Authors: Nikolai Gogol
"I think that you have not met my daughter before?" said Madame. "She
is just fresh from school."
He replied that he HAD had the happiness of meeting Mademoiselle
before, and under rather unexpected circumstances; but on his trying
to say something further his tongue completely failed him. The
Governor's wife added a word or two, and then carried off her daughter
to speak to some of the other guests.
Chichikov stood rooted to the spot, like a man who, after issuing into
the street for a pleasant walk, has suddenly come to a halt on
remembering that something has been left behind him. In a moment, as
he struggles to recall what that something is, the mien of careless
expectancy disappears from his face, and he no longer sees a single
person or a single object in his vicinity. In the same way did
Chichikov suddenly become oblivious to the scene around him. Yet all
the while the melodious tongues of ladies were plying him with
multitudinous hints and questions—hints and questions inspired with a
desire to captivate. "Might we poor cumberers of the ground make so
bold as to ask you what you are thinking of?" "Pray tell us where lie
the happy regions in which your thoughts are wandering?" "Might we be
informed of the name of her who has plunged you into this sweet
abandonment of meditation?"—such were the phrases thrown at him. But
to everything he turned a dead ear, and the phrases in question might
as well have been stones dropped into a pool. Indeed, his rudeness
soon reached the pitch of his walking away altogether, in order that
he might go and reconnoitre wither the Governor's wife and daughter
had retreated. But the ladies were not going to let him off so easily.
Every one of them had made up her mind to use upon him her every
weapon, and to exhibit whatsoever might chance to constitute her best
point. Yet the ladies' wiles proved useless, for Chichikov paid not
the smallest attention to them, even when the dancing had begun, but
kept raising himself on tiptoe to peer over people's heads and
ascertain in which direction the bewitching maiden with the golden
hair had gone. Also, when seated, he continued to peep between his
neighbours' backs and shoulders, until at last he discovered her
sitting beside her mother, who was wearing a sort of Oriental turban
and feather. Upon that one would have thought that his purpose was to
carry the position by storm; for, whether moved by the influence of
spring, or whether moved by a push from behind, he pressed forward
with such desperate resolution that his elbow caused the Commissioner
of Taxes to stagger on his feet, and would have caused him to lose his
balance altogether but for the supporting row of guests in the rear.
Likewise the Postmaster was made to give ground; whereupon he turned
and eyed Chichikov with mingled astonishment and subtle irony. But
Chichikov never even noticed him; he saw in the distance only the
golden-haired beauty. At that moment she was drawing on a long glove
and, doubtless, pining to be flying over the dancing-floor, where,
with clicking heels, four couples had now begun to thread the mazes of
the mazurka. In particular was a military staff-captain working body
and soul and arms and legs to compass such a series of steps as were
never before performed, even in a dream. However, Chichikov slipped
past the mazurka dancers, and, almost treading on their heels, made
his way towards the spot where Madame and her daughter were seated.
Yet he approached them with great diffidence and none of his late
mincing and prancing. Nay, he even faltered as he walked; his every
movement had about it an air of awkwardness.
It is difficult to say whether or not the feeling which had awakened
in our hero's breast was the feeling of love; for it is problematical
whether or not men who are neither stout nor thin are capable of any
such sentiment. Nevertheless, something strange, something which he
could not altogether explain, had come upon him. It seemed as though
the ball, with its talk and its clatter, had suddenly become a thing
remote—that the orchestra had withdrawn behind a hill, and the scene
grown misty, like the carelessly painted-in background of a picture.
And from that misty void there could be seen glimmering only the
delicate outlines of the bewitching maiden. Somehow her exquisite
shape reminded him of an ivory toy, in such fair, white, transparent
relief did it stand out against the dull blur of the surrounding
throng.
Herein we see a phenomenon not infrequently observed—the phenomenon
of the Chichikovs of this world becoming temporarily poets. At all
events, for a moment or two our Chichikov felt that he was a young man
again, if not exactly a military officer. On perceiving an empty chair
beside the mother and daughter, he hastened to occupy it, and though
conversation at first hung fire, things gradually improved, and he
acquired more confidence.
At this point I must reluctantly deviate to say that men of weight and
high office are always a trifle ponderous when conversing with ladies.
Young lieutenants—or, at all events, officers not above the rank of
captain—are far more successful at the game. How they contrive to be
so God only knows. Let them but make the most inane of remarks, and at
once the maiden by their side will be rocking with laughter; whereas,
should a State Councillor enter into conversation with a damsel, and
remark that the Russian Empire is one of vast extent, or utter a
compliment which he has elaborated not without a certain measure of
intelligence (however strongly the said compliment may smack of a
book), of a surety the thing will fall flat. Even a witticism from him
will be laughed at far more by him himself than it will by the lady
who may happen to be listening to his remarks.
