, to which for some unknown reason Manilov always appended the termination Eus, Chichikov raised his eyebrows a little, but hastened the next moment to restore his face to a more befitting expression. The Mistocleus, repeated the father, tell me which is the finest city in France. Upon this the tutor concentrated his attention upon the Mistocleus, and appeared to be trying hard to catch his eye. Only when the Mistocleus had muttered, Paris did the preceptor grow calmer and not his head. And which is the finest city in Russia, continued Manilov. Again the tutor's attitude became wholly one of concentration. St. Petersburg replied the Mistocleus, and what other city? Moscow responded the boy. Clever little deer burst out Chichikov, turning with an air of surprise to the father. Indeed I feel bound to say that the child evinces the greatest possible potentialities. You do not know him fully, replied the delighted Manilov. The amount of sharpness which he possesses is extraordinary. Our younger one, Alkid, is not so quick. Whereas his brother, well no matter what he may happen upon, whether upon a cow-bug or upon a water-beetle or upon anything else, his little eyes begin jumping out of his head, and he runs to catch the thing and to inspect it. For him I am reserving a diplomatic post. The Mistocleus added the father again turning to his son, do you wish to become an ambassador? Yes, I do, replied the Mistocleus, chewing a piece of bread and wagging his head from side to side. At this moment the lackey who had been standing behind the future ambassador wiped the latter's nose, and well it was that he did so, since otherwise an inelegant and superfluous drop would have been added to the soup. After that the conversation turned upon the joys of a quiet life, though occasionally it was interrupted by remarks from the hostess on the subject of acting and actors. Meanwhile the tutor kept his eyes fixed upon the speaker's faces, and whenever he noticed that they were on the point of laughing, he at once opened his mouth and laughed with enthusiasm. Probably he was a man of grateful heart who wished to repay his employers for the good treatment which he had received. Once however his features assumed a look of grimness as, fixing his eyes upon his vis-a-vis the boys, he tapped sternly upon the table. This happened at a juncture when the Mistocleus had bitten Alchid on the ear, and the said Alchid with frowning eyes and open mouth was preparing himself to sob in piteous fashion until, recognizing that for such a proceeding he might possibly be deprived of his plate, he hastened to restore his mouth to its original expression, and fell tearfully to gnawing a mutton bone, the grease from which had soon covered his cheeks. Every now and again the hostess would turn to Chichikov with the words, You are eating nothing. You have indeed taken little. But invariably her guest replied, Thank you, I have had more than enough. A pleasant conversation is worth all the dishes in the world. At length the company rose from the table. Manolov was in high spirits, and laying his hand upon his guest's shoulder was on the point of conducting him to the drawing-room when suddenly Chichikov intimated to him with a meaning look that he wished to speak to him on a very important matter. That being so, said Manolov, allow me to invite you into my study, and he led the way to a small room which faced the blue of the forest. This is my sanctum, he added. What a pleasant apartment, remarked Chichikov as he eyed it carefully, and indeed the room did not lack a certain attractiveness. The walls were painted a sort of blueish-grey color, and the furniture consisted of four chairs, a settee, and a table, the latter of which bore a few sheets of writing paper, and the book of which I have before had occasion to speak. But the most prominent feature of the room was tobacco, which appeared in many different guises, in packets, in a tobacco jar, and in a loose heap strewn about the table. Likewise, both window-sills were studded with little heaps of ash, arranged not without artifice in rows of more or less tidiness. Clearly smoking afforded the master of the house a frequent means of passing the time. Permit me to offer you a seat on this settee, said Manolov. Here you will be quieter than you would be in the drawing-room. But I should prefer to sit upon this chair. I cannot allow that," objected the smiling Manolov, the settee is especially reserved for my guests. Whether you choose to or no, upon it you must sit. Accordingly Chichikov obeyed. "'And also let me hand you a pipe.' "'No, I never smoke,' answered Chichikov civilly, and with an assumed air of regret. "'And why?' inquired Manolov, equally civilly, but with an air of regret that was wholly genuine. "'Because I fear that I have never quite formed the habit, owing to my having heard that a pipe exercises a desiccating effect upon the system. "'Then allow me to tell you that that is mere prejudice. Nay, I would even go so far as to say that to smoke a pipe is a healthier practice than to take snuff. Among its members our regiment numbered a lieutenant, a most excellent well-educated fellow, who was simply incapable of removing his pipe from his mouth, whether at table or pardon me, in other places. He is now forty, yet no man could enjoy better health than he has always done." Chichikov replied that such cases were common since nature comprised many things which even the finest intellect could not compass. "'But allow me to put to a question,' he went on in a tone in which there was a strange—or at all events rather a strange—note. For some unknown reason also he glanced over his shoulder. For some equally unknown reason Manolov glanced over his. "'How long is it?' inquired the guest. "'Since you last rendered a census return.' "'Oh, a long, long time. In fact I cannot remember when it was.' "'And since then have many of your serfs died?' "'I do not know. To ascertain that I should need to ask my bailiff. "'Footman, go and call the bailiff. I think he will be at home today.'" Before long the bailiff made his appearance. He was a man of under forty, clean shaven, clad in a smock, and evidently used to a quiet life, seeing that his face was of that puffy fullness, and the skin encircling his slit-like eyes was of that sallow tint, which shows that the owner of those features is well acquainted with a feather bed. In a trice it could be seen that he had played his part in life, as all such bailiffs do, that originally a young serf of elementary education he had married some agashka of a housekeeper or mistress's favorite, and then himself become housekeeper and subsequently bailiff, after which he had proceeded according to the rules of his tribe, that is to say he had consorted with and stood in with the more well-to-do serfs on the estate, and added the poorer ones to the list of forced pairs of obruk, while himself leaving his bed at nine o'clock in the morning, and when the samovar had been brought drinking his tea at leisure. "'Look here, my good man,' said Manolov, "'how many of our serfs have died since the last census revision?' "'How many of them have died?' "'Why, a great many.' The bailiff hiccupped, and slapped his mouth lightly after doing so. "'Yes, I imagine that to be the case,' corroborated Manolov. In fact, a very great many serfs have died.' He turned to Chichikov and repeated the words. "'How many?' for instance, asked Chichikov. "'Yes, how many?' re-accode Manolov. "'How many?' re-accode the bailiff. "'Well, no one knows the exact number, for no one has kept any account.' "'Quite so,' remarked Manolov. "'I suppose the death rate to have been high, but was ignorant of its precise extent.' "'Then would you be so good as to have it computed for me?' said Chichikov, and also to have a detailed list of the deaths made out?' "'Yes, I will. A detailed list,' agreed Manolov. "'Very well.' The bailiff departed. "'For what purpose do you want it?' inquired Manolov, when the bailiff had gone. The question seemed to embarrass the guest. For in Chichikov's face