Dead Souls

by Nikolai Gogol

but with still greater precision, even almost concern, he inquired about all the important landowners: how many peasant souls each one had, how far from town he lived, even what his character was and how often he came to town; he inquired attentively into the condition of the area: whether

there were any diseases in their province—epidemics of fever, some deadly agues, smallpox, and

the like, and all this so thoroughly and with such precision that it showed more t...

“Collegiate Councillor Pavel Ivanovich Chichikov, landowner, on private business.”

The newcomer, as it seemed, avoided talking much about himself; if he did talk, it was in some sort of commonplaces, with marked modesty, and his conversation on these occasions assumed a somewhat bookish manner: that he was an insignificant worm of this world and not worthy of much concern, that he had gone through many trials in his life, had suffered for the truth in the civil service, had many enemies, who had even made attempts on his life, and that now, wishing to be at peace, he was seeking to choose finally a place to live, and that, having arrived in this town, he considered it his bounden duty to offer his respects to its foremost dignitaries.

he first of all asked how many peasant souls each of them had and what was the condition of their estates, and only then inquired as to their names and patronymics. In a short time he succeeded in charming them completely.

In short, he did not have to stay home for a single hour, and came back to the inn only to sleep. The newcomer was somehow never at a loss and showed himself to be an experienced man of the world. Whatever the conversation, he always knew how to keep up his end:

In short, however you turned it, he was a very respectable man.

Such is the Russian man: strong is his passion for knowing someone at least one rank above himself, and a nodding acquaintance with a count or prince is better to him than any close relations with friends.

Everyone is gripped by something:

In his study there was always some book lying, with a bookmark at the fourteenth page, which he had been reading constantly for the past two years.

But these are all low subjects, and Mrs. Manilov had received a good education. And one gets a good education, as we know, in a boarding school. And in boarding schools, as we know, three main subjects constitute the foundation of human virtue: the French language, indispensable for a happy family life; the pianoforte, to afford a husband agreeable moments; and, finally, the managerial part proper: the crocheting of purses and other surprises.

Chichikov agreed with this completely, adding that nothing could be more pleasant than to live in solitude, enjoy the spectacle of nature, and occasionally read some book

“Count them all up, please,” said Chichikov, “and make a detailed list of them all by name.”

“You ask, for what reasons? These are the reasons: I would like to buy peasants

“I propose to acquire dead ones, who would, however, be counted in the census as living,” said Chichikov.

“And so, I would like to know whether you might turn over to me, cede, or however you deem best, those not alive in reality, but alive with respect to legal form?”

“No,” Chichikov picked up, “no, I mean the subject just as it is, that is, those souls which, indeed, have already died.”

“And so, if there are no obstacles, with God’s help we can proceed to draw up the deed of purchase,” said Chichikov. “What, a deed for dead souls?”

“Ah, no!” said Chichikov. “We will write that they are living, just as it actually stands in the census report.

“What price?” Manilov said again and paused. “Do you really think I will take money for souls which, in a certain sense, have ended their existence? If you have indeed been visited by this, so to speak, fantastic desire, then I, for my part, will turn them over to you disinterestedly and take the fees upon myself.”

Finally, having quietly pulled it free, he said it would not be a bad thing to draw up the deed of purchase speedily, and it would be nice if he himself came to town for a visit.

“You think you can hide your behavior. No, you must live by the truth, if you want to be shown respect.

“You’ve got a nice little estate here, dearie. How many souls are there?” “Nigh onto eighty souls, my dear,”

“Oh, dearie, eighteen men!” the old woman said, sighing. “Died, and all such fine folk, all good workers.

Why not let me have them, Nastasya Petrovna?” “Whom, dearie?” “But, all that have died.” “But how can I let you have them?” “But, just like that. Or maybe sell them. I’ll give you money for them.” “But how? I really don’t quite

see. You’re not going to dig them out of the ground, are you?”

In a few words he made clear to her that the transfer or purchase would only be on paper, and the souls would be registered as if they

were living.

It goes without saying that he was curious to find out what landowners there were in the vicinity, and found out that there were all sorts of landowners:

They embark on friendship, as it seems, forever; but it almost always happens that the new friend will pick a fight with them that same evening at a friendly party. They are always big talkers, revelers, daredevils, conspicuous folk.

Nozdryov was in a certain respect a storied man. Not one gathering he attended went by without some story. Some sort of story inevitably occurred:

The closer you got with him, the sooner he would muck things up for you: spread some cock-and-bull story, than which it would be hard to invent a stupider, thwart a wedding or a business deal, and yet by no means consider himself your enemy;

It will be long before Nozdryov passes from this world. He is among us everywhere, and is perhaps only wearing a different caftan; but people are light-mindedly unperceptive, and a man in a different caftan seems to them a different man.

“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.”

“The request is this: you have, I expect, many dead peasants who have not yet been crossed off the census list?”

“What can I possibly tell him?” thought Chichikov, and after a moment’s reflection he announced that he needed the dead souls to acquire weight in society, that he was not an owner of big estates, so that in the meantime there would be at least some wretched little souls.

“Well, then I’ll tell you more directly,” he said, correcting himself, “only please don’t let on to anyone. I have a mind to get married; but you must know that the father and mother of the bride are most ambitious people. It’s such a mishap, really: I’m sorry I got into it, they absolutely insist that the bridegroom own not less than three hundred souls, and

since I’m lacking almost as many as a hundred and fifty souls …”

“As if you didn’t know: you’re a great crook, allow me to tell you that in all friendliness. If I were your superior, I’d hang you from the nearest tree.”

Chichikov was offended by this remark. Any expression the least bit crude or offensive to propriety was disagreeable to him. He even did not like on any occasion to allow himself to be treated with familiarity, excepting only when the person was of very high rank. And therefore he was now thoroughly insulted.

“Simply a foozle. I used to think you were at least a somewhat decent man, but you have no notion of manners. It’s impossible to talk with you like someone close … no straightforwardness, no sincerity! a perfect Sobakevich, a real scoundrel!”

You’re a cheat, you vile chimney sweep! From now on I don’t want to have anything to do with you. Porfiry, go and tell the stable boy not to give any oats to his horses, let them eat only hay.”

Nozdryov was trash, Nozdryov could tell a pack of lies, add on, spread the devil knows what, gossip might come of it—

not good, not good.

“I’m simply a fool,” he kept sayin...

“May I first know to whom I have the honor of speaking?” said Nozdryov, going up closer to him. “The district captain of police.” “And what would you like?” “I have come to announce to you the notification which has been communicated to me that you are under arrest until the decision of your case is concluded.” “Nonsense, what case?” said

“You have been implicated in an episode on the occasion of the inflicting of a personal offense upon the landowner Maximov with birch rods in a drunken state.”

Wherever in life it may be, whether amongst its tough, coarsely poor, and untidily moldering mean ranks, or its monotonously cold and boringly tidy upper classes, a man will at least once meet with a phenomenon which is unlike anything he has happened to see before, which for once at least awakens in him a feeling unlike those he is fated to

feel all his life.