Dead Souls (32 page)

Yet let it not be inferred from this that our hero's character had
grown so blase and hard, or his conscience so blunted, as to preclude
his experiencing a particle of sympathy or compassion. As a matter of
fact, he was capable both of the one and the other, and would have
been glad to assist his old teacher had no great sum been required, or
had he not been called upon to touch the fund which he had decided
should remain intact. In other words, the father's injunction, "Guard
and save every kopeck," had become a hard and fast rule of the son's.
Yet the youth had no particular attachment to money for money's sake;
he was not possessed with the true instinct for hoarding and
niggardliness. Rather, before his eyes there floated ever a vision of
life and its amenities and advantages—a vision of carriages and an
elegantly furnished house and recherche dinners; and it was in the
hope that some day he might attain these things that he saved every
kopeck and, meanwhile, stinted both himself and others. Whenever a
rich man passed him by in a splendid drozhki drawn by swift and
handsomely-caparisoned horses, he would halt as though deep in
thought, and say to himself, like a man awakening from a long sleep:
"That gentleman must have been a financier, he has so little hair on
his brow." In short, everything connected with wealth and plenty
produced upon him an ineffaceable impression. Even when he left school
he took no holiday, so strong in him was the desire to get to work and
enter the Civil Service. Yet, for all the encomiums contained in his
diploma, he had much ado to procure a nomination to a Government
Department; and only after a long time was a minor post found for him,
at a salary of thirty or fourty roubles a year. Nevertheless, wretched
though this appointment was, he determined, by strict attention to
business, to overcome all obstacles, and to win success. And, indeed,
the self-denial, the patience, and the economy which he displayed were
remarkable. From early morn until late at night he would, with
indefatigable zeal of body and mind, remain immersed in his sordid
task of copying official documents—never going home, snatching what
sleep he could on tables in the building, and dining with the watchman
on duty. Yet all the while he contrived to remain clean and neat, to
preserve a cheerful expression of countenance, and even to cultivate a
certain elegance of movement. In passing, it may be remarked that his
fellow tchinovniks were a peculiarly plain, unsightly lot, some of
them having faces like badly baked bread, swollen cheeks, receding
chins, and cracked and blistered upper lips. Indeed, not a man of them
was handsome. Also, their tone of voice always contained a note of
sullenness, as though they had a mind to knock some one on the head;
and by their frequent sacrifices to Bacchus they showed that even yet
there remains in the Slavonic nature a certain element of paganism.
Nay, the Director's room itself they would invade while still licking
their lips, and since their breath was not over-aromatic, the
atmosphere of the room grew not over-pleasant. Naturally, among such
an official staff a man like Chichikov could not fail to attract
attention and remark, since in everything—in cheerfulness of
demeanour, in suavity of voice, and in complete neglect of the use of
strong potions—he was the absolute antithesis of his companions. Yet
his path was not an easy one to tread, for over him he had the
misfortune to have placed in authority a Chief Clerk who was a graven
image of elderly insensibility and inertia. Always the same, always
unapproachable, this functionary could never in his life have smiled
or asked civilly after an acquaintance's health. Nor had any one ever
seen him a whit different in the street or at his own home from what
he was in the office, or showing the least interest in anything
whatever, or getting drunk and relapsing into jollity in his cups, or
indulging in that species of wild gaiety which, when intoxicated, even
a burglar affects. No, not a particle of this was there in him. Nor,
for that matter, was there in him a particle of anything at all,
whether good or bad: which complete negativeness of character produced
rather a strange effect. In the same way, his wizened, marble-like
features reminded one of nothing in particular, so primly proportioned
were they. Only the numerous pockmarks and dimples with which they
were pitted placed him among the number of those over whose faces, to
quote the popular saying, "The Devil has walked by night to grind
peas." In short, it would seem that no human agency could have
approached such a man and gained his goodwill. Yet Chichikov made the
effort. As a first step, he took to consulting the other's convenience
in all manner of insignificant trifles—to cleaning his pens
carefully, and, when they had been prepared exactly to the Chief
Clerk's liking, laying them ready at his elbow; to dusting and
sweeping from his table all superfluous sand and tobacco ash; to
procuring a new mat for his inkstand; to looking for his hat—the
meanest-looking hat that ever the world beheld—and having it ready
for him at the exact moment when business came to an end; to brushing
his back if it happened to become smeared with whitewash from a wall.
