Dead Souls (42 page)

Throughout this conversation, Chichikov had been taking stock of the
newcomer, who astonished him with his good looks, his upright,
picturesque figure, his appearance of fresh, unwasted youthfulness,
and the boyish purity, innocence, and clarity of his features. Neither
passion nor care nor aught of the nature of agitation or anxiety of
mind had ventured to touch his unsullied face, or to lay a single
wrinkle thereon. Yet the touch of life which those emotions might have
imparted was wanting. The face was, as it were, dreaming, even though
from time to time an ironical smile disturbed it.

"I, too, cannot understand," remarked Chichikov, "how a man of your
appearance can find things wearisome. Of course, if a man is hard
pressed for money, or if he has enemies who are lying in wait for his
life (as have certain folk of whom I know), well, then—"

"Believe me when I say," interrupted the handsome guest, "that, for
the sake of a diversion, I should be glad of ANY sort of an anxiety.
Would that some enemy would conceive a grudge against me! But no one
does so. Everything remains eternally dull."

"But perhaps you lack a sufficiency of land or souls?"

"Not at all. I and my brother own ten thousand desiatins
^[44]
of land,
and over a thousand souls."

"Curious! I do not understand it. But perhaps the harvest has failed,
or you have sickness about, and many of your male peasants have died
of it?"

"On the contrary, everything is in splendid order, for my brother is
the best of managers."

"Then to find things wearisome!" exclaimed Chichikov. "It passes my
comprehension." And he shrugged his shoulders.

"Well, we will soon put weariness to flight," interrupted the host.
"Aleksasha, do you run helter-skelter to the kitchen, and there tell
the cook to serve the fish pasties. Yes, and where have that gawk of
an Emelian and that thief of an Antoshka got to? Why have they not
handed round the zakuski?"

At this moment the door opened, and the "gawk" and the "thief" in
question made their appearance with napkins and a tray—the latter
bearing six decanters of variously-coloured beverages. These they
placed upon the table, and then ringed them about with glasses and
platefuls of every conceivable kind of appetiser. That done, the
servants applied themselves to bringing in various comestibles under
covers, through which could be heard the hissing of hot roast viands.
In particular did the "gawk" and the "thief" work hard at their tasks.
As a matter of fact, their appellations had been given them merely to
spur them to greater activity, for, in general, the barin was no lover
of abuse, but, rather, a kind-hearted man who, like most Russians,
could not get on without a sharp word or two. That is to say, he
needed them for his tongue as he need a glass of vodka for his
digestion. What else could you expect? It was his nature to care for
nothing mild.

To the zakuski succeeded the meal itself, and the host became a
perfect glutton on his guests' behalf. Should he notice that a guest
had taken but a single piece of a comestible, he added thereto another
one, saying: "Without a mate, neither man nor bird can live in this
world." Should any one take two pieces, he added thereto a third,
saying: "What is the good of the number 2? God loves a trinity."
Should any one take three pieces, he would say: "Where do you see a
waggon with three wheels? Who builds a three-cornered hut?" Lastly,
should any one take four pieces, he would cap them with a fifth, and
add thereto the punning quip, "Na piat opiat
^[45]
". After devouring at
least twelve steaks of sturgeon, Chichikov ventured to think to
himself, "My host cannot possibly add to THEM," but found that he
was mistaken, for, without a word, Pietukh heaped upon his plate an
enormous portion of spit-roasted veal, and also some kidneys. And what
veal it was!

"That calf was fed two years on milk," he explained. "I cared for it
like my own son."

"Nevertheless I can eat no more," said Chichikov.

"Do you try the veal before you say that you can eat no more."

"But I could not get it down my throat. There is no room left."

"If there be no room in a church for a newcomer, the beadle is sent
for, and room is very soon made—yes, even though before there was
such a crush that an apple couldn't have been dropped between the
people. Do you try the veal, I say. That piece is the titbit of all."

So Chichikov made the attempt; and in very truth the veal was beyond
all praise, and room was found for it, even though one would have
supposed the feat impossible.

