Sobakevitch bent his head slightly on one side, prepared to hear what
the little business consisted in.
Tchichikoff began to speak, but his argument was of a very obscure
nature; he alluded in very general terms to the whole Russian Empire,
and expressed himself in terms of great praise about its territorial
extent, and said, that even the ancient Roman Empire was far less in
extent and power, and that other nations are justly surprised at the
magnitude of the largest Empire in the world.
Sobakevitch continued to listen, with his head bent on one side.
And that, according to existing statutes of this vast empire--the
grandeur of which has no equal--the census population, namely, those
who have to pay a capitation tax, though hundreds and thousands of them
have already, since then; terminated their worldly existence, remain
still upon the lists, and are taxed until the next census be taken--a
period of fifty years--on a _par_ with the living; although, and it
must not be forgotten, that, as a medium of equalization, the new-born
population within the space of these fifty years is not liable to any
taxation before the next census be taken again; and this was done
for the purpose of not over-burthening the imperial administrations
with too many difficult and tedious regulations, but principally to
avoid as far as possible any additional complication of the already
over-complicated mechanism of the imperial administrations.
Sobakevitch still listened with his head bent on one side.
And, that notwithstanding the justice and efficiency of this measure,
it yet presented but too numerous instances of heavy burthen and
great expense to the majority of landed proprietors, obliging them to
pay the tax for both their dead serfs as well as for their living
subjects, and that he, Tchichikoff, feeling a particular and personal
regard for him, Sobakevitch, was willing to undertake the payment of
this burthensome capitation tax for the dead, in consequence of his
unfeigned esteem and friendship for him. As regards the principal
objects themselves, Tchichikoff expressed himself very carefully
indeed; in alluding to them, he never called them dead serfs, but not
existing, poor souls.
During the whole period of Tchichikoff's speech, Sobakevitch had
continued to listen silently as before, with his head slightly inclined
on one side, and not even once was there the slightest change in his
countenance, or a different expression visible in his face. It seemed
as if this body had no soul, or as if it was not at all where it ought
to have been; like an indefatigable miser, he seemed to have hidden it
in some secret corner, and covered with such an impenetrable shell,
that whatever battered upon its surface could not stir or move the
kernel within.
"And thus," said Tchichikoff, awaiting a reply with some degree of
anxious expectation.
"You want some dead serfs?" demanded Sobakevitch, simply, without the
slightest emotion or surprise, as if the question was about bread,
salt, or meat.
"Yes," answered Tchichikoff; and again he softened down the expression,
adding, "the non existing ones."
"I can let you have some; why not?" said Sobakevitch.
"And, since you have some, I have no doubt you will be glad to get rid
of them?"
"With pleasure; I am ready to sell them," said Sobakevitch, whilst
slightly raising his head, for he began to suspect that the purchaser
would undoubtedly know how to derive an advantage from his speculation.
"The devil!" thought Tchichikoff to himself, "this man wants to sell
them before I have made him an offer to purchase any!" and he then said
aloud: "And what would your price he? although I must confess that the
objects are such, that it is rather strange to speak of a price."
"Well then, and in order not to ask a high price from you, I will fix
them at a hundred roubles a-piece," said Sobakevitch.
"A hundred roubles!" exclaimed Tchichikoff, opening his mouth widely,
and looking him straight into the eyes, not knowing whether he had
heard rightly, or whether Sobakevitch's tongue, prompted by his heavy
intelligence, had tripped, and pronounced accidentally one word for
another.
"Well, is that too dear for you?" articulated Sobakevitch; and then he
added: "But allow me to ask, what would your price be?"
"My price! We have, no doubt, misunderstood one another; we seem to
have forgotten what our subject is. As far as I am concerned, and
laying my hand upon my heart, one rouble would be the fairest price I
could offer you."
"Halloa! what a ridiculous price, to be sure, one rouble!"
"Why, according to my judgment, and as I think, I could not give more."
"But remember, I do not sell you any cat's-paws."
"However, you must agree; they are not any real men."
"That is your opinion; but go and find me such a fool, who would agree
to sell you a census serf for a single rouble."
"But allow me to ask you, why do you call them census serfs? They
are dead long since, nothing remains of them but an incomprehensible
sound in their appellation. However, in order to avoid the trouble of
entering more particularly in a discussion on abstract matters, I am
ready to offer you one rouble and a half, but more I really could not."
