dead souls, imperial envoy

Chapter 6 Dead Souls (6)
But the guest declined to rub his heels.As soon as the mistress had gone, he took off all his clothes, and gave them to Fedinia, who bade him good night with them, and went away.Chichikov glanced at the quilt that had been spread, it was almost up to the ceiling.It seemed that Fetinya was a good beater.He stepped on a chair and climbed onto the bunk, and the quilt was pressed almost to the floor by him immediately, and the feathers squeezed out from the slits of the quilt and flew all over the room.He blew out the candle, pulled himself under the calico quilt, and fell asleep at once.When I woke up the sun was already high.The sun was shining on his eyes, and the flies that slept on the walls and ceiling last night were all flying towards him: one landed on his lips, another flew to his ears, and the third always wanted to fly to the sky. One of his eyes accidentally flew under his nostrils, and was sucked into his nostrils by him in his deep sleep, causing him to sneez hard—that's how he woke up.After waking up, he looked around the room and found that the walls were not all birds: there was also a portrait of Kutuzov and a painting of an old man in the uniform of Tsar Paul I.The clock struck ten again after a hiss.A woman's face protruded through the door, and quickly retracted. Chichikov had stripped himself completely last night in order to sleep better.He felt that face was familiar, and he began to recall who that person was, and finally remembered that it was the hostess.He put on his clothes, which had been dried and scrubbed, and when he went to the mirror he sneezed again, so loudly that a male turkey walking outside the low window suddenly used his strange He yelled at him in the same language, probably saying "I wish you health", and Chichikov called it "Bastard".He went to the window and looked at the yard carefully: outside the window was like a chicken farm, and the small yard was full of poultry.There are too many turkeys and hens to count; a rooster among them tilts its head, shakes its comb, tilts its head, and walks around, as if collecting information; a sow with a litter of piglets also came Here; the sow is picking up the garbage, secretly eating a chick, and chewing on the watermelon rind as if nothing happened.The little yard, or the chicken farm, was boarded up, and outside the boards was a vegetable garden with onions, cabbages, potatoes, beets, and other vegetables.There were also scattered apple and other fruit trees in the garden, all covered with nets against magpies and sparrows, which flew from here to there like floating clouds.There were also scarecrows waving their arms aloft for these creatures; one had a mistress's nightcap on her head.Outside the vegetable garden there are quite a few farmhouses—these farmhouses are crowded together and the street is very narrow, but in Chichikov's eyes, the people here live well, because these houses are in good repair: The rotten boards on the roof had been replaced with new ones; the door-jambs in no one were crooked; and in the sheds that opened to him were nearly new spare wagons, one in some sheds, another in others. There are two cars. "Her farm is quite big." He muttered and made a decision. He had to have a good chat with the hostess to enhance their relationship.He glanced at the door where the hostess pointed her head just now, and seeing the hostess sitting at the tea table, he walked over with a friendly and happy expression.

"How do you do, sir. How did you sleep?" asked the hostess, standing up.Her dress was better than the night before—a dark dress, without the nightcap, and something was still tied around her neck.

"Slept well," Chichikov said, and sat down in the armchair. "How did you sleep, old mother?"

"Not very well, sir."

"why?"

"I can't sleep. My back is sore and my legs are hurting all over my body."

"It's going to be fine, it's going to be fine, it's going to be fine."

"God bless me. I've rubbed lard and I've rubbed turpentine. Would you like something for your tea? There's juice in the bottle."

"It would be nice to have some juice, old mother."

I think our readers have noticed that Chichikov, despite his genial tone, speaks more casually and without politeness than Manilov.If we say that our Russia lags behind foreign countries in other respects, we far surpass them in terms of pleasantries.The differences in our manners of speech are so varied that it is almost impossible to count them.The French or the Germans will never experience it in their lifetime, and they will not understand the nuances of it!They speak almost the same tone and words when they talk to millionaires and cigarette sellers, even if they secretly envy millionaires in their hearts.But we are not like this: there are many of us who use these distinctions skillfully, who speak differently to a landowner with two hundred serfs than to a landowner with three hundred, and to a landowner with three hundred. Unlike a landowner with 100 serfs, speaking to a landowner with [-] serfs is not the same as speaking to a landowner with [-] serfs; even if you divide the landowners into a million classes, they can speak differently Ways to distinguish and express respect for different levels of landowners.To use another example, there is such an office—of course this office is not here, but in the distant sky; for example, there is a director in the office.Everyone may be able to see the majesty with which he frightened his subordinates so much that he didn't dare to breathe!His expression is often nothing but noble and arrogant.If he were depicted with a paintbrush, his expression would be like that of Prometheus in the history of world literature!The officer had a decent dignified demeanor and a hawk-like eye.But when the hawk walks out of his office and goes to his boss, it will turn into a sand chicken, holding the official documents in a panic, trembling.If in public places and dinner parties, there are no officials present than him, then Prometheus will still be Prometheus, but if someone is a little bit older than him, then Prometheus will be Become even unimaginable to Ovid: he will immediately become a small flying insect, even a speck of dust smaller than a fly!
If you saw him at this moment, you would say: "Is this Ivan Petrovich? Ivan Petrovich has a tall body, but this man is small and shy; Ivan Petrovich has a loud, deep voice, and His face is expressionless; but why is this man like this: his voice is like a bird, and he always has a smile on his face." But when you approached and took a closer look, it was indeed Ivan Petrovich!
You'll be thinking "that's how it is"... let's get back to the characters in our article.As we have already seen, Chichikov knew that there was no need to be polite. He poured some juice into the tea, raised the cup and said: "Old mother, your farm is very good. How many serfs are there?"

