"I beg your pardon! It seems I have hurt you. Pray be seated here. I beg your pardon once more."
Hereupon he made him sit down again and rather cleverly too, as a bear would do who has been already taught to perform some evolution.
"Really, I think I am only losing my time; besides I am in a hurry."
"Pray sit down, if but for a moment. I will tell you immediately something very pleasant."
Hereupon, Sobakevitch seated himself quite close to Tchichikoff, and whispered into his ear, as if a secret:
"Will you make it a quarter?"
"That is to say, twenty-five roubles. No, no, no, I will not even give you a quarter of a quarter. I will not give you an additional copek."
Sobakevitch remained silent; Tchichikoff did the same.
This silence lasted for about two minutes. The Grecian hero Kolokotroni looked very seriously from his frame on the wall upon the bargaining parties below.
"What will really be your last price?" said Sobakevitch at last.
"Two roubles and a half."
"Really a human soul seemed to have with you no greater value than a dried beetroot. Give me at least three roubles."
"I cannot."
"Well! what am I to do with you? You shall have them. It is a loss to me, and no mistake; but such is my doggish nature, I could never refuse to be agreeable to my fellow-creatures. But I think I am right in saying that it will be requisite to draw up a contract of sale for the lawful settlement of the bargain."
"Most certainly."
"In that case, I shall have to go to Smolensk," said Sobakevitch.
Thus then the bargain for Sobakevitch's dead serfs was concluded. They agreed to meet the next day in town, and to settle all the formalities of the contract of sale at their first meeting there.
Tchichikoff now demanded a list of all the dead serfs that were to become his property. To this request Sobakevitch agreed willingly, and sat down immediately at his writing-desk, and wrote down not only the names of every one but also their laudable qualifications.
"The note is ready," Sobakevitch soon said as he turned round.
"Ready? Allow me to look at it." Tchichikoff took the paper in his hand, and whilst running his eyes over it, he was surprised to behold its neatness and accuracy; not only were profession, name, age and family estate minutely noted down, but there was even a special column in which particular annotations had been made as regarded the degree of morality and conduct of his deceased serfs; in a word, it was a real pleasure to look at the document.
"Now I hope you will have no objection to pay me a god-penny," said Sobakevitch.
"Why should I give you anything on account? You shall receive the whole amount at once, on our first meeting in town."
"You well know that such is the custom with us in the country," replied Sobakevitch.
"I really do not know how I am to manage that, for I have not much money about me. However, here is a ten-rouble note."
"What are ten roubles? Give me at least fifty."
Tchichikoff wanted to make him believe that he could not spare any more for the present; but Sobakevitch insisted so positively that he had some more money about him, that he could not help producing another bank-note, and saying:
"Very well, then, since you insist upon having some more, here are fifteen more, which makes it altogether twenty-five roubles. But allow me now to trouble you for a receipt."
"What do you want a receipt for?"
"You know well it is better to have a receipt for the payment of money. Our hours of existence are uncertain—something might happen."
"Very well, let me have the money."
"Why should you have the money first? I hold the notes here in my hand. As soon as you will have written the receipt, in that same moment you may have the money."
"Pardon me; how am I to write out a receipt? I must first see the money."
Tchichikoff allowed the bank-notes to be taken from his hand, and Sobakevitch being now in possession of them, approached the table and covering them with his left hand, began to write out with his right the receipt upon a small piece of paper, that he had received an account of twenty-five roubles in imperial bank-notes for a number of serfs sold by him to Pavel Ivanovitch Tchichikoff. After having written and signed the receipt, he once more examined the bank-notes.
"This note is a rather old one," remarked he, slowly, whilst carefully examining one of them against the light; "a little torn also. However, we must not look upon these trifles when we deal with friends."
"Oh! you fist, you fist!" thought Tchichikoff to himself, "and a beast besides."
"By the bye, would you perhaps like to have some of my females?"
"No, I am very much obliged to you for the offer all the same."
"I should not have asked a high price; out of regard for you, I would not charge more than a rouble a-piece."
"No, I do not stand in want of any of the female sex."
"Well, if you cannot make any use of them, then it is useless to speak another word-about them. It is impossible to dispute on matter of colour and taste. 'The one likes the pope, the other his wife,' as our proverb says."
"Oh, I nearly forgot to ask you to keep this little transaction a secret between ourselves," said Tchichikoff in taking leave.
"Oh yes, this is perfectly understood. It is useless to mix a third in this matter; that which happens by common consent between intimate friends, must remain in their friendship. Farewell! I was glad to see you. Do not forget me in future. If you should have an hour to spare, come and dine and pass a little time with us. It might again happen that we could be agreeable one to another."
"Don't you believe it!" thought Tchichikoff to himself, whilst taking his seat in the britchka. "He has charged me two roubles and a half for each of his dead serfs! the man is the devil's own fist!"
When the britchka had left the court-yard of the house, Tchichikoff turned round to cast a last glance around him, and in looking back, he saw that Sobakevitch still stood upon the door-step of his house, and, as it seemed, was looking out to see what turning his guest was about to take.
"The fist, he is still on the same spot," murmured Tchichikoff between his teeth, and ordered Selifan, who had just turned in the direction of the village, to drive his carriage in such a manner that they should not be seen from the gentleman's house.
He intended calling at Pluschkin's, whose serfs, according to the words of Sobakevitch were dying like flies, but he did not wish that Sobakevitch should know about it. When the britchka had passed the last house in the village, he hailed the first peasant whom he happened to see, and who was carrying a large log of wood upon his shoulders, like an indefatigable ant towards his dwelling, and addressed him thus:
"Halloa, my bearded man! how can I drive to Pluschkin's estate, without passing your master's house?"
The mouzhik seemed 'obviously embarrassed at the question.
"Well, don't you know?"
"No, your glory, I don't."
"Eh, what a fellow you are! And with all that you wear grey hair and beard! don't you know the miser Pluschkin, who has the reputation of starving his peasants?"
"Ah, you mean the ragged one!" exclaimed the peasant. He then added another stronger surname, but as it is an expression not used in society, we will omit it, though it was a strong and harmonizing word with the first surname of the miser. It might be easily imagined that the second surname must have been a very pointed one indeed, for although the peasant had passed on, and the britchka had been long out of sight from the village, Tchichikoff was still smiling at the word whilst sitting in his britchka.
On driving up to the house, Tchichikoff soon perceived a human figure, who began to converse with the peasant who had just arrived with his telega. For a long while he could not discover to what sex this figure belonged; whether it was an old woman or a mouzhik. The dress was absolutely shapeless, but nevertheless very much like a female's garb, the head-dress was a kind of colpack, as worn by the aged village crones, yet the voice seemed to him to be too loud for a woman's.
"Oh,'tis an old woman!" he thought for a moment to himself, and immediately added: "oh, no. To be sure,'tis a woman," he said at last, after a closer examination.
The figure, on its side, also looked very attentively at Tchichikoff. A guest or a stranger seemed to be to it a wonderful apparition, because it not only looked at him alone, but also at Selifan and the horses, beginning from their tails, and ending with their heads. To judge by the keys which were hanging down its left side by a broad belt, and because it was scolding the poor peasant of the cart in a very loud voice, Tchichikoff came to the conclusion that this figure was obviously the housekeeper.