Yet all this passed as unnoticed as though it had never been done.
Finally, Chichikov sniffed into his superior's family and domestic
life, and learnt that he possessed a grown-up daughter on whose face
also there had taken place a nocturnal, diabolical grinding of peas.
HERE was a quarter whence a fresh attack might be delivered! After
ascertaining what church the daughter attended on Sundays, our hero
took to contriving to meet her in a neat suit and a well-starched
dickey: and soon the scheme began to work. The surly Chief Clerk
wavered for a while; then ended by inviting Chichikov to tea. Nor
could any man in the office have told you how it came about that
before long Chichikov had removed to the Chief Clerk's house, and
become a person necessary—indeed indispensable—to the household,
seeing that he bought the flour and the sugar, treated the daughter as
his betrothed, called the Chief Clerk "Papenka," and occasionally
kissed "Papenka's" hand. In fact, every one at the office supposed
that, at the end of February (i.e. before the beginning of Lent) there
would take place a wedding. Nay, the surly father even began to
agitate with the authorities on Chichikov's behalf, and so enabled our
hero, on a vacancy occurring, to attain the stool of a Chief Clerk.
Apparently this marked the consummation of Chichikov's relations with
his host, for he hastened stealthily to pack his trunk and, the next
day, figured in a fresh lodging. Also, he ceased to call the Chief
Clerk "Papenka," or to kiss his hand; and the matter of the wedding
came to as abrupt a termination as though it had never been mooted.
Yet also he never failed to press his late host's hand, whenever he
met him, and to invite him to tea; while, on the other hand, for all
his immobility and dry indifference, the Chief Clerk never failed to
shake his head with a muttered, "Ah, my fine fellow, you have grown
too proud, you have grown too proud."

The foregoing constituted the most difficult step that our hero had to
negotiate. Thereafter things came with greater ease and swifter
success. Everywhere he attracted notice, for he developed within
himself everything necessary for this world—namely, charm of manner
and bearing, and great diligence in business matters. Armed with these
resources, he next obtained promotion to what is known as "a fat
post," and used it to the best advantage; and even though, at that
period, strict inquiry had begun to be made into the whole subject of
bribes, such inquiry failed to alarm him—nay, he actually turned it
to account and thereby manifested the Russian resourcefulness which
never fails to attain its zenith where extortion is concerned. His
method of working was the following. As soon as a petitioner or a
suitor put his hand into his pocket, to extract thence the necessary
letters of recommendation for signature, Chichikov would smilingly
exclaim as he detained his interlocutor's hand: "No, no! Surely you do
not think that I—? But no, no! It is our duty, it is our obligation,
and we do not require rewards for doing our work properly. So far as
YOUR matter is concerned, you may rest easy. Everything shall be
carried through to-morrow. But may I have your address? There is no
need to trouble yourself, seeing that the documents can easily be
brought to you at your residence." Upon which the delighted suitor
would return home in raptures, thinking: "Here, at long last, is the
sort of man so badly needed. A man of that kind is a jewel beyond
price." Yet for a day, for two days—nay, even for three—the suitor
would wait in vain so far as any messengers with documents were
concerned. Then he would repair to the office—to find that his
business had not so much as been entered upon! Lastly, he would
confront the "jewel beyond price." "Oh, pardon me, pardon me!"
Chichikov would exclaim in the politest of tones as he seized and
grasped the visitor's hands. "The truth is that we have SUCH a
quantity of business on hand! But the matter shall be put through
to-morrow, and in the meanwhile I am most sorry about it." And with
this would go the most fascinating of gestures. Yet neither on the
morrow, nor on the day following, nor on the third would documents
arrive at the suitor's abode. Upon that he would take thought as to
whether something more ought not to have been done; and, sure enough,
on his making inquiry, he would be informed that "something will have
to be given to the copyists." "Well, there can be no harm in that," he
would reply. "As a matter of fact, I have ready a tchetvertak
^[39]
or
two." "Oh, no, no," the answer would come. "Not a tchetvertak per
copyist, but a rouble, is the fee." "What? A rouble per copyist?"