"About eighty, sir," muttered my hostess as usual. "God bless, it's a bad year, and last year we couldn't make ends meet."

"Oh, the farmers seem to be in good health, and the cottages are solid. What's your name, please? I'm so careless... Come late at night..."

"Korobochka, my husband was an official of the tenth rank during his lifetime."

"Thank you, what about the name and father's name?"

"Nastasia Petrovna."

"Nastasya Petrovna? ​​Nastasya Petrovna is a fine name. My aunt was also called Nastasya Petrovna."

"What's your name?" the landlady went on, "I think you're a tax collector, aren't you?"

"No, old mother," Chichikov replied with a smile, "I'm not a tax collector, I'm just walking around on private business."

"Then, you are a buyer! That's a pity, my honey was sold at a low price, or you would definitely buy it, sir."

"I don't want to buy honey."

"And what do you want? Marijuana? I don't have much marijuana, only half a pood."

"No, old mother, I don't want to buy marijuana either. Excuse me, are there many serfs who died here?"

"Well, sir, there are eighteen dead!" the old woman sighed. "They were all good men who could do their jobs. What's the use of giving birth to a few more afterward? They were all They are children, but when the tax collector comes indiscriminately, he has to collect poll tax. People are dead, and the tax must be collected. Just last week, my blacksmith was burned to death. What a good blacksmith."

"Is there a fire here?"

"God bless there was no fire, but it would have been worse. He started it himself, sir. He drank too much wine, and burned him from the inside out; spitting this blue flame out of his mouth, I'm all scorched, almost like a piece of charcoal; what a pity for such a skilled craftsman! Now I can't even ride in a carriage when I go out, and no one has iron shoes for the horse."

"It's God's will, old mother!" Chichikov sighed. "We can't complain to God. . . . Give them to me, Nastasya Petrovna?"

"Who do you give me, sir?"

"Those dead serfs."

"How to let it go?"

"It's very simple. You can sell it to me. I can pay for it."

"Why do I not understand what you are saying? Do you want me to dig them out?"

Chichikov saw that she was thinking too far, and had to make her understand what to do.He told her that all the transfer or sale needed was to simply write a contract and treat the dead serfs as living ones.

"But what's the use of buying this?" the old woman asked with wide-eyed eyes. "It's just my business."

"But they're dead."

"No one ever said they were alive. It's too inappropriate for you to pay poll taxes for the dead, and now I'll save you trouble and taxes. Do you know? I'll not only relieve you of these burdens, but give you additional Fifteen rubles. Do you understand now?"

"I still don't understand," said the hostess after thinking for a long time, "I've never sold a dead serf."

"Of course! It would be strange if you had sold them before. Do you think these dead serfs are of any use?"

"No, I know dead people are useless. But they're dead, and I don't know what to do."

"That old woman, she can't figure it out!" Chichikov thought. "Think about it, old mother, you are wasting your money. If you die, you have to pay taxes on the head..."

"Oh, sir, don't talk!" interrupted the hostess, "I paid more than 150 rubles in the last week. And I have to give the tax collector a little oil."

"Yes, old mother. From now on, you don't have to pour oil on the tax officials anymore. Now you see that I will pay taxes for you; I will bear these obligations for you. I will pay the deed tax, do you think it is okay?"

The hostess thought about it.She feels that this is a good deal, but because she has never heard of such a new thing before, she is a little worried, afraid that the person in front of her will be fooled; who knows where he came from, or came to the door in the middle of the night of. "Well, old mother, let's make a deal, huh?" Chichikov asked. "But, sir, I haven't sold a dead person. I have sold a living person. The year before last I sold two maids to the high priest for a hundred rubles each, and he thanked me very much. They are very nice girls: Weaving napkins."

"Oh, let's not talk about the live ones, let them go if they are alive. I only want to buy the dead ones."

"But, I'm worried about losing money. Otherwise, you are teasing me, those dead serfs can be sold for a lot of money."

"Listen to me... Oh, you people! What can you sell a dead serf for? Just think: it's human bones. You know? It's just a pile of dead bones. The most useless things are Not as much as a rag, and even a rag is worth something: at least the paper mill might buy it. But what's the use of a dead serf. What do you say dead serfs do?"

"That's right, dead serfs are useless at all. But just because they are dead, I can't make up my mind."

