ONE of the commissions given to Chichikov was to arrange with the owner of a certain estate for the mortgaging of a number of his serfs to the financial institution called the Council of Guardians. Chichikov found this proprietor to be on the verge of ruin. The cattle had been thinned out by an epidemic disease, there had been several meager harvests, a lot of the most industrious field laborers had died off, overseers had been dishonest, and the lord of the manor himself had been grossly extravagant, fitting up a large house in Moscow, so that the estate was now drained to the last copeck. . . .
Chichikov elicited the information that since the last government census a considerable number of the serfs had died, but that their names had not been removed from the census list. To all intents and purposes, therefore, those peasants could be counted as alive. It was upon this discovery that Chichikov was inspired with the most brilliant idea that ever originated in a human mind. Said our hero to himself:
“What a fool I am! I have been looking for my spectacles, and they are on my nose! Why, all I have to do is to buy the serfs who have died since the last census was taken! If I purchase a thousand of them, and the Council of Guardians pays me two hundred rubles per soul, I shall then have a capital of two hundred thousand rubles. There has been a great deal of sickness of late, and, thank the Lord, a high rate of mortality. The landowners have been 25 throwing their money away at cards, and wasting it in riotous living. Everybody has been seized with the craze for town life and service under the government. The estates are neglected or abandoned by the landlords, who find it harder every year to squeeze money out of them to pay the taxes. This seems to be my chance for earning an honest sum. It will take a lot of trouble, and I must avoid a scandal. There is the obstacle, too, that without land one can neither buy nor mortgage serfs. But I know what I will do: I will buy them ostensibly for colonization. There are provinces such as Kherson where land is given free to settlers. I will take up land in Kherson, and pack off all my dead peasants there. The whole thing can be done in conformity with the legal requirements.” . . .
“Allow me, sir, to ask you a question,” said Chichikov to Manilov, speaking with a rather strange intonation, at the same time looking furtively about him. The person addressed, without any apparent reason, also cast furtive glances about the room, until the other continued:
“How long do you think it is since you handed in your last census report?”
“A long time ago, I should say; I really don’t remember.”
“But a good many of your serfs have died since then?
“I could not say. I suppose I shall have to ask the overseer.”
The overseer having been sent for, Manilov asked him:
“Listen, my good man: how many of our serfs have died since the last count was taken?”
“Eh? How many? Why, a good many,” replied the overseer, stifling a yawn.
“That’s just what I thought myself,” said the landlord. 26 “Yes, that’s it — a good many have died.” And turning to Chichikov, he added, “Precisely so, a great many.”
“What might the number be, for instance?” inquired Chichikov.
“Ah, yes, what number?” echoed Manilov.
“The number — the number, did you say?” queried the overseer. “Why, I don’t know how many have died. No one has counted them.”
“That’s it exactly,” said Manilov to his guest. “I thought a good many must have died, but I haven’t the least idea of the number.”
“Would you mind having a list of them made, with the name of each one?”
“Yes, with the name of each one,” said Manilov.
Whereupon the overseer answered, “Yes, sir,” and left the room.
When he had gone, the host observed:
“What do you want this done for?”
Chichikov appeared to be embarrassed by this question. His features assumed an awkward expression, and he even blushed in the effort to explain himself.
“You want to know the reason — the reason?” stammered Chichikov. “The reason is — I — I should like to buy some serfs.”
“Well, then, let me ask you, sir, how you wish to buy them: with the land, or without the land — for exportation?”
“It is not exactly that kind I want. I mean serfs who are dead.”
“What do you say? Excuse me, please, but I did not hear very well. I do not quite understand.”
“I propose,” said Chichikov, “to purchase from you serfs 27 who are actually no longer living, but whose names still appear in the official census records.
Manilov’s pipe dropped to the floor. Its owner sat staring stark at Chichikov for several minutes in complete silence. At last he picked up his pipe, and then, for a space, gazed intently at his guest, wondering whether he had not gone out of his mind. But he saw no external signs of insanity. Manilov was quite at a loss what to think or do, so he stopped thinking, and did nothing but puff out a thin stream of smoke from between his lips.
“I should like to know, you see,” resumed our hero, “whether you would be willing to make over to me some souls who, though really dead, are legally in existence.”
But Manilov was so astonished and confused that he could still do nothing but stare and blow out smoke.
“Well, do you see any difficulty about it?”
“Do I see any difficulties?” was the reply. “Oh, no, not at all; but you must excuse me — I don’t understand. I have not enjoyed such an education as yours, I might say. I have not your beautiful way of expressing my thoughts, I might say. Perhaps, in what you have just been good enough to say, perhaps there is some hidden meaning; perhaps you chose that particular way of speaking for — for the sake of literary style.”