These comments I have interposed for the purpose of explaining to the
reader why, as our hero conversed, the maiden began to yawn. Blind to
this, however, he continued to relate to her sundry adventures which
had befallen him in different parts of the world. Meanwhile (as need
hardly be said) the rest of the ladies had taken umbrage at his
behaviour. One of them purposely stalked past him to intimate to him
the fact, as well as to jostle the Governor's daughter, and let the
flying end of a scarf flick her face; while from a lady seated behind
the pair came both a whiff of violets and a very venomous and
sarcastic remark. Nevertheless, either he did not hear the remark or
he PRETENDED not to hear it. This was unwise of him, since it never
does to disregard ladies' opinions. Later-but too late—he was
destined to learn this to his cost.
In short, dissatisfaction began to display itself on every feminine
face. No matter how high Chichikov might stand in society, and no
matter how much he might be a millionaire and include in his
expression of countenance an indefinable element of grandness and
martial ardour, there are certain things which no lady will pardon,
whosoever be the person concerned. We know that at Governor's balls it
is customary for the onlookers to compose verses at the expense of the
dancers; and in this case the verses were directed to Chichikov's
address. Briefly, the prevailing dissatisfaction grew until a tacit
edict of proscription had been issued against both him and the poor
young maiden.
But an even more unpleasant surprise was in store for our hero; for
whilst the young lady was still yawning as Chichikov recounted to her
certain of his past adventures and also touched lightly upon the
subject of Greek philosophy, there appeared from an adjoining room the
figure of Nozdrev. Whether he had come from the buffet, or whether he
had issued from a little green retreat where a game more strenuous
than whist had been in progress, or whether he had left the latter
resort unaided, or whether he had been expelled therefrom, is unknown;
but at all events when he entered the ballroom, he was in an elevated
condition, and leading by the arm the Public Prosecutor, whom he
seemed to have been dragging about for a long while past, seeing that
the poor man was glancing from side to side as though seeking a means
of putting an end to this personally conducted tour. Certainly he must
have found the situation almost unbearable, in view of the fact that,
after deriving inspiration from two glasses of tea not wholly
undiluted with rum, Nozdrev was engaged in lying unmercifully. On
sighting him in the distance, Chichikov at once decided to sacrifice
himself. That is to say, he decided to vacate his present enviable
position and make off with all possible speed, since he could see that
an encounter with the newcomer would do him no good. Unfortunately at
that moment the Governor buttonholed him with a request that he would
come and act as arbiter between him (the Governor) and two ladies—the
subject of dispute being the question as to whether or not woman's
love is lasting. Simultaneously Nozdrev descried our hero and bore
down upon him.
"Ah, my fine landowner of Kherson!" he cried with a smile which set
his fresh, spring-rose-pink cheeks a-quiver. "Have you been doing much
trade in departed souls lately?" With that he turned to the Governor.
"I suppose your Excellency knows that this man traffics in dead
peasants?" he bawled. "Look here, Chichikov. I tell you in the most
friendly way possible that every one here likes you—yes, including
even the Governor. Nevertheless, had I my way, I would hang you! Yes,
by God I would!"
Chichikov's discomfiture was complete.
"And, would you believe it, your Excellency," went on Nozdrev, "but
this fellow actually said to me, 'Sell me your dead souls!' Why, I
laughed till I nearly became as dead as the souls. And, behold, no
sooner do I arrive here than I am told that he has bought three
million roubles' worth of peasants for transferment! For transferment,
indeed! And he wanted to bargain with me for my DEAD ones! Look
here, Chichikov. You are a swine! Yes, by God, you are an utter swine!
Is not that so, your Excellency? Is not that so, friend Prokurator
[34]
?"
But both his Excellency, the Public Prosecutor, and Chichikov were too
taken aback to reply. The half-tipsy Nozdrev, without noticing them,
continued his harangue as before.
"Ah, my fine sir!" he cried. "THIS time I don't mean to let you go.
No, not until I have learnt what all this purchasing of dead peasants
means. Look here. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Yes,
I
say
that—
I
who am one of your best friends." Here he turned to the
Governor again. "Your Excellency," he continued, "you would never
believe what inseperables this man and I have been. Indeed, if you had
stood there and said to me, 'Nozdrev, tell me on your honour which of
the two you love best—your father or Chichikov?' I should have
replied, 'Chichikov, by God!'" With that he tackled our hero again,
"Come, come, my friend!" he urged. "Let me imprint upon your cheeks a
baiser or two. You will excuse me if I kiss him, will you not, your
Excellency? No, do not resist me, Chichikov, but allow me to imprint
at least one baiser upon your lily-white cheek." And in his efforts to
force upon Chichikov what he termed his "baisers" he came near to
measuring his length upon the floor.