there dawned a sort of tense expression, and it reddened as though its owner were striving to express something not easy to put into words. True enough, Manolov was now destined to hear such strange and unexpected things as never before had greeted human ears. "'You ask me,' said Chichikov, for what purpose I want the list. Well, my purpose in wanting it is this, that I desire to purchase a few peasants.' And he broke off in a gulp. "'But may I ask how you desire to purchase those peasants?' asked Manolov, with land or merely as souls for transferment, that is to say, by themselves and without any land?' "'I want the peasants themselves only,' replied Chichikov, and I want dead ones at that.' "'What? Excuse me, but I am a trifle-deaf. Really, your words sound most strange.' "'All that I am proposing to do,' replied Chichikov, is to purchase the dead peasants, who, at the last census, were returned by you as alive.' Manolov dropped his pipe on the floor and sat gaping. Yes, the two friends who had just been discussing the joys of camaraderie sat staring at one another, like the portraits which, of old, used to hang on opposite sides of a mirror. At length Manolov 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 Manolov 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 a madman. All was as it should be. Consequently, in spite of Manolov'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. Manolov felt too confused and confounded to do ought 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 Manolov, 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 utterances which have just fallen from your lips there may lie something else concealed, it may be equally that 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. Manolov 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 Manolov, not a little, yet still the meaning of the affair remained to him a mystery. By way of answer he felt a 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 at Prateria Nihil. Perhaps you feel doubtful about the proposal, said Chichikov. Not at all, replied Manolov, but you will, I know, excuse me if I say and I say it out of no spirit of prejudice, nor yet as criticizing yourself in any way. You will, I know, excuse me if I say that possibly this scheme of yours, this transaction of yours, may fail altogether to accord with the civil statutes and provisions of the realm. And Manolov, 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 there from the usual legal percentage. What then do you propose? asked Manolov. I propose only what is aboveboard and nothing else. Then that being so, it is another matter and I have nothing to urge against it, said Manolov apparently reassured to the full. Very well remarked Chichikov, then we need only to agree as to the price. Began Manolov 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 Manolov 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 adieu 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 Manolov gazed at him with some misgiving. Finally Chichikov's gratitude led him to plunge into a stream of acknowledgment 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 of both family and kindred, for what have I not suffered in my time? I, a drifting bark amid the tempestuous billows of life, what harryings, what persecution 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 in violet an unsullied conscience, because ever I have stretched out a helping hand to the defenseless widow in the hapless orphan, after which outpouring Chichikov pulled out his handkerchief and wiped away a brimming tear. Manolov'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, Manolov 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 adieu's. What, are you departing already? said Manolov, suddenly recovering himself and experiencing a sense of misgiving. At that moment his wife sailed into the room. Is Paul Ivanovich leaving us so soon, dearest Lysanka? 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 neighborhood. Indeed, exclaimed Manolov, 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 paradisical existence, agreed Chichikov with a sigh. Nevertheless he shook hands with madam. Farewell, Suterina, 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 Manolov, 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 Thymistoklius, 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 presence, 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 shall not fail to bring you gifts. Thymistoklius, to you I will bring a sword. You would like that, would you not? I should, replied Thymistoklius, 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, that a drum that shall be such a beautiful drum, what a ta-ra-ra-rung in a ta-ra-ta-tarring you will be able to kick up. Farewell, my darling, and kissing the boy's head he turned to Manolov and Madame with the slightest smile which one assumes before assuring parents of the guileless merits of their offspring. But you had better stay, Paul Ivanovich, said the father as the trio stepped out onto the veranda. See how the clouds are gathering. They are only small ones, replied Chichikov. And you know your way to Sobakovich'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 Manolov 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, Celefan remarked, We shall get there all right, sir. And Chichikov departed amid a profound salvo of salutations and waving of handkerchiefs on the part of his host and hostess, who raised themselves on tiptoe in their enthusiasm. For a long while Manolov stood following the departing Brechka 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 façade lofty enough even to afford a view of Moscow. On that façade 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 Manolov himself could form no idea. Then suddenly Chichikov's extraordinary request interrupted the dreamer's reflections, and he found his brain powerless to digest it. Seeing that, turn and turn the matter about as he might, he could not properly explain its bearing. Smoking his pipe, he sat where he was until suppertime. End of Part 1, Chapter 2. Dead Souls, Part 1, Chapter 3, Section 1. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For further information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Dead Souls by Nikolai Vasilyevich Gogol. Translated by DJ Hogarth. Part 1, Chapter 3, Section 1. Meanwhile Chichikov, seated in his britchka, and bowling along the tone-pike, was feeling greatly pleased with himself. From the preceding chapter the reader will have gathered the principal subject of his bent and inked in nations, wherefor it is no matter for wonder that his body and his soul had ended by becoming wholly immersed therein. To all appearances, the thoughts, the calculations, and the projects which were now reflected in his face partook of a pleasant nature, since momentarily they kept leaving behind them a satisfied smile. Indeed, so engrossed was he, that he never noticed that his coachman, elated with the hospitality of Manilov's domestics, was making remarks of a didactic nature to the off-horse of the troika, a skew-bald. This skew-bald was a knowing animal, and made only a show of pulling, whereas its comrades, the middle-horse, a bay, and known as the assessor, owing to his having been acquired from a gentleman of that rank, and the near-horse, a roam, would do their work gallantly, and even events in their eyes the pleasure which they derived from their exertions. Ah, you rascal, you rascal, I'll get the better of you, ejaculated cellophane, as he sat up and gave the lazy one a cut with his whip. You know your business all right, you German pantaloon. The bay is a good fellow and does his duty, and I'll give him a bit over his feed, for he is a horse to be respected. And the assessor too is a good horse, but what are you shaking your ears for? You are a fool, so just mind when you're spoken to. It is good advice I'm giving you, you blockhead. Ah, you can travel when you like. And he gave the animal another cut, and then shouted to the trio, de-up my beauties, and drew his whip