“No, no; I mean just what I told you — souls who are actually dead.”
Manilov was entirely dumfounded. He must take some course, say something, ask some question — only, what question? But all he did was to puff out more smoke — this time through his nose.
“If there are no objections, then, suppose we draw up a deed of sale,” suggested Chichikov.
28“What! a deed of sale of dead souls?”
“By no means,” replied Chichikov. “We will treat them as if they were alive — as they are, according to the census report. Heaven forbid that I should in any way transgress against the law! Let us conform to the law. I bow to the majesty of the law.”
I PUT on my old cloak and took my umbrella because it was pouring rain. There was no one in the streets. I saw only a few women with shawls over their heads, and some shopkeepers with umbrellas. There was no one of the upper classes about, except one official like myself. I saw him at a crossing, and said to myself, “Aha! No, my friend, you’re not going to the department; you’re running after the woman in front of you, and looking at her ankles.” What a set of brutes our officials are! They’re just as bad as any officer; can’t see a woman’s hat without going for it. Just as I was thinking that, I saw a carriage driving up to a shop I was passing. I knew it at once; it was our director’s carriage. “But he wouldn’t be going shopping,” I thought; “it must be his daughter.” I stopped, and leaned against the wall; a footman opened the carriage-door, and she sprang out like a bird. How she glanced round with those eyes of hers! Heaven defend me! I am done for! And why ever should she drive out in this pouring rain? And then people say that women are not devoted to finery! She did not recognize me, and, indeed, I purposely muffled myself up, because my cloak was very muddy, and old-fashioned too. 29 Now they are worn with deep capes, and mine had little capes one above the other; and the cloth wasn’t good either. Her lap-dog didn’t get in before the shop-door was shut, and was left out in the street. I know that dog; it is called Medji. The next minute, I suddenly heard a little voice, “Good morning, Medji.” Why, what the deuce did it mean? Who said that? I looked round, and saw two ladies under an umbrella — an old lady and a young one; but they went past. Suddenly I heard again, “Oh, for shame, Medji!” The devil! There were Medji and the ladies’ lap-dog smelling each other. “I say,” thought I to myself, “I must be drunk!” And yet it is a rare thing with me to be drunk. “No, Fidèle, you are quite mistaken” — I actually saw Medji saying that — “I have been — bow-wow-wow — I have been — bow-wow-wow — very ill.”
Well, there, now! I really was very much surprised to hear the lap-dog talking in human speech. But afterward, when I thought it over, it didn’t astonish me. Indeed, there have been many such cases in the world. It is said that there appeared in England a fish that said two words in such a strange language that the learned men have been three years trying to make out what it said, and can’t understand it yet. And I remember reading in the newspapers about two cows that went into a shop and asked for a pound of tea. But I was very much more astonished when Medji said, “I wrote to you, Fidèle; Polkan can’t have brought the letter.” Well! may I lose my salary if ever I heard in my life that dogs could write! It quite amazed me. Lately, indeed, I have begun to see and hear things that nobody ever saw or heard before.
“I’ll follow that lap-dog,” thought I, “and find out what it is, and what it thinks.” So I shut up my umbrella and 30 followed the two ladies. They went along Gorokhovaya Street, turned into Myeshchanskaya Street, then into a carpenter’s shop, and at last up to the Kokoushkin Bridge, and there they stopped before a big house. “I know that house,” said I to myself; “that’s Tvyerkov’s house.” What a monster! Just to think of the numbers of people who live there — such a lot of strangers, and servant-maids; and as for my fellow officials, they are packed together like dogs! I have a friend living there who plays the trumpet very well. The ladies went up to the fifth story. “All right,” thought I, “I won’t go in now, but I will mark the place, and take advantage of the first opportunity.” . . .
At two o’clock in the afternoon I started to find Fidèle and interrogate her. I can’t endure cabbage, and all the little provision-shops in Myeshchanskaya Street simply reek of it; and then there’s such a stench from the yard of every house, that I simply held my nose and ran along as fast as ever I could. And then those confounded artisans send out such a lot of soot and smoke from their workshops, that really there’s no walking in the street. When I got up to the sixth floor, and rang the bell, there came out a girl, not bad-looking, with little freckles. I recognized her; it was the same girl who had walked with the old lady. She grew a bit red, and inquired, “What can I do for you?” I answered, “I must have an interview with your lap-dog.” The girl was stupid; I saw at once she was stupid. At that moment the dog ran out, barking. I wanted to catch her, but the nasty little thing nearly snapped my nose off. However, I saw her basket in the corner. Ah! that was what I wanted. I went up to it, turned over the straw, and, to my immense delight, found a package of tiny papers. Seeing that, the horrid little dog first bit me in the calf of 31 the leg, and then, realizing that I had got the papers, began to whine and fawn on me. But I said, “No, my dear; good-by!” and rushed away. I think the girl took me for a maniac, for she was terribly frightened.
