Dead Souls (48 page)

"No, no, Paul Ivanovitch. Under no circumstances could I do that. Pay
me half now, and the rest in . . .
^[50]
You see, I need the money for
the redemption of the mortgage."

"That places me in a difficulty," remarked Chichikov. "Ten thousand
roubles is all that at the moment I have available." As a matter of
fact, this was not true, seeing that, counting also the money which he
had borrowed of Kostanzhoglo, he had at his disposal TWENTY thousand.
His real reason for hesitating was that he disliked the idea of making
so large a payment in a lump sum.

"I must repeat my request, Paul Ivanovitch," said Khlobuev, "—namely,
that you pay me at least fifteen thousand immediately."

"The odd five thousand
I
will lend you," put in Platon to Chichikov.

"Indeed?" exclaimed Chichikov as he reflected: "So he also lends money!"

In the end Chichikov's dispatch-box was brought from the koliaska, and
Khlobuev received thence ten thousand roubles, together with a promise
that the remaining five thousand should be forthcoming on the morrow;
though the promise was given only after Chichikov had first proposed
that THREE thousand should be brought on the day named, and the rest
be left over for two or three days longer, if not for a still more
protracted period. The truth was that Paul Ivanovitch hated parting
with money. No matter how urgent a situation might have been, he would
still have preferred to pay a sum to-morrow rather than to-day. In
other words, he acted as we all do, for we all like keeping a
petitioner waiting. "Let him rub his back in the hall for a while," we
say. "Surely he can bide his time a little?" Yet of the fact that
every hour may be precious to the poor wretch, and that his business
may suffer from the delay, we take no account. "Good sir," we say,
"pray come again to-morrow. To-day I have no time to spare you."

"Where do you intend henceforth to live?" inquired Platon. "Have you
any other property to which you can retire?"

"No," replied Khlobuev. "I shall remove to the town, where I possess a
small villa. That would have been necessary, in any case, for the
children's sake. You see, they must have instruction in God's word,
and also lessons in music and dancing; and not for love or money can
these things be procured in the country.

"Nothing to eat, yet dancing lessons for his children!" reflected
Chichikov.

"An extraordinary man!" was Platon's unspoken comment.

"However, we must contrive to wet our bargain somehow," continued
Khlobuev. "Hi, Kirushka! Bring that bottle of champagne."

"Nothing to eat, yet champagne to drink!" reflected Chichikov. As for
Platon, he did not know WHAT to think.

In Khlobuev's eyes it was de rigueur that he should provide a guest
with champagne; but, though he had sent to the town for some, he had
been met with a blank refusal to forward even a bottle of kvass on
credit. Only the discovery of a French dealer who had recently
transferred his business from St. Petersburg, and opened a connection
on a system of general credit, saved the situation by placing Khlobuev
under the obligation of patronising him.

The company drank three glassfuls apiece, and so grew more cheerful.
In particular did Khlobuev expand, and wax full of civility and
friendliness, and scatter witticisms and anecdotes to right and left.
What knowledge of men and the world did his utterances display! How
well and accurately could he divine things! With what appositeness did
he sketch the neighbouring landowners! How clearly he exposed their
faults and failings! How thoroughly he knew the story of certain
ruined gentry—the story of how, why, and through what cause they had
fallen upon evil days! With what comic originality could he describe
their little habits and customs!

In short, his guests found themselves charmed with his discourse, and
felt inclined to vote him a man of first-rate intellect.

"What most surprises me," said Chichikov, "is how, in view of your
ability, you come to be so destitute of means or resources."

"But I have plenty of both," said Khlobuev, and with that went on to
deliver himself of a perfect avalanche of projects. Yet those projects
proved to be so uncouth, so clumsy, so little the outcome of a
knowledge of men and things, that his hearers could only shrug their
shoulders and mentally exclaim: "Good Lord! What a difference between
worldly wisdom and the capacity to use it!" In every case the projects
in question were based upon the imperative necessity of at once
procuring from somewhere two hundred—or at least one
hundred—thousand roubles. That done (so Khlobuev averred), everything
would fall into its proper place, the holes in his pockets would
become stopped, his income would be quadrupled, and he would find
himself in a position to liquidate his debts in full. Nevertheless he
ended by saying: "What would you advise me to do? I fear that the
philanthropist who would lend me two hundred thousand roubles or even
a hundred thousand, does not exist. It is not God's will that he
should."

