Dead Souls (23 page)

"Possibly," said Ivan Antonovitch without enthusiasm. "But Ivan
Grigorievitch alone will not do—it is customary to have others as
well."

"Yes, but the absence of others will not altogether invalidate the
transaction. I too have been in the service, and know how things can
be done."

"You had better go and see Ivan Grigorievitch," said Ivan Antonovitch
more mildly. "Should he give you an order addressed to whom it may
concern, we shall soon be able to settle the matter."

Upon that Chichikov pulled from his pocket a paper, and laid it before
Ivan Antonovitch. At once the latter covered it with a book. Chichikov
again attempted to show it to him, but, with a movement of his head,
Ivan Antonovitch signified that that was unnecessary.

"A clerk," he added, "will now conduct you to Ivan Grigorievitch's
room."

Upon that one of the toilers in the service of Themis—a zealot who
had offered her such heartfelt sacrifice that his coat had burst at
the elbows and lacked a lining—escorted our friends (even as Virgil
had once escorted Dante) to the apartment of the Presence. In this
sanctum were some massive armchairs, a table laden with two or three
fat books, and a large looking-glass. Lastly, in (apparently) sunlike
isolation, there was seated at the table the President. On arriving at
the door of the apartment, our modern Virgil seemed to have become so
overwhelmed with awe that, without daring even to intrude a foot, he
turned back, and, in so doing, once more exhibited a back as shiny as
a mat, and having adhering to it, in one spot, a chicken's feather. As
soon as the two friends had entered the hall of the Presence they
perceived that the President was NOT alone, but, on the contrary,
had seated by his side Sobakevitch, whose form had hitherto been
concealed by the intervening mirror. The newcomers' entry evoked
sundry exclamations and the pushing back of a pair of Government
chairs as the voluminous-sleeved Sobakevitch rose into view from
behind the looking-glass. Chichikov the President received with an
embrace, and for a while the hall of the Presence resounded with
osculatory salutations as mutually the pair inquired after one
another's health. It seemed that both had lately had a touch of that
pain under the waistband which comes of a sedentary life. Also, it
seemed that the President had just been conversing with Sobakevitch on
the subject of sales of souls, since he now proceeded to congratulate
Chichikov on the same—a proceeding which rather embarrassed our hero,
seeing that Manilov and Sobakevitch, two of the vendors, and persons
with whom he had bargained in the strictest privacy, were now
confronting one another direct. However, Chichikov duly thanked the
President, and then, turning to Sobakevitch, inquired after HIS health.

"Thank God, I have nothing to complain of," replied Sobakevitch: which
was true enough, seeing that a piece of iron would have caught cold
and taken to sneezing sooner than would that uncouthly fashioned
landowner.

"Ah, yes; you have always had good health, have you not?" put in the
President. "Your late father was equally strong."

"Yes, he even went out bear hunting alone," replied Sobakevitch.

"I should think that you too could worst a bear if you were to try a
tussle with him," rejoined the President.

"Oh no," said Sobakevitch. "My father was a stronger man than I am."
Then with a sigh the speaker added: "But nowadays there are no such
men as he. What is even a life like mine worth?"

"Then you do not have a comfortable time of it?" exclaimed the
President.

"No; far from it," rejoined Sobakevitch, shaking his head. "Judge for
yourself, Ivan Grigorievitch. I am fifty years old, yet never in my
life had been ill, except for an occasional carbuncle or boil. That is
not a good sign. Sooner or later I shall have to pay for it." And he
relapsed into melancholy.

"Just listen to the fellow!" was Chichikov's and the President's joint
inward comment. "What on earth has HE to complain of?"

"I have a letter for you, Ivan Grigorievitch," went on Chichikov aloud
as he produced from his pocket Plushkin's epistle.

"From whom?" inquired the President. Having broken the seal, he
exclaimed: "Why, it is from Plushkin! To think that HE is still
alive! What a strange world it is! He used to be such a nice fellow,
and now—"

"And now he is a cur," concluded Sobakevitch, "as well as a miser who
starves his serfs to death."

