Dead Souls: Chapter 2

Chapter 2

For more than two weeks the visitor lived amid a round of evening
parties and dinners; wherefore he spent (as the saying goes) a very
pleasant time. Finally he decided to extend his visits beyond the
urban boundaries by going and calling upon landowners Manilov and
Sobakevitch, seeing that he had promised on his honour to do so. Yet
what really incited him to this may have been a more essential cause,
a matter of greater gravity, a purpose which stood nearer to his heart,
than the motive which I have just given; and of that purpose the
reader will learn if only he will have the patience to read this
prefatory narrative (which, lengthy though it be, may yet develop and
expand in proportion as we approach the denouement with which the
present work is destined to be crowned).

One evening, therefore, Selifan the coachman received orders to have
the horses harnessed in good time next morning; while Petrushka
received orders to remain behind, for the purpose of looking after the
portmanteau and the room. In passing, the reader may care to become
more fully acquainted with the two serving-men of whom I have spoken.
Naturally, they were not persons of much note, but merely what folk
call characters of secondary, or even of tertiary, importance. Yet,
despite the fact that the springs and the thread of this romance will
not DEPEND upon them, but only touch upon them, and occasionally
include them, the author has a passion for circumstantiality, and,
like the average Russian, such a desire for accuracy as even a German
could not rival. To what the reader already knows concerning the
personages in hand it is therefore necessary to add that Petrushka
usually wore a cast-off brown jacket of a size too large for him, as
also that he had (according to the custom of individuals of his
calling) a pair of thick lips and a very prominent nose. In
temperament he was taciturn rather than loquacious, and he cherished a
yearning for self-education. That is to say, he loved to read books,
even though their contents came alike to him whether they were books
of heroic adventure or mere grammars or liturgical compendia. As I
say, he perused every book with an equal amount of attention, and, had
he been offered a work on chemistry, would have accepted that also.
Not the words which he read, but the mere solace derived from the act
of reading, was what especially pleased his mind; even though at any
moment there might launch itself from the page some devil-sent word
whereof he could make neither head nor tail. For the most part, his
task of reading was performed in a recumbent position in the anteroom;
which circumstance ended by causing his mattress to become as ragged
and as thin as a wafer. In addition to his love of poring over books,
he could boast of two habits which constituted two other essential
features of his character--namely, a habit of retiring to rest in his
clothes (that is to say, in the brown jacket above-mentioned) and a
habit of everywhere bearing with him his own peculiar atmosphere, his
own peculiar smell--a smell which filled any lodging with such
subtlety that he needed but to make up his bed anywhere, even in a
room hitherto untenanted, and to drag thither his greatcoat and other
impedimenta, for that room at once to assume an air of having been
lived in during the past ten years. Nevertheless, though a fastidious,
and even an irritable, man, Chichikov would merely frown when his nose
caught this smell amid the freshness of the morning, and exclaim with
a toss of his head: "The devil only knows what is up with you! Surely
you sweat a good deal, do you not? The best thing you can do is to go
and take a bath." To this Petrushka would make no reply, but,
approaching, brush in hand, the spot where his master's coat would be
pendent, or starting to arrange one and another article in order,
would strive to seem wholly immersed in his work. Yet of what was he
thinking as he remained thus silent? Perhaps he was saying to himself:
"My master is a good fellow, but for him to keep on saying the same
thing forty times over is a little wearisome." Only God knows and sees
all things; wherefore for a mere human being to know what is in the
mind of a servant while his master is scolding him is wholly
impossible. However, no more need be said about Petrushka. On the
other hand, Coachman Selifan--

But here let me remark that I do not like engaging the reader's
attention in connection with persons of a lower class than himself;
for experience has taught me that we do not willingly familiarise
ourselves with the lower orders--that it is the custom of the average
Russian to yearn exclusively for information concerning persons on the
higher rungs of the social ladder. In fact, even a bowing acquaintance
with a prince or a lord counts, in his eyes, for more than do the most
intimate of relations with ordinary folk. For the same reason the
author feels apprehensive on his hero's account, seeing that he has
made that hero a mere Collegiate Councillor--a mere person with whom
Aulic Councillors might consort, but upon whom persons of the grade of
full General[1] would probably bestow one of those glances proper to a
man who is cringing at their august feet. Worse still, such persons of
the grade of General are likely to treat Chichikov with studied
negligence--and to an author studied negligence spells death.

[1] In this case the term General refers to a civil grade equivalent
to the military rank of the same title.