gently across the backs of the skew-balls, comrades, not as a punishment, but as a sign of his approval. That done, he addressed himself to the skew- bald again. Do you think, he cried, that I don't see what you're doing? You can behave quite decently when you like and make a man respect you. With that, he fell to recalling certain reminiscences. They were nice folk, those folk at the gentleman's yonder, he mused. I do love a chat with a man when he is a good sort. With a man of that kind, I'm always hail fellow well met, and glad to drink a glass of tea with him, or to eat a biscuit. One can't help respecting a decent fellow. For instance, this gentler mind, why everyone looks up to him, for he has been in the government service, and is a collegiate counsellor. Thus soliloquizing, he passed to more remote abstractions, until, had Chichikov been listening, he would have learned a number of interesting details concerning himself. However, his thoughts were wholly occupied with his own subject, so much so that not until a loud clap of thunder awoke him from his reverie did he glance around him. The sky was completely covered with clouds, and the dusty turnpike beginning to be sprinkled with drops of rain. At length a second and a nearer and a louder peel resounded, and the rain descended as from a bucket. Falling slant-wise, it beat upon one side of the basket work of the tilt, until the splashings began to spurt into his face, and he found himself forced to draw the curtains, fitted with circular openings, through which to obtain a glimpse of the wayside view, and to shout to cellophane to quicken his pace. Upon that the coachman interrupted in the middle of his hurang. We thought him that no time was to be lost, wherefore, extracting from under the box seat a piece of old blanket, he covered over his sleeves, resumed the reins, and cheered on his threefold team, which it may be said had so completely succumbed to the influence of the pleasant lassitude induced by cellophane's discourse, that it had taken to scarcely placing one leg before the other. Unfortunately cellophane could not clearly remember whether two turnings had been passed, or three. Indeed, on collecting his faculties and dimly recording the lie of the road, he became filled with a shrewd suspicion that a very large number of turnings had been passed. But since, at moments which call for a hasty decision, a Russian is quick to discover what may conceivably be the best course to take, our coachman put away from him all ulterior reasoning, and turning to the right at the next crossroad shouted, I, my beauties, and set off at a gallop. Never for a moment did he stop to think whether the road might lead him. It was long before the clouds had discharged their burden, and meanwhile the dust on the road became kneaded into mire, and the horse's task of pulling the bridgecar heavier and heavier. Also, Chichikov had taken alarm at his continued failure to catch sight of Sobakovich's country house. According to his calculations it ought to have been reached long ago. He gazed about him on every side, but the darkness was too dense for the eye to pierce. "'Serefan!' he exclaimed, leaning forward in the bridgecar. "'What is it, Badeen?' replied the coachman. "'Can you see the country house anywhere? No, Badeen!' After which, with a flourish of the whip, the man broke into a sort of endless, drawing song. In that song everything had a place. By everything I mean both the various encouraging and stimulating cries with which Russian folk urge on their horses, and a random, unpremeditated selection of adjectives. Meanwhile, Chichikov began to notice that the bridgecar was swaying violently and dealing him occasional bumps. Consequently, he suspected that it had left the road, and was being dragged over a plowed field. Upon Serifan's mind there appeared to have dawned a similar inkling, for he had ceased to hold forth. "'You rascal, what road are you following?' inquired Chichikov. "'I don't know,' retorted the coachman. "'What could a man do at a time of night when the darkness won't let him even see his whip?' And as Serifan spoke, the vehicle tilted to an angle, which left Chichikov no choice but to hang on with hands and teeth. At length he realized the fact that Serifan was drunk. "'Stop, stop, or you'll upset us,' he shouted to the fellow. "'No, no, Bahrain,' replied Serifan. "'How could I upset you? To upset people is wrong. I know that very well, and should never dream of such conduct.' Here he started to turn the vehicle round a little, and kept on doing so until the bridgecar capsized onto its side, and Chichikov landed in the mud on his hands and knees. Fortunately Serifan succeeded in stopping the horses, although they would have stopped of themselves, seeing that they were utterly worn out. This unforeseen catastrophe evidently astonished their driver. Slipping from the box, he stood resting his hands against the side of the bridgecar, while Chichikov tumbled and floundered about in the mud in a vain endeavor to wriggle clear of the stuff. "'Ah, you,' said Serifan meditatively to the bridgecar, "'to think of upsetting us like this. "'You're as drunk as a lord,' exclaimed Chichikov. "'No, no, Bahrain, drunk indeed. Why, I know my man is too well. A word or two with a friend, that is all I've taken. Anyone may talk with a decent man when he meets him. There's nothing wrong in that. Also, we had a snack together. There's nothing wrong in a snack, especially a snack with a decent man. "'What did I say to you when last you got drunk?' asked Chichikov. "'Have you forgotten what I said then? "'No, no, Bahrain, how could I forget it? I know what is what, and I know that it is not right to get drunk. All that I've been having is a word or two with a decent man, for the reason that, well, if I lay the whip about you, you will know then how to talk to a decent fellow, our warrants.' "'As you please, Bahrain,' replied the complacent cellophane, "'should you whip me? You will whip me, and I shall have nothing to complain of. Why should you not whip me if I deserve it? It is for you to do as you like. Whippings are necessary sometimes, for a peasant often plays the fool, and discipline ought to be maintained. If I have deserved it, beat me. Why should you not?' This reasoning seemed, at the moment, irrefutable, and Chichikov said nothing more. Fortunately fate had decided to take pity on the pair. Far from afar their ears caught the barking of a dog. Plucking up courage, Chichikov gave orders for the bridge-cut to be rited, and the horses to be urged forward. And since a Russian driver has at least this merit, that, owing to a keen sense of smell being able to take the place of eyesight, he can, if necessary, drive at random, and yet reach a destination of some sort, set if on succeeded, though powerless to discern a single object, in directing his steeds to a country house nearby, and that with such a certainty of instinct, that it was not until the shafts had collided with a garden wall, and thereby made it clear that to proceed another pace was impossible, that he stopped. All that Chichikov could discern through the thick veil of pouring rain was something which resembled a veranda. So he dispatched Celefan to search for the entrance gate, and that process would have lasted indefinitely, had it not been shortened by the circumstance that, in Russia, the place of a Swiss footman is frequently taken by watchdogs, of which animals a number now proclaimed the traveller's presence so loudly that Chichikov found himself forced to stop his ears. Next a light gleamed in one of the windows, and filtered in a thin stream to the garden wall, thus revealing the whereabouts of the entrance gates, whereupon Celefan fell to knocking at the gates, until the bolts of the house door were withdrawn, and there issued therefrom a figure clad in a rough cloak. Who is that knocking? What have you come for? shouted the hoarse voice of an elderly woman. We're travellers, good mother, said Chichikov. Pray allow us to spend the night here. Out upon you for a