"Fancy this good fellow removing to St. Petersburg or Moscow!" said
the guest to himself. "Why, with a scale of living like this, he would
be ruined in three years." For that matter, Pietukh might well have
been ruined already, for hospitality can dissipate a fortune in three
months as easily as it can in three years.

The host also dispensed the wine with a lavish hand, and what the
guests did not drink he gave to his sons, who thus swallowed glass
after glass. Indeed, even before coming to table, it was possible to
discern to what department of human accomplishment their bent was
turned. When the meal was over, however, the guests had no mind for
further drinking. Indeed, it was all that they could do to drag
themselves on to the balcony, and there to relapse into easy chairs.
Indeed, the moment that the host subsided into his seat—it was large
enough for four—he fell asleep, and his portly presence, converting
itself into a sort of blacksmith's bellows, started to vent, through
open mouth and distended nostrils, such sounds as can have greeted
the reader's ear but seldom—sounds as of a drum being beaten in
combination with the whistling of a flute and the strident howling of
a dog.

"Listen to him!" said Platon.

Chichikov smiled.

"Naturally, on such dinners as that," continued the other, "our host
does NOT find the time dull. And as soon as dinner is ended there
can ensue sleep."

"Yes, but, pardon me, I still fail to understand why you should find
life wearisome. There are so many resources against ennui!"

"As for instance?"

"For a young man, dancing, the playing of one or another musical
instrument, and—well, yes, marriage."

"Marriage to whom?"

"To some maiden who is both charming and rich. Are there none in these
parts?"

"No."

"Then, were I you, I should travel, and seek a maiden elsewhere." And
a brilliant idea therewith entered Chichikov's head. "This last
resource," he added, "is the best of all resources against ennui."

"What resource are you speaking of?"

"Of travel."

"But whither?"

"Well, should it so please you, you might join me as my companion."
This said, the speaker added to himself as he eyed Platon: "Yes, that
would suit me exactly, for then I should have half my expenses paid,
and could charge him also with the cost of mending the koliaska."

"And whither should we go?"

"In that respect I am not wholly my own master, as I have business to
do for others as well as for myself. For instance, General
Betristchev—an intimate friend and, I might add, a generous
benefactor of mine—has charged me with commissions to certain of his
relatives. However, though relatives are relatives, I am travelling
likewise on my own account, since I wish to see the world and the
whirligig of humanity—which, in spite of what people may say, is as
good as a living book or a second education." As a matter of fact,
Chichikov was reflecting, "Yes, the plan is an excellent one. I might
even contrive that he should have to bear the whole of our expenses,
and that his horses should be used while my own should be put out to
graze on his farm."

"Well, why should I not adopt the suggestion?" was Platon's thought.
"There is nothing for me to do at home, since the management of the
estate is in my brother's hands, and my going would cause him no
inconvenience. Yes, why should I not do as Chichikov has suggested?"

Then he added aloud:

"Would you come and stay with my brother for a couple of days?
Otherwise he might refuse me his consent."

"With great pleasure," said Chichikov. "Or even for three days."

"Then here is my hand on it. Let us be off at once." Platon seemed
suddenly to have come to life again.

"Where are you off to?" put in their host unexpectedly as he roused
himself and stared in astonishment at the pair. "No, no, my good sirs.
I have had the wheels removed from your koliaska, Monsieur Chichikov,
and have sent your horse, Platon Mikhalitch, to a grazing ground
fifteen versts away. Consequently you must spend the night here, and
depart to-morrow morning after breakfast."