"Halloa, old mother," said he, as he got out of his britchka, "where is your master?"
"Not at home," the housekeeper interrupted him, not waiting even for the question to be finished, but a moment later she added: "and what do you want?"
"I have some business with him."
"Will you then walk into this room," said the housekeeper, turning round and showing him her back covered all over with flour, and the lower portion of her garb torn beneath.
He entered a large and dark passage, the air in which was as cold and damp as in a cellar. From the passage he emerged into a small room, also very dark, scarcely enlivened by a glimpse of light, which shone through a large crevice in the lower portion of the door opposite. On opening this broken door before him, he at last entered an apartment in which real daylight greeted him, though the disorder which prevailed in it surprised him considerably.
It seemed as if the other portions of the house were undergoing a regular scrubbing, and that this room had been chosen for the temporary reception of all the furniture. Upon one of the large tables stood an old broken chair, and, next to it lay an old clock with its silent pendulum, around which some spiders had already found time to spin their cobwebs. There also leant against the wall an old-fashioned cupboard, covered with old silver plate, decanters, glasses and china.
Upon a large writing table, inlaid with mother of pearl mosaic, which was broken out in many places, leaving but the yellow spots of the mastic behind, lay a variety of objects; a heap of written small slips of papers, upon which lay a marble letter-weight with a handle in the shape of an egg on it, an ancient looking book, bound in rough Russian leather with red edges, a lemon, dried and withered away to the size of a walnut, a piece of a broken arm-chair, a wine glass containing a dark fluid with three dead flies in it, a few letters, some sealing-wax, a small dirty rag, picked up somewhere on the road, two quills, besmeared all over with ink, which had dried upon them long since, a tooth-brush, which had become quite yellow from age and use, and with which the owner seemed to have been in the habit of cleaning his teeth ever since the French invasion of 1812.
Whilst Tchichikoff was still looking around him at the strange arrangement of this apartment, the same housekeeper entered again, through a small side door, which he had seen on his arrival in the court-yard. But now this person appeared to him rather a steward than a female housekeeper: because a woman is not likely to use a razor upon her face, and this person seemed to have the habit of shaving, though it appeared to be done but occasionally, because the whole of the lower portion of her face looked rather like a scrubbing-brush for a horse's skin made of strong iron wire.
Tchichikoff giving his face an expression of inquisitiveness, now looked anxiously forward, awaiting the steward to be the first speaker. The steward, in his turn, seemed also determined to await what Tchichikoff had to say in explanation of his presence.
At last, however, our hero getting tired of this unpleasant suspense and silence, resolved to address the strange-looking person before him.
"Well, where is your master? is he at home?"
"He is here," said the steward.
"Where is he?" repeated Tchichikoff.
"Well, my good Sir, you are perhaps shortsighted," said the steward. "I am the master whom you wish to see."
Hereupon our hero could not help stepping back a few paces and looking steadfastly at the man before him.
It had happened to him to meet with people of all bodily descriptions, even with such persons as most likely our courteous reader and ourselves never met; but such a man as he now saw before him he had never met with before.
His face did not present any particularly striking features; it was nearly like all faces of lean and old men; his chin projected to such an extent that he was obliged to cover it with his pocket-handkerchief so as not to spit upon it occasionally; his small eyes very far from being dimmed by age, on the contrary, from under their heavy eyebrows they glittered like those of a mouse, when that little animal comes forward from its hole and puts forth its little snout to smell about if there is any danger from a cat, or whether some naughty boy has not laid a trap for it.
His dress was much more characteristic and remarkable. No investigation or expedient would have availed to discover of what peculiar material his morning-gown had been patched together; the sleeves and upper body of his dress were greased and besmeared to such a degree, that they actually had the appearance if not exactly the peculiar smell of that celebrated Russian leather called "jüchte," and which is commonly used among the lower classes to make their boots of.
From his back, four skirts hung loosely down instead of two, and out of which the cotton wadding was profusely bursting forth. There was also something tied round his neck, but it was impossible to define whether it was a stocking, a garter, or a pair of braces; at all events, it was not a neckerchief.
In a word, if Tchichikoff had met this man thus attired near the portal of a church, he would have undoubtedly tendered him a few coppers, for be it said to the honour of our hero that he was of a charitable disposition, and that he could seldom resist the temptation of giving a copek to a beggar.
But before him there now stood not a beggar, but a Russian landlord of rank. A man who called more than a thousand human beings his own serfs, and it would have also been difficult for any one to find many other proprietors possessing such extensive granaries filled with such a variety and quantity of com, flour, and meal—or to behold stores and warehouses like his, stocked with equal quantities of linen, cloth, wool, in fleeces, and shorn from the skin, smoked meats, dried fish, and other products of a fertile soil.
Pluschkin had been standing for some minutes without speaking a word, but Tchichikoff was still unable to begin a conversation, for he was completely disconcerted by the singular appearance of the man before him, as well as by everything that surrounded him in the room. For a long time he could not imagine in what terms to explain the object of his visit. He was several times on the point of expressing himself in the following terms: that, having heard the praise of his benevolence and the rare qualities of his heart, he felt it to be his duty to come and pay his personal tribute at the shrine of such great virtues, but he suddenly bethought himself, and felt that this would be saying too much.
Casting another hasty glance upon everything in the room, he came to the conclusion, that the words benefactor and rare qualities of the heart, might be successfully replaced by the following terms: economy and order; after this observation, he adapted his address in consequence and spoke thus:—
"That he had heard much to the advantage of his system of economy and the wise administration of his vast estates, and that he therefore felt it his duty to seek his acquaintance and acknowledge personally his profound esteem for a man of such great reputation." We must confess, that some more plausible reason might have been brought forward, however; nothing better suggested itself to the mind of our hero at that particular moment.
To this complimentary address, Pluschkin murmured something in reply between his lips, because he had no teeth; what the exact words were it is impossible for us to tell, very likely something to the following effect: "The devil take you and your esteem!"
But, as hospitality is still in fashion with us, so much in fashion indeed, that even a miser dare not offend its laws and privileges, therefore the old niggard added immediately, and a little more audibly, "I pray you, Sir, be seated!"
"It is long since I have received company," said he, "and I must candidly confess I see no advantage in welcoming idle visitors. Some foolish people have introduced the fashion of driving about from one estate to the other, and thus neglect their own households—and if they happen to arrive, you have even to feed their horses and men as well! I have already dined some hours since, and my kitchen is so very low, badly constructed, and the chimney is crumbling, that, were I to order some fire again I might easily set the whole house on fire."
"Oh, oh, is that it!" thought Tchichikoff to himself, "it is well I made a good dinner at Sobakevitch's house, on the cabbage and shoulder of mutton."
"And a truss of hay and some bushels of oats are no joke in these hard times in any household!" continued Pluschkin, "and really, the more I think of it the more absurd this evil custom seems to me. I have but a small estate, my peasants are idle and do not like to work, but think only how to get into the dram-shop—really it is frightful to contemplate, one might easily go begging."