pair of gadabouts, retorted the old woman, a fine time and night to be arriving. We don't keep an hotel, mind you. This is a lady's residence. But what are we to do, mother? We have lost our way, and cannot spend the night out of doors in such weather. No, we cannot. The night is dark and cold, added Celefan. Hold your tongue, you fool, exclaimed Chichikov. Who are you then? inquired the old woman. A dvorianin, good mother. Somehow the word dvorianin seemed to give the old woman food for thought. Wait a moment, she said, and I'll tell the mistress. Two minutes later she returned with a lantern in her hand. The gates were opened, and a light glimmered in a second window. Entering the courtyard, the bridge car halted before a moderate-sized mansion. The darkness did not permit a very accurate observation being made, but apparently the windows only of one half of the building were illuminated, while a quagmire in front of the door reflected the beams from the same. Meanwhile the rain continued to beat sonorously down upon the wooden roof, and could be heard trickling into a water-butt. Nor for a single moment did the dogs cease to bark with all the strength of their lungs. One of them, throwing up its head, kept venting a howl of such energy and duration that the animals seemed to be howling for a handsome wager, while another, cutting in between the yellpings of the first animal, kept restlessly reiterating, like a postman's bell, the notes of a very young puppy. Finally, an old hound, which appeared to be gifted with a peculiarly robust temperament, kept supplying the part of Contrabasso, so that his growls resembled the rumbling of a bass singer when a chorus is in full cry, and the tenors are rising on tiptoe in their efforts to compass a particularly high note, and the whole body of choristers are wagging their heads before approaching a climax, and this Contrabasso alone is tucking his bearded chin into his collar, and sinking almost to a squatting posture on the floor, in order to produce a note which will cause the windows to shiver and their pains to crack. Naturally, from a canine chorus of such executants, it might reasonably be inferred that the establishment was one of the utmost respectability. To that, however, our damp, cold hero gave not a thought, for all his mind was fixed upon bed. Indeed, the britchka had hardly come to a standstill before he leapt out upon the doorstep, missed his footing, and came within an ace of falling. To meet him there issued a female, younger than the first, but very closely resembling her, and on his being conducted to the parlor, a couple of glances showed him that the room was hung with old striped curtains, and ornamented with pictures of birds and small antique mirrors. The latter set in dark frames which were carved to resemble scrolls of foliage. Behind each mirror was stuck either a letter or an old pack of cards or a stocking, while on the wall hung a clock with a flowered dial. More, however, Chichikov could not discern, for his eyelids were as heavy as those smeared with treacle. Presently the lady of the house herself entered, an elderly woman in a sort of nightcap hastily put on, and a flannel neck-wrap. She belonged to that class of lady-landowners, who are forever lamenting failures of the harvest and their losses thereby. To the class who, drooping their heads despondently, are all the while stuffing money into striped purses, which they keep hoarded in the drawers of cupboards. Into one purse they will stuff ruble-pieces, into another half-rubles, and into a third Chitviertychki, although from their mean you would suppose that the cupboard contained only linen and night-shirts and skeins of wool, and the piece of shabby material, which is destined, should the old gown become scorched during the baking of holiday cakes and other dainties, or should it fall into pieces of itself, to become converted into a new dress. But the gown never does get burnt or wear out, for the reason that the lady is too careful, wherefore the piece of shabby material reposes in its unmade-up condition, until the priest advises that it be given to the niece of some widowed sister, together with a quantity of other such rubbish. Chitviertychki apologised for having disturbed the household with his unexpected arrival. Not at all, not at all, replied the lady, but in what dreadful weather God has brought you hither, what wind and what rain, you could not help losing your way, pray excuses for being unable to make better preparations for you at this time and night. Suddenly they are broken upon the hostess's word, the sound of a strange hissing, a sound so loud that the guest started in alarm, and the more so, seeing that it increased, until the room seemed filled with adders. On glancing upwards, however, he recovered his composure, for he perceived the sound to be emanating from the clock, which appeared to be in a mind to strike. To the hissing sound there succeeded a wheezing one, until, putting forth its best efforts, the things struck to with as much clatter as though someone had been hitting an iron pot with a cudgel. That done the pendulum returned to its right-left-right-left oscillation. Chitviertychki thanked his hostess kindly, and said that he needed nothing, and she must not put herself about. Only for rest was he longing, though also he should like to know whither he had arrived, and whether the distance to the country house of landowner Sobarkovich was anything very great. To this the lady replied that she had never so much as heard the name, since no gentleman of the name resided in the locality. But at least you are acquainted with landowner Manilov, continued Chitviertychki, no, who is he? Another landed proprietor, madam, well, neither have I heard of him, no such landowner lives hereabouts. Then who are your local landowners? Are they rich men? No, none of them. One of them may own twenty souls, and another thirty, but of gentry who own a hundred, there are none. Chitviertychki reflected that he had indeed fallen into an aristocratic wilderness. At all events, this is the town far away, he inquired. About sixty bursts. How sorry I am that I have nothing for you to eat. Should you get a drink some tea? I thank you, good mother, but I require nothing beyond the bed. Well, after such a journey, you must indeed be needing rest, so you shall lie upon this sofa. Fatinya, bring a quilt and some pillows and sheets. What weather a goddess sent us, and what dreadful thunderer! Ever since sunset, I have had a candle burning before the icon in my bedroom. My God, why, you are back inside there as muddy as a boar's. However, have you managed to get into such a state? That I am nothing worse than muddy is indeed fortunate, since, but for the Almighty, I should have had my ribs broken. Dear, dear, to think of all that you must have been through, had I not better await your back? I thank you, I thank you, but you need not trouble. Mealy be so good as to tell your maid to dry my clothes. Do you hear that, Fatinya? said the hostess. Turning to a woman who is engaged in dragging in a feather bed, and deluging the room with feathers. Take this coat and this vest, and after drying them before the fire, just as we used to do for your late master, give them a good rub, and fold them up neatly. Very well, mistress, said Fatinya, spreading some sheets over the bed, and arranging the pillows. Now your bed is ready for you, said the hostess to Chichikov. Good night, dear sir, I wish you good night. Is there anything else that you require? Perhaps you would like to have your heels tickled before retiring. Never could my late husband get to sleep without that having been done. But the guest declined the prophet's heel tickling, and, on his hostess taking her departure, hastened to divest himself of his clothing, both upper and under, and to hand the garments to Fatinya. She wished him good night, and removed the wet trappings, after which she found himself alone. Not without satisfaction did he eye his bed, which reached almost to the ceiling. Clearly Fatinya