When I got home I wanted to set to work at once and read the letters, because my sight is not very good by candle-light. But, of course, Mavra had taken it into her head to wash the floor. These idiotic Finns are always cleaning at the wrong time. So I went for a walk to think over the occurrence. Now, at last, I shall find out all their affairs, all their thoughts, all the wires they are pulled by; these letters will disclose everything to me. Dogs are a clever race; they understand all the political relations; and so, no doubt, everything will be here — this man’s portrait and all his affairs. And no doubt there will be something about her, who — Never mind — silence! In the evening I got home. I spent the time lying on my bed. . . .
Now let us see! The letter is fairly legible; but, somehow or other, there is something a little bit doggish about the handwriting. Let’s see:
MY DEAR FIDÈLE: I still have not been able to accustom myself to your vulgar name. Why couldn’t they find a better name for you? Fidèle, Rosa, what bad taste! However, this is away from the point. I am very glad that we have agreed to correspond.
The letter is quite correctly written; there are no mistakes in the punctuation or even in the spelling. Why, the chief of the section can’t write as well as that, although he talks about having been educated at the university. Let’s see farther on:
I appears to me that to share our thoughts, feelings, and impressions with another is one of the greatest blessings in the world.
32Hm — that idea is copied from some work translated from the German — I can’t remember the title.
I say this from experience, although I have seen little of the world beyond the gates of our house. My life passes peacefully and happily. My mistress, whom papa calls Sophie, loves me passionately.
Oh! oh! Never mind — never mind! Silence!
Papa, too, often caresses me. I drink my tea and coffee with cream. Ah, ma chère, I must tell you that I cannot understand what pleasure there can be in the big gnawed bones that our Polkan devours in the kitchen. Bones are only good if they are from game, and if no one has sucked the marrow out of them. It is a very good idea to mix several kinds of sauce together, only there must be no capers or herbs; but I know nothing worse than the custom of rolling bread into little balls and giving it to dogs. Some gentleman, sitting at the table, who has been holding all sorts of nasty things in his hands, will begin rolling a bit of bread with his fingers, and then call you, and put it in your mouth. It’s impolite to refuse, so you eat it — with disgust, of course, but you eat it.
What the deuce is all this rubbish? As if they couldn’t find anything better to write about. Let’s look at the next page; perhaps it will be more sensible.
I shall have the greatest pleasure in informing you of all that happens in our house. I have already spoken to you about the principal gentleman whom Sophie calls papa. He is a very strange man.
Ah, now at last! Yes, I knew it. They look at all things from a political point of view. Let us see what there is about papa:
Strange man! He hardly ever speaks. But a week ago he kept on constantly saying to himself, “Shall I get it, or not?” Once he 33 asked me, “What do you think, Medji? Shall I get it, or not?” I didn’t understand anything about it, so I smelled at his boot and went away. Then, ma chère, a week afterward papa was in the greatest state of delight. The whole morning long gentlemen in uniform came to him and congratulated him on something or other. At table he was merrier than I have ever seen him before.
Ah, so he’s ambitious! I must take note of that.
Good-by, ma chère! I must be off. To-morrow I will finish the letter.
Well, good morning; I am with you again. To-day, my mistress, Sophie ——
Ah, now we shall see — something about Sophie. Oh! confound it! — Never mind, never mind! Let’s go on:
My mistress, Sophie, was in a great muddle. She was getting ready for a ball, and I was very glad she would be out, so that I could write to you. My Sophie is perfectly devoted to balls, although she nearly always gets cross when she’s dressing for them. I cannot conceive, ma chère, what can be the pleasure of going to balls. Sophie comes home from them at six o’clock in the morning, and nearly always looks so pale and thin that I can see at once they haven’t given the poor girl anything to eat there. I confess that I couldn’t live like that. If I didn’t get my woodcock with sauce, or the wing of a roast chicken, I — really I don’t know what I should do. I like pudding with sauce, too, but carrots or turnips or artichokes are no good at all.
What an extraordinarily uneven style! One can see at once it wasn’t written by a human being; it begins all right and properly, and ends in this doggish fashion. Let’s see another letter. This seems rather a long one. Hm — and it isn’t dated.
