Dead Souls by Nikolai Gogol (moboreader .txt) 📕

“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 other, 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.”

This gave Ivan Antonovitch to understand that the visitor was a man of strong character⁠—a man from whom nothing more was to be expected.

“Why have you gone and purchased souls from Plushkin?” whispered Sobakevitch in Chichikov’s other ear.

“Why did you go and add the woman Vorobei to your list?” retorted Chichikov.

“Vorobei? Who is Vorobei?”

“The woman ‘Elizabet’ Vorobei⁠—‘Elizabet,’ not ‘Elizabeta?’ ”

“I added no such name,” replied Sobakevitch, and straightway joined the other guests.

At length the party arrived at the residence of the Chief of Police. The latter proved indeed a man of spells, for no sooner had he learnt what was afoot than he summoned a brisk young constable, whispered in his ear, adding laconically, “You understand, do you not?” and brought it about that, during the time that the guests were cutting for partners at whist in an adjoining room, the dining-table became laden with sturgeon, caviar, salmon, herrings, cheese, smoked tongue, fresh roe, and a potted variety of the same⁠—all procured from the local fish market, and reinforced with additions from the host’s own kitchen. The fact was that the worthy Chief of Police filled the office of a sort of father and general benefactor to the town, and that he moved among the citizens as though they constituted part and parcel of his own family, and watched over their shops and markets as though those establishments were merely his own private larder. Indeed, it would be difficult to say⁠—so thoroughly did he perform his duties in this respect⁠—whether the post most fitted him, or he the post. Matters were also so arranged that though his income more than doubled that of his predecessors, he had never lost the affection of his fellow townsmen. In particular did the tradesmen love him, since he was never above standing godfather to their children or dining at their tables. True, he had differences of opinion with them, and serious differences at that; but always these were skilfully adjusted by his slapping the offended ones jovially on the shoulder, drinking a glass of tea with them, promising to call at their houses and play a game of chess, asking after their belongings, and, should he learn that a child of theirs was ill, prescribing the proper medicine. In short, he bore the reputation of being a very good fellow.

On perceiving the feast to be ready, the host proposed that his guests should finish their whist after luncheon; whereupon all proceeded to the room whence for some time past an agreeable odour had been tickling the nostrils of those present, and towards the door of which Sobakevitch