"Good gracious!" inwardly ejaculated Chichikov. "To suppose that God
would send such a fool two hundred thousand roubles!"

"However," went on Khlobuev, "I possess an aunt worth three
millions—a pious old woman who gives freely to churches and
monasteries, but finds a difficulty in helping her neighbour. At the
same time, she is a lady of the old school, and worth having a peep
at. Her canaries alone number four hundred, and, in addition, there is
an army of pug-dogs, hangers-on, and servants. Even the youngest of
the servants is sixty, but she calls them all 'young fellows,' and if
a guest happens to offend her during dinner, she orders them to leave
him out when handing out the dishes. THERE'S a woman for you!"

Platon laughed.

"And what may her family name be?" asked Chichikov. "And where does
she live?"

"She lives in the county town, and her name is Alexandra Ivanovna
Khanasarov."

"Then why do you not apply to her?" asked Platon earnestly. "It seems
to me that, once she realised the position of your family, she could
not possibly refuse you."

"Alas! nothing is to be looked for from that quarter," replied
Khlobuev. "My aunt is of a very stubborn disposition—a perfect stone
of a woman. Moreover, she has around her a sufficient band of
favourites already. In particular is there a fellow who is aiming for
a Governorship, and to that end has managed to insinuate himself into
the circle of her kinsfolk. By the way," the speaker added, turning to
Platon, "would you do me a favour? Next week I am giving a dinner to
the associated guilds of the town."

Platon stared. He had been unaware that both in our capitals and in
our provincial towns there exists a class of men whose lives are an
enigma—men who, though they will seem to have exhausted their
substance, and to have become enmeshed in debt, will suddenly be
reported as in funds, and on the point of giving a dinner! And though,
at this dinner, the guests will declare that the festival is bound to
be their host's last fling, and that for a certainty he will be haled
to prison on the morrow, ten years or more will elapse, and the rascal
will still be at liberty, even though, in the meanwhile, his debts
will have increased!

In the same way did the conduct of Khlobuev's menage afford a curious
phenomenon, for one day the house would be the scene of a solemn Te
Deum, performed by a priest in vestments, and the next of a stage play
performed by a troupe of French actors in theatrical costume. Again,
one day would see not a morsel of bread in the house, and the next day
a banquet and generous largesse given to a party of artists and
sculptors. During these seasons of scarcity (sufficiently severe to
have led any one but Khlobuev to seek suicide by hanging or shooting),
the master of the house would be preserved from rash action by his
strongly religious disposition, which, contriving in some curious way
to conform with his irregular mode of life, enabled him to fall back
upon reading the lives of saints, ascetics, and others of the type
which has risen superior to its misfortunes. And at such times his
spirit would become softened, his thoughts full of gentleness, and his
eyes wet with tears; he would fall to saying his prayers, and
invariably some strange coincidence would bring an answer thereto in
the shape of an unexpected measure of assistance. That is to say, some
former friend of his would remember him, and send him a trifle in the
way of money; or else some female visitor would be moved by his story
to let her impulsive, generous heart proffer him a handsome gift; or
else a suit whereof tidings had never even reached his ears would end
by being decided in his favour. And when that happened he would
reverently acknowledge the immensity of the mercy of Providence,
gratefully tender thanksgiving for the same, and betake himself again
to his irregular mode of existence.

"Somehow I feel sorry for the man," said Platon when he and Chichikov
had taken leave of their host, and left the house.

"Perhaps so, but he is a hopeless prodigal," replied the other.
"Personally I find it impossible to compassionate such fellows."

