It was not long before Chichikov’s purchases had become the talk of the town; and various were the opinions expressed as to whether or not it was expedient to procure peasants for transferment.
Indeed such was the interest taken by certain citizens in the matter that they advised the purchaser to provide himself and his convoy with an escort, in order to ensure their safe arrival at the appointed destination; but though Chichikov thanked the donors of this advice for the same, and declared that he should be very glad, in case of need, to avail himself of it, he declared also that there was no real need for an escort, seeing that the peasants whom he had purchased were exceptionally peace-loving folk, and that, being themselves consenting parties to the transferment, they would undoubtedly prove in every way tractable. One particularly good result of this advertisement of his scheme was that he came to rank as neither more nor less than a millionaire.
Consequently, much as the inhabitants had liked our hero in the first instance (as seen in Chapter I.), they now liked him more than ever.
As a matter of fact, they were citizens of an exceptionally quiet, good-natured, easy-going disposition; and some of them were even well-educated. For instance, the President of the Local Council could recite the whole of Zhukovski’s LUDMILLA by heart, and give such an impressive rendering of the passage
“The pine forest was asleep and the valley at rest” (as well as of the exclamation “Phew!”) that one felt, as he did so, that the pine forest and the valley really WERE as he described them. The effect was also further heightened by the manner in which, at such moments, he assumed the most portentous frown.
For his part, the Postmaster went in more for philosophy, and diligently perused such works as Young’s Night Thoughts, and Eckharthausen’s A Key to the Mysteries of Nature; of which latter work he would make copious extracts, though no one had the slightest notion what they referred to.
For the rest, he was a witty, florid little individual, and much addicted to a practice of what he called “embellishing” whatsoever he had to say — a feat which he performed with the aid of such by-the-way phrases as “my dear sir,” “my good So-and-So,” “you know,” “you understand,” “you may imagine,” “relatively speaking,” “for instance,” and “et cetera”; of which phrases he would add sackfuls to his speech. He could also “embellish” his words by the simple expedient of half-closing, half-winking one eye; which trick communicated to some of his satirical utterances quite a mordant effect.
Nor were his colleagues a wit inferior to him in enlightenment. For instance, one of them made a regular practice of reading Karamzin, another of conning the Moscow Gazette, and a third of never looking at a book at all.
Likewise, although they were the sort of men to whom, in their more intimate movements, their wives would very naturally address such nicknames as “Toby Jug,” “Marmot,” “Fatty,” “Pot Belly,” “Smutty,” “Kiki,” and “Buzz-Buzz,” they were men also of good heart, and very ready to extend their hospitality and their friendship when once a guest had eaten of their bread and salt, or spent an evening in their company.
Particularly, therefore, did Chichikov earn these good folk’s approval with his taking methods and qualities — so much so that the expression of that approval bid fair to make it difficult for him to quit the town, seeing that, wherever he went, the one phrase dinned into his ears was
“Stay another week with us, Paul Ivanovitch.” In short, he ceased to be a free agent.
But incomparably more striking was the impression (a matter for unbounded surprise!) which he produced upon the ladies.
Properly to explain this phenomenon I should need to say a great deal about the ladies themselves, and to describe in the most vivid of colours their social intercourse and spiritual qualities. Yet this would be a difficult thing for me to do, since, on the one hand, I should be hampered by my boundless respect for the womenfolk of all Civil Service officials, and, on the other hand — well, simply by the innate arduousness of the task.
The ladies of N. were — But no, I cannot do it; my heart has already failed me. Come, come!
The ladies of N. were distinguished for — But it is of no use; somehow my pen seems to refuse to move over the paper — it seems to be weighted as with a plummet of lead.
Very well. That being so, I will merely say a word or two concerning the most prominent tints on the feminine palette of N.— merely a word or two concerning the outward appearance of its ladies, and a word or two concerning their more superficial characteristics.
The ladies of N. were pre-eminently what is known as “presentable.” Indeed, in that respect they might have served as a model to the ladies of many another town.
That is to say, in whatever pertained to “tone,” etiquette, the intricacies of decorum, and strict observance of the prevailing mode, they surpassed even the ladies of Moscow and St. Petersburg, seeing that they dressed with taste, drove about in carriages in the latest fashions, and never went out without the escort of a footman in gold-laced livery.
Again, they looked upon a visiting card — even upon a make-shift affair consisting of an ace of diamonds or a two of clubs — as a sacred thing; so sacred that on one occasion two closely related ladies who had also been closely attached friends were known to fall out with one another over the mere fact of an omission to return a social call!
Yes, in spite of the best efforts of husbands and kinsfolk to reconcile the antagonists, it became clear that, though all else in the world might conceivably be possible, never could the hatchet be buried between ladies who had quarrelled over a neglected visit.
Likewise strenuous scenes used to take place over questions of precedence — scenes of a kind which had the effect of inspiring husbands to great and knightly ideas on the subject of protecting the fair.
True, never did a duel actually take place, since all the husbands were officials belonging to the Civil Service; but at least a given combatant would strive to heap contumely upon his rival, and, as we all know, that is a resource which may prove even more effectual than a duel.