Every one now edged away, and turned a deaf ear to his further
babblings; but his words on the subject of the purchase of dead souls
had none the less been uttered at the top of his voice, and been
accompanied with such uproarious laughter that the curiosity even of
those who had happened to be sitting or standing in the remoter
corners of the room had been aroused. So strange and novel seemed the
idea that the company stood with faces expressive of nothing but a
dumb, dull wonder. Only some of the ladies (as Chichikov did not fail
to remark) exchanged meaning, ill-natured winks and a series of
sarcastic smiles: which circumstance still further increased his
confusion. That Nozdrev was a notorious liar every one, of course,
knew, and that he should have given vent to an idiotic outburst of
this sort had surprised no one; but a dead soul—well, what was one to
make of Nozdrev's reference to such a commodity?
Naturally this unseemly contretemps had greatly upset our hero; for,
however foolish be a madman's words, they may yet prove sufficient to
sow doubt in the minds of saner individuals. He felt much as does a
man who, shod with well-polished boots, has just stepped into a dirty,
stinking puddle. He tried to put away from him the occurrence, and to
expand, and to enjoy himself once more. Nay, he even took a hand at
whist. But all was of no avail—matters kept going as awry as a
badly-bent hoop. Twice he blundered in his play, and the President of
the Council was at a loss to understand how his friend, Paul
Ivanovitch, lately so good and so circumspect a player, could
perpetrate such a mauvais pas as to throw away a particular king of
spades which the President has been "trusting" as (to quote his own
expression) "he would have trusted God." At supper, too, matters felt
uncomfortable, even though the society at Chichikov's table was
exceedingly agreeable and Nozdrev had been removed, owing to the fact
that the ladies had found his conduct too scandalous to be borne, now
that the delinquent had taken to seating himself on the floor and
plucking at the skirts of passing lady dancers. As I say, therefore,
Chichikov found the situation not a little awkward, and eventually put
an end to it by leaving the supper room before the meal was over, and
long before the hour when usually he returned to the inn.
In his little room, with its door of communication blocked with a
wardrobe, his frame of mind remained as uncomfortable as the chair in
which he was seated. His heart ached with a dull, unpleasant
sensation, with a sort of oppressive emptiness.
"The devil take those who first invented balls!" was his reflection.
"Who derives any real pleasure from them? In this province there exist
want and scarcity everywhere: yet folk go in for balls! How absurd,
too, were those overdressed women! One of them must have had a
thousand roubles on her back, and all acquired at the expense of the
overtaxed peasant, or, worse still, at that of the conscience of her
neighbour. Yes, we all know why bribes are accepted, and why men
become crooked in soul. It is all done to provide wives—yes, may the
pit swallow them up!—with fal-lals. And for what purpose? That some
woman may not have to reproach her husband with the fact that, say,
the Postmaster's wife is wearing a better dress than she is—a dress
which has cost a thousand roubles! 'Balls and gaiety, balls and
gaiety' is the constant cry. Yet what folly balls are! They do not
consort with the Russian spirit and genius, and the devil only knows
why we have them. A grown, middle-aged man—a man dressed in black,
and looking as stiff as a poker—suddenly takes the floor and begins
shuffling his feet about, while another man, even though conversing
with a companion on important business, will, the while, keep capering
to right and left like a billy-goat! Mimicry, sheer mimicry! The fact
that the Frenchman is at forty precisely what he was at fifteen leads
us to imagine that we too, forsooth, ought to be the same. No; a ball
leaves one feeling that one has done a wrong thing—so much so that
one does not care even to think of it. It also leaves one's head
perfectly empty, even as does the exertion of talking to a man of the
world. A man of that kind chatters away, and touches lightly upon
every conceivable subject, and talks in smooth, fluent phrases which
he has culled from books without grazing their substance; whereas go
and have a chat with a tradesman who knows at least ONE thing
thoroughly, and through the medium of experience, and see whether his
conversation will not be worth more than the prattle of a thousand
chatterboxes. For what good does one get out of balls? Suppose that a
competent writer were to describe such a scene exactly as it stands?
Why, even in a book it would seem senseless, even as it certainly is
in life. Are, therefore, such functions right or wrong? One would
answer that the devil alone knows, and then spit and close the book."