Dead Souls

Shoot, Scold, Flutter, Fire, Fop, Boast, Roast, Coast, Arrow, Swallow, Prize, Patroness. Nozdryov was amid them just like a father amid his family; they all shot up their tails, which dog fanciers calls sweeps, flew straight to meet the guests, and began to greet them. A good ten of them put their paws on Nozdryov's shoulders. Scold displayed the same friendliness towards Chichikov and, getting up on his hind legs, licked him right on the lips with his tongue, so that Chichikov straightaway spat. They looked at the dogs that filled one with amazement with the strength of their hunkers—fine dogs they were. Then they went to look at a Crimean bitch that was now blind and, according to Nozdryov, would soon die, but some two years ago had been a very fine bitch; they looked at the bitch as well—the bitch was, indeed, blind. Then they went to look at a water mill with a missing flutterer, in which the upper millstone is set and turns rapidly on a spindle—'flutters,' in the wonderful expression of the Russian muzhik.

'And soon we'll be coming to the smithy!' said Nozdryov.

Going on a bit further, they indeed saw a smithy; and they looked at the smithy as well.

'In this field here,' said Nozdryov, pointing his finger at the field, 'it's so thick with hares you can't see the ground; I myself caught one by the hind legs with my bare hands.'

'No, you couldn't catch a hare with your bare hands!' observed the in-law.

'But I did catch one, I caught one on purpose!' replied Nozdryov. 'Now,' he went on, turning to Chichikov, 'I'll take you for a look at the boundary where my land ends.'

Nozdryov led his guests across the field, which in many places consisted of tussocks. The guests had to make their way between fallow land and ploughed fields. Chichikov was beginning to get tired. In many places water squeezed out from under their feet, so low-lying the place was. At first they were careful and stepped cautiously, but then, seeing that it served no purpose, they plodded straight on without choosing between greater and lesser mud. Having gone a considerable distance, they indeed saw a boundary, which consisted of a wooden post and a narrow ditch.

'There's the boundary!' said Nozdryov. 'Everything you see on this side of it is all mine, and even on that side, all that forest bluing over there, and all that's beyond the forest, is all mine.'

'And since when is that forest yours?' asked the in-law. 'Did you buy it recently? It never used to be yours.'

'Yes, I bought it recently,' replied Nozdryov.

'When did you manage to buy it so quickly?'

'Well, so I bought it two days ago, and paid a lot for it, too, devil take it.'

'But you were at the fair then.'

'Eh, you Sophron!^[14] Can't a man be at a fair and buy land at the same time? So, I was at the fair, and my steward here bought it without me!'

'Well, the steward maybe!' said the in-law, but here, too, he was doubtful and shook his head.