However, in spite of the distressfulness of the foregoing
possibilities, it is time that I returned to my hero. After issuing,
overnight, the necessary orders, he awoke early, washed himself,
rubbed himself from head to foot with a wet sponge (a performance
executed only on Sundays--and the day in question happened to be a
Sunday), shaved his face with such care that his cheeks issued of
absolutely satin-like smoothness and polish, donned first his
bilberry-coloured, spotted frockcoat, and then his bearskin overcoat,
descended the staircase (attended, throughout, by the waiter) and
entered his britchka. With a loud rattle the vehicle left the
inn-yard, and issued into the street. A passing priest doffed his cap,
and a few urchins in grimy shirts shouted, "Gentleman, please give a
poor orphan a trifle!" Presently the driver noticed that a sturdy
young rascal was on the point of climbing onto the splashboard;
wherefore he cracked his whip and the britchka leapt forward with
increased speed over the cobblestones. At last, with a feeling of
relief, the travellers caught sight of macadam ahead, which promised
an end both to the cobblestones and to sundry other annoyances. And,
sure enough, after his head had been bumped a few more times against
the boot of the conveyance, Chichikov found himself bowling over
softer ground. On the town receding into the distance, the sides of
the road began to be varied with the usual hillocks, fir trees, clumps
of young pine, trees with old, scarred trunks, bushes of wild juniper,
and so forth, Presently there came into view also strings of country
villas which, with their carved supports and grey roofs (the latter
looking like pendent, embroidered tablecloths), resembled, rather,
bundles of old faggots. Likewise the customary peasants, dressed in
sheepskin jackets, could be seen yawning on benches before their huts,
while their womenfolk, fat of feature and swathed of bosom, gazed out
of upper windows, and the windows below displayed, here a peering
calf, and there the unsightly jaws of a pig. In short, the view was
one of the familiar type. After passing the fifteenth verst-stone
Chichikov suddenly recollected that, according to Manilov, fifteen
versts was the exact distance between his country house and the town;
but the sixteenth verst stone flew by, and the said country house was
still nowhere to be seen. In fact, but for the circumstance that the
travellers happened to encounter a couple of peasants, they would have
come on their errand in vain. To a query as to whether the country
house known as Zamanilovka was anywhere in the neighbourhood the
peasants replied by doffing their caps; after which one of them who
seemed to boast of a little more intelligence than his companion, and
who wore a wedge-shaped beard, made answer:

"Perhaps you mean Manilovka--not ZAmanilovka?"

"Yes, yes--Manilovka."

"Manilovka, eh? Well, you must continue for another verst, and then
you will see it straight before you, on the right."

"On the right?" re-echoed the coachman.

"Yes, on the right," affirmed the peasant. "You are on the proper road
for Manilovka, but ZAmanilovka--well, there is no such place. The
house you mean is called Manilovka because Manilovka is its name; but
no house at all is called ZAmanilovka. The house you mean stands
there, on that hill, and is a stone house in which a gentleman lives,
and its name is Manilovka; but ZAmanilovka does not stand
hereabouts, nor ever has stood."

So the travellers proceeded in search of Manilovka, and, after driving
an additional two versts, arrived at a spot whence there branched off
a by-road. Yet two, three, or four versts of the by-road had been
covered before they saw the least sign of a two-storied stone mansion.
Then it was that Chichikov suddenly recollected that, when a friend
has invited one to visit his country house, and has said that the
distance thereto is fifteen versts, the distance is sure to turn out
to be at least thirty.

Not many people would have admired the situation of Manilov's abode,
for it stood on an isolated rise and was open to every wind that blew.
On the slope of the rise lay closely-mown turf, while, disposed here
and there, after the English fashion, were flower-beds containing
clumps of lilac and yellow acacia. Also, there were a few
insignificant groups of slender-leaved, pointed-tipped birch trees,
with, under two of the latter, an arbour having a shabby green cupola,
some blue-painted wooden supports, and the inscription "This is the
Temple of Solitary Thought." Lower down the slope lay a green-coated
pond--green-coated ponds constitute a frequent spectacle in the
gardens of Russian landowners; and, lastly, from the foot of the
declivity there stretched a line of mouldy, log-built huts which, for
some obscure reason or another, our hero set himself to count. Up to
two hundred or more did he count, but nowhere could he perceive a
single leaf of vegetation or a single stick of timber. The only thing
to greet the eye was the logs of which the huts were constructed.
Nevertheless the scene was to a certain extent enlivened by the
spectacle of two peasant women who, with clothes picturesquely tucked
up, were wading knee-deep in the pond and dragging behind them, with
wooden handles, a ragged fishing-net, in the meshes of which two
crawfish and a roach with glistening scales were entangled. The women
appeared to have cause of dispute between themselves--to be rating one
another about something. In the background, and to one side of the
house, showed a faint, dusky blur of pinewood, and even the weather
was in keeping with the surroundings, since the day was neither clear
nor dull, but of the grey tint which may be noted in uniforms of
garrison soldiers which have seen long service. To complete the
picture, a cock, the recognised harbinger of atmospheric mutations,
was present; and, in spite of the fact that a certain connection with
affairs of gallantry had led to his having had his head pecked bare by
other cocks, he flapped a pair of wings--appendages as bare as two
pieces of bast--and crowed loudly.

As Chichikov approached the courtyard of the mansion he caught sight
of his host (clad in a green frock coat) standing on the verandah and
pressing one hand to his eyes to shield them from the sun and so get a
better view of the approaching carriage. In proportion as the britchka
drew nearer and nearer to the verandah, the host's eyes assumed a more
and more delighted expression, and his smile a broader and broader
sweep.