was a past mistress in the art of beating up such a couch, and, as the result, he had no sooner mounted it with the aid of a chair than it sank well nigh to the floor, and the feathers, squeezed out of their proper confines, flew hither and thither into every corner of the apartment. Nevertheless he extinguished the candle, covered himself over with the chintz quilt, snuggled down beneath it, and instantly fell asleep. Next day it was late in the morning before he awoke. Through the window the sun was shining into his eyes, and the flies, which overnight had been roosting quietly on the walls and ceiling, now turned their attention to the visitor. One settled on his lip, another on his ear, a third hovered as though intending to lodge in his very eye, and a fourth had the temerity to alight just under his nostrils. In his drowsy condition he inhaled the latter insect, sneezed violently, and so returned to consciousness. He glanced around the room and perceived that not all the pictures were representative of birds, since among them hung also a portrait of Kutuzov, and an oil painting of an old man in a uniform with red facings, such as were worn in the days of the Emperor Paul. At this moment the clock uttered its usual hissing sound, and struck ten, while a woman's face peered in at the door, but at once withdrew, for the reason that, with the object of sleeping as well as possible, Chichikov had removed every stitch of his clothing. Somehow the face seemed to him familiar, and he set himself to recall who it could be. At length he recollected that it was the face of his hostess. His clothes he found lying, clean and dry, beside him, so he dressed and approached the mirror, meanwhile sneezing again with such vehemence that a cock which happened at the moment to be near the window, which was situated at no great distance from the ground, chuckled a short, sharp phrase, probably it meant in the bird's alien tongue, Good morning to you. Chichikov retorted by calling the bird a fool, and then himself approached the window to look at the view. It appeared to comprise a poulterer's premises. At all events the narrow yard in front of the window was full of poultery and other domestic creatures, of gamefowls and barn doorfowls, with among them a cock which strutted with measured gait, and kept shaking its comb and tilting its head as though it were trying to listen to something. Also a sow and her family were helping to grace the scene. First she rooted among a heap of litter, then in passing she ate up a young pullet, lastly she proceeded carelessly to munch some pieces of melon rind. To this small yard or poultry run a length of planking served as a fence, while beyond it lay a kitchen garden containing cabbages, onions, potatoes, beetroots and other household vegetables. Also the garden contained a few stray fruit trees that were covered with netting to protect them from the magpies and sparrows, flocks of which were even then wheeling and darting from one spot to another. For the same reason a number of scarecrows without stretched arms stood reared on long poles, with, surmounting one of the figures, a cast-off cap of the hostesses. Beyond the garden again there stood a number of peasants huts. Though scattered, instead of being arranged in regular rows, these appeared to Chichikov's eye to comprise well-to-do inhabitants, since all the rotten planks in their roofing had been replaced with new ones, and none of their doors were askew, and such of their tiltsheds as faced him evinced evidence of a presence of a spare wagon, in some cases almost a new one. This lady owns by no means a poor village, said Chichikov to himself, wherefore he decided then and there to have a talk with his hostess and to cultivate her closer acquaintance. Accordingly he peeped through the chink of the door, whence her head had recently protruded, and seeing her seated at a tea-table, entered and greeted her with a cheerful, kindly smile. —Good morning, dear sir, she responded as she rose. —How have you slept? She was dressed in better style than she had been on the previous evening. That is to say she was now wearing a gown of some dark colour, and lacked her nightcap, and had swathed her neck in something stiff. —I have slept exceedingly well, replied Chichikov, sitting himself upon a chair. —And how are you, good madam? —But poorly, my dear sir. And why so? —Because I cannot sleep. A pain has taken me in my middle, and my legs from the ankles upwards are aching as though they were broken. That will pass, that will pass, good mother. You must pay no attention to it. God grant that it may pass. However, I have been rubbing myself with lard and turpentine. —What sort of tea would you take? In this jar I have some of the scented kind. —Excellent, good mother. Then I will take that. Probably the reader will have noticed that for all his expressions of solicitude, Chichikov's tone towards his hostess partook of a freer and more unceremonious nature than that which he had adopted towards Madam Manilov. And here I should like to assert that howsoever much, in certain respects, we Russians may be surpassed by foreigners, at least we surpass them in a droidness of manner. In fact, the various shades and subtleties of our social intercourse defy enumeration. A Frenchman or a German would be incapable of envisaging and understanding all its peculiarities and differences. For his tone, in speaking to a millionaire, differs but little from that which he employs towards a small tobacco-nist, and that in spite of the circumstance that he is accustomed to cringe before the former. With us, however, things are different. In Russian society there exist clever folk who can speak in one manner to a landowner possessed of two hundred peasant souls, and in another to a landowner possessed of three hundred, and in another to a landowner possessed of five hundred. In short, up to the number of a million souls, the Russian will have ready for each landowner a suitable mode of address. For example, suppose that somewhere there exists a government office, and that in that office there exists a director. I would beg of you to contemplate him as he sits among his murmidons. Sheer nervousness will prevent you from uttering a word in his presence so great are the pride and superiority depicted on his countenance. Also, were you to sketch him, you would be sketching a veritable Prometheus, for his glance is as that of an eagle, and he walks with measured, stately stride. Yet no sooner will the eagle have left the room to seek the study of his superior officer than he will go scurrying along, papers held close to his nose, like any partridge. But in society and at the evening party, should the rest of those present be of lesser rank than himself, the Prometheus will once more become Prometheus, and the man who stands a step below him will treat him in a way never dreamt of by Ovid, seeing that each fly is of lesser account than its superior fly, and becomes in the presence of the latter even as a grain of sand. Surely that is not Ivan Petrovich, you will say of such and such a man as you regard him. Ivan Petrovich is tall, whereas this man is small and spare. Ivan Petrovich has a loud deep voice and never smiles, whereas this man, whoever he may be, is twittering like a sparrow and smiling all the time. Yet approach and take a good look at the fellow, and you will see that it is Ivan Petrovich. A lack a lack will be the only remark you can make. End of Part 1 Chapter 3 Section 1 Dead Souls Part 1 Chapter 3 Section 2 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For further information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Dead Souls by Nikolai Vasilyevich Gogol Translated by DJ Hogarth Part 1 Chapter 3 Section 2 Let us return to our characters in real life. We have seen that, on this occasion, Chichikov decided to dispense with ceremony, wherefore, taking up the teapot, he went on as follows. You have a nice little village here, madam. How many souls does it contain? A little less than eighty, dear sir. But the times