"You ought to be ashamed to offer me such a price! You like to drive a
bargain; well then, tell me your real price."
"I really cannot offer you more, my dear Michael Semenovitch, believe
me, on my honour, I cannot. What cannot be done that might be done?'
said Tchichikoff; yet, notwithstanding, he made an addition of half a
rouble.
"Why are you so niggardly?" said Sobakevitch; "it is really not
dear. Another scoundrel would cheat you; he would not sell you real
serfs like I do, but some worthless stuff; all mine are like green
hazel-nuts, all picked men; and if they are not artizans by profession,
still they are strong, healthy, and fit for everything. Just let us
examine them a little. There is, for an example, my former cart-maker,
Micheeff; he never worked at anything less than a spring-cart. And,
if you please, not such workmanship as they sell you at Moscow, which
lasts for an hour, and not longer; oh no, his work was of first-rate
durability, and besides, he used to do the carving and polishing work
as well."
Tchichikoff opened his mouth, with the intention of making the
observation, that the peasant Micheeff, the spring-cart maker, had
already left this world for some time; but Sobakevitch entered
suddenly, as the phrase goes, with spirit into the nature of the
subject, Heaven only knows whence he derived his power of language and
vigour of expression; however, he continued:
"And my Stephan, the joiner! I'd wager my head, that you cannot find
me another peasant like he was. He was a regular Hercules! If he had
served in the guards, he would have been one of the finest soldiers in
the regiment, he was above seven feet high!"
Tchichikoff was again on the point of making the observation, that
Stephan had also departed this world; but Sobakevitch, as it appeared,
was carried away by his subject, his flow of language was not easily to
be stopped, now was the time to listen to him.
"Milushkin, the potter, was capable of putting you a stove in any part
of the house. Again, Maxim Teliatnikoff, the shoemaker; whatever he
pierced with his awl, became a pair of boots, and whatever boots he
made, for such I paid him the compliment of a thank you. And Germei
Sorokopleokin! I can assure you that this fellow alone was worth all
the others, he used to hawk about in Moscow, and paid me an annual
quit-rent of five hundred roubles. Such were the people, and far from
such stuff as you might buy from a fellow like Pluschkin."
"But allow me to observe," Tchichikoff at last said, quite bewildered
by such an abundance of words, to which there promised now to be no
end, "why do you enumerate all their former professions? all these
qualities are of no use to them or others now, because all these
people are dead, at this time being."
"Oh, yes, to be sure, they are dead," said Sobakevitch, as if
considering and recollecting suddenly, that they were in reality all
dead and gone, and then he added, "however, I must observe, what are
the people now reckoned as living? yes, what are these people? flies,
but not men!"
"But for all that they exist, and that is a point of imagination."
"Oh no, not at all a point of imagination! I will describe to you what
a fellow my Micheeff was, and I am sure you will not be able to find
many more like him; he was of such a size, that he could not have
entered this room, and that is no point of imagination! And in his
shoulders, he possessed such power as you will rarely meet with in a
horse; I am therefore curious to know where you could find such another
point of imagination?"
"No, really, I could not offer you any more than two roubles,"
Tchichikoff said again.
"Very well, then, and in order to be agreeable to you, and that you
might not pretend that I demanded too high a price, and that I would
not oblige you, you shall have them at seventy-five roubles each dead
serf, but all in bank notes, and I really do it all out of friendship
for you."
"Does he really take me for a fool," thought Tchichikoff to himself,
and then added aloud: "All this seems very strange to me; it would
appear that we are playing a comedy, else I really could not explain
how--you seem to be a man of sound judgment, you can pretend to a
superior education, don't you therefore see and understand, that the
object in question is simply, phu, phu! what is it really worth? who
could make use of it?"
"But you wish to purchase them, I think it therefore obvious that you
want them."
When Tchichikoff heard this, he bit his lips, and could not find an
answer. He began to mutter something about family connexions and
household circumstances, but Sobakevitch interrupted him, and said
simply:
"I do not want to know anything about your circumstances, I never mix
in family concerns, all that is your own affair. You stand in want of
serfs, I am ready to sell some, and I may add, you will be dissatisfied
with yourself if you don't buy them of me."
