me?" said
Chichikov. "And also to have a detailed list of the deaths made out?"
"Yes, I will—a detailed list," agreed Manilov.
"Very well."
The bailiff departed.
"For what purpose do you want it?" inquired Manilov when the bailiff
had gone.
The question seemed to embarrass the guest, for in Chichikov's face
there dawned a sort of tense expression, and it reddened as though its
owner were striving to express something not easy to put into words.
True enough, Manilov was now destined to hear such strange and
unexpected things as never before had greeted human ears.
"You ask me," said Chichikov, "for what purpose I want the list. Well,
my purpose in wanting it is this—that I desire to purchase a few
peasants." And he broke off in a gulp.
"But may I ask HOW you desire to purchase those peasants?" asked
Manilov. "With land, or merely as souls for transferment—that is to
say, by themselves, and without any land?"
"I want the peasants themselves only," replied Chichikov. "And I want
dead ones at that."
"What?—Excuse me, but I am a trifle deaf. Really, your words sound
most strange!"
"All that I am proposing to do," replied Chichikov, "is to purchase
the dead peasants who, at the last census, were returned by you as
alive."
Manilov dropped his pipe on the floor, and sat gaping. Yes, the two
friends who had just been discussing the joys of camaraderie sat
staring at one another like the portraits which, of old, used to hang
on opposite sides of a mirror. At length Manilov picked up his pipe,
and, while doing so, glanced covertly at Chichikov to see whether
there was any trace of a smile to be detected on his lips—whether, in
short, he was joking. But nothing of the sort could be discerned. On
the contrary, Chichikov's face looked graver than usual. Next, Manilov
wondered whether, for some unknown reason, his guest had lost his
wits; wherefore he spent some time in gazing at him with anxious
intentness. But the guest's eyes seemed clear—they contained no spark
of the wild, restless fire which is apt to wander in the eyes of
madmen. All was as it should be. Consequently, in spite of Manilov's
cogitations, he could think of nothing better to do than to sit
letting a stream of tobacco smoke escape from his mouth.
"So," continued Chichikov, "what I desire to know is whether you are
willing to hand over to me—to resign—these actually non-living, but
legally living, peasants; or whether you have any better proposal to
make?"
Manilov felt too confused and confounded to do aught but continue
staring at his interlocutor.
"I think that you are disturbing yourself unnecessarily," was
Chichikov's next remark.
"I? Oh no! Not at all!" stammered Manilov. "Only—pardon me—I do not
quite comprehend you. You see, never has it fallen to my lot to
acquire the brilliant polish which is, so to speak, manifest in your
every movement. Nor have I ever been able to attain the art of
expressing myself well. Consequently, although there is a possibility
that in the—er—utterances which have just fallen from your lips
there may lie something else concealed, it may equally be
that—er—you have been pleased so to express yourself for the sake of
the beauty of the terms wherein that expression found shape?"
"Oh, no," asserted Chichikov. "I mean what I say and no more. My
reference to such of your pleasant souls as are dead was intended to
be taken literally."
Manilov still felt at a loss—though he was conscious that he MUST
do something, he MUST propound some question. But what question? The
devil alone knew! In the end he merely expelled some more tobacco
smoke—this time from his nostrils as well as from his mouth.
"So," went on Chichikov, "if no obstacle stands in the way, we might
as well proceed to the completion of the purchase."
"What? Of the purchase of the dead souls?"
"Of the 'dead' souls? Oh dear no! Let us write them down as LIVING
ones, seeing that that is how they figure in the census returns. Never
do I
Chichikov. "And also to have a detailed list of the deaths made out?"
"Yes, I will—a detailed list," agreed Manilov.
"Very well."
The bailiff departed.
"For what purpose do you want it?" inquired Manilov when the bailiff
had gone.
The question seemed to embarrass the guest, for in Chichikov's face
there dawned a sort of tense expression, and it reddened as though its
owner were striving to express something not easy to put into words.
True enough, Manilov was now destined to hear such strange and
unexpected things as never before had greeted human ears.
"You ask me," said Chichikov, "for what purpose I want the list. Well,
my purpose in wanting it is this—that I desire to purchase a few
peasants." And he broke off in a gulp.
"But may I ask HOW you desire to purchase those peasants?" asked
Manilov. "With land, or merely as souls for transferment—that is to
say, by themselves, and without any land?"
"I want the peasants themselves only," replied Chichikov. "And I want
dead ones at that."
"What?—Excuse me, but I am a trifle deaf. Really, your words sound
most strange!"
"All that I am proposing to do," replied Chichikov, "is to purchase
the dead peasants who, at the last census, were returned by you as
alive."
Manilov dropped his pipe on the floor, and sat gaping. Yes, the two
friends who had just been discussing the joys of camaraderie sat
staring at one another like the portraits which, of old, used to hang
on opposite sides of a mirror. At length Manilov picked up his pipe,
and, while doing so, glanced covertly at Chichikov to see whether
there was any trace of a smile to be detected on his lips—whether, in
short, he was joking. But nothing of the sort could be discerned. On
the contrary, Chichikov's face looked graver than usual. Next, Manilov
wondered whether, for some unknown reason, his guest had lost his
wits; wherefore he spent some time in gazing at him with anxious
intentness. But the guest's eyes seemed clear—they contained no spark
of the wild, restless fire which is apt to wander in the eyes of
madmen. All was as it should be. Consequently, in spite of Manilov's
cogitations, he could think of nothing better to do than to sit
letting a stream of tobacco smoke escape from his mouth.
"So," continued Chichikov, "what I desire to know is whether you are
willing to hand over to me—to resign—these actually non-living, but
legally living, peasants; or whether you have any better proposal to
make?"
Manilov felt too confused and confounded to do aught but continue
staring at his interlocutor.
"I think that you are disturbing yourself unnecessarily," was
Chichikov's next remark.
"I? Oh no! Not at all!" stammered Manilov. "Only—pardon me—I do not
quite comprehend you. You see, never has it fallen to my lot to
acquire the brilliant polish which is, so to speak, manifest in your
every movement. Nor have I ever been able to attain the art of
expressing myself well. Consequently, although there is a possibility
that in the—er—utterances which have just fallen from your lips
there may lie something else concealed, it may equally be
that—er—you have been pleased so to express yourself for the sake of
the beauty of the terms wherein that expression found shape?"
"Oh, no," asserted Chichikov. "I mean what I say and no more. My
reference to such of your pleasant souls as are dead was intended to
be taken literally."
Manilov still felt at a loss—though he was conscious that he MUST
do something, he MUST propound some question. But what question? The
devil alone knew! In the end he merely expelled some more tobacco
smoke—this time from his nostrils as well as from his mouth.
"So," went on Chichikov, "if no obstacle stands in the way, we might
as well proceed to the completion of the purchase."
"What? Of the purchase of the dead souls?"
"Of the 'dead' souls? Oh dear no! Let us write them down as LIVING
ones, seeing that that is how they figure in the census returns. Never
do I
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