prominent
feature of the room was tobacco, which appeared in many different
guises—in packets, in a tobacco jar, and in a loose heap strewn about
the table. Likewise, both window sills were studded with little heaps
of ash, arranged, not without artifice, in rows of more or less
tidiness. Clearly smoking afforded the master of the house a frequent
means of passing the time.
"Permit me to offer you a seat on this settee," said Manilov. "Here
you will be quieter than you would be in the drawing-room."
"But I should prefer to sit upon this chair."
"I cannot allow that," objected the smiling Manilov. "The settee is
specially reserved for my guests. Whether you choose or no, upon it
you MUST sit."
Accordingly Chichikov obeyed.
"And also let me hand you a pipe."
"No, I never smoke," answered Chichikov civilly, and with an assumed
air of regret.
"And why?" inquired Manilov—equally civilly, but with a regret that
was wholly genuine.
"Because I fear that I have never quite formed the habit, owing to my
having heard that a pipe exercises a desiccating effect upon the
system."
"Then allow me to tell you that that is mere prejudice. Nay, I would
even go so far as to say that to smoke a pipe is a healthier practice
than to take snuff. Among its members our regiment numbered a
lieutenant—a most excellent, well-educated fellow—who was simply
INCAPABLE of removing his pipe from his mouth, whether at table or
(pardon me) in other places. He is now forty, yet no man could enjoy
better health than he has always done."
Chichikov replied that such cases were common, since nature comprised
many things which even the finest intellect could not compass.
"But allow me to put to you a question," he went on in a tone in which
there was a strange—or, at all events, RATHER a strange—note. For
some unknown reason, also, he glanced over his shoulder. For some
equally unknown reason, Manilov glanced over HIS.
"How long is it," inquired the guest, "since you last rendered a
census return?"
"Oh, a long, long time. In fact, I cannot remember when it was."
"And since then have many of your serfs died?"
"I do not know. To ascertain that I should need to ask my bailiff.
Footman, go and call the bailiff. I think he will be at home to-day."
Before long the bailiff made his appearance. He was a man of under
forty, clean-shaven, clad in a smock, and evidently used to a quiet
life, seeing that his face was of that puffy fullness, and the skin
encircling his slit-like eyes was of that sallow tint, which shows
that the owner of those features is well acquainted with a feather
bed. In a trice it could be seen that he had played his part in life
as all such bailiffs do—that, originally a young serf of elementary
education, he had married some Agashka of a housekeeper or a
mistress's favourite, and then himself become housekeeper, and,
subsequently, bailiff; after which he had proceeded according to the
rules of his tribe—that is to say, he had consorted with and stood in
with the more well-to-do serfs on the estate, and added the poorer
ones to the list of forced payers of obrok, while himself leaving his
bed at nine o'clock in the morning, and, when the samovar had been
brought, drinking his tea at leisure.
"Look here, my good man," said Manilov. "How many of our serfs have
died since the last census revision?"
"How many of them have died? Why, a great many." The bailiff
hiccoughed, and slapped his mouth lightly after doing so.
"Yes, I imagined that to be the case," corroborated Manilov. "In fact,
a VERY great many serfs have died." He turned to Chichikov and
repeated the words.
"How many, for instance?" asked Chichikov.
"Yes; how many?" re-echoed Manilov.
"HOW many?" re-echoed the bailiff. "Well, no one knows the exact
number, for no one has kept any account."
"Quite so," remarked Manilov. "I supposed the death-rate to have been
high, but was ignorant of its precise extent."
"Then would you be so good as to have it computed for
feature of the room was tobacco, which appeared in many different
guises—in packets, in a tobacco jar, and in a loose heap strewn about
the table. Likewise, both window sills were studded with little heaps
of ash, arranged, not without artifice, in rows of more or less
tidiness. Clearly smoking afforded the master of the house a frequent
means of passing the time.
"Permit me to offer you a seat on this settee," said Manilov. "Here
you will be quieter than you would be in the drawing-room."
"But I should prefer to sit upon this chair."
"I cannot allow that," objected the smiling Manilov. "The settee is
specially reserved for my guests. Whether you choose or no, upon it
you MUST sit."
Accordingly Chichikov obeyed.
"And also let me hand you a pipe."
"No, I never smoke," answered Chichikov civilly, and with an assumed
air of regret.
"And why?" inquired Manilov—equally civilly, but with a regret that
was wholly genuine.
"Because I fear that I have never quite formed the habit, owing to my
having heard that a pipe exercises a desiccating effect upon the
system."
"Then allow me to tell you that that is mere prejudice. Nay, I would
even go so far as to say that to smoke a pipe is a healthier practice
than to take snuff. Among its members our regiment numbered a
lieutenant—a most excellent, well-educated fellow—who was simply
INCAPABLE of removing his pipe from his mouth, whether at table or
(pardon me) in other places. He is now forty, yet no man could enjoy
better health than he has always done."
Chichikov replied that such cases were common, since nature comprised
many things which even the finest intellect could not compass.
"But allow me to put to you a question," he went on in a tone in which
there was a strange—or, at all events, RATHER a strange—note. For
some unknown reason, also, he glanced over his shoulder. For some
equally unknown reason, Manilov glanced over HIS.
"How long is it," inquired the guest, "since you last rendered a
census return?"
"Oh, a long, long time. In fact, I cannot remember when it was."
"And since then have many of your serfs died?"
"I do not know. To ascertain that I should need to ask my bailiff.
Footman, go and call the bailiff. I think he will be at home to-day."
Before long the bailiff made his appearance. He was a man of under
forty, clean-shaven, clad in a smock, and evidently used to a quiet
life, seeing that his face was of that puffy fullness, and the skin
encircling his slit-like eyes was of that sallow tint, which shows
that the owner of those features is well acquainted with a feather
bed. In a trice it could be seen that he had played his part in life
as all such bailiffs do—that, originally a young serf of elementary
education, he had married some Agashka of a housekeeper or a
mistress's favourite, and then himself become housekeeper, and,
subsequently, bailiff; after which he had proceeded according to the
rules of his tribe—that is to say, he had consorted with and stood in
with the more well-to-do serfs on the estate, and added the poorer
ones to the list of forced payers of obrok, while himself leaving his
bed at nine o'clock in the morning, and, when the samovar had been
brought, drinking his tea at leisure.
"Look here, my good man," said Manilov. "How many of our serfs have
died since the last census revision?"
"How many of them have died? Why, a great many." The bailiff
hiccoughed, and slapped his mouth lightly after doing so.
"Yes, I imagined that to be the case," corroborated Manilov. "In fact,
a VERY great many serfs have died." He turned to Chichikov and
repeated the words.
"How many, for instance?" asked Chichikov.
"Yes; how many?" re-echoed Manilov.
"HOW many?" re-echoed the bailiff. "Well, no one knows the exact
number, for no one has kept any account."
"Quite so," remarked Manilov. "I supposed the death-rate to have been
high, but was ignorant of its precise extent."
"Then would you be so good as to have it computed for
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