are hard, and I have lost a great deal through last year's harvest having proved a failure. But your peasants look fine, strong fellows. May I inquire your name? Through arriving so late at night, I have quite lost my wits. Korobochka, the widow of a collegiate secretary. I humbly thank you. And your Christian name and patronymic? Nastasia Petrovna. Nastasia Petrovna. Those are excellent names. I have a maternal aunt, named like yourself. And your name? queried the lady. May I take it that you are a government assessor? No, madam, replied Chichikov with a smile. I am not an assessor, but a traveller on private business. Then you must be a buyer of produce. How I regret that I have sold my honey so cheaply to other buyers, otherwise you might have bought it, dear sir. I never buy honey. Then what do you buy for a hemp? I have a little of that by me, but not more than half a pood or soul. No, madam, it is in other ways that I deal. Tell me, have you of late years lost many of your peasants by death? Yes, no fewer than eighteen, responded the old lady with a sigh. Such a fine luck, too, all good workers. True, others have since grown up, but of what use are they, mere striplings? When the assessor called upon me, I could have whacked. For though those workmen and mine are dead, I have to keep on paying for them as though they were still alive. And only last week my blacksmith got burnt to death, such a clever hand at his trade he was. What, a fire occurred at your place? No, no, God preserve us all. It was not so bad as that. You must understand that the blacksmith set himself on fire. He got set on fire in his bowels through overdrinking. Yes, all of a sudden there burst from him a blue flame, and he smoldered and smoldered, until he had turned as black as a piece of charcoal. Yet what a clever blacksmith he was, and now I have no horses to drive out with, for there is no one to shoo them. In everything the will of God, Madam, said Chichikov with a sigh. Against the divine wisdom it is not for us to rebel. Pray hand them over to me, Anastasia Petrovna, hand over a home, the dead peasants. But how could I do that? Quite simply, sell them to me, and I will give you some money in exchange. But how, mate, to sell them to you? I scarcely understand what you mean. I might addig them up again from the ground. Chichikov perceived that the old lady was altogether at sea, and that he must explain the matter. Wherefore, in a few words, he informed her that the transfer or purchase of the souls in question would take place merely on paper, that the said souls would be listed as still alive. And what good would they be to you? Asked his hostess, staring at him with her eyes distended. That is my affair. But they are dead souls. Who said they were not? The mere fact of their being dead entails upon you a loss as dead as the souls, for you have to continue paying tax upon them, whereas my plan is to relieve you both of the tax and of the resultant trouble. Now do you understand? And I will not only do as I say, but also hand you over fifteen rubles per soul. Is that clear enough? Yes, but I do not know, said his hostess diffidently. You say never before have I sold dead souls. Quite so. It would be a surprising thing if you had, but surely you do not think that these dead souls are in the least worth keeping. Oh, no indeed. Why should they be worth keeping? I'm sure they are not soul. The only thing which troubles me is the fact that they are dead. She seems a truly obstinate old woman, was Chichikov's inward comment. Look here, madam, he added aloud. You reason well, but you are simply ruining yourself by continuing to pay the tax upon dead souls as though they were still alive. Oh, good sir, do not speak of it, the lady exclaimed. Three weeks ago I took a hundred and fifty rubles to that assessor and buttered him up, and then you see how it is, do you not? Remember that according to my plan you will never again have to butter up the assessor, seeing that it will be I who will be paying for those peasants. I, not you, for I should have taken over the dues upon them and have transferred them to myself as so many bona fide serfs. Do you understand, at last? However, the old lady still communed with herself. She could see that the transaction would be to her advantage, yet it was one of such a novel and unprecedented nature that she was beginning to fear lest this purchaser of souls intended to cheat her. Certainly he had come from God only knew where, and at the dead of night, too. But, sir, I have never in my life sold dead folk only living ones. Three years ago I transferred two wenches to Proto Popov for a hundred rubles a piece, and he thanked me kindly, for they turned out splendid workers, able to make napkins or anything else. Yes, but with the living we have nothing to do, dammit, I am asking you only about dead folk. Yes, yes, of course, but at the first sight I felt afraid lest I should be incurring a loss. Last you should be wishing to outwit me, good sir. You see, the dead souls are worth rather more than you have offered for them. See here, madame, what a woman it is. How could they be worth more? Think for yourself. They are so much lost to you, so much lost. Do you understand? Take any worthless rubbishy article you like. A piece of old rag, for example. That rag will yet fetch its price, for it can be bought for papermaking. But these dead souls are good for nothing at all. Can you name anything that they are good for? True, true, they are good for nothing. But what troubles me is the fact that they are dead. What a blockhead of a creature, said Chichikov to himself, for he was beginning to lose patience. Bless her heart, I might as well be going. She has thrown me into a perfect sweat, the cursed old shrew. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the perspiration from his brow. Yet he need not have flown into such a passion. More than one respected statesman reveals himself when confronted with a business matter to be just such another as madame Korobochka, in that once he has got an idea into his head, there is no getting it out of him. You may ply him with daylight clear arguments, yet they will rebound from his brain as an India rubber ball rebounds from a flagstone. Nevertheless, wiping away the perspiration, Chichikov resolved to try, whether he could not bring her back to the road by another path. Madam, he said, either you are declining to understand what I say, or you are talking for the mere sake of talking. If I hand you over some money, 15 rubles for each soul, do you understand? It is money, not something which can be picked up haphazard on the street. For instance, tell me how much you sold your honey for, for 12 rubles per pood. Ah, then by those words, madam, you have laid a trifling sin upon your soul, for you did not sell the honey for 12 rubles. By the Lord God I dead! Well, well, never mind, honey is only honey. Now, you had collected that stuff, it may be, for a year, and with infinite care and labour. You had fussed after it, you had trotted to and fro, you had duly frozen out the bees, and you had fed them in the cellar throughout the winter. But these dead souls of which I speak are quite another matter. For in this case, you have put forth no exertions, it was merely God's will that they should leave the world, and thus decrease the personnel of your establishment. In the former case, you received, so you allege, 12 rubles per pood for your labour. But in this case, you will receive money for having done nothing at all. Nor will you receive 12 rubles per item, but 15, and rubles not in silver, but rubles in good paper currency. That these powerful inducements would certainly cause the old woman to yield, Chichikov had not a doubt. True, his hostess replied, but how strangely business comes to me as a widow! Perhaps I had better wait a little longer, seeing that other buyers might come along, and I might be able to compare prices. For shame, madam, for shame! Think what you are saying! Who else, I would ask, would care to buy those souls? What use could