Oh, my dearest, how I feel the approach of spring! My heart beats as if it yearned for something. There is a constant singing in my ears, 34 so that I often raise one foot, and stand for several moments listening at a door. I will confide to you that I have many suitors. Oh! if you knew how hideous some of them are! Sometimes there’s a great, coarse, mongrel watch-dog, fearfully stupid — you can see it written on his face — who struts along the street and imagines that he’s a very important personage, and that everybody is looking at him. Then, there’s such a frightful mastiff that stops before my window. If he were to stand on his hind paws (which the vulgar creature probably doesn’t know how to do) he’d be a whole head taller than my Sophie’s papa, who is rather a tall man, and stout too. This blockhead appears to be frightfully impertinent. I growled at him, but he took no notice at all; he didn’t even frown. He looked out his tongue, hung down his monstrous ears, and stared in at the window — like a common peasant! But do you imagine, ma chère, that my heart is cold to all entreaties? Ah, no! If you could see one young beau who jumps across the fence from next door! His name is Trésor. Oh, my dearest, what a sweet muzzle he has!
The devil take it all! What rubbish! And fancy filling up one’s letter with nonsense of that kind! Give me a man! I want to see a human being; I demand that spiritual food that would satisfy my thirsting soul, and instead of that, all this stuff! Let’s see another page; perhaps it’ll be better.
Sophie was sitting at the table sewing something. I was looking out of the window, because I like watching the passers-by. Suddenly a footman came in and announced, “Teplov.” “Ask him in!” cried Sophie, and flew to embrace me. “Oh, Medji, Medji! if only you knew who it is: a chamberlain, dark, and with such eyes — quite black, and as bright as fire!” And she ran away to her room. A minute afterward there came in a young chamberlain, with black whiskers. He went up to the mirror, set his hair straight, and looked about the room. I growled, and sat down in my place. Presently, Sophie came in, looking very happy. He clinked his spurs, and she 35 bowed. I pretended not to notice anything, and went on looking out of the window, but I turned my head a little on one side and tried to overhear their conversation. Oh, ma chère, what rubbish they talked! They talked about how, at a dance, one lady had made a mistake and done the wrong figure; then about how a certain Bobov, with a large frill on his shirt, looked very like a stork, and nearly tumbled down; then about how a certain Lidina imagines that her eyes are blue, whereas they are green — and so on. I cannot think, ma chère, what she finds in her Teplov. Why is she so enchanted with him?
It seems to me, too, that there’s something wrong here. It’s quite impossible that Teplov could bewitch her so. What comes next?
Really, if she can like this chamberlain, it seems to me she might as well like the official who sits in papa’s study. Oh, ma chère, if you knew what a fright he is! Exactly like a tortoise in a bag.
What official can that be?
He has a most peculiar name. He always sits and mends pens. The hair on his head is very much like hay. Papa always sends him on errands instead of the servant.
I believe that beastly little dog is alluding to me. Now, is my hair like hay?
Sophie simply cannot keep from laughing when she looks at him.
You lie, you confounded dog! What an abominable style! As if I didn’t know that this is simply a case of envy; as if I didn’t know it’s an intrigue! It’s an intrigue of the chief of the section. The man has sworn implacable hate against me, and now he does everything he can to injure 36 me — to injure me at every step. Well, I’ll look at just one more letter; perhaps the affair will explain itself.
MY DEAR FIDÈLE: Forgive me for having been so long without writing. I have been in a state of absolute intoxication. It is perfectly true what some writer has said, that love is second life. And then there are great changes going on in our house. The chamberlain comes every day now. Sophie is madly in love with him. Papa is very happy. I even heard from our Grigory, who sweeps the floors, and almost always talks to himself, that there will soon be a wedding, because papa is very anxious to see Sophie married, either to a general, or to a chamberlain, or a colonel.
Deuce take it all! I can read no more. A chamberlain or a general! I should like to become a general myself, not in order to obtain her hand or anything like that — no, I should like to be a general, only to see them put on all their airs and graces and show off all their court ways, and then tell them that I don’t care a brass farthing for either of them. It really is annoying, confound it all!
I tore the silly little dog’s letters into bits.
Post. Tell me, gentlemen, who’s coming — what sort of official?
Gov. What, haven’t you heard?
Post. I heard something from Bobchinski; he was just now with me at the post-office.
37Gov. Well, what do you think about it?
Post. What do I think about it? Why, there’ll be a war with the Turks.
Judge. Exactly; that’s just what I thought!
Gov. Well, you’re both wide of the mark.
Post. It’ll be with the Turks, I’m sure. It’s all the Frenchman’s doing.