"Allow me a moment," said the President. Then he read the letter
through. When he had finished he added: "Yes, I am quite ready to act
as Plushkin's attorney. When do you wish the purchase deeds to be
registered, Monsieur Chichikov—now or later?"

"Now, if you please," replied Chichikov. "Indeed, I beg that, if
possible, the affair may be concluded to-day, since to-morrow I wish
to leave the town. I have brought with me both the forms of indenture
and my statement of application."

"Very well. Nevertheless we cannot let you depart so soon. The
indentures shall be completed to-day, but you must continue your
sojourn in our midst. I will issue the necessary orders at once."

So saying, he opened the door into the general office, where the
clerks looked like a swarm of bees around a honeycomb (if I may liken
affairs of Government to such an article?).

"Is Ivan Antonovitch here?" asked the President.

"Yes," replied a voice from within.

"Then send him here."

Upon that the pitcher-faced Ivan Antonovitch made his appearance in
the doorway, and bowed.

"Take these indentures, Ivan Antonovitch," said the President, "and
see that they—"

"But first I would ask you to remember," put in Sobakevitch, "that
witnesses ought to be in attendance—not less than two on behalf of
either party. Let us, therefore, send for the Public Prosecutor, who
has little to do, and has even that little done for him by his chief
clerk, Zolotucha. The Inspector of the Medical Department is also a
man of leisure, and likely to be at home—if he has not gone out to a
card party. Others also there are—all men who cumber the ground for
nothing."

"Quite so, quite so," agreed the President, and at once dispatched a
clerk to fetch the persons named.

"Also," requested Chichikov, "I should be glad if you would send for
the accredited representative of a certain lady landowner with whom I
have done business. He is the son of a Father Cyril, and a clerk in
your offices."

"Certainly we shall call him here," replied the President. "Everything
shall be done to meet your convenience, and I forbid you to present
any of our officials with a gratuity. That is a special request on my
part. No friend of mine ever pays a copper."

With that he gave Ivan Antonovitch the necessary instructions; and
though they scarcely seemed to meet with that functionary's approval,
upon the President the purchase deeds had evidently produced an
excellent impression, more especially since the moment when he had
perceived the sum total to amount to nearly a hundred thousand
roubles. For a moment or two he gazed into Chichikov's eyes with an
expression of profound satisfaction. Then he said:

"Well done, Paul Ivanovitch! You have indeed made a nice haul!"

"That is so," replied Chichikov.

"Excellent business! Yes, excellent business!"

"I, too, conceive that I could not well have done better. The truth is
that never until a man has driven home the piles of his life's
structure upon a lasting bottom, instead of upon the wayward chimeras
of youth, will his aims in life assume a definite end." And, that
said, Chichikov went on to deliver himself of a very telling
indictment of Liberalism and our modern young men. Yet in his words
there seemed to lurk a certain lack of conviction. Somehow he seemed
secretly to be saying to himself, "My good sir, you are talking the
most absolute rubbish, and nothing but rubbish." Nor did he even throw
a glance at Sobakevitch and Manilov. It was as though he were
uncertain what he might not encounter in their expression. Yet he need
not have been afraid. Never once did Sobakevitch's face move a muscle,
and, as for Manilov, he was too much under the spell of Chichikov's
eloquence to do aught beyond nod his approval at intervals, and strike
the kind of attitude which is assumed by lovers of music when a lady
singer has, in rivalry of an accompanying violin, produced a note
whereof the shrillness would exceed even the capacity of a bird's
throstle.

"But why not tell Ivan Grigorievitch precisely what you have bought?"
inquired Sobakevitch of Chichikov. "And why, Ivan Grigorievitch, do
YOU not ask Monsieur Chichikov precisely what his purchases have
consisted of? What a splendid lot of serfs, to be sure! I myself have
sold him my wheelwright, Michiev."

"What? You have sold him Michiev?" exclaimed the President. "I know
the man well. He is a splendid craftsman, and, on one occasion, made
me a drozhki
^[32]
. Only, only—well, lately didn't you tell me that he
is dead?"