"Well then, two roubles," said Tchichikoff.
"What a curious man you are; you seem to have fixed upon two, and now
you cannot get off them. Offer me your last price."
"May the devil take him," thought Tchichikoff to himself, "I will give
him half a rouble more, and make the proverb true, for the dog to buy
nuts with!
"Very well then, I offer you half a rouble more."
"Now then, I will also tell you my last word; fifty roubles I really
it is a loss to me, you will not buy them cheaper anywhere, especially
such excellent peasants as they were!"
"What a fist that man is to be sure," said Tchichikoff to himself, and
then he continued aloud with a slight degree of anger:
"Really, I must confess, it was ridiculous to treat the matter as
serious, because in many another place I could get dead serfs for
nothing. Many a one would be extremely glad to give them to me, and
thus get rid of them as soon as possible. A fool would he be indeed,
who after my offer would still persist to keep them and continue to pay
the capitation tax."
"But do you know also, that purchases of this description--I say this
between ourselves, and in good friendship--are not always safe and
practicable; and if I, or any one else was to mention them to a third
party, such a person could get himself into great difficulties, and
expose himself to lose all confidence for the future, as regards trust
in contracts or any other business transactions."
"Oh, the rascal, that is what he is aiming at," thought Tchichikoff,
and here he spoke with an air of great unconcern, "as you like, my dear
Sir, I wish to buy them, not for any particular purpose, as you seem
to suppose, but simply from a fancy, an inclination of my own. If you
won't accept two roubles and a half then, fare you well!"
"I shall not be able to confuse him: he is obstinate," thought
Sobakevitch. "Heaven be with you! give me thirty and take them all!"
"No, I perceive you don't wish to sell them. Farewell!"
"Stop, stop! wait a little!" exclaimed Sobakevitch, holding him by the
hand, and treading upon his feet, because our hero had forgotten to
take care of himself, and as a punishment for it, he was obliged to
limp upon one leg.
"I beg your pardon! It seems I have hurt you. Pray be seated here. I
beg your pardon once more."
Hereupon he made him sit down again and rather cleverly too, as a bear
would do who has been already taught to perform some evolution.
"Really, I think I am only losing my time; besides I am in a hurry."
"Pray sit down, if but for a moment. I will tell you immediately
something very pleasant."
Hereupon, Sobakevitch seated himself quite close to Tchichikoff, and
whispered into his ear, as if a secret:
"Will you make it a quarter?"
"That is to say, twenty-five roubles. No, no, no, I will not even give
you a quarter of a quarter. I will not give you an additional copek."
Sobakevitch remained silent; Tchichikoff did the same.
This silence lasted for about two minutes. The Grecian hero Kolokotroni
looked very seriously from his frame on the wall upon the bargaining
parties below.
"What will really be your last price?" said Sobakevitch at last.
"Two roubles and a half."
"Really a human soul seemed to have with you no greater value than a
dried beetroot. Give me at least three roubles."
"I cannot."
"Well! what am I to do with you? You shall have them. It is a loss to
me, and no mistake; but such is my doggish nature, I could never refuse
to be agreeable to my fellow-creatures. But I think I am right in
saying that it will be requisite to draw up a contract of sale for the
lawful settlement of the bargain."
"Most certainly."
"In that case, I shall have to go to Smolensk," said Sobakevitch.
Thus then the bargain for Sobakevitch's dead serfs was concluded. They
agreed to meet the next day in town, and to settle all the formalities
of the contract of sale at their first meeting there.
Tchichikoff now demanded a list of all the dead serfs that were to
become his property. To this request Sobakevitch agreed willingly, and
sat down immediately at his writing-desk, and wrote down not only the
names of every one but also their laudable qualifications.
"The note is ready," Sobakevitch soon said as he turned round.
"Ready? Allow me to look at it." Tchichikoff took the paper in his
hand, and whilst running his eyes over it, he was surprised to behold
its neatness and accuracy; not only were profession, name, age and
family estate minutely noted down, but there was even a special column
in which particular annotations had been made as regarded the degree of
morality and conduct of his deceased serfs; in a word, it was a real
pleasure to look at the document.
"Now I hope you will have no objection to pay me a god-penny," said
Sobakevitch.
