Authors: Nikolai Gogol
"How much?" inquired the brother-in-law.
"What, sir? Eighty kopecks, if you please," replied the old woman.
"A lie! Give her half a rouble. That will be quite enough."
"No, it will NOT, barin," protested the old woman. However, she took
the money gratefully, and even ran to the door to open it for the
gentlemen. As a matter of fact, she had lost nothing by the
transaction, since she had demanded fully a quarter more than the
vodka was worth.
The travellers then took their seats, and since Chichikov's britchka
kept alongside the britchka wherein Nozdrev and his brother-in-law
were seated, it was possible for all three men to converse together as
they proceeded. Behind them came Nozdrev's smaller buggy, with its
team of lean stage horses and Porphyri and the puppy. But inasmuch as
the conversation which the travellers maintained was not of a kind
likely to interest the reader, I might do worse than say something
concerning Nozdrev himself, seeing that he is destined to play no
small role in our story.
Nozdrev's face will be familiar to the reader, seeing that every one
must have encountered many such. Fellows of the kind are known as "gay
young sparks," and, even in their boyhood and school days, earn a
reputation for being bons camarades (though with it all they come in
for some hard knocks) for the reason that their faces evince an
element of frankness, directness, and enterprise which enables them
soon to make friends, and, almost before you have had time to look
around, to start addressing you in the second person singular. Yet,
while cementing such friendships for all eternity, almost always they
begin quarrelling the same evening, since, throughout, they are a
loquacious, dissipated, high-spirited, over-showy tribe. Indeed, at
thirty-five Nozdrev was just what he had been an eighteen and
twenty—he was just such a lover of fast living. Nor had his marriage
in any way changed him, and the less so since his wife had soon
departed to another world, and left behind her two children, whom he
did not want, and who were therefore placed in the charge of a
good-looking nursemaid. Never at any time could he remain at home for
more than a single day, for his keen scent could range over scores and
scores of versts, and detect any fair which promised balls and crowds.
Consequently in a trice he would be there—quarrelling, and creating
disturbances over the gaming-table (like all men of his type, he had a
perfect passion for cards) yet playing neither a faultless nor an
over-clean game, since he was both a blunderer and able to indulge in
a large number of illicit cuts and other devices. The result was that
the game often ended in another kind of sport altogether. That is to
say, either he received a good kicking, or he had his thick and very
handsome whiskers pulled; with the result that on certain occasions he
returned home with one of those appendages looking decidedly ragged.
Yet his plump, healthy-looking cheeks were so robustly constituted,
and contained such an abundance of recreative vigour, that a new
whisker soon sprouted in place of the old one, and even surpassed its
predecessor. Again (and the following is a phenomenon peculiar to
Russia) a very short time would have elapsed before once more he would
be consorting with the very cronies who had recently cuffed him—and
consorting with them as though nothing whatsoever had happened—no
reference to the subject being made by him, and they too holding their
tongues.
In short, Nozdrev was, as it were, a man of incident. Never was he
present at any gathering without some sort of a fracas occurring
thereat. Either he would require to be expelled from the room by
gendarmes, or his friends would have to kick him out into the street.
At all events, should neither of those occurrences take place, at
least he did something of a nature which would not otherwise have been
witnessed. That is to say, should he not play the fool in a buffet to
such an extent as to make very one smile, you may be sure that he was
engaged in lying to a degree which at times abashed even himself.