"However, I have been told," calmly observed Tchichikoff, "that you call more than a thousand serfs your own."
"And who has told you that? My dear Sir, you ought to have spit into the face of that person who told you this! he is a fool and wants to pass a joke upon you. All proclaim me to be the possessor of a thousand souls, but if they were to number them they would really find none. During the last three years the fever has carried off numbers of my best and healthiest peasants."
"Is it possible! and have you indeed lost many?" exclaimed Tchichikoff, with visible interest.
"Yes, the fever has carried off a great many."
"But allow me to inquire how many in number?"
"About eighty souls."
"No, is it really so many?"
"My good Sir, I have no interest to hide the truth."
"Allow me to ask you one more question. I suppose you estimate the number of your dead serfs to be eighty, since you handed in your last census?"
"If that was the case, I should thank heaven for not having lost more," said Pluschkin, "no, my good Sir, since I sent my last census to government, and paid my capitation tax, I have lost more than one hundred and twenty serfs!"
"Really, one hundred and twenty peasants!" exclaimed again Tchichikoff loudly, and even opened his mouth more than usual, in consequence of his astonishment.
"Good Sir, I am too old to tell a falsehood. I am fast advancing to my fourth score," said Pluschkin. He seemed even a little offended at the stranger's apparently joyful exclamation.
Tchichikoff also observed that he had gone too far in not observing due compassion with that which another person considers a grievous loss; and, therefore, after heaving a deep sigh, he added that he felt the greatest commiseration for him.
"'Tis all very fine talking about commiseration, but with all that you cannot put it in your pocket," replied Pluschkin. "I may quote as an example a certain colonel, who lives on an estate next to mine, and who has come heaven knows wherefrom! he says that he is a relation of mine; calls me his uncle, his dear grand uncle! and even kisses my hands; but when he begins to speak of his commiseration, he raises such a howling, that I do not know how to save my ears. He has a face all on fire; and with all that appearance pretends to like meagre fare and buck-wheat grits. No doubt that young fellow spent all his money when he served in the army, or some ballet-girl girl has cheated him out of it; and that I must suppose makes him now so full of commiseration!"
Tchichikoff endeavoured to explain to the old man, that his commiseration was quite of a different nature from that of the colonel, and that he was ready to prove it, not with empty words, but with tangible facts; and without any further arguments, he proceeded to the business at once, and informed the old miser of his readiness to undertake the payment of the capitation tax for all such of his peasants as had died since the last census, victims of a contagious fever.
This proposal seemed perfectly to bewilder Pluschkin. He opened his eyes wildly, looked for a long time steadfastly into the face of the speaker, and at last put the following question to him:
"Pardon me, my good Sir, but have you perhaps also served in the army?"
"No," answered Tchichikoff, with a pleasing air of artfulness, "I have served in the civil ranks."
"Oh! a civilian?" repeated Pluschkin, and began to move his lips, as if he was eating something. "But how do you mean it? This offer which you make to me, would be a positive expense to yourself?"
"To be agreeable to you, I am even willing to be a loser."
"Oh, my good Sir! oh, you are my benefactor!" exclaimed Pluschkin, so much overcome with joy, that he did not observe that a large drop of fluid snuff had made its appearance on the point of his nose, and that whilst raising his arms to accompany his exclamations he opened his morning-gown, and thus displayed an under-dress not at all fit for description.
"What a consolation you have brought me! oh, good Heaven! oh, my holy saints!—" and more than this Pluschkin was incapable of articulating.
But a minute had scarcely elapsed, since this joy had shown itself so suddenly upon the mummy-like face of the old man, when it again as suddenly disappeared from his features, and his face again assumed its usual expression of care and anxiety. He recovered even as far again his self-possession as to wipe his nose, and rolling his handkerchief into a ball, he began to pass it across his lips, to and fro.
"With your permission, and without wishing to offend you in the least, will you allow me to ask you, whether you will agree to undertake to pay the tax annually till the next census? and the money for it, would you like to pay it to me, or at once into the imperial treasury?"
"I would suggest that we should come to the following arrangement: we will draw up a contract of sale, in which we will agree that all the hundred-and-twenty serfs are alive, and that you have sold them to me."
"Oh, by a contract of sale," said Pluschkin, musingly, and again munching his lips. "But you see, my dear Sir, a contract of sale is an expense. And the imperial employés are so very impudent indeed! Formerly you could oblige them to do their duty by presenting them with a rouble and a sack of flour, but now-a-day one is obliged to send them nearly a cart-load of grits and a ten rouble note besides, there is such a love for money now prevalent among them. I am quite surprised how it is that nobody else has paid any attention to this real nuisance. Some one ought to have come forward and spoken words of exhortation and salvation to those rogues! Words of exhortation pierce every heart. Whatever people may say, I am of opinion that no sinner can resist words of salvation."
"I should say, you could resist them!" thought Tchichikoff to himself, and he added aloud, that he was ready—out of pure esteem for the old man—to pay the expense of the contract of sale out of his own pocket.
On hearing this offer made to him, that even the expenses of the contract of sale would not be an expense to him, Pluschkin came to the conclusion that his strange guest must be completely deranged, and that he only pretended he had been in the civil service of his country, and that there could be no doubt that he had served as an officer in the army, and had been in the habit of courting actresses and ballet-girls.
Notwithstanding this opinion, he could impossibly hide his satisfaction, and wished his guest and his children and grandchildren all the blessings of Providence, without asking him previously whether he was married, and whether he had any family. He then hurried towards the window, and thumping with his bony fingers on the glass, he shouted out:
"Holloa, Proschka."
In a minute later, hurried footsteps were heard in the passage, and soon after behind the door of the apartment in which our hero and his host were; but the person outside continued for some time making a fearful noise with his boots, at last the door was opened and Proschka entered. He was a boy of about thirteen years of age; the boots which he wore were so large, that each step which he made forwards threatened to leave his boots behind.
Why the boy, Proschka, wore such a large pair of boots we can explain immediately; Pluschkin kept for the whole of his retinue—however many—but one pair of boots, which were always to be left behind the door in the passage. Every servant who was called by his master was obliged to skip bare-footed across the court-yard, but as soon as he entered the long and dark passage leading to his lord's apartment he was obliged to step into the boots, and then only allowed to enter the room of his master.
In leaving the chamber, he had to strip himself of those boots, and return to his own quarters on his natural soles. If any one had happened to have been standing at the window of Pluschkin's mansion—especially on a freezing autumn morning—he would have witnessed the skipping and jumping of the whole of his domestic servants, who made such evolutions as can scarcely be equalled by even the cleverest clown or ballet dancer.
"But, do me the favour, my good Sir, to look at this boy's face!" said Pluschkin to Tchichikoff, whilst pointing to the face of his servant boy, Proschka, "he seems as stupid as a log of wood, but try only to leave anything lying loose, in a minute he is sure to steal it! Now then, stupid boy, what have you come here for?"
After having said this he remained silent a few moments, which was answered by a silence from Proschka as well.