Gov. Pooh! war with the Turks, indeed! It’s we who are going to get into trouble, not the Turks. That’s quite certain. I’ve a letter to say so.
Post. Oh, then we sha’n’t go to war with the Turks.
Gov. (to the POSTMASTER). Well, how do you feel?
Post. How do I feel? How do you?
Gov. I? Well, I’m no coward, but I am just a little uncomfortable. The shopkeepers and townspeople bother me. It seems I’m unpopular with them; but, the Lord knows, if I’ve blackmailed anybody, I’ve done it without a trace of ill-feeling. I even think (buttonholes him, and takes him aside) — I even think there will be some sort of complain drawn up against me. Why should we have an inspector coming here at all? Look here, don’t you think you could just slightly open every letter which comes in and goes out of your office, and read it — for the public benefit, you know — to see if it contains any kind of information against me, or only ordinary correspondence? If it is all right, you can seal it up again, or simply deliver the letter opened.
Post. Oh, I know that game! Don’t teach me that! I do it from pure curiosity, not as a precaution; I’m death on knowing what’s going on in the world. And they’re very interesting to read, I can tell you! Now and then you come across a love-letter, with bits of beautiful language, and so edifying — much better than the Moscow News!
38Gov. Tell me, then, have you read anything about any official from Petersburg?
Post. No, nothing about any one from Petersburg, but plenty about the Kostroma and Saratov people. It’s a pity you don’t read the letters. There are some very fine passages in them. For instance, not long ago a lieutenant writes to a friend, describing a ball in first-rate style — splendid! “Dear friend,” he says, “I live in Elysium; heaps of girls, music playing, flags flying.” Quite a glowing description, quite! I’ve kept it by me, on purpose. Would you like to read it?
Gov. Thanks; there’s no time now. But oblige me, if ever you chance upon a complaint or a denouncement, by keeping it back, without the slightest compunction.
Post. I will, with the greatest pleasure.
Judge. (who has overheard something). You had better mind; you’ll get into trouble over that some time or other.
Post. (innocently). Eh? The saints forbid!
Gov. It was nothing — nothing. It would be different if it concerned you or the public; but it was a private affair, I assure you!
Judge. (aside). Hm, some mischief was brewing, I know! (To the GOVERNOR). But I was going to say that I had a puppy to make you a present of — own sister to the dog you know about. I dare say you’ve heard that Cheptovich and Yarkhovinski have gone to law with each other. So now I live in clover; I hunt hares first on one fellow’s estate, and then on the other’s.
Gov. I don’t care about your hares now, my good friend. I’ve got that cursed incognito on the brain! I expect the door to open, and all of a sudden ——
39Bob. What an extraordinary occurrence!
Dob. An unexpected piece of news!
All. What is it? What is it?
Dob. Something quite unforeseen; we go into the inn ——
Bob. Yes, Dobchinski and I go into the inn ——
Dob. All right; let me tell it!
Bob. No, no, allow me — allow me. You haven’t go the knack ——
Dob. Oh, but you’ll get mixed up and forget it all.
Bob. Oh, no, I sha’n’t — good heavens, no! There, don’t interrupt me — do let me tell the news — don’t interrupt! Pray oblige me, gentleman, and tell Dobchinski not to interrupt.
Dob. Well, say on, for God’s sake, what is it? My heart is in my mouth! Sit down, gentlemen; take seats! (They all sit round BOBCHINSKI and DOBCHINSKI.) Well, now, what is it, what is it?
Bob. Permit me — permit me; I can relate it properly. Hm — as soon as I had the pleasure of taking my leave after you were good enough to be bothered with the letter which you had received, sir — yes, then I ran out — Now, please don’t keep on taking me up, Dobchinski; I know all about it, I tell you, sir. — So, as you’ll kindly take notice, I ran out to see Karobkin. But not finding Karobkin at home, I went off to Rastakovski, and not seeing him, I went, you see, to the postmaster’s to tell him of the news you’d got; yes, and going from there I met Dobchinski ——
Dob. By the stall, where they sell tartlets —— 40
Bob. —— by the stall, where they sell tartlets. Well, I meet Dobchinski and say to him, “Have you heard the news the governor has got? The letter may be depended on!” But he had already heard of it from your housekeeper, Avdotya, who, I don’t know why, had been sent to Pachechuyev’s ——
Dob. With a bottle for some French brandy.