Moreover, the man lied without reason. For instance, he would begin
telling a story to the effect that he possessed a blue-coated or a
red-coated horse; until, in the end, his listeners would be forced to
leave him with the remark, "You are giving us some fine stuff, old
fellow!" Also, men like Nozdrev have a passion for insulting their
neighbours without the least excuse afforded. (For that matter, even a
man of good standing and of respectable exterior—a man with a star on
his breast—may unexpectedly press your hand one day, and begin
talking to you on subjects of a nature to give food for serious
thought. Yet just as unexpectedly may that man start abusing you to
your face—and do so in a manner worthy of a collegiate registrar
rather than of a man who wears a star on his breast and aspires to
converse on subjects which merit reflection. All that one can do in
such a case is to stand shrugging one's shoulders in amazement.) Well,
Nozdrev had just such a weakness. The more he became friendly with a
man, the sooner would he insult him, and be ready to spread calumnies
as to his reputation. Yet all the while he would consider himself the
insulted one's friend, and, should he meet him again, would greet him
in the most amicable style possible, and say, "You rascal, why have
you given up coming to see me." Thus, taken all round, Nozdrev was a
person of many aspects and numerous potentialities. In one and the
same breath would he propose to go with you whithersoever you might
choose (even to the very ends of the world should you so require) or
to enter upon any sort of an enterprise with you, or to exchange any
commodity for any other commodity which you might care to name. Guns,
horses, dogs, all were subjects for barter—though not for profit so
far as YOU were concerned. Such traits are mostly the outcome of a
boisterous temperament, as is additionally exemplified by the fact
that if at a fair he chanced to fall in with a simpleton and to fleece
him, he would then proceed to buy a quantity of the very first
articles which came to hand—horse-collars, cigar-lighters, dresses
for his nursemaid, foals, raisins, silver ewers, lengths of holland,
wheatmeal, tobacco, revolvers, dried herrings, pictures, whetstones,
crockery, boots, and so forth, until every atom of his money was
exhausted. Yet seldom were these articles conveyed home, since, as a
rule, the same day saw them lost to some more skilful gambler, in
addition to his pipe, his tobacco-pouch, his mouthpiece, his
four-horsed turn-out, and his coachman: with the result that, stripped
to his very shirt, he would be forced to beg the loan of a vehicle
from a friend.
Such was Nozdrev. Some may say that characters of his type have become
extinct, that Nozdrevs no longer exist. Alas! such as say this will be
wrong; for many a day must pass before the Nozdrevs will have
disappeared from our ken. Everywhere they are to be seen in our
midst—the only difference between the new and the old being a
difference of garments. Persons of superficial observation are apt to
consider that a man clad in a different coat is quite a different
person from what he used to be.
To continue. The three vehicles bowled up to the steps of Nozdrev's
house, and their occupants alighted. But no preparations whatsoever
had been made for the guest's reception, for on some wooden trestles
in the centre of the dining-room a couple of peasants were engaged in
whitewashing the ceiling and drawling out an endless song as they
splashed their stuff about the floor. Hastily bidding peasants and
trestles to be gone, Nozdrev departed to another room with further
instructions. Indeed, so audible was the sound of his voice as he
ordered dinner that Chichikov—who was beginning to feel hungry once
more—was enabled to gather that it would be at least five o'clock
before a meal of any kind would be available. On his return, Nozdrev
invited his companions to inspect his establishment—even though as
early as two o'clock he had to announce that nothing more was to be
seen.
The tour began with a view of the stables, where the party saw two
mares (the one a grey, and the other a roan) and a colt; which latter
animal, though far from showy, Nozdrev declared to have cost him ten
thousand roubles.
"You NEVER paid ten thousand roubles for the brute!" exclaimed the
brother-in-law. "He isn't worth even a thousand."
"By God, I DID pay ten thousand!" asserted Nozdrev.
"You can swear that as much as you like," retorted the other.
"Will you bet that I did not?" asked Nozdrev, but the brother-in-law
declined the offer.
Next, Nozdrev showed his guests some empty stalls where a number of
equally fine animals (so he alleged) had lately stood. Also there was
on view the goat which an old belief still considers to be an
indispensable adjunct to such places, even though its apparent use is
to pace up and down beneath the noses of the horses as though the
place belonged to it. Thereafter the host took his guests to look at a
young wolf which he had got tied to a chain. "He is fed on nothing but
raw meat," he explained, "for I want him to grow up as fierce as
possible." Then the party inspected a pond in which there were "fish
of such a size that it would take two men all their time to lift one
of them out."
This piece of information was received with renewed incredulity on the
part of the brother-in-law.
"Now, Chichikov," went on Nozdrev, "let me show you a truly
magnificent brace of dogs. The hardness of their muscles will surprise
you, and they have jowls as sharp as needles."
So saying, he led the way to a small, but neatly-built, shed
surrounded on every side with a fenced-in run. Entering this run, the
visitors beheld a number of dogs of all sorts and sizes and colours.