"Heat the samovar, do you hear me? and then give this key to Mavra, and tell her to go into the pantry; there she will find a large fish biscuit—given to me by Lady Alexander Stepanovna—tell her to serve this cake with the tea!"
After saying this, he could not help looking with an air of suspicion even upon Tchichikoff. Such traits of unusual generosity began to appear to him quite impossible, and he thought to himself:—
"The devil knows him and where he comes from; he might be a man fond of boasting, like all those military spendthrifts; he will humbug me just to have something to boast about, drink my tea, eat my cake, and then say farewell!"
After reasoning thus with himself, he came to the conclusion that it would be better to be careful and test the honesty of his strange guest, and he therefore proposed that it would be a good thing to proceed at once to the drawing up of the contract of sale, because man was mortal; to-day alive, and to-morrow heaven knows where.
Tchichikoff assured the old miser of his readiness to conclude the contract that very minute, and only demanded a list of all the peasants that were now to become his property.
This readiness considerably tranquillized Pluschkin. It was obvious that he was trying to remember or do something, and really, after a few moments of reflection and hesitation, he approached his cupboard, produced a bunch of keys, and opened the glass doors of it, he was a considerable time in removing a number of decanters, wine glasses, and cups, and at last exclaimed: "It is impossible for me to find it now, I had some sweet liquors of cream, provided my servants have not drunk it! they are so disobedient! Ah, should this perhaps be it?"
Tchichikoff now beheld a small decanter in his hands, which was thickly covered by a coat of dust. "This was distilled by my late and much lamented wife," continued Pluschkin; "my roguish housekeeper seems to have completely mislaid it, and has not even put the cork in, the negligent old wretch! Cobwebs, spiders, and dies have fallen into the bottle, however, I have removed them, and will now pour out some for you, a nice and clean glass full."
But Tchichikoff respectfully declined to taste any of such liquor, saying that he had already been eating and drinking.
"You have already been eating and drinking;" said Pluschkin. "Yes, truly, a well-bred man may be recognised by the smallest trifles; he does not eat, and yet is fed; but when some of those hungry and dishonest run-abouts come, you may feed them as long as you like. The Captain for instance—who visits me by far too often; 'dear uncle,' he is accustomed to say, 'pray let me have first something to eat!' and after all, I am as dear an uncle to him as he is a nephew to me. I have not the least doubt, but the young fellow has nothing to eat at home, and of course keeps annoying me, and running about everywhere. But, by the bye, I think you will require a list of all these idlers? To be sure, whenever one of them died, I made it a point to note down his name, so as to have them ready for being scratched off at the approaching census."
Pluschkin while saying this, put on a pair of wretched spectacles, and began to stir about in a heap of papers. In untying various packages, he treated his guest to such a cloud of dust, that he made him sneeze. At last he produced a slip of paper, written upon on every available space. The names of the dead serfs covered it as thickly as mushrooms. There were Christian and family names of every kind and length, such as Ponomareff, Pimenoff, Semenoff, and Panteleimonoff, and even the long name of Gregory Dogeschainedogedish; in all more than a hundred-and-twenty different names.
Tchichikoff smiled with inward satisfaction at the sight of such a number. Securing this curious document, and putting it in his pocket, he made the observation to Pluschkin, that he would have to come to town in order to conclude, in a legal manner, the contract of sale of these dead serfs.
"Go to town, but how? how am I to leave my house? my servants are one and all either thieves or scoundrels, in a day they would be capable of robbing me so well, that on my return I should not be able even to find a nail to bang my coat upon."
"In that case, you have perhaps a friend in town?"
"Yes, to be sure, a friend, but to whom? All my acquaintances have died, or have forgotten me; but stop, my good Sir! I now remember one, how should I not have a friend, to be sure I have one!" exclaimed the old man suddenly. "I am on friendly terms with the President, he used to visit me often in bygone years, how should I not know him, or he me! we were like wheels of the same carriage, always together, up to any mischief! how should we not know one another? he is my best friend! would you advise me to entrust him with this business?"
"I advise you most certainly to do so," replied Tchichikoff.
"Then I will write to him, because he is a very intimate friend of mine! indeed, now I remember it, our friendship dates from our childhood, we were intimate school-fellows."
And suddenly over this wooden parchment-like face a warm flush passed, but it did not express feelings of a pleasant recollection, no, only something like a faint shadow of real feeling, an apparition similar to the unexpected appearance of a drowning man above the surface of the water, who causes a shout of joy among the crowd gathered along the shores. But unavailingly do his suddenly rejoiced brothers and sisters throw out cords and ropes to his assistance, hoping to see once more his head, or outstretched hands, trying to seize it—alas! it was his last re-appearance. All is silent, and the now silent and smooth element becomes but more ominous and terrifying. Something analogous was also visible in the expression of Pluschkin's features, after a momentary flush of sensibility, the expression of his face became but more unfeeling and repulsive.
"There was a sheet of note-paper lying on the table," he said, "but I wonder what has become of it; you have no idea how impudent my servants are!"
Hereupon he began anxiously to look about, under the table, upon the table, stirring about everything, but at last, not being able to find it, he shouted as loud as he could:
"Mavra! halloa, Mavra!"
Upon this call, a woman servant entered the room, holding a plate in her hands, upon which lay the well-known Easter-cake of his daughter Alexandra. The following conversation took place between them:
"You magpie! tell me immediately where you have put the sheet of note-paper, that was lying here upon my table?"
"Good Heavens, Sir, do not be alarmed, but I really have not seen it, excepting a small piece with which you covered a wine-glass the other day."
"I see clearly by your eyes and countenance that it is you who have surely taken it."
"For what purpose should I have done so? It could have been no use whatever to me, for I cannot read nor write."
"Tis a falsehood, you have taken it and carried it to your cousin, Karpuschka, the carpenter, I know him to be a scribbler and of course you have given it to him."
"That I have not, and besides if my cousin wanted some paper, he has the means to buy it,-for he is a good workman and can earn sufficient to pay for it. No, it is not he who has your paper."
"Mind what you are saying and doing, for on the day of judgment the demons will torment you, yes it is with iron rods that they will scourge you! you may depend upon it they will punish you for your wickedness in this world!"
"But why should they scourge me, when I never even touched your slip of paper? I may, perhaps, like other women, have my faults, but I have never been accused of theft before."
"The demons are sure to scourge you, and say besides: 'that is what you deserve you wicked woman for betraying and deceiving your lawful master, yes, it is with red-hot iron rods that they will torment you!'"
"And I shall proclaim my innocence;" added the poor woman crying, "I shall invoke Heaven and declare that I did not touch or take any of your property. And here it lies upon the table. You always scold and accuse us though we are innocent!"
Pluschkin now really beheld the note-paper before him, and for a moment he stopped short, whilst chewing with his lips, then he added:
"Well, why are you so excited? what a talkative woman you are to be sure! Scarcely have I spoken a word to you, when you are ready with ten answers! Go and fetch me a light to seal my letters with. But no, stop, you are sure to lay hold of a tallow candle, grease melts: it will be a loss; bring me a pine-torch."