Chichikov was already getting irritable, and he cursed in his heart: "What a lump! You can't say anything to her! This annoying old woman is sweating!" He took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped it. He was sweating, really sweating on his head.In fact, Chichikov's anger was superfluous: some respectable people, even state activists, acted like Korobochkas.As long as he stuffed something into his head before, you won't be able to persuade him by any means; no matter how simple and clear the reason you put forward, he will push you back, just like hitting a ball against a wall.After wiping off his sweat, Chichikov decided to see if there was another way to get her to agree.He said: "Old mother, do you not want to understand me, or are you trying to find some reason... I will pay you fifteen rubles. Do you understand? Fifteen rubles. You can find this on the street." Fifteen rubles? Let's see, how much is your honey?"

"Twelve rubles a pood."

"It's a bit too expensive, old mother. Honey costs less than twelve rubles."

"Really, it's sold."

"You say yes? That's honey. It's the fruit of your year's hard work; you have to go around, smoke it, and keep it in the cellar in winter; dead serfs, they have nothing to do with the world. There is no connection. You don’t need to spend anything: they left this world by God’s will, at your expense. You busily take care of the bees to sell honey for twelve rubles. But what about dead serfs, you don’t spend What, I took the money for nothing, not only twelve rubles, but fifteen rubles; it’s still blue notes, not silver coins.” After such a comparison, Chichikov felt that the old woman would be persuaded. "But," said the landlady, "I'm a widow who doesn't know anything! I think I'll wait and see what happens, in case there are any buyers."

"A joke, old mother! You are telling a joke! Listen to what you are talking about! Who would buy dead serfs! What's the use of buying serfs that are useless?"

"In case it is useful to run a family business..." said the old woman, she opened her mouth and looked at Chichikov with fear, wanting to see his face. "It takes dead people to run a family business! What are you talking about! Let them chase sparrows in your vegetable garden in the middle of the night?"

"God bless! What you say is horrible!" said the old woman, crossing herself.

"What else do you think they can do? The transfer is just a contract, and I won't touch those graves and dead bones. Hey, what do you say? Is this okay?"

The old woman thought again. "What are you thinking, Nastasya Petrovna?"

"I really don't know what to do. Or I'll sell you some weed."

"Leave me alone, it has nothing to do with marijuana. I want something else and you're selling me marijuana! Marijuana is marijuana, I'll buy it next time. What the hell, Nastasia Petrovna?"

"However, it's so strange that no one has ever bought what you want!"

At this time, Chichikov couldn't bear it any longer. Angrily, he grabbed the chair and beat the floor vigorously, cursing that she would see a ghost.When it comes to ghosts, the hostess is terrified. "Ah, don't mention ghosts, don't!" She shouted bloodlessly, "I dreamed about that horrible thing the whole night before going to bed. Before I went to bed, I finished praying and remembered divination with cards. Use it to chastise me. Oh, the way they look, with two horns on their heads that are longer than the horns of a cow."

"I wish you could dream dozens of times. I was inspired by Christ. I saw you, poor old woman, suffering and poor, so I thought... just let those dead serfs and your farm be wiped out." Well, it's all gone!..."

"Oh, what a terrible curse you have!" said the old woman, looking at him in horror.

"I really can't get along with you! To use an analogy without swearing, you are like a wild dog lying on the hay: you don't eat the grass yourself, and you don't let anything else eat it. The public purchase, and I want to buy something from you..." Here he casually lied, although he had no further thoughts at all, it had an unexpected impact.Nastasya Petrovna was deeply moved by the words about buying for the public; she immediately addressed him in a low voice: "Why are you angry? If I had known you were so angry, I would have started I will definitely not disobey you."

"What's there to be angry about! Why should I get angry over such trivial things!"

"It's fine if you don't get angry, I'm willing to take fifteen rubles, but, sir, you have to remember what you're buying: when you're buying oatmeal, gravy, corn, and poultry meat, you must do not forget me."

"No, old mother, I'm sure I won't forget," said Chichikov, wiping his sweat—he was already dripping profusely.He asked her if she had any agent or acquaintance in the city who could handle things like paperwork. "Yes, the son of High Priest Kirill is at the notary's office in the city," said Korobochka.

Chichikov asked her to write a commission letter, and for fear of unnecessary trouble, he planned to write the letter himself.At this time, Korobochka thought: "If I can get along well with him, let him buy my flour and livestock meat from the public. There is still a piece of flour made yesterday at home, so let Fei Ji buy it." Nia pancakes; an egg veggie pie would be nice too, she bakes it really well and in no time.” The hostess was out ordering veggie pies, and she was going to add some other veggies in the kitchen culinary creations.At this moment Chichikov came into the living room where he was resting, intending to take some papers from his little mahogany box.The living room has been tidied up, the thick eiderdown quilt has been removed, and a table with a tablecloth has been placed in front of the sofa.He put the small mahogany box on the table and paused for a moment, for he was covered with sweat as if he had just climbed out of the river: everything on his body, from his shirt to his socks, was soaked with sweat.

(End of this chapter)