"That Michiev is dead?" re-echoed Sobakevitch, coming perilously near
to laughing. "Oh dear no! That was his brother. Michiev himself is
very much alive, and in even better health than he used to be. Any day
he could knock you up a britchka such as you could not procure even in
Moscow. However, he is now bound to work for only one master."

"Indeed a splendid craftsman!" repeated the President. "My only wonder
is that you can have brought yourself to part with him."

"Then think you that Michiev is the ONLY serf with whom I have
parted? Nay, for I have parted also with Probka Stepan, my carpenter,
with Milushkin, my bricklayer, and with Teliatnikov, my bootmaker.
Yes, the whole lot I have sold."

And to the President's inquiry why he had so acted, seeing that the
serfs named were all skilled workers and indispensable to a household,
Sobakevitch replied that a mere whim had led him to do so, and thus
the sale had owed its origin to a piece of folly. Then he hung his
head as though already repenting of his rash act, and added:

"Although a man of grey hairs, I have not yet learned wisdom."

"But," inquired the President further, "how comes it about, Paul
Ivanovitch, that you have purchased peasants apart from land? Is it
for transferment elsewhere that you need them?"

"Yes."

"Very well, then. That is quite another matter. To what province of
the country?"

"To the province of Kherson."

"Indeed? That region contains some splendid land," said the President;
whereupon he proceeded to expatiate on the fertility of the Kherson
pastures.

"And have you MUCH land there?" he continued.

"Yes; quite sufficient to accommodate the serfs whom I have purchased."

"And is there a river on the estate or a lake?"

"Both."

After this reply Chichikov involuntarily threw a glance at
Sobakevitch; and though that landowner's face was as motionless as
every, the other seemed to detect in it: "You liar! Don't tell ME
that you own both a river and a lake, as well as the land which you
say you do."

Whilst the foregoing conversation had been in progress, various
witnesses had been arriving on the scene. They consisted of the
constantly blinking Public Prosecutor, the Inspector of the Medical
Department, and others—all, to quote Sobakevitch, "men who cumbered
the ground for nothing." With some of them, however, Chichikov was
altogether unacquainted, since certain substitutes and supernumeraries
had to be pressed into the service from among the ranks of the
subordinate staff. There also arrived, in answer to the summons, not
only the son of Father Cyril before mentioned, but also Father Cyril
himself. Each such witness appended to his signature a full list of
his dignities and qualifications: one man in printed characters,
another in a flowing hand, a third in topsy-turvy characters of a kind
never before seen in the Russian alphabet, and so forth. Meanwhile our
friend Ivan Antonovitch comported himself with not a little address;
and after the indentures had been signed, docketed, and registered,
Chichikov found himself called upon to pay only the merest trifle in
the way of Government percentage and fees for publishing the
transaction in the Official Gazette. The reason of this was that the
President had given orders that only half the usual charges were to be
exacted from the present purchaser—the remaining half being somehow
debited to the account of another applicant for serf registration.

"And now," said Ivan Grigorievitch when all was completed, "we need
only to wet the bargain."

"For that too I am ready," said Chichikov. "Do you but name the hour.
If, in return for your most agreeable company, I were not to set a few
champagne corks flying, I should be indeed in default."

"But we are not going to let you charge yourself with anything
whatsoever. WE must provide the champagne, for you are our guest,
and it is for us—it is our duty, it is our bounden obligation—to
entertain you. Look here, gentlemen. Let us adjourn to the house of
the Chief of Police. He is the magician who needs but to wink when
passing a fishmonger's or a wine merchant's. Not only shall we fare
well at his place, but also we shall get a game of whist."

To this proposal no one had any objection to offer, for the mere
mention of the fish shop aroused the witnesses' appetite.
Consequently, the ceremony being over, there was a general reaching
for hats and caps. As the party were passing through the general
office, Ivan Antonovitch whispered in Chichikov's ear, with a
courteous inclination of his jug-shaped physiognomy:

"You have given a hundred thousand roubles for the serfs, but have
paid ME only a trifle for my trouble."

"Yes," replied Chichikov with a similar whisper, "but what sort of
serfs do you suppose them to be? They are a poor, useless lot, and not
worth even half the purchase money."