Mavra left the room, Pluschkin seated himself in an arm-chair and taking a pen up, he kept turning the sheet of note-paper for a considerable time in his hand, thinking at the time, could it not be possible to save the half or a portion of the paper, but at last he felt convinced that it was an impossibility; he therefore dipped his pen into the ink-stand and into a mouldy fluid, at the bottom of which there were numerous dead flies, he began to write; his letters were very much like music-notes, he was obliged to stop at each pen stroke, for his hand shook and trembled violently over the paper, and the progress of his writing and increase of lines was very slow indeed, for he could not help thinking and regretting, that much of the paper before him would have to remain unwritten upon.
And to such a degree of meanness and degradation could a well-born man degenerate! undergo such a change! But is this like truth, like reality? All approaches truth and reality, for a human being is liable to undergo incredible changes. The youth of this day would start back horrified if the portrait of his old age could be shown to him. Oh! gather on our way—as you leave your downy pillow to start and enter into harsh and hardening manhood—gather up all the tender impressions of human nature, do not leave them behind you—do not pick them up later! Harsh and frightful is such old age when looming in the future, for it indemnifies for nothing! The grave is more merciful, upon a tombstone may be written: here lies a man! but you can read nothing upon the cold, unfeeling features of pitiless age.
"Do you perhaps know any one among your friends—" said Pluschkin, whilst folding up his letter, "who might stand in want of a few run-away serfs?"
"Ah, you have even some run-away men?" demanded Tchichikoff eagerly, but composing himself again quickly.
"Yes, unfortunately, I have some. My son-in-law has been hunting after them, but he assured me, that he has lost the trace of them notwithstanding his diligence and perseverance, however, he is a military man, accustomed to do business on horseback, if he had taken the trouble to apply to the various courts and—"
"Pardon me for interrupting you, but how many are they in number?"
"Well, as near as I can guess about seventy."
"No, is it possible?"
"By Heavens, it is as I tell you! With every new year I find that more and more of my men run away. My people are one and all awful gluttons, from good living and easy tasks they are apt to burst like the frog in the fable, whilst I have scarcely sufficient to eat myself. Really, I should feel disposed to accept any reasonable offer for them. Pray, speak to your friend about them: let us suppose he only recaptures ten of them, and his trouble will be amply rewarded. And you must not forget to tell him that our census serfs are worth five hundred silver roubles a-piece everywhere."
"No, my good old man, don't you believe it; this piece of news my friend shall not even be allowed to dream of," thought Tchichikoff to himself; and then he added aloud, "That it was a perfect impossibility to find such a friend; that the trouble and expense of recapturing run-away serfs would exceed by far their collective value; because it would be madness to apply to any court of law for assistance, for it is well known that if a man enters a court of justice in Russia, he generally has to leave, if not his own liberty behind him, at least his property, without the exception of the very coat on his back; but if he was really embarrassed for a little money, he would do himself pleasure by proving him his sincere sympathy, and that he was ready to make an offer; but as it was a mere trifle, it would be really idle even to mention a word about it."
"Pray, and how much could you offer me?" demanded Pluschkin, with the anxiety and eagerness of a real Shylock, his hands trembling like quicksilver.
"I could afford to pay you at the rate of twenty-five copeks in silver for each of your run-aways."
"And how do you propose purchasing them—will you pay ready money?"
"Yes, I am prepared to pay immediately."
"My good and dear Sir, pray don't be hard with an old man; be generous and just; pay me at least forty copeks a head."
"Most estimable man!" exclaimed Tchichikoff, "I would not only have paid you forty copeks, but even would have been glad to pay you five hundred roubles for each run-away vagabond. It would have been a gratification to me to offer you such a sum, because I see it plainly now, that you, my worthy and excellent old Sir, are suffering from the effects of your own misplaced benevolence."
"By Heavens, it is so! By Heavens, you spoke the truth!" exclaimed Pluschkin, bending down his head and shaking it sorrowfully. "All from benevolence!"
"You will agree with me, my excellent old man, that I at once knew how to appreciate your character. And why should I, therefore, not give you five hundred roubles for each of these serfs? but, the fact is, I am not possessed of a large fortune; however, to be agreeable to you, I am ready to make an addition of five copeks, so that, in this manner, every serf will cost me the round sum of thirty silver copeks."
"Make another effort, for the power lays in your hands; give me but two copeks more above the thirty."
"So I will, if you wish it, I'll give you two copeks more. How many have you of those run-away rascals? You told me, I believe, seventy in all?"
"There are a few more. In all, they number seventy-eight."
"Seventy-eight! Let me see, seventy-eight and thirty-two copeks a head, that makes—" Hereupon our hero only took one moment for consideration, and then continued deliberately: "That makes a total of twenty-four roubles ninety-six copeks." He was a clever arithmetician.
After this clever calculation, he made Pluschkin write out a receipt in form, and paid him the receipt in full upon the table, which the other took up in both hands, and carried towards his desk, with as much anxious precaution as if he was carrying some precious liquid, fearing every moment lest he might spill some of it.
When he had arrived before his desk, he once more covered his money with an ardent look, and then he laid it as carefully into one of his secret drawers, where, no doubt, it was destined to lie buried until Father Carp and Father Policarp, two worthy popes of his village, would come and have to bury the wretched man himself, to the indescribable joy of his daughter and son-in-law, and perhaps, also, to to the great satisfaction of the always hungry Captain, who had succeeded in establishing a relationship with the old miser.
After having hidden his treasure, Pluschkin returned to his arm-chair and sat down; it seemed that he now was completely at a loss of a subject for conversation.
"Do you already intend to leave me?" said he, as he happened to perceive a slight movement which Tchichikoff made, and which was only for the purpose of taking his pocket-handkerchief from his pocket.
This question reminded our hero that really there was no reason or inducement for him to stay any longer with the old miser.
"Yes, it is high time for me to depart," said he, whilst taking up his hat.
"Won't you really stay and take a cup of tea?"
"No, thank you; I think we had better leave it till the next time I have the pleasure of seeing you."
"Why, I have given orders for the tea-urn to be heated. For my own part, I must confess, I am not at all partial to tea-drinking, like the rest of our countrymen; the beverage is very dear, and besides, sugar has risen to a most unmerciful price. Froschka! I don't want the samovar; take the cake back again to Mavra, mind you understand me rightly; tell her to put it on the same shelf where she took it from; but no, stop—leave it on the table; I think I shall take it back again myself."
"Farewell, then, my dear Sir, the Almighty bless and keep you. As for the letter to the President, do not forget to give it him immediately on your return to Smolensk, as well as my kindest regards. Yes, let my dear old friend read it; I know he will be pleased to hear from me. How should he not recollect me? we used to live together, like two wheels of the same carriage."
After this, that ancient apparition, the worn-out old miser, led his guest the same road back on which he had entered his house, and saw him into the court-yard, and safe into his carriage, but as soon as the britchka had passed the gates, he ordered them to be closed immediately; he then made a turn of inspection around his extensive premises, with the view of convincing himself that the watchmen were all on their guard, for he had posted sentinels at every available corner; these poor fellows kept thumping with a large wooden spoon against the bottom of small empty casks, instead of upon iron plates.