Bob. —— yes, with a bottle for some French brandy. Then I went with Dobchinski to Pachechuyev’s — Will you stop, Dobchinski — there, do have done with your interfering! — So off we go to Pachechuyev’s, and on our way Dobchinski says, “Let’s go,” says he, “to the hotel. I’ve eaten nothing since morning; there’s such a rumbling in my inner man.” Yes, sir, in Dobchinski’s internals. “But they’ve got some fresh salmon at the hotel,” he says; “so we can have a snack.” We hadn’t been in the hotel a moment when in comes a young man ——
Dob. Rather good-looking and well-dressed.
Bob. —— yes, rather good-looking and well-dressed, and walks into the room, with such an expression on his face — such a physiognomy — and style — so distinguished a headpiece. I had a kind of presentiment, and I say to Dobchinski, “There’s something up here, sir!” Yes, and Dobchinski beckoned, and called up the landlord, Vlas, the innkeeper, you know — three weeks ago his wife presented him with a baby, such a fine, forward boy — he’ll grow up just like his father, and keep a hotel. Well, we called up Vlas, and Dobchinski asks him quite privately, “Who,” says he, “is that young man?” And Vlas replies, “That,” says he — “Oh, don’t interrupt me so, Dobchinski, please; good Lord! you can’t tell the story, you can’t tell it — you don’t speak plainly, with only one tooth in your head, and a lisp.” — 41 “That young man,” says he, “is an official” — yes, sir — “who is on his way from St. Petersburg, and his name,” says he, “is Ivan Alexandrovich Khlestakov, sir, and he’s off,” says he, “to the government of Saratov,” says he, “and his goings-on are very peculiar. He’s stayed here over a fortnight; he doesn’t leave the house; he takes everything on account, and doesn’t pay a copeck.” When he told me that, I felt illuminated from above, and I said to Dobchinski, “Hey!”
Dob. No, I said “Hey!”
Bob. Well, first you said it, and then I did. “Hey!” said both of us, “and why does he stay here, when he’s bound for Saratov?” Yes, sir, that official is he!
Gov. Who — what official?
Bob. Why, the official of whom you were pleased to get the notification — the Inspector-General.
Gov. Great God! What do you say? It can’t be he!
Dob. It is, though! Why he pays no money, and he doesn’t go. Who else could it be? And his order for post-horses is made out for Saratov.
Bob. It’s he, it’s he! good God, it’s he! Why, he’s so observant; he noticed everything. He saw that Dobchinski and I were eating salmon — all on account of Dobchinski’s inside — and he looked at our plates like this (imitates). I was in an awful fright.
Gov. Lord, have mercy upon sinners like us! Where he is staying now, then?
Dob. In room No. 5, first floor.
Bob. In the same room where the officers quarreled last year on their way through.
Gov. How long has he been here?
Dob. A fortnight or more. He came on St. Vasili’s Day.
42Gov. A fortnight! (Aside. Holy Fathers and Saints, preserve me! In that fortnight the sergeant’s wife was flogged! No provisions given to the prisoners! Dramshops and dirt in the street! Shameful! scandalous! (Tears his hair.)
Char. Com.. (to the GOVERNOR). What do you think, had we better go to the inn in gala uniform?
Judge. No, no! First send the mayor, then the clergy and the tradespeople.
Gov. No, no! Leave it to me! I’ve had ticklish jobs before now, and I’ve managed ’em all right, and even been thankful for them. May the Lord will help us out this time as well. (Turns to BOBCHINSKI.) You say he’s a young man?
Bob. Yes, about twenty-three or four at the outside.
Gov. So much the better — it’s easier to ferret a thing out. It’s the devil, if you’ve got an old bird to deal with; but a young man’s all on the surface. You, gentlemen, had better get your departments in order, while I’ll go by myself, or with Dobchinski here, and have a private stroll round, to see that travelers are treated with due consideration. Here, constable!
Con. Sir?
Gov. Go at once to the Police Superintendent’s; or no — I shall want you. Tell somebody to send him as quick as possible to me, and then come back here.
Char. Com.. (to JUDGE). Let us go! Let us go! Some mischief may happen, I do believe.
Judge. What’s there for you to be afraid of? Give the sick clean nightcaps, and the thing’s done!
Char. Com. Nightcaps — bosh! The sick were ordered 43 to have oatmeal porridge. Instead of that, there’s such a smell of cabbages in all my corridors that you’re obliged to hold your nose.
Judge. Well, my mind’s at ease on that score. As to the County Court, who’ll visit that? Supposing he does look at any of the papers, he’ll wish he’d left it alone. Why, I’ve been sitting fifteen years on the bench — and do I ever look at a charge-sheet? No, thank you! Solomon himself couldn’t make head or tail of ’em!
Post. Here’s an astounding thing happened, gentlemen! The official we took to be the Inspector-General, is not an inspector!