And with that the pair ceased to devote another thought to Khlobuev.
In the case of Platon, this was because he contemplated the fortunes
of his fellows with the lethargic, half-somnolent eye which he turned
upon all the rest of the world; for though the sight of distress of
others would cause his heart to contract and feel full of sympathy,
the impression thus produced never sank into the depths of his being.
Accordingly, before many minutes were over he had ceased to bestow a
single thought upon his late host. With Chichikov, however, things
were different. Whereas Platon had ceased to think of Khlobuev no more
than he had ceased to think of himself, Chichikov's mind had strayed
elsewhere, for the reason that it had become taken up with grave
meditation on the subject of the purchase just made. Suddenly finding
himself no longer a fictitious proprietor, but the owner of a real, an
actually existing, estate, he became contemplative, and his plans and
ideas assumed such a serious vein as imparted to his features an
unconsciously important air.

"Patience and hard work!" he muttered to himself. "The thing will not
be difficult, for with those two requisites I have been familiar from
the days of my swaddling clothes. Yes, no novelty will they be to me.
Yet, in middle age, shall I be able to compass the patience whereof I
was capable in my youth?"

However, no matter how he regarded the future, and no matter from what
point of view he considered his recent acquisition, he could see
nothing but advantage likely to accrue from the bargain. For one
thing, he might be able to proceed so that, first the whole of the
estate should be mortgaged, and then the better portions of land sold
outright. Or he might so contrive matters as to manage the property
for a while (and thus become a landowner like Kostanzhoglo, whose
advice, as his neighbour and his benefactor, he intended always to
follow), and then to dispose of the property by private treaty
(provided he did not wish to continue his ownership), and still to
retain in his hands the dead and abandoned souls. And another possible
coup occurred to his mind. That is to say, he might contrive to
withdraw from the district without having repaid Kostanzhoglo at all!
Truly a splendid idea! Yet it is only fair to say that the idea was
not one of Chichikov's own conception. Rather, it had presented
itself—mocking, laughing, and winking—unbidden. Yet the impudent,
the wanton thing! Who is the procreator of suddenly born ideas of the
kind? The thought that he was now a real, an actual, proprietor
instead of a fictitious—that he was now a proprietor of real land,
real rights of timber and pasture, and real serfs who existed not
only in the imagination, but also in veritable actuality—greatly
elated our hero. So he took to dancing up and down in his seat, to
rubbing his hands together, to winking at himself, to holding his
fist, trumpet-wise, to his mouth (while making believe to execute a
march), and even to uttering aloud such encouraging nicknames and
phrases as "bulldog" and "little fat capon." Then suddenly
recollecting that he was not alone, he hastened to moderate his
behaviour and endeavoured to stifle the endless flow of his good
spirits; with the result that when Platon, mistaking certain sounds
for utterances addressed to himself, inquired what his companion had
said, the latter retained the presence of mind to reply "Nothing."

Presently, as Chichikov gazed about him, he saw that for some time
past the koliaska had been skirting a beautiful wood, and that on
either side the road was bordered with an edging of birch trees, the
tenderly-green, recently-opened leaves of which caused their tall,
slender trunks to show up with the whiteness of a snowdrift. Likewise
nightingales were warbling from the recesses of the foliage, and some
wood tulips were glowing yellow in the grass. Next (and almost before
Chichikov had realised how he came to be in such a beautiful spot
when, but a moment before, there had been visible only open fields)
there glimmered among the trees the stony whiteness of a church, with,
on the further side of it, the intermittent, foliage-buried line of a
fence; while from the upper end of a village street there was
advancing to meet the vehicle a gentleman with a cap on his head, a
knotted cudgel in his hands, and a slender-limbed English dog by his
side.

"This is my brother," said Platon. "Stop, coachman." And he descended
from the koliaska, while Chichikov followed his example. Yarb and the
strange dog saluted one another, and then the active, thin-legged,
slender-tongued Azor relinquished his licking of Yarb's blunt jowl,
licked Platon's hands instead, and, leaping upon Chichikov, slobbered
right into his ear.