Dead Souls (8 page)

"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.

Meanwhile, Chichikov, seated in his britchka and bowling along the
turnpike, was feeling greatly pleased with himself. From the preceding
chapter the reader will have gathered the principal subject of his
bent and inclinations: wherefore 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
^[11]
, a skewbald. This
skewbald 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 roan), would do their work gallantly, and
even evince in their eyes the pleasure which they derived from their
exertions.

"Ah, you rascal, you rascal! I'll get the better of you!" ejaculated
Selifan 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 will 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. 'Tis 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, "Gee up, my beauties!" and
drew his whip gently across the backs of the skewbald's comrades—not
as a punishment, but as a sign of his approval. That done, he
addressed himself to the skewbald again.

"Do you think," he cried, "that I don't see what you are 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 am 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 gentleman of mine—why,
every one looks up to him, for he has been in the Government's
service, and is a Collegiate Councillor."

Thus soliloquising, he passed to more remote abstractions; until, had
Chichikov been listening, he would have learnt 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 peal resounded, and the rain descended as from a bucket.
Falling slantwise, it beat upon one side of the basketwork 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 Selifan to quicken his pace. Upon that the coachman, interrupted in
the middle of his harangue, bethought 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 Selifan's discourse
that it had taken to scarcely placing one leg before the other).
Unfortunately, Selifan could not clearly remember whether two turnings
had been passed or three. Indeed, on collecting his faculties, and
dimly recalling 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 cross-road, shouted, "Hi, my beauties!" and set off
at a gallop. Never for a moment did he stop to think whither 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
horses' task of pulling the britchka heavier and heavier. Also,
Chichikov had taken alarm at his continued failure to catch sight of
Sobakevitch'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.

"Selifan!" he exclaimed, leaning forward in the britchka.

"What is it, barin?" replied the coachman.

"Can you see the country house anywhere?"

"No, barin." After which, with a flourish of the whip, the man broke
into a sort of endless, drawling 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 britchka was swaying
violently, and dealing him occasional bumps. Consequently he suspected
that it had left the road and was being dragged over a ploughed field.
Upon Selifan'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 can a man do at a time of
night when the darkness won't let him even see his whip?" And as
Selifan spoke the vehicle tilted to an angle which left Chichikov no
choice but to hang on with hands and teeth. At length he realised the
fact that Selifan was drunk.

"Stop, stop, or you will upset us!" he shouted to the fellow.

"No, no, barin," replied Selifan. "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 britchka capsized on to its side, and Chichikov landed in
the mud on his hands and knees. Fortunately Selifan 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 britchka, while Chichikov
tumbled and floundered about in the mud, in a vain endeavour to
wriggle clear of the stuff.

"Ah, you!" said Selifan meditatively to the britchka. "To think of
upsetting us like this!"

"You are as drunk as a lord!" exclaimed Chichikov.

"No, no, barin. Drunk, indeed? Why, I know my manners too well. A word
or two with a friend—that is all that I have taken. Any one may talk
with a decent man when he meets him. There is nothing wrong in that.
Also, we had a snack together. There is 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, barin. HOW could I forget it? I know what is what, and know
that it is not right to get drunk. All that I have been having is a
word or two with a decent man, for the reason that—"

"Well, if I lay the whip about you, you'll know then how to talk to a
decent fellow, I'll warrant!"

"As you please, barin," replied the complacent Selifan. "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? 'Tis 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,
for from afar their ears caught the barking of a dog. Plucking up
courage, Chichikov gave orders for the britchka to be righted, 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, Selifan succeeded, though powerless
to discern a single object, in directing his steeds to a country house
near by, 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 verandah. So he dispatched
Selifan to search for the entrance gates, 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 travellers'
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 Selifan 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 are 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 of 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 Selifan.

"Hold your tongue, you fool!" exclaimed Chichikov.

"Who ARE you, then?" inquired the old woman.

"A dvorianin
^[12]
, good mother."

Somehow the word dvorianin seemed to give the old woman food for
thought.

"Wait a moment," she said, "and I will 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 britchka halted before a moderate-sized mansion. The
darkness did not permit of 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 animal seemed to
be howling for a handsome wager; while another, cutting in between the
yelpings 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 shall cause the
windows to shiver and their panes 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 parlour, 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 though 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 for ever
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 rouble pieces,
into another half roubles, and into a third tchetvertachki
^[13]
,
although from their mien you would suppose that the cupboard contained
only linen and nightshirts 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.