All. What! not an inspector?
Post. Not an inspector at all. I’ve found that out from the letter.
Gov. What do you mean — what do you mean? from what letter?
44Post. Why, from the letter he wrote himself. They bring me a letter to post. I look at the address, and see “Post-office Street.” I was regularly stunned. Well, I say to myself, he’s without doubt found something wrong in the postal department, and he’s reporting it to the authorities. So I took the letter — and opened it.
Gov. How could you ——
Post. I don’t know — a supernatural force impelled me. 44 I had already ordered a courtier to take it by express, but such a feeling of curiosity overpowered me as I had never known before. “I can’t do it, I can’t, I can’t!” I hear myself saying; but I feel drawn, drawn to it! “Oh, don’t’ open it, or you’ll be utterly ruined!” that’s what sounds in one ear; and in the other, like a devil whispering, “Open it! Open it! Open it!” And so I broke the sealing-wax — my veins were on fire; but after I had done it they froze — by God, they froze! My hands shook, and everything whirled.
Gov. And so you dared to open the letter of so powerful a personage?
Post. That’s where the joke is! He’s neither a personage nor powerful!
Gov. What is he, then, according to you?
Post. Neither the one nor the other; the devil knows what he is!
Gov. (furiously). What do you mean? How do you dare to call him neither the one nor the other, nor the devil knows what? I’ll put you under arrest ——
Post. Who? You?
Gov. Yes. I will!
Post. Pooh! That’s beyond your power!
Gov. Are you aware that he is going to marry my daughter — that I shall become a grandee — that I shall have the power to send people to Siberia?
Post. Eh, Governor, Siberia? That’s a long way off. But I had better read you the letter. — Gentlemen, let me read it you!
All. Yes, read it, read it!
Post. (reads). “I hasten to let you know, my dear Tryapichkin, all about my adventures. On the way an infantry 45 captain cleared me out completely, so that the innkeeper wanted to send me to jail; when, all of a sudden, owing to my Petersburg get-up and appearance, the whole town took me for the Governor-General. So now I am living at the Governor’s. I do just as I please; I flirt madly with his wife and daughter — but I can’t settle which to begin with. Do you remember how hard up we were, how we dined at other people’s expense, and how the pastry-cook once pitched me out, neck and crop, because I had put some tarts I had eaten down to the account of the King of England? It is quite a different state of things now. They all lend me as much money as ever I please. They are an awful set of originals; you would die of laughing if you saw them! You write articles, I know: bring these people in. First and foremost, there’s the Governor. He’s as stupid as a mule ——
Gov. Impossible! It can’t be there!
Post. (showing him the letter). Read it yourself!
Gov. (reads). “Stupid as a mule.” It can’t be so — you’ve written it yourself!
Post. How could I have written it?
Char. Com. Read!
Dir. of Schools. Read on!
Post. “——The Governor. He’s as stupid as a mule ——”
Gov. Oh, devil take it! Is it necessary to repeat that? As if it wasn’t there without that!
Post. (continues). Hm — hm — hm — “as a mule. The Postmaster, too, is a good fellow —” (Stops.) Well, he says something uncomplimentary about me, too.
Gov. No — read it out!
Post. But what’s the good?
Gov. No, no — confound it, if you read any of it, read it all! Read it through!
46Char. Com. Allow me; I’ll have a try! (Puts on his spectacles, and reads.) “The Postmaster is exactly like our office-beadle Mikheyev, and a rascal into the bargain. He drinks like a fish.”
Post. Well, the young blackguard ought to be flogged — that’s all!
Char. Com. (Continuing). “The Charity Com — er — er —” (Hesitates.)
Karob. But what are you stopping for?
Char. Com. It’s badly written. However, it’s clearly insulting.
Karob. Give it to me! My eyes are better, I fancy. (Tries to take the letter.)
Char. Com. (holding it back.) No, we can leave that part out; farther on it’s plain enough.
Karob. But allow me — I can read!
Char. Com. Why, so can I! Farther on, I tell you, it’s quite easy to make out.
Post. No, read it all! It was all read before!
All. Give it up! Give the letter up! (To KAROBKIN.) You read it!
Char. Com. Certainly! (Hands the letter.) There, if you please. (Covers the passage with his finger.) That’s where you begin. (All crowd round.)
Post. Read it, read it through! What nonsense! Read it all!
Karob. (reading.) “The Charity Commissioner is a regular pig in a skullcap.”
Char. Com. That’s supposed to be witty! Pig in a skullcap! Who ever saw a pig in a skullcap?
Karob. (continues). “The School Director reeks of onions ——
47Dir. of Schools. Good God! Why, an onion has never crossed my lips!