Being satisfied that every one was doing his duty, he entered the kitchen, under the pretence that he came there to convince himself that the food of his servants was good and eatable, and thus tasting of everything, he stuffed himself with cabbage and porridge to his heart's content; he then scolded them all, down to the scullery-maid, reproached them with bad conduct, and, after having done this, he quietly returned to his own room.
When he found himself alone, he began to think how he could manage to mark his sense of gratitude to his amiable guest for an act of such unheard-of generosity.
"I think I shall present him," thought he to himself, "with my watch. It is a good one, a silver lever one, not one of those common Geneva or pinchbeck watches. I remember it is rather a little out of repair; but what does that matter? he can get it repaired himself. He seems a young man yet, and of course he wants a watch—it will help to please his sweetheart.
"But no," added he, after musing for a while, "I think I shall leave him the watch as a legacy after I am dead; then he will be sure to remember me."
Our hero, however, felt happy and in the best disposition of mind without the old man's watch. For such an unexpected acquisition of stock was in his opinion a most valuable gift, and he had really every difficulty in mastering his joy; but then it was also one of the most advantageous speculations—though certainly of an unheard-of nature—that he had ever made in his life. He got for a mere nothing, not only dead, but even run-away serfs, in all more than two hundred regular census slaves, and to him, whether dead or alive, most valuable beings.
As a matter of course, it must be acknowledged that whilst driving up to Pluschkin's mansion, he had a secret presentiment that something unusual would happen to him; but certainly he was far from guessing that such a brilliant success would actually crown his anticipations.
Twilight began to merge into darkness of the evening, when the britchka approached the town. The crepuscule was mingling with the dusk quicker and faster, and it seemed as if objects in the distance were mixed up and in confusion. The red and white-coloured turnpike gates seemed of an indefinable colour, very different from their usual gay appearance; the mustachios of the sentinel on duty seemed to be on his forehead, much above his eyes, as for his nose, it appeared as if he had none.
The sudden noise and the jolting of the wheels across the pavement were an undeniable proof that the britchka had safely entered the gates of Smolensk.
The britchka soon after sustained a few more severe joltings and shakings, until at last it made a regular jump as if into a hole; fortunately it stopped short before the gates of the inn where Tchichikoff was met by his servant Petruschka, who, with one of his hands was trying to keep together the skirts of his long surtout, not wishing perhaps that they should be open and flying about, whilst, with the other hand, he assisted his master to alight from the britchka.
The head-waiter had rushed forward to meet Tchichikoff. He held a candle in his hand and a napkin thrown over his shoulder. It is impossible for us to tell whether Petruschka was pleased or not to see his master returning safely home. However, he exchanged a familiar glance with his friend Selifan, in consequence of which, his usually sulky countenance for the nonce, seemed to undergo a change which bore some slight approach to cheerfulness.
"Your glory has been on a long excursion this time," said the head-waiter politely, as he was showing him up-stairs.
"Yes, rather," answered Tchichikoff, when he had arrived at the landing leading towards his room. "Well, and how are you?"
"Thank heavens and your glory for your kindness!" replied the head-waiter, bowing lowly in acknowledgment of the condescension. "A cornet in the Lancers arrived last night, and has taken number sixteen, the apartment next to that of your glory's."
"Who? a cornet! of what regiment?"
"I really cannot inform your glory to what regiment he belongs, but he comes from Rizan, has a splendid carriage and three beautiful horses."
"Very well, that will do; go and behave yourself well in future," said Tchichikoff. But as he crossed the ante-room, he quickly turned up his nose, and said to Petruschka, whilst hurrying along, "You ought at least to have opened the windows, you careless fellow!"
"I have had them opened, your glory," replied Petruschka; but in saying this, he told a falsehood, and though his master knew well enough that he was trying to impose upon him, he did not condescend to waste another word about it. After the fatigues of his journey and adventures, he felt exceedingly tired, and was anxious to retire. He ordered a very light supper to be brought up, which consisted of a few thin slices of tender sucking-pig, which he ate rather hastily, and then undressing himself quickly, he went to bed immediately, and tucked himself well up in his blankets, and was soon fast and sound asleep. He began to snore most wonderfully, and slept as soundly as only those happy mortals sleep who do not suffer from the attacks of gout or flies, nor from any superabundance of mental faculties.
Tchichikoff was just awaking, and stretching out his hands and legs like a man preparing for gymnastics, he also began to be aware that he had slept uncommonly well. After lying for about two minutes longer thus outstretched upon his back, he suddenly smacked his fingers in the air, for he at once distinctly remembered, and with a face radiant with satisfaction, that he now possessed nearly four hundred serfs, a stock worth about half a million of silver roubles.
After these satisfactory reflections, he jumped gaily out of bed, and did not even think of looking at his face, for which he had a particular affection, and in which, as it seemed, he thought his chin was the most attractive feature, because he had the habit of passing his hand frequently over it when in the presence of any intimate friend; he did this particularly when he had been shaving in the morning.
"Just look here," he used to say, whilst stroking it gently with his hand, "behold what a chin I have got—perfectly round and smooth!"
But this time, he examined neither his chin nor his face, but directly, such as he was, he got into his red morocco-leather morning boots, richly embroidered with silk of a variety of colours, for the manufacture of which the ancient Tartar town of Kazan is so justly celebrated; and thanks to his Russian constitution, that heeds no temperature, just as he was, with nothing but his night-shirt on, in the real Scotch fashion, he forgot for a moment his sedate character and middle age, and executed two regular jumps round his room, touching himself, very cleverly indeed, twice with the soles of his feet.
The very next moment, he immediately sat down to attend to his business: as he was thus seated before his dressing-case, he rubbed his hands cheerfully for a moment—just as they would be rubbed by a honest and incorruptible judge when he is about to sit down to a luncheon before pronouncing his judgment in court; after having done this, Tchichikoff produced at once his papers and documents.
He was anxious to settle his affairs in Smolensk as speedily as possible, and leave nothing undone which could be attended to on that very day. He determined upon drawing up the contracts of sale himself; to write down and copy everything with his own hand, so as not to have to pay a copek to any of the government employés. He was perfectly familiar with the particular style and lawful forms of such documents; and he, therefore, with a bold hand wrote down in large characters, one thousand eight hundred and forty such a year, then immediately lower, but in much smaller characters, councillor of state, gentleman, so and so; in fact, all was done and written as it ought to be, and in two hours later his work was accomplished.
When he once more cast a glance over the various documents with the names of the serfs on them, who had at one time been real slaves, working, tilling, drinking, cheating their master, and perhaps also simply honest serfs, it was then that he felt a strange and incomprehensible sensation suddenly overcome him.
Each of the lists possessed, as it were, a distinct character, and through that fact, it seemed again that each serf named upon them assumed also an individual character. The serfs who formerly belonged to the widow-lady, Korobotchka, had nearly all nicknames attached to them. The note of old Pluschkin distinguished itself by its brevity of construction; many of the names were only indicated by the first two letters of the Christian and family name, and then followed two points, or rather blots.