they be to anyone? If that is so, they might come in useful to me! Mused the old woman aloud, after which she sat staring at Chichikov with her mouth open, and a face of nervous expectancy as to his possible rejoinder. Dead folk useful in a household, he exclaimed. Why? What could you do with them? Set them up on poles and frighten away the sparrows from your garden. The Lord save us, but what things you say, she ejaculated, crossing herself. Well, what could you do with them? By this time they are so much bones and earth, that is all there is left of them. Their transfer to myself would be on paper only. Come, come, at least give me an answer. Again the old woman communed with herself. What are you thinking of, Nastasia Petrovna, inquired Chichikov. I am thinking that I scarcely know what to do. Perhaps I had better sell you some hemp. What do I want with hemp? Pardon me, but just when I have made to you a different proposal altogether, you begin fussing about hemp. Hemp is hemp, and though I may want some when I next visit you, I should like to know what you have to say to the suggestion under discussion. Well, I think it a very queer bargain. Never have I heard of such a thing. On this Chichikov lost all patience, upset his chair, and bid her go to the devil, of which personage even the mere mention terrified her extremely. Do not speak of hemp, I beg you! she cried, turning pale. May God rather blot him. Last night was the third night that he has appeared to me in a dream. You see, after saying my prayers, I bethought me of telling my fortune by the cards, and God must have sent him as a punishment. He looked so horrible and had horns longer than a balls. I wonder you don't see scores of devils in your dreams. Mealy out of Christian charity, he had to come to you to say, I perceive a poor woman going to rack and ruin, and likely soon to stand in danger of want. Well, go to rack and ruin. Yes, you and all your village together. The insults, exclaimed the old woman, glancing at her visitor in terror. I should think so, continued Chichikov. Indeed, I cannot find words to describe you. To say no more about it, you are like a dog in a manger. You don't want to eat the hay yourself, yet you won't let anyone else touch it. All the time seeking to do is to purchase certain domestic products of yours, for the reason that I have certain government contracts to fulfil. This last he added in passing, and without any ulterior motive, saved that it came to him as a happy thought. Nevertheless, the mention of government contracts exercised a powerful influence upon Nastasia Petrovna, and she hastened to say, in a tone that was almost supplicatory, Why should you be so angry with me, had I known you were going to lose your temper in this way? I should never have discussed the matter. No wonder that I lose my temper. An egg too many is no great matter, yet it may prove exceedingly annoying. Well, well, I will let you have the souls for fifteen rubles each. Also, with regard to those contracts, do not forget me, if at any time you should find yourself in need of rye meal or but wheat or groats or dead meat. No, I shall never forget you, madam, he said, wiping his forehead, where three separate streams of perspiration were trickling down his face. Then he asked her whether in the town she had any acquaintance or agent whom she could empower to complete the transference of the serfs, and to carry out whatsoever else might be necessary. Certainly, replied Madam Korobochka, the son of our arch-priest Father Cyril himself is a lawyer. Upon that Chichikov begged her to accord the gentleman in question a power of attorney, while to save extra trouble, he himself would then and there compose the requisite letter. It would be a fine thing if he were to buy up all my meal and start for the government. Thought, madam, to herself, I must encourage him a little. There has been some dull standing ready since last night, so I will go and tell Fatenya to try a few pancakes. Also it might be well to try him with an egg pie. We make them nicely here, and they do not take long in the making. So she departed to translate her thoughts into action, as well as to supplement the pie with other products of the domestic cuisine, while for his part Chichikov returned to the drawing room, where he had spent the night in order to procure from his dispatch box the necessary writing paper. The room had now been set in order, the sumptuous feather bed removed, and a table set before the sofa. Depositing his dispatch box upon the table, he heaved a gentle sigh on becoming aware that he was so soaked with perspiration that he might almost have been dipped in a river. Everything from his shirt to his socks was dripping. May she starve to death, the cursed old Haridun, he ejaculated after a moment's rest. Then he opened his dispatch box. In passing I may say that I feel certain that at least some of my readers will be curious to know the contents and the internal arrangements of that receptacle. Why should I not gratify their curiosity? To begin with, the centre of the box contained a soap dish, with, disposed around it, six or seven compartments for razors. Next came square partitions for a sandbox and an ink stand, as well as, scooped out in their midst, a hollow of pens, ceiling wax, and anything else that required more room. Lastly there were all sorts of little divisions, both with and without lids, for articles of a smaller nature, such as visiting cards, memorial cards, theatre tickets, and things which Chichikov had laid by as souvenirs. This portion of the box could be taken out, and below it were both a space for manuscripts and a secret money box, the latter made to draw out from the side of the receptacle. Chichikov set to work to clean a pen and then to write. Presently his hostess entered the room. What a beautiful box you've got there, my dear sir. She exclaimed as she took a seat beside him. Probably you bought it in Moscow? Yes, in Moscow, replied Chichikov, without interrupting his writing. I thought so, one can get good things there. Three years ago my sister bought me a few pairs of warm shoes for my sons, and they were such excellent articles. To this day my boys wear them. And what nice stamped paper you have. She peered into the dispatch box, where sure enough they lie a further store of the paper in question. Would you mind letting me have a sheet of it? I'm without any at all, although I shall soon have to be present in a plea to the land court and possess not a morsel of paper to write it on. Upon this Chichikov explained that the paper was not the salt proper for the purpose, that it was meant for surf indenturing, and not for the framing of pleas. Nevertheless, to quiet her, he gave her a sheet stamped to the value of a ruble. Next he handed her the letter to sign, and requested in return a list of her peasants. Unfortunately such a list had never been compiled, let alone any copies of it, and the only way in which she knew the peasants' names was by heart. However, he told her to dictate them. Some of the names greatly astonished our hero. So, still more, did the surnames. Indeed, frequently on hearing the letter, he had to pause before writing them down. Especially did he halt before a certain Peter Savelyev Neuvazhaikorito, what a string of titles involuntarily he ejaculated. To the Christian name of another surf was appended Korovi Kirpich, and to that of a third, Kolisso Ivan. However, at length, the list was compiled, and he caught a deep breath, which latter proceeding caused him to catch also the attractive odor of something fried in fact. I beseech you to have a morsel, murmured his hostess. Chichikov looked up and saw that the table was spread with mushrooms, pies, and other viens. Dry this freshly made pie, and an egg, continued madame. Chichikov did so, and having eaten more than half of what she offered him, praised the pie highly. Indeed, it was a toothsome dish, and after his difficulties and exertions with his hostess, it tasted even better than it might otherwise have done. And also a