Judge. (aside). Thank goodness, there’s nothing, at any rate about me!
Karob. (reading). “The Judge ——”
Judge. (aside). Now for it! (Aloud.) I think this letter is tedious. What the devil’s the good of reading all that rubbish?
Dir. of Schools. No!
Post. Go on with it!
Char. Com. No, read it through!
Karob. (resumes.) “The Judge is in the utmost degree mauvais ton.” (Stops.) That must be French!
Judge. But the devil knows what’s the meaning of it! It’s bad enough if it’s only swindler, but it may be a good deal worse.
Karob. (goes on.) “But, after all, the people are hospitable and well-meaning. Farewell, my dear Tryapichkin. I myself should like to follow your example and take up literature. It’s a bore, my friend, to live as I do — one certainly wants food for the mind. One must, I see, have some elevated pursuit. Write to me at the village of Podkalitovka, Saratov government.” (He turns the letter over and reads the address.) “To the Well-born and Gracious Ivan Vasiliyevich Tryapichkin, St. Petersburg, Post-office Street, Number Ninety-seven, within the Courtyard, Third Floor, on the right.”
Gov. He has as good as cut my throat! I’m crushed, crushed — regularly crushed! I can see nothing — only pigs’ snouts instead of faces, nothing else! Catch him! Catch him! (Gesticulates wildly.)
Post. How can we catch him? Why, as if on purpose 48 I told the manager to give him his very best sledge, and the devil persuaded me to give him an order for horses in advance.
Judge. Besides, sirs, confound it! he has borrowed three hundred rubles of me!
Char. Com. And three hundred of me too!
Post. Yes, and three hundred of me as well!
Bob. And Dobchinski and I gave him sixty-five in banknotes!
Judge. How was it, gentlemen, that we came to make such a mistake?
Gov. (beats himself on the shoulders). How could I? There’s not such another old blockhead as I am! I must be in my dotage, idiot of a muttonhead that I am! Thirty years have I been in the service; not a tradesman or contractor could cheat me; rogue after rogue have I overreached, sharpers and rascals I have hooked, that were ready to rob the whole universe! Three governor-generals I’ve duped! And look at me now, look — all the world, all Christendom, all of you, see how the Governor’s fooled! Ass, booby, dotard that I am! (Shakes his fists at himself.) Ah, you fat-nose! Taking an icicle, a rag, for a man of rank! And now he’s rattling along the road with his bells, and telling the whole world the story! Not only do you get made a laughing-stock of, but some quill-driver, some paper-stainer, will go and put you in a play! It’s maddening! He’ll spare neither your rank nor your profession, and all will grin and clap their hands. (Stamps on the ground ferociously.) I’d like to get my hands on the pack of scribblers! Ugh! The quill-splitters! Damned liberals! Devil’s brood! I would throttle them all; I’d grind them to powder! (Shakes his fist and grinds his heel on the ground. 49Then after a short silence..) I can’t collect myself yet. It’s true, that if God intends to punish a man, he first drives him mad. To be sure, what was there like an inspector-general in that crack-brained trifler? Nothing at all! Not the resemblance of half a little finger. Yet all of them shout at once: The Inspector! the Inspector! Who was it who first gave out he was an official? Answer me!
Char. Com. (shrugging his shoulders.) It all happened in such a way that I wouldn’t tell you, if you were to kill me. Our wits were befogged; it was the devil’s doing!
Judge. Who started the idea? Why, there they are, those enterprising young bucks! (Points to DOBCHINSKI and BOBCHINSKI.)
Bob. I swear it wasn’t I! I never thought ——
Dob. I hadn’t the least idea ——
Char. Com. Undoubtedly it was you!
Post. Why, certainly it was. They ran like mad from the hotel with the news, “He’s here! He’s come! He pays no money!” A fine bird you discovered!
Gov. Of course it was you, you gossiping busybodies, you infernal liars!
Char. com. I wish you had gone to the devil with your inspector and your stories!
Gov. All you do is to run about the town, and meddle with everybody, you confounded chatterboxes, you tittle-tattling scandal-mongers, you short-tailed jackdaws!
Judge. You confounded bunglers!
Dir. of Schools. You dirty nightcaps!
Char. Com. You pot-bellied drivelers!
Bob. Heavens! It wasn’t I; it was Dobchinski!
Dob. No, Bobchinski, you certainly were the first to ——
50Bob. No, I did not; you began it!
Pol. Ser. The Inspector-General sent by Imperial command has just arrived, and requests your attendance at once. He awaits you at the hotel, gentlemen.