บทที่ บทที่ 13 · Chapter 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 be killed for

it, I could not say what that may be supposed to mean.”

“Then why should he not come and see me in person?” went on his

host. “Possibly I might be able to furnish him with much interesting

material?”

“He is afraid to come, your Excellency.”

“Nonsense! Just because of a hasty word or two! I am not that sort of

man at all. In fact, I should be very happy to call upon HIM.”

“Never would he permit that, your Excellency. He would greatly prefer to

be the first to make advances.” And Chichikov added to himself: “What a

stroke of luck those Generals were! Otherwise, the Lord knows where my

tongue might have landed me!”

At this moment the door into the adjoining room opened, and there

appeared in the doorway a girl as fair as a ray of the sun--so fair,

indeed, that Chichikov stared at her in amazement. Apparently she had

come to speak to her father for a moment, but had stopped short on

perceiving that there was some one with him. The only fault to be

found in her appearance was the fact that she was too thin and

fragile-looking.

“May I introduce you to my little pet?” said the General to Chichikov.

“To tell you the truth, I do not know your name.”

“That you should be unacquainted with the name of one who has never

distinguished himself in the manner of which you yourself can boast is

scarcely to be wondered at.” And Chichikov executed one of his sidelong,

deferential bows.

“Well, I should be delighted to know it.”

“It is Paul Ivanovitch Chichikov, your Excellency.” With that went

the easy bow of a military man and the agile backward movement of an

india-rubber ball.

“Ulinka, this is Paul Ivanovitch,” said the General, turning to his

daughter. “He has just told me some interesting news--namely, that

our neighbour Tientietnikov is not altogether the fool we had at first

thought him. On the contrary, he is engaged upon a very important

work--upon a history of the Russian Generals of 1812.”

“But who ever supposed him to be a fool?” asked the girl quickly. “What

happened was that you took Vishnepokromov’s word--the word of a man who

is himself both a fool and a good-for-nothing.”

“Well, well,” said the father after further good-natured dispute on the

subject of Vishnepokromov. “Do you now run away, for I wish to dress for

luncheon. And you, sir,” he added to Chichikov, “will you not join us at

table?”

Chichikov bowed so low and so long that, by the time that his eyes had

ceased to see nothing but his own boots, the General’s daughter had

disappeared, and in her place was standing a bewhiskered butler, armed

with a silver soap-dish and a hand-basin.

“Do you mind if I wash in your presence?” asked the host.

“By no means,” replied Chichikov. “Pray do whatsoever you please in that

respect.”

Upon that the General fell to scrubbing himself--incidentally, to

sending soapsuds flying in every direction. Meanwhile he seemed so

favourably disposed that Chichikov decided to sound him then and there,

more especially since the butler had left the room.

“May I put to you a problem?” he asked.

“Certainly,” replied the General. “What is it?”

“It is this, your Excellency. I have a decrepit old uncle who owns three

hundred souls and two thousand roubles-worth of other property. Also,

except for myself, he possesses not a single heir. Now, although his

infirm state of health will not permit of his managing his property in

person, he will not allow me either to manage it. And the reason for his

conduct--his very strange conduct--he states as follows: ‘I do not know

my nephew, and very likely he is a spendthrift. If he wishes to show me

that he is good for anything, let him go and acquire as many souls as

_I_ have acquired; and when he has done that I will transfer to him my

three hundred souls as well.”

“The man must be an absolute fool,” commented the General.

“Possibly. And were that all, things would not be as bad as they are.

But, unfortunately, my uncle has gone and taken up with his housekeeper,

and has had children by her. Consequently, everything will now pass to

THEM.”

“The old man must have taken leave of his senses,” remarked the General.

“Yet how _I_ can help you I fail to see.”

“Well, I have thought of a plan. If you will hand me over all the dead

souls on your estate--hand them over to me exactly as though they were

still alive, and were purchasable property--I will offer them to the old

man, and then he will leave me his fortune.”

At this point the General burst into a roar of laughter such as few can

ever have heard. Half-dressed, he subsided into a chair, threw back his

head, and guffawed until he came near to choking. In fact, the house

shook with his merriment, so much so that the butler and his daughter

came running into the room in alarm.

It was long before he could produce a single articulate word; and

even when he did so (to reassure his daughter and the butler) he kept

momentarily relapsing into spluttering chuckles which made the house

ring and ring again.

Chichikov was greatly taken aback.

“Oh, that uncle!” bellowed the General in paroxysms of mirth. “Oh, that

blessed uncle! WHAT a fool he’ll look! Ha, ha, ha! Dead souls offered

him instead of live ones! Oh, my goodness!”

“I suppose I’ve put my foot in it again,” ruefully reflected Chichikov.

“But, good Lord, what a man the fellow is to laugh! Heaven send that he

doesn’t burst of it!”

“Ha, ha, ha!” broke out the General afresh. “WHAT a donkey the old man

must be! To think of his saying to you: ‘You go and fit yourself out

with three hundred souls, and I’ll cap them with my own lot’! My word!

What a jackass!”

“A jackass, your Excellency?”

“Yes, indeed! And to think of the jest of putting him off with dead

souls! Ha, ha, ha! WHAT wouldn’t I give to see you handing him the title

deeds? Who is he? What is he like? Is he very old?”

“He is eighty, your Excellency.”

“But still brisk and able to move about, eh? Surely he must be pretty

strong to go on living with his housekeeper like that?”

“Yes. But what does such strength mean? Sand runs away, your

Excellency.”

“The old fool! But is he really such a fool?”

“Yes, your Excellency.”

“And does he go out at all? Does he see company? Can he still hold

himself upright?”

“Yes, but with great difficulty.”

“And has he any teeth left?”

“No more than two at the most.”

“The old jackass! Don’t be angry with me, but I must say that, though

your uncle, he is also a jackass.”

“Quite so, your Excellency. And though it grieves ME to have to confess

that he is my uncle, what am I to do with him?”

Yet this was not altogether the truth. What would have been a far harder

thing for Chichikov to have confessed was the fact that he possessed no

uncles at all.

“I beg of you, your Excellency,” he went on, “to hand me over those,

those--”

“Those dead souls, eh? Why, in return for the jest I will give you some

land as well. Yes, you can take the whole graveyard if you like. Ha, ha,

ha! The old man! Ha, ha, ha! WHAT a fool he’ll look! Ha, ha, ha!”

And once more the General’s guffaws went ringing through the house.

[At this point there is a long hiatus in the original.]