few pancakes, suggested madame. For answer, Chichikov folded three together, and having dipped them in melted butter, consigned the lock to his mouth, and then wiped his mouth with a napkin. Twice more was the process repeated, and then he requested his hostess to order the britchka to be got ready. In dispatching Fetina with the necessary instructions, she ordered her to return with a second batch of hot pancakes. Your pancakes are indeed splendid, said Chichikov, applying himself to the second consignment of fried dainties when they had arrived. Yes, we make them well here, replied madame, yet how unfortunate it is that the harvest should have proved so poor as to have prevented me from earning anything on me. But why should you be in such a hurry to depart, good sir? She broke off on seeing Chichikov reach for his cap. The britchka is not yet ready. Then it is being got so, madame, it is being got so, and I shall need a moment or two to pack my things. As you please, dear sir, but do not forget me in connection with those government contracts. No, I have said that never shall I forget you, replied Chichikov as he hurried into the hall, and would you like to buy some lard, continued his hostess, pursuing him? Lard? Oh, certainly, why not? Only, only, I will do so another time. I shall have some ready at about Christmas. Quite so, madame, then I will buy anything and everything, the lard included. And perhaps you will be wanting also some feathers. I shall be having some for sale about some Philip's day. Very well, very well, madame. There you see, she remarked, as they stepped out onto the veranda. The britchka is not yet ready. But it soon will be, it soon will be. Only direct me to the main road. How might do that, said madame, to a puzzler wise man to do so, for in these parts there are so many turn-ins. However, I will send a girl a guide you. You could find room for her on the box-seat, could you not? Yes, of course. Then I will send her. She knows the way thoroughly, only do not carry her off a good, or raise some traders have deprived me of one of my girls. Chechikov reassured his hostess on the point, and madame plucked up courage enough to scan, first of all, the housekeeper, who happened to be issuing from the storehouse with a bowl of honey, and next a young peasant, who happened to be standing at the gates. And while thus engaged, she became wholly absorbed in her domestic pursuits. But why pay her so much attention? The widow Korobochka, madame Manilov, domestic life, non-domestic life, away with them all. How strange, dear things compounded. In a trice may joy turn to sorrow, should one halt long enough over it. In a trice only God can say, what ideas may strike one. You may fall even to thinking, after all, did madame Korobochka stand so very low in the scale of human perfection? Was there really such a very great gulf between her and madame Manilov? Between her and the madame Manilov, whom we have seen entrenched behind the walls of a genteel mansion, in which there were a fine staircase of wrought metal, and a number of rich carpets. The madame Manilov, who spent most of her time in yawning behind half-red books, and in hoping for a visit from some socially distinguished person, in order that she might display her wit and carefully rehearsed thoughts. Thoughts which had been duriga in town for a week past, yet which referred not to what was going on in her household or on her estate, both of which properties were at odds and ends, owing to her ignorance of the art of managing them, but to the coming political revolution in France, and the direction in which fashionable Catholicism was supposed to be moving. But away with such things, why need we speak of them? Yet how comes it that suddenly, into the midst of our careless, frivolous, unthinking moments, there may enter another, and a very different tendency, that the smile may not have left a human face, before its owner will have radically changed his or her nature, though not his or her environment, with the result that the face will suddenly become lit with a radiance never before seen there? Here is the Britschka, here is the Britschka, exclaimed Chichikov, on perceiving that vehicle, slowly advancing. Ah, you blockhead! he went on to Selyfan. Why have you been loitering about? I suppose last night's fumes have not yet left your brain. To this Selyfan returned no reply. Good-bye, madam, added the speaker. But where is the girl whom you promised me? Here, Pallagaya, called the hostess to a wench of about eleven, who was dressed in home-dyed garments, and could boast of a pair of bare feet which, from a distance, had almost been mistaken for boots, so encrusted were they with fresh mire. Here, Pallagaya, come and show this gentleman the way. Selyfan helped the girl to ascend the box-seat. Placing one foot upon the step by which the gentry mounted, she covered the sed step with mud, and then ascending higher, attained the desired position beside the coachman. Chichikov followed in her wake, causing the Britschka to heel over with his weight as he did so, and then settled himself back into his place with an, all right, good-bye, madam, as the horses moved away at a trot. Selyfan looked gloomy as he drove, but also very attentive to his business. This was invariably his custom when he had committed the fault of getting drunk. Also, the horses looked unusually well-groomed. In particular, the collar on one of them had been neatly mended, although hitherto its state of dilapidation had been such as perennially to allow the stuffing to protrude through the leather. The silence preserved was well-nigh complete. Merely flourishing his whip, Selyfan spoke to the team no word of instruction, although the Scoobold was as ready as usual to listen to conversation of a didactic nature, seeing that at such times the reins hung loosely in the hands of the loquacious driver, and the whip wandered merely as a matter of form over the backs of the Troika. This time, however, they could be heard issuing from Selyfan's sullen lips only the uniformly unpleasant exclamation, Now then, you brutes, get on with you, get on with you! The bay and the assessor, too, felt put out at not hearing themselves called my pets or good lads, while, in addition, the Scoobold came in for some nasty cuts across his sleek and ample quarters. What has put Master out like this, thought the animal, as it shook its head. Heaven knows where he does not keep beating me, across the back and even where I am tender still, yes, he keeps catching the whip in my ears and lashing me under the belly. To the right, eh? snapped Selyfan to the girl beside him, as he pointed to a rain-soaked road which trended away through fresh green fields. No, no, she replied, I will show you the road when the time comes. Which way then? he asked again, when they had proceeded a little further. This way, and she pointed to the road just mentioned, get along with you, retorted the coachman, that does go to the right. You don't know your right hand from your left. The weather was fine, but the ground so excessively sodden, that the wheels of the bridge-car collected mire until they had become caked, as with a layer of felt. The circumstance which greatly increased the weight of the vehicle, and prevented it from clearing the neighbouring parishes before the afternoon was arrived. Also, without the girl's help, the finding of the way would have been impossible, since roads wiggled away in every direction, like crabs released from a net. And, but for the assistance mentioned, Selyfan would have found himself left to his own devices. Presently she pointed to a building ahead, with the words, There is the main road. And what is the building? asked Selyfan. A tavern, she said. Then we can get along by ourselves, he observed. Do you get down and be off home? With that he stopped, and helped her to alight, muttering as he did so. Ah, you black-footed creature! Titchikov added a copper groat, and she departed, well pleased with her ride in the gentleman's carriage. End of part one, chapter three