The guests returned over the same nasty route to the house. Nozdryov led them to his study, in which, however, there was no trace to be seen of what is usually found in studies, that is, books or papers; there hung only sabers and two guns—one worth three hundred and the other eight hundred roubles. The in-law, having examined them, merely shook his head. Then they were shown some Turkish daggers, on one of which there had been mistakenly engraved: Savely Sibiryakov, Cutler. After that, a barrel organ appeared before the guests. Nozdryov straightaway ground something out for them. The barrel organ played not unpleasantly, but something seemed to have happened inside it, for the mazurka ended with the song 'Malbrough Went Off to War,'^[15] and 'Malbrough Went Off to War' was unexpectedly concluded by some long-familiar waltz. Nozdryov had long stopped grinding, but there was one very perky reed in the organ that simply refused to quiet down, and for some time afterwards went on tooting all by itself. Then pipes appeared—of wood, clay, meerschaum, broken in and un-broken-in, covered with chamois and not covered, a chibouk with an amber mouthpiece recently won at cards, a tobacco pouch embroidered by some countess who had fallen head over heels in love with him somewhere at a posting station, whose hands, according to him, were most subdiminally superflu—a phrase that for him probably meant the peak of perfection. After a snack of balyk, they sat down to eat at around five o'clock. Dinner, obviously, did not constitute the main thing in Nozdryov's life; the dishes did not play a big role: some were burnt, some were totally underdone. It was obvious that the cook was guided more by some sort of inspiration and put in the first thing he laid his hands on: if pepper was standing there, he poured in pepper; if there happened to be cabbage, he stuck in cabbage; he threw in milk, ham, peas—in short, slapdash, as long as it was hot, and some sort of taste was bound to result. Instead, Nozdryov applied himself to the wines: the soup had not yet been served, and he had already poured his guests a big glass of port, and another of ho-sauterne,^[16] because in provincial and district capitals plain sauterne is not to be found. Then Nozdryov called for a bottle of madeira, than which no field marshal ever tasted better. The madeira, indeed, even burned the mouth, for the merchants, knowing the taste of landowners who like fine madeira, doctored it unmercifully with rum, and sometimes even poured aqua regia into it, in hopes that the Russian stomach could endure anything. Then Nozdryov called for some special bottle which, according to him, was burgognon and champagnon in one. He poured very zealously into both glasses, to his right and to his left, for his inlaw and for Chichikov. Chichikov noticed, however, somehow by the way, that he did not pour much for himself. This put him on his guard, and as soon as Nozdryov got somehow distracted, talking or pouring for his in-law, he would at once empty his glass onto his plate. After a short while, a rowanberry liqueur was brought to the table, which, according to Nozdryov, tasted altogether like cream, but which, amazingly, gave off a potent smell of moonshine. They then drank some sort of cordial, which had a name that was even difficult to remember, and which the host himself next time called by some different name. Dinner had long been over, and the wines had all been tried, but the guests were still sitting at the table. Chichikov by no means wanted to begin talking with Nozdryov about the main subject in the inlaw's presence. After all, the in-law was a third party, and the subject called for private and friendly conversation. However, the in-law could hardly be a dangerous man, because he seemed to have gotten fairly loaded, and kept nodding as he sat in his chair. Noticing himself that he was in rather unreliable condition, he finally started asking to go home, but in such a lazy and languid voice as though he were, as the Russian saying goes, pulling a collar on a horse with a pair of pliers.

'Tut, tut! I won't let you!' said Nozdryov.

'No, don't offend me, my friend, I really must go,' the in-law said, 'you'll offend me very much.'

'Trifles, trifles! We'll put up a little bank this very minute.'

'No, you put it up by yourself, brother, I can't, my wife will be very upset, really, I must tell her about the fair. I must, brother, really, I must give her that pleasure. No, don't keep me.'

'Well, that wife of yours can go to ... ! You've indeed got big doings to do together!'

'No, brother! She's so respectable and faithful! She does me such services . . . believe me, it brings tears to my eyes. No, don't keep me; as an honest man, I must go. I assure you of it with a clean conscience.'

'Let him go, what's the good of him!' Chichikov said softly to Nozdryov.

'Right you are!' said Nozdryov. 'Damn me, how I hate these slobberers!' and he added aloud: 'Well, devil take you, go and sit by your wife's skirts, you foozle!'

'No, brother, don't call me a foozle,' the in-law replied. 'I owe her my life. She's so kind, really, so sweet, she shows me such tenderness ... it moves me to tears; she'll ask what I saw at the fair, I must tell her everything, really, she's so sweet.'

'Well, go then, tell her your nonsense! Here's your cap.'

'No, brother, you shouldn't talk like that about her, one might say you're offending me myself, she's so sweet.'

'Well, then quickly take yourself to her.'

'Yes, brother, I'm going, forgive me, I can't stay. I'd love to, but cant.

The in-law went on repeating his apologies for a good while, not noticing that he had long been sitting in his britzka, had long since gone out the gates, and had long had nothing before him but empty fields. It must be supposed that his wife did not hear many details about the fair.

'What trash!' Nozdryov said, standing before the window and watching the departing carriage. 'Look at him dragging along! The outrunner's not a bad horse, I've been wanting to hook him for a long time. But it's impossible to deal with the man. A foozle, simply a foozle.'

Thereupon they went to the other room. Porfiry brought candles, and Chichikov noticed that a pack of cards