Sobakevitch's list attracted his special attention by its unusual fullness and minuteness; not one of the various qualifications of any one of his serfs had been omitted; one of them had been noted down as a "clever joiner," to the name of another the following was appended, "a sharp fellow, eats no tallow." Particular nota benes were also made who their father, and who their mother had been; only one individual of the name of Phedot was distinguished thus, "father unknown, but was born of a girl in the house, of the name of Capitolina, good principles and no thief."
All these particulars had a peculiar appearance of reality; it seemed to Tchichikoff himself, as if these poor dead serfs were alive yesterday. He kept looking for a long time at their names, until he felt his heart melting, as it were, to a feeling of pity, and heaving a deep sigh, he exclaimed:
"Good heavens, how many there are of you, to be sure! Poor fellows, I wish you could tell me, what you have been doing during your existence! How have you been battling your way through this world of woe?"
And his eyes rested involuntarily upon the, to us, already familiar name of Peter Savelieff Neuvaschaikorito, who once had been the property of Lady Korobotchka. And again he could not forbear making the observation:
"What a rich name to be sure, he takes a whole line all to himself;" and he then continued, "when among the living, were you a clever fellow in your profession, or simply a clumsy mouzhik; and were did you meet your death-blow? Was it in a dram-shop, or on the high road, or were you surrounded by those dear to you by the ties of nature? Stephen Korobka, joiner, a sober and steady man. Ah! here he is, Stephen Korobka, that is the fellow, who, according to Sobakevitch, would have been a giant in the Imperial Life-Guards! No doubt the poor fellow wandered about in obscurity with a hatchet on his side, and his boots across his shoulders, making his meals at the slender expense of one copek for brown bread, and two for dried fish, whilst, on returning home from his yearly work, he would bring with him a purse stuffed with silver roubles, and perhaps have some bank notes sewn up between the lining of his shirt or boots—where are you now? Have you, anxious for larger profits, been even as far as Moscow, and elevated yourself as high as the spire of Ivan Veliki, and tried to ring the changes on an Easter-night, but unsuccessfully fallen to the ground, whilst some more clever fellow than yourself standing close by would scratch himself behind the ear, and say: 'poor Stephen, can't you stand the noise?' and coolly take your place.
"Maxim Teliatnikoff, shoemaker—shoemaker. Oh, ah, a shoemaker! 'drunk like a cobbler,' says our proverb. I know you, know you well, my fine fellow; if you like, I can tell you in a few words your own history; you were brought up to your trade by a native from Germany, who fed you at the same table, and beat your shoulders with the same strap to punish you for your own neglect and carelessness, and kept you at work and strictly in doors; at that time you were really an excellent fellow, but not a cobbler, and your German master thought that he could not praise you enough in the presence of his wife or friends. But when you had finished your apprenticeship, you said to yourself: 'now I will keep a strap myself, and not have to scrape together, one by one, the copper copeks as my German master used to do.' Thinking thus, you contrived to pay your yearly impost to your lawful master, and were allowed to remain in town and set up in your profession. You succeeded so far well enough, for you happened to obtain numerous orders by way of encouragement, and you sat down to your work. Some wretched tanner supplied you with rotten leather, three times cheaper, it is true, than you could have bought a good material for; and really for a short time you even succeeded in making double profit upon each pair of boots you sold; but in about two weeks later, the boots of your manufacture were completely worn out, and you were called by your customers all sorts of names. In consequence of this mode of dealing, your shop was soon deserted by them, and by yourself; because you took to drinking and rolling about the streets, whilst in your state of intoxication you would often exclaim: 'No, really there is no consolation in life! we Russians cannot make a decent living, these foreigners push themselves forward everywhere, they positively take the very bread out of our mouths!'
"What peasant have we here? Elizabeth Vorobei. What a shame! a woman! how has she got among the men? He is a thorough cheat, that fellow Sobakevitch, even here he has tried to take advantage over me!" Tchichikoff was right, it was really a woman. How she had slipped among the men, it was quite impossible to tell, but certainly it was done very cleverly, for the woman might at a first glance have easily been taken for a man. However, he did not take the imposition in good part, and struck the name from the list at once.
"Gregory Dogeschainedogedish! What sort of a man have you been, I wonder? Were you perhaps one of those carriers by profession, driving your gallant troika from town to town, and fair to fair, bidding a long farewell to your family and friends to go and lead a wandering life in the service of some travelling tradesman between Russia and China? Did you surrender your soul to Heaven on the high road, or were you carried to your last resting-place by your village kindred, and your mourning wife and children?
"And you, my fine fellows?" he continued, as he cast a glance over the list of run-away serfs belonging to Pluschkin.
"Although you may be alive, yet where is the advantage of possessing you? you are as worthless as your dead brethren, and Heaven only knows whither your swift feet have borne you? Were you really so ill-used by old Pluschkin that you thought it better to run away, or were you naturally inclined to become vagabonds, and now plunder travellers on the high road and in the forests? Are you perhaps incarcerated in some gloomy prison, awaiting your sentence, or have you become the property of a new master, and are at this moment tilling the land of another lord?
"Jeremy Kariakin, Nikita Volokita, and Antony Volokita his son; these fellows, I presume, were excellent run-aways, if I am to judge by the first and classical syllables of their name. Some one of you, I can have no doubt, has had the misfortune to fall into the hands of what you call in the country the Capitän-Ispravnik, who, as a gentleman strictly looking after passport regulations, has no doubt cross-examined you on the subject, and perhaps in the following terms:
"'Whose serf are you?' said he, perhaps, in his imperative voice, whilst interspersing his question with a few strong and fitting terms.
"'I am the serf of such and such a nobleman,' you will have answered boldly.
"'Why are you here?' demands again the military Capitan.
"'I have received my due permission to go and search for work in town,' is again your bold reply.
"'And where is your passport?'
"'With my landlord, the citizen Pimenoff.'
"'Send for Pimenoff immediately. Are you Pimenoff?'
"'I am Pimenoff.
"'Did this man give you his passport?'
"'No, your glory, he has given me no passport of any description.'
"'How dare you tell me a falsehood?' says the Capitän-Ispravnik, adding, meanwhile a few strong and suitable terms.
"'Just so,' is your bold reply to this observation, 'I did not give it to him because I returned home late, but I gave it for safe keeping to the bell-ringer, Antip Prochoroff."
"'Send for the bell-ringer! Did he give to you his passport?'
"'No, Sir, I did not receive a passport from him.'
"'Why, that is another falsehood,' says the military Capitan, strengthening his affirmation with a few more impressive words. 'Now, can you tell me where your passport is?'
"'I am sure I had a passport,' you said quickly, 'but it seems I have lost it somewhere on the road.'
"'And how do you account for the possession of this soldier's cloak?' demands again the Capitän-Ispravnik sternly, whilst adding again a few strong and fitting terms, 'why have you robbed the imperial servant of his garb? and why have you dared to plunder the Pope's coffer of his coppers?'
"'I'm innocent,' you say boldly, 'I have never yet been convicted of theft.'
"'And how is it that they have picked you up drunk and incapable, and clad in this cloak?'