"Certainly. What is there to grumble at in that? Of the money the
copyists will receive a tchetvertak apiece, and the rest will go to
the Government." Upon that the disillusioned suitor would fly out upon
the new order of things brought about by the inquiry into illicit
fees, and curse both the tchinovniks and their uppish, insolent
behaviour. "Once upon a time," would the suitor lament, "one DID
know what to do. Once one had tipped the Director a bank-note, one's
affair was, so to speak, in the hat. But now one has to pay a rouble
per copyist after waiting a week because otherwise it was impossible
to guess how the wind might set! The devil fly away with all
'disinterested' and 'trustworthy' tchinovniks!" And certainly the
aggrieved suitor had reason to grumble, seeing that, now that
bribe-takers had ceased to exist, and Directors had uniformly become
men of honour and integrity, secretaries and clerks ought not with
impunity to have continued their thievish ways. In time there opened
out to Chichikov a still wider field, for a Commission was appointed
to supervise the erection of a Government building, and, on his being
nominated to that body, he proved himself one of its most active
members. The Commission got to work without delay, but for a space of
six years had some trouble with the building in question. Either the
climate hindered operations or the materials used were of the kind
which prevents official edifices from ever rising higher than the
basement. But, meanwhile, OTHER quarters of the town saw arise, for
each member of the Commission, a handsome house of the NON-official
style of architecture. Clearly the foundation afforded by the soil of
those parts was better than that where the Government building was
still engaged in hanging fire! Likewise the members of the Commission
began to look exceedingly prosperous, and to blossom out into family
life; and, for the first time in his existence, even Chichikov also
departed from the iron laws of his self-imposed restraint and
inexorable self-denial, and so far mitigated his heretofore asceticism
as to show himself a man not averse to those amenities which, during
his youth, he had been capable of renouncing. That is to say, certain
superfluities began to make their appearance in his establishment. He
engaged a good cook, took to wearing linen shirts, bought for himself
cloth of a pattern worn by no one else in the province, figured in
checks shot with the brightest of reds and browns, fitted himself out
with two splendid horses (which he drove with a single pair of reins,
added to a ring attachment for the trace horse), developed a habit of
washing with a sponge dipped in eau-de-Cologne, and invested in soaps
of the most expensive quality, in order to communicate to his skin a
more elegant polish.

But suddenly there appeared upon the scene a new Director—a military
man, and a martinet as regarded his hostility to bribe-takers and
anything which might be called irregular. On the very day after his
arrival he struck fear into every breast by calling for accounts,
discovering hosts of deficits and missing sums, and directing his
attention to the aforesaid fine houses of civilian architecture. Upon
that there ensued a complete reshuffling. Tchinovniks were retired
wholesale, and the houses were sequestrated to the Government, or else
converted into various pious institutions and schools for soldiers'
children. Thus the whole fabric, and especially Chichikov, came
crashing to the ground. Particularly did our hero's agreeable face
displease the new Director. Why that was so it is impossible to say,
but frequently, in cases of the kind, no reason exists. However, the
Director conceived a mortal dislike to him, and also extended that
enmity to the whole of Chichikov's colleagues. But inasmuch as the
said Director was a military man, he was not fully acquainted with the
myriad subtleties of the civilian mind; wherefore it was not long
before, by dint of maintaining a discreet exterior, added to a faculty
for humouring all and sundry, a fresh gang of tchinovniks succeeded in
restoring him to mildness, and the General found himself in the hands
of greater thieves than before, but thieves whom he did not even
suspect, seeing that he believed himself to have selected men fit and
proper, and even ventured to boast of possessing a keen eye for
talent. In a trice the tchinovniks concerned appraised his spirit and
character; with the result that the entire sphere over which he ruled
became an agency for the detection of irregularities. Everywhere, and
in every case, were those irregularities pursued as a fisherman
pursues a fat sturgeon with a gaff; and to such an extent did the
sport prove successful that almost in no time each participator in the
hunt was seen to be in possession of several thousand roubles of
capital. Upon that a large number of the former band of tchinovniks
also became converted to paths of rectitude, and were allowed to
re-enter the Service; but not by hook or by crook could Chichikov worm
his way back, even though, incited thereto by sundry items of paper
currency, the General's first secretary and principal bear leader did
all he could on our hero's behalf. It seemed that the General was the
kind of man who, though easily led by the nose (provided it was done
without his knowledge) no sooner got an idea into his head than it
stuck there like a nail, and could not possibly be extracted; and all
that the wily secretary succeeded in procuring was the tearing up of a
certain dirty fragment of paper—even that being effected only by an
appeal to the General's compassion, on the score of the unhappy fate
which, otherwise, would befall Chichikov's wife and children (who,
luckily, had no existence in fact).