In their midst Nozdrev looked like a father lording it over his family
circle. Erecting their tails—their "stems," as dog fanciers call
those members—the animals came bounding to greet the party, and fully
a score of them laid their paws upon Chichikov's shoulders. Indeed,
one dog was moved with such friendliness that, standing on its hind
legs, it licked him on the lips, and so forced him to spit. That done,
the visitors duly inspected the couple already mentioned, and
expressed astonishment at their muscles. True enough, they were fine
animals. Next, the party looked at a Crimean bitch which, though blind
and fast nearing her end, had, two years ago, been a truly magnificent
dog. At all events, so said Nozdrev. Next came another bitch—also
blind; then an inspection of the water-mill, which lacked the
spindle-socket wherein the upper stone ought to have been
revolving—"fluttering," to use the Russian peasant's quaint
expression. "But never mind," said Nozdrev. "Let us proceed to the
blacksmith's shop." So to the blacksmith's shop the party proceeded,
and when the said shop had been viewed, Nozdrev said as he pointed to
a field:
"In this field I have seen such numbers of hares as to render the
ground quite invisible. Indeed, on one occasion I, with my own hands,
caught a hare by the hind legs."
"You never caught a hare by the hind legs with your hands!" remarked
the brother-in-law.
"But I DID" reiterated Nozdrev. "However, let me show you the
boundary where my lands come to an end."
So saying, he started to conduct his guests across a field which
consisted mostly of moleheaps, and in which the party had to pick
their way between strips of ploughed land and of harrowed. Soon
Chichikov began to feel weary, for the terrain was so low-lying that
in many spots water could be heard squelching underfoot, and though
for a while the visitors watched their feet, and stepped carefully,
they soon perceived that such a course availed them nothing, and took
to following their noses, without either selecting or avoiding the
spots where the mire happened to be deeper or the reverse. At length,
when a considerable distance had been covered, they caught sight of a
boundary-post and a narrow ditch.
"That is the boundary," said Nozdrev. "Everything that you see on this
side of the post is mine, as well as the forest on the other side of
it, and what lies beyond the forest."
"WHEN did that forest become yours?" asked the brother-in-law. "It
cannot be long since you purchased it, for it never USED to be yours."
"Yes, it isn't long since I purchased it," said Nozdrev.
"How long?"
"How long? Why, I purchased it three days ago, and gave a pretty sum
for it, as the devil knows!"
"Indeed? Why, three days ago you were at the fair?"
"Wiseacre! Cannot one be at a fair and buy land at the same time? Yes,
I WAS at the fair, and my steward bought the land in my absence."
"Oh, your STEWARD bought it." The brother-in-law seemed doubtful,
and shook his head.
The guests returned by the same route as that by which they had come;
whereafter, on reaching the house, Nozdrev conducted them to his
study, which contained not a trace of the things usually to be found
in such apartments—such things as books and papers. On the contrary,
the only articles to be seen were a sword and a brace of guns—the one
"of them worth three hundred roubles," and the other "about eight
hundred." The brother-in-law inspected the articles in question, and
then shook his head as before. Next, the visitors were shown some
"real Turkish" daggers, of which one bore the inadvertent inscription,
"Saveli Sibiriakov
[19]
, Master Cutler." Then came a barrel-organ, on
which Nozdrev started to play some tune or another. For a while the
sounds were not wholly unpleasing, but suddenly something seemed to go
wrong, for a mazurka started, to be followed by "Marlborough has gone
to the war," and to this, again, there succeeded an antiquated waltz.
Also, long after Nozdrev had ceased to turn the handle, one
particularly shrill-pitched pipe which had, throughout, refused to
harmonise with the rest kept up a protracted whistling on its own
account. Then followed an exhibition of tobacco pipes—pipes of clay,
of wood, of meerschaum, pipes smoked and non-smoked; pipes wrapped in
chamois leather and not so wrapped; an amber-mounted hookah (a stake
won at cards) and a tobacco pouch (worked, it was alleged, by some
countess who had fallen in love with Nozdrev at a posthouse, and whose
handiwork Nozdrev averred to constitute the "sublimity of
superfluity"—a term which, in the Nozdrevian vocabulary, purported to
signify the acme of perfection).