"'I really can't say; no doubt some one else has put it on me.'
"'Ah, you are a rogue and a vagabond,' speaks the Capitän-Ispravnik, shaking his head at you, and putting his hands to his sides. 'Guards, put the fellow in irons, and lead him away into the darkest dungeon.'
"'Very well, your glory, I submit myself with pleasure,' is your polite reply.
"And hereupon you produce your snuff-box, and treat with its contents, and in the most friendly manner, the two invalids who are putting the chains on your legs, asking them coolly how long ago they were discharged from their hard service in the army, and in what battles they have fought. And now you continue to live some time in prison, until due inquiries are made about you, and your case properly and leisurely investigated.
"At last, the following decision arrives: the run-away serf, Nikita Volokita, will be transferred from the prisons of Zarevo-Kokaisk to the prison of Mosaisk, from there a fresh order transfers you again to the prison in Vesegonsk, and thus you continue to be transferred from dungeon to dungeon, and you say to yourself as you inspect your new habitation:
"'I don't know, but somehow I like Vesegonsk better than any of the other places; the place is larger and cleaner, and the company here much gayer!'
"Abakum Phiroff! and what are you? where and in what part of the vast Empire could you now be met with? Have you gone down the river Volga and taken a fancy to an agitated life on the swelling waves, and joined some of the gay river men?"—
Saying this, Tchichikoff stopped short and began to muse and reflect. What might he have been thinking about? Did he try to imagine the fate of Abakum Phiroff, or did he plunge into reflections like any other Russian, whatever his age might be, no matter of what rank or fortune, when he reflects upon the broad road of human life?
And in truth where is Phiroff now? He wanders boisterously and gaily along the rich shores of the Volga; he has hired his services to some travelling merchant. Flowers and ribbons ornament his peculiarly shaped hat; he seems now as cheerful and contented as any of his comrades born and bred to that peculiar life; they are just bidding farewell to their wives and sweethearts—tall, active, and healthy women, looking as picturesque as the men, in their wide frocks and flowing tresses mixed with gay ornaments and coloured ribbons; songs with and without choruses, and again interrupted, but a solo or an accompaniment of the national guitar or balalaika is to be heard all along the piers and shores. The bustle and life among the people assembled is now at its height, for they are completing the cargo of their barges, into which they store the last sacks, containing wheat, barley, oats and other grains, which the fertile soil in that part of the country so abundantly produces.
Along the shores are yet hundreds and thousands more sacks filled with various grains, heaped in columns and towering like Egyptian pyramids into the air, and ready to be shipped as soon as the warm rays of the spring can burst the melting ice, and allow this bread-stuff arsenal to drift down the river, barge following barge like a band of swans when proudly floating down the rapid stream.
Such is the occupation of our Russian river-men on the shores of the Volga, where he has hard work, but where he leads a comparatively independent and cheerful life, and where his gay and melodious songs are heard from the source to the efflux of that magnificent river.
"Holloa, he! twelve o'clock," Tchichikoff said at last, looking at his watch, "how could I so utterly forget myself? if at least there had been any business-like result in these reflections, but as it is, it was but folly and nonsense!" Saying this, he changed his highland costume for a more becoming one, buckled tighter up his full stomach, perfumed his face and hands with some Eau de Cologne, put his warm travelling-cap in his hand, and the various documents under his arm and hurriedly left the inn, hastening towards the government offices to conclude his contracts.
He did not hasten for fear of being too late; oh, no, he was not afraid of being too late, because the President of the Council was now his intimate friend, and could prolong or shorten the sittings in the court at his own convenience; he was as powerful in his office as Homer in his classical poems, who lengthened his days and sent tempestuous nights when he wished to shorten the quarrels of his favourite heroes, or allow them to fight out their differences.
With our hero it was different, he felt an inward longing to terminate his business as quickly as possible; until he had done so, he would be sure not to feel either tranquil or comfortable, because the reflection occurred to him, that the serfs were not a positive reality though he had a point of law in his favour, and that under such peculiar circumstances it is always prudent to hasten the conclusion as quickly as possible.
But scarcely had he walked a short distance in the street, and whilst musing on the subject of his errand, covered as he was in a large coffee-coloured travelling cloak, he could not avoid running, as he was just on the point of turning round the corner, against a gentleman also dressed in a large coffee-coloured travelling cloak and huge cap to match it covering his head and ears.
This gentleman could not repress an exclamation of joyful surprise at the sight of Tchichikoff, for it proved to be his friend Maniloff. They sank at once into each other's arms, and remained in that position, firmly clasped together, for more than five minutes in the middle of the thronged pavement. The exchange of their mutual affection was so tender and strong, that both suffered for the rest of the day from pains in their fore-teeth. Maniloff's gratification was so great, that actually nothing else but his nose and lips could be seen on his face; as for his eyes, they had literally molten away for joy.
For more than a quarter of an hour he held firmly clasped between his own Tchichikoff's hand, and by his affectionate pressure heated it to a considerable degree. In the most elaborate, elegant, and chosen terms, he assured his friend that he had hastened to town to embrace his dear Pavel Ivanovitch; his address was concluded with such compliments as might perhaps only be spoken to a young lady when she is led to a country-dance.
Tchichikoff opened his mouth without knowing what he was going to say in acknowledgment of such great civilities, when Maniloff suddenly produced from under his cloak a parcel of papers, rolled up in the shape of a tube, and tied together with a pink ribbon.
"What is that?" inquired Tchichikoff.
"The dead serfs, my dear Pavel Ivanovitch," replied Maniloff, with his usual honeyed smile.
"Ah!" he immediately untied and unfolded the papers, and cast a hurried glance over the lists and was pleasantly surprised at the neatness and accuracy of the writing.
"A beautiful hand-writing," said he, "it will be quite unnecessary for me to copy it over again. And even a beautiful black line like a frame around it! pray, and who has taken the trouble to draw these accomplished lines around it?"
"Pray do not ask me," said Maniloff.
"Yourself?"
"My wife."
"By heavens! I am really ashamed to have given you and your kind lady so much trouble, I am indeed quite ashamed!"
"For our own dear Pavel Ivanovitch, nothing is a trouble!"
Tchichikoff bowed deeply and civilly an acknowledgment. When Maniloff heard that his friend was on his way to the government offices for the purpose of concluding the formalities of the contracts of sale, he immediately offered to accompany him thither. The two friends joined their arms and went away together. At each indifferent, uneven, or broken flag-stone, Maniloff immediately and civilly assisted Tchichikoff to pass over, and in his anxiety, even nearly lifted him from the ground with his arm, adding at the same time, and with a pleasant smile, that he would not suffer his dear friend to hurt his little feet against any stone whatever. Tchichikoff felt really ashamed, not knowing how he could return the attention, because he was conscious that he was rather of a heavy weight.
While continuing to exchange civilities, they arrived at last upon a large and open square, where they beheld the Imperial government offices before them; the building was a very extensive one, three stories high, and painted white, like chalk, no doubt a symbolic sign of the purity of the hearts of those who were appointed to administer justice; the other buildings in the square were altogether out of proportion with the immense white house.