"Why should I give you anything on account? You shall receive the whole
amount at once, on our first meeting in town."
"You well know that such is the custom with us in the country," replied
Sobakevitch.
"I really do not know how I am to manage that, for I have not much
money about me. However, here is a ten-rouble note."
"What are ten roubles? Give me at least fifty."
Tchichikoff wanted to make him believe that he could not spare any more
for the present; but Sobakevitch insisted so positively that he had
some more money about him, that he could not help producing another
bank-note, and saying:
"Very well, then, since you insist upon having some more, here are
fifteen more, which makes it altogether twenty-five roubles. But allow
me now to trouble you for a receipt."
"What do you want a receipt for?"
"You know well it is better to have a receipt for the payment of money.
Our hours of existence are uncertain--something might happen."
"Very well, let me have the money."
"Why should you have the money first? I hold the notes here in my hand.
As soon as you will have written the receipt, in that same moment you
may have the money."
"Pardon me; how am I to write out a receipt? I must first see the
money."
Tchichikoff allowed the bank-notes to be taken from his hand, and
Sobakevitch being now in possession of them, approached the table and
covering them with his left hand, began to write out with his right the
receipt upon a small piece of paper, that he had received an account of
twenty-five roubles in imperial bank-notes for a number of serfs sold
by him to Pavel Ivanovitch Tchichikoff. After having written and signed
the receipt, he once more examined the bank-notes.
"This note is a rather old one," remarked he, slowly, whilst carefully
examining one of them against the light; "a little torn also. However,
we must not look upon these trifles when we deal with friends."
"Oh! you fist, you fist!" thought Tchichikoff to himself, "and a beast
besides."
"By the bye, would you perhaps like to have some of my females?"
"No, I am very much obliged to you for the offer all the same."
"I should not have asked a high price; out of regard for you, I would
not charge more than a rouble a-piece."
"No, I do not stand in want of any of the female sex."
"Well, if you cannot make any use of them, then it is useless to speak
another word-about them. It is impossible to dispute on matter of
colour and taste. 'The one likes the pope, the other his wife,' as our
proverb says."
"Oh, I nearly forgot to ask you to keep this little transaction a
secret between ourselves," said Tchichikoff in taking leave.
"Oh yes, this is perfectly understood. It is useless to mix a third
in this matter; that which happens by common consent between intimate
friends, must remain in their friendship. Farewell! I was glad to see
you. Do not forget me in future. If you should have an hour to spare,
come and dine and pass a little time with us. It might again happen
that we could be agreeable one to another."
"Don't you believe it!" thought Tchichikoff to himself, whilst taking
his seat in the britchka. "He has charged me two roubles and a half
for each of his dead serfs! the man is the devil's own fist!"
When the britchka had left the court-yard of the house, Tchichikoff
turned round to cast a last glance around him, and in looking back, he
saw that Sobakevitch still stood upon the door-step of his house, and,
as it seemed, was looking out to see what turning his guest was about
to take.
"The fist, he is still on the same spot," murmured Tchichikoff between
his teeth, and ordered Selifan, who had just turned in the direction of
the village, to drive his carriage in such a manner that they should
not be seen from the gentleman's house.
He intended calling at Pluschkin's, whose serfs, according to the
words of Sobakevitch were dying like flies, but he did not wish that
Sobakevitch should know about it. When the britchka had passed the last
house in the village, he hailed the first peasant whom he happened to
see, and who was carrying a large log of wood upon his shoulders, like
an indefatigable ant towards his dwelling, and addressed him thus:
"Halloa, my bearded man! how can I drive to Pluschkin's estate,
without passing your master's house?"
The mouzhik seemed 'obviously embarrassed at the question.
"Well, don't you know?"
"No, your glory, I don't."
"Eh, what a fellow you are! And with all that you wear grey hair and
beard! don't you know the miser Pluschkin, who has the reputation of
starving his peasants?"
"Ah, you mean the ragged one!" exclaimed the peasant. He then added
another stronger surname, but as it is an expression not used in
society, we will omit it, though it was a strong and harmonizing word
with the first surname of the miser. It might be easily imagined that
the second surname must have been a very pointed one indeed, for
although the peasant had passed on, and the britchka had been long out
of sight from the village, Tchichikoff was still smiling at the word
whilst sitting in his britchka.