What could be done with a man like Pietukh? There was no help for it
but to remain. In return, the guests were rewarded with a beautiful
spring evening, for, to spend the time, the host organised a boating
expedition on the river, and a dozen rowers, with a dozen pairs of
oars, conveyed the party (to the accompaniment of song) across the
smooth surface of the lake and up a great river with towering banks.
From time to time the boat would pass under ropes, stretched across
for purposes of fishing, and at each turn of the rippling current new
vistas unfolded themselves as tier upon tier of woodland delighted the
eye with a diversity of timber and foliage. In unison did the rowers
ply their sculls, yet it was though of itself that the skiff shot
forward, bird-like, over the glassy surface of the water; while at
intervals the broad-shouldered young oarsman who was seated third from
the bow would raise, as from a nightingale's throat, the opening
staves of a boat song, and then be joined by five or six more, until
the melody had come to pour forth in a volume as free and boundless as
Russia herself. And Pietukh, too, would give himself a shake, and help
lustily to support the chorus; and even Chichikov felt acutely
conscious of the fact that he was a Russian. Only Platon reflected:
"What is there so splendid in these melancholy songs? They do but
increase one's depression of spirits."

The journey homeward was made in the gathering dusk. Rhythmically the
oars smote a surface which no longer reflected the sky, and darkness
had fallen when they reached the shore, along which lights were
twinkling where the fisherfolk were boiling live eels for soup.
Everything had now wended its way homeward for the night; the cattle
and poultry had been housed, and the herdsmen, standing at the gates
of the village cattle-pens, amid the trailing dust lately raised by
their charges, were awaiting the milk-pails and a summons to partake
of the eel-broth. Through the dusk came the hum of humankind, and the
barking of dogs in other and more distant villages; while, over all,
the moon was rising, and the darkened countryside was beginning to
glimmer to light again under her beams. What a glorious picture! Yet
no one thought of admiring it. Instead of galloping over the
countryside on frisky cobs, Nikolasha and Aleksasha were engaged in
dreaming of Moscow, with its confectioners' shops and the theatres of
which a cadet, newly arrived on a visit from the capital, had just
been telling them; while their father had his mind full of how best to
stuff his guests with yet more food, and Platon was given up to
yawning. Only in Chichikov was a spice of animation visible. "Yes," he
reflected, "some day I, too, will become lord of such a country
place." And before his mind's eye there arose also a helpmeet and some
little Chichikovs.

By the time that supper was finished the party had again over-eaten
themselves, and when Chichikov entered the room allotted him for the
night, he lay down upon the bed, and prodded his stomach. "It is as
tight as a drum," he said to himself. "Not another titbit of veal
could now get into it." Also, circumstances had so brought it about
that next door to him there was situated his host's apartment; and
since the intervening wall was thin, Chichikov could hear every word
that was said there. At the present moment the master of the house was
engaged in giving the cook orders for what, under the guise of an
early breakfast, promised to constitute a veritable dinner. You should
have heard Pietukh's behests! They would have excited the appetite of
a corpse.

"Yes," he said, sucking his lips, and drawing a deep breath, "in the
first place, make a pasty in four divisions. Into one of the divisions
put the sturgeon's cheeks and some viaziga
^[46]
, and into another
division some buckwheat porridge, young mushrooms and onions, sweet
milk, calves' brains, and anything else that you may find
suitable—anything else that you may have got handy. Also, bake the
pastry to a nice brown on one side, and but lightly on the other. Yes,
and, as to the under side, bake it so that it will be all juicy and
flaky, so that it shall not crumble into bits, but melt in the mouth
like the softest snow that ever you heard of." And as he said this
Pietukh fairly smacked his lips.

"The devil take him!" muttered Chichikov, thrusting his head beneath
the bedclothes to avoid hearing more. "The fellow won't give one a
chance to sleep."

Nevertheless he heard through the blankets:

"And garnish the sturgeon with beetroot, smelts, peppered mushrooms,
young radishes, carrots, beans, and anything else you like, so as to
have plenty of trimmings. Yes, and put a lump of ice into the pig's
bladder, so as to swell it up."

Many other dishes did Pietukh order, and nothing was to be heard but
his talk of boiling, roasting, and stewing. Finally, just as mention
was being made of a turkey cock, Chichikov fell asleep.

Next morning the guest's state of repletion had reached the point of
Platon being unable to mount his horse; wherefore the latter was
dispatched homeward with one of Pietukh's grooms, and the two guests
entered Chichikov's koliaska. Even the dog trotted lazily in the rear;
for he, too, had over-eaten himself.