"Paul Ivanovitch!" he exclaimed when at length Chichikov leapt from
the vehicle. "Never should I have believed that you would have
remembered us!"

The two friends exchanged hearty embraces, and Manilov then conducted
his guest to the drawing-room. During the brief time that they are
traversing the hall, the anteroom, and the dining-room, let me try to
say something concerning the master of the house. But such an
undertaking bristles with difficulties--it promises to be a far less
easy task than the depicting of some outstanding personality which
calls but for a wholesale dashing of colours upon the canvas--the
colours of a pair of dark, burning eyes, a pair of dark, beetling
brows, a forehead seamed with wrinkles, a black, or a fiery-red, cloak
thrown backwards over the shoulder, and so forth, and so forth. Yet,
so numerous are Russian serf owners that, though careful scrutiny
reveals to one's sight a quantity of outre peculiarities, they are, as
a class, exceedingly difficult to portray, and one needs to strain
one's faculties to the utmost before it becomes possible to pick out
their variously subtle, their almost invisible, features. In short,
one needs, before doing this, to carry out a prolonged probing with
the aid of an insight sharpened in the acute school of research.

Only God can say what Manilov's real character was. A class of men
exists whom the proverb has described as "men unto themselves, neither
this nor that--neither Bogdan of the city nor Selifan of the village."
And to that class we had better assign also Manilov. Outwardly he was
presentable enough, for his features were not wanting in amiability,
but that amiability was a quality into which there entered too much of
the sugary element, so that his every gesture, his every attitude,
seemed to connote an excess of eagerness to curry favour and cultivate
a closer acquaintance. On first speaking to the man, his ingratiating
smile, his flaxen hair, and his blue eyes would lead one to say, "What
a pleasant, good-tempered fellow he seems!" yet during the next moment
or two one would feel inclined to say nothing at all, and, during the
third moment, only to say, "The devil alone knows what he is!" And
should, thereafter, one not hasten to depart, one would inevitably
become overpowered with the deadly sense of ennui which comes of the
intuition that nothing in the least interesting is to be looked for,
but only a series of wearisome utterances of the kind which are apt to
fall from the lips of a man whose hobby has once been touched upon.
For every man HAS his hobby. One man's may be sporting dogs; another
man's may be that of believing himself to be a lover of music, and
able to sound the art to its inmost depths; another's may be that of
posing as a connoisseur of recherche cookery; another's may be that of
aspiring to play roles of a kind higher than nature has assigned him;
another's (though this is a more limited ambition) may be that of
getting drunk, and of dreaming that he is edifying both his friends,
his acquaintances, and people with whom he has no connection at all by
walking arm-in-arm with an Imperial aide-de-camp; another's may be
that of possessing a hand able to chip corners off aces and deuces of
diamonds; another's may be that of 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[2]?" 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--

[2] An annual tax upon peasants, payment of which secured to the payer
the right of removal.

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
rather good friends to whom to turn in case of need.'"

"Yes, Paul Ivanovitch," 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 Ivanovitch!" 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 lengths 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 shtchi[3],
but we do so with a single heart. Come, I humbly beg of you."

[3] Cabbage soup.

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 her soup plate, and the guest of honour
found himself esconsed between her and the master of the house, while
the servant tied up the boys' 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."

"Themistocleus," 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. On 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.

"Themistocleus," repeated the father, "tell me which is the finest
city in France."

Upon this the tutor concentrated his attention upon Themistocleus, and
appeared to be trying hard to catch his eye. Only when Themistocleus
had muttered "Paris" did the preceptor grow calmer, and nod 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 Themistocleus.

"And what other city?"

"Moscow," responded the boy.

"Clever little dear!" 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 cowbug 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. Themistocleus," added the father, again
turning to his son, "do you wish to become an ambassador?"

"Yes, I do," replied Themistocleus, chewing a piece of bread and
wagging his head from side to side.

At this moment the lacquey 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 speakers' 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 Themistocleus had bitten
Alkid on the ear, and the said Alkid, with frowning eyes and open
mouth, was preparing himself to sob in piteous fashion; until,
recognising 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 table. Manilov 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 Manilov, "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 colour,
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 Manilov. "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 Manilov. "The settee is
specially reserved for my guests. Whether you choose 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 Manilov--equally civilly, but with a 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 you 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, Manilov 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 to-day."

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 a
mistress's favourite, 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 payers of obrok, 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 Manilov. "How many of our serfs have
died since the last census revision?"

"How many of them have died? Why, a great many." The bailiff
hiccoughed, and slapped his mouth lightly after doing so.

"Yes, I imagined that to be the case," corroborated Manilov. "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-echoed Manilov.

"HOW many?" re-echoed the bailiff. "Well, no one knows the exact
number, for no one has kept any account."

"Quite so," remarked Manilov. "I supposed 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 Manilov.

"Very well."

The bailiff departed.

"For what purpose do you want it?" inquired Manilov 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, Manilov 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
Manilov. "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."

Manilov 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 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 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 supper time.

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