As regards morality, the ladies of N. were nothing if not censorious, and would at once be fired with virtuous indignation when they heard of a case of vice or seduction.
Nay, even to mere frailty they would award the lash without mercy. On the other hand, should any instance of what they called “third personism” occur among THEIR OWN circle, it was always kept dark — not a hint of what was going on being allowed to transpire, and even the wronged husband holding himself ready, should he meet with, or hear of, the “third person,” to quote, in a mild and rational manner, the proverb, “Whom concerns it that a friend should consort with friend?”
In addition, I may say that, like most of the female world of St. Petersburg, the ladies of N. were pre-eminently careful and refined in their choice of words and phrases.
Never did a lady say, “I blew my nose,” or “I perspired,” or “I spat.” No, it had to be,
“I relieved my nose through the expedient of wiping it with my handkerchief,” and so forth. Again, to say, “This glass, or this plate, smells badly,” was forbidden.
No, not even a hint to such an effect was to be dropped. Rather, the proper phrase, in such a case, was “This glass, or this plate, is not behaving very well,”— or some such formula.
In fact, to refine the Russian tongue the more thoroughly, something like half the words in it were cut out: which circumstance necessitated very frequent recourse to the tongue of France, since the same words, if spoken in French, were another matter altogether, and one could use even blunter ones than the ones originally objected to.
So much for the ladies of N., provided that one confines one’s observations to the surface; yet hardly need it be said that, should one penetrate deeper than that, a great deal more would come to light. At the same time, it is never a very safe proceeding to peer deeply into the hearts of ladies; wherefore, restricting ourselves to the foregoing superficialities, let us proceed further on our way.
Hitherto the ladies had paid Chichikov no particular attention, though giving him full credit for his gentlemanly and urbane demeanour; but from the moment that there arose rumours of his being a millionaire other qualities of his began to be canvassed.
Nevertheless, not ALL the ladies were governed by interested motives, since it is due to the term “millionaire” rather than to the character of the person who bears it, that the mere sound of the word exercises upon rascals, upon decent folk, and upon folk who are neither the one nor the other, an undeniable influence.
A millionaire suffers from the disadvantage of everywhere having to behold meanness, including the sort of meanness which, though not actually based upon calculations of self-interest, yet runs after the wealthy man with smiles, and doffs his hat, and begs for invitations to houses where the millionaire is known to be going to dine.
That a similar inclination to meanness seized upon the ladies of N. goes without saying; with the result that many a drawing-room heard it whispered that, if Chichikov was not exactly a beauty, at least he was sufficiently good-looking to serve for a husband, though he could have borne to have been a little more rotund and stout.
To that there would be added scornful references to lean husbands, and hints that they resembled tooth-brushes rather than men — with many other feminine additions.
Also, such crowds of feminine shoppers began to repair to the Bazaar as almost to constitute a crush, and something like a procession of carriages ensued, so long grew the rank of vehicles.
For their part, the tradesmen had the joy of seeing highly priced dress materials which they had brought at fairs, and then been unable to dispose of, now suddenly become tradeable, and go off with a rush.
For instance, on one occasion a lady appeared at Mass in a bustle which filled the church to an extent which led the verger on duty to bid the commoner folk withdraw to the porch, lest the lady’s toilet should be soiled in the crush.
Even Chichikov could not help privately remarking the attention which he aroused.
On one occasion, when he returned to the inn, he found on his table a note addressed to himself. Whence it had come, and who had delivered it, he failed to discover, for the waiter declared that the person who had brought it had omitted to leave the name of the writer.
Beginning abruptly with the words
“I MUST write to you,” the letter went on to say that between a certain pair of souls there existed a bond of sympathy; and this verity the epistle further confirmed with rows of full stops to the extent of nearly half a page. Next there followed a few reflections of a correctitude so remarkable that I have no choice but to quote them.
“What, I would ask, is this life of ours?” inquired the writer. “’Tis nought but a vale of woe.
And what, I would ask, is the world? ’Tis nought but a mob of unthinking humanity.”
Thereafter, incidentally remarking that she had just dropped a tear to the memory of her dear mother, who had departed this life twenty-five years ago, the (presumably) lady writer invited Chichikov to come forth into the wilds, and to leave for ever the city where, penned in noisome haunts, folk could not even draw their breath. In conclusion, the writer gave way to unconcealed despair, and wound up with the following verses:
“Two turtle doves to thee, one day, My dust will show, congealed in death; And, cooing wearily, they’ll say: ‘In grief and loneliness she drew her closing breath.’”
True, the last line did not scan, but that was a trifle, since the quatrain at least conformed to the mode then prevalent.
Neither signature nor date were appended to the document, but only a postscript expressing a conjecture that Chichikov’s own heart would tell him who the writer was, and stating, in addition, that the said writer would be present at the Governor’s ball on the following night.
This greatly interested Chichikov.
Indeed, there was so much that was alluring and provocative of curiosity in the anonymous missive that he read it through a second time, and then a third, and finally said to himself: