Dead Souls by Nikolai Gogol (moboreader .txt) 📕

whole history of his acquaintanceship and subsequent rupture with the General.

As Chichikov listened to the recital, and gradually realised that the affair had arisen merely out of a chance word on the General’s part, he was astounded beyond measure, and gazed at Tientietnikov without knowing what to make of him.

“Andrei Ivanovitch,” he said at length, “what was there to take offence at?”

“Nothing, as regards the actual words spoken,” replied the other. “The offence lay, rather, in the insult conveyed in the General’s tone.” Tientietnikov was a kindly and peaceable man, yet his eyes flashed as he said this, and his voice vibrated with wounded feeling.

“Yet, even then, need you have taken it so much amiss?”

“What? Could I have gone on visiting him as before?”

“Certainly. No great harm had been done?”

“I disagree with you. Had he been an old man in a humble station of life, instead of a proud and swaggering officer, I should not have minded so much. But, as it was, I could not, and would not, brook his words.”

“A curious fellow, this Tientietnikov!” thought Chichikov to himself.

“A curious fellow, this Chichikov!” was Tientietnikov’s inward reflection.

“I tell you what,” resumed Chichikov. “Tomorrow I myself will go and see the General.”

“To what purpose?” asked Tientietnikov, with astonishment and distrust in his eyes.

“To offer him an assurance of my personal respect.”

“A strange fellow, this Chichikov!” reflected Tientietnikov.

“A strange fellow, this Tientietnikov!” thought Chichikov, and then added aloud: “Yes, I will go and see him at ten o’clock tomorrow; but since my britchka is not yet altogether in travelling order, would you be so good as to lend me your koliaska for the purpose?”

II

Tientietnikov’s good horses covered the ten versts to the General’s house in a little over half an hour. Descending from the koliaska with features attuned to deference, Chichikov inquired for the master of the house, and was at once ushered into his presence. Bowing with head held respectfully on one side and hands extended like those of a waiter carrying a trayful of teacups, the visitor inclined his whole body forward, and said:

“I have deemed it my duty to present myself to your Excellency. I have deemed it my duty because in my heart I cherish a most profound respect for the valiant men who, on the field of battle, have proved the saviours of their country.”

That this preliminary attack did not wholly displease the General was proved by the fact that, responding with a gracious inclination of the head, he replied:

“I am glad to make your acquaintance. Pray be so good as to take a seat. In what capacity or capacities have you yourself seen service?”

“Of my service,” said Chichikov, depositing his form, not exactly in the centre of the chair, but rather on one side of it, and resting a hand upon one of its arms, “⁠—of my service the scene was laid, in the first instance, in the Treasury; while its further course bore me successively into the employ of the Public Buildings Commission, of the Customs Board, and of other Government Offices. But, throughout, my life has resembled a barque tossed on the crests of perfidious billows. In suffering I have been swathed and wrapped until I have come to be, as it were, suffering personified; while of the extent to which my life has been sought by foes, no words, no colouring, no (if I may so express it?) painter’s brush could ever convey to you an adequate idea. And now, at length, in my declining years, I am seeking a corner in which to eke out the remainder of my miserable existence, while at the present moment I am enjoying the hospitality of a neighbour of your acquaintance.”

“And who is that?”

“Your neighbour Tientietnikov, your Excellency.”

Upon that the General frowned.

“Led me add,” put in Chichikov hastily, “that he greatly regrets that on a former occasion he should have failed to show a proper respect for⁠—for⁠—”

“For what?” asked the General.

“For the services to the public which your Excellency has rendered. Indeed, he cannot find words to express his sorrow, but keeps repeating to himself: ‘Would that I had valued at their true worth the men who have saved our fatherland!’ ”

“And why should he say that?” asked the mollified General. “I bear him no grudge. In fact, I have never cherished aught but a sincere liking for him, a sincere esteem, and do not doubt but that, in time, he may become a useful member of society.”

“In the words which you have been good enough to utter,” said Chichikov with a bow, “there is embodied much justice. Yes, Tientietnikov is in very truth a man of worth. Not only does he possess the gift of eloquence, but also he is a master of the pen.”

“Ah, yes; he does write rubbish of some sort, doesn’t he? Verses, or something of the kind?”

“Not rubbish, your Excellency, but practical stuff. In short, he is inditing a history.”

“A history? But a history of what?”

“A history of, of⁠—” For a moment or two Chichikov hesitated. Then, whether because it was a General that was seated in front of him, or because he desired to impart greater importance to the subject which he was about to invent, he concluded: “A history of Generals, your Excellency.”

“Of Generals? Of what Generals?”

“Of Generals generally⁠—of Generals at large. That is to say, and to be more precise, a history of the Generals of our fatherland.”

By this time Chichikov was floundering badly. Mentally he spat upon himself and reflected: “Gracious heavens! What rubbish I am talking!”

“Pardon me,” went on his interlocutor, “but I do not quite understand you. Is Tientietnikov producing a history of a given period, or only a history made up of a series of biographies? Also, is he including all our Generals, or only those who took part in the campaign of 1812?”

“The latter, your Excellency⁠—only the Generals of 1812,” replied Chichikov. Then he added beneath his breath: “Were I to