Tchichikoff was just awaking, and stretching out his hands and legs
like a man preparing for gymnastics, he also began to be aware that he
had slept uncommonly well. After lying for about two minutes longer
thus outstretched upon his back, he suddenly smacked his fingers in the
air, for he at once distinctly remembered, and with a face radiant with
satisfaction, that he now possessed nearly four hundred serfs, a stock
worth about half a million of silver roubles.
After these satisfactory reflections, he jumped gaily out of bed,
and did not even think of looking at his face, for which he had a
particular affection, and in which, as it seemed, he thought his chin
was the most attractive feature, because he had the habit of passing
his hand frequently over it when in the presence of any intimate
friend; he did this particularly when he had been shaving in the
morning.
"Just look here," he used to say, whilst stroking it gently with his
hand, "behold what a chin I have got--perfectly round and smooth!"
But this time, he examined neither his chin nor his face, but
directly, such as he was, he got into his red morocco-leather morning
boots, richly embroidered with silk of a variety of colours, for the
manufacture of which the ancient Tartar town of Kazan is so justly
celebrated; and thanks to his Russian constitution, that heeds no
temperature, just as he was, with nothing but his night-shirt on, in
the real Scotch fashion, he forgot for a moment his sedate character
and middle age, and executed two regular jumps round his room, touching
himself, very cleverly indeed, twice with the soles of his feet.
The very next moment, he immediately sat down to attend to his
business: as he was thus seated before his dressing-case, he rubbed
his hands cheerfully for a moment--just as they would be rubbed by
a honest and incorruptible judge when he is about to sit down to a
luncheon before pronouncing his judgment in court; after having done
this, Tchichikoff produced at once his papers and documents.
He was anxious to settle his affairs in Smolensk as speedily as
possible, and leave nothing undone which could be attended to on that
very day. He determined upon drawing up the contracts of sale himself;
to write down and copy everything with his own hand, so as not to have
to pay a copek to any of the government _employés_. He was perfectly
familiar with the particular style and lawful forms of such documents;
and he, therefore, with a bold hand wrote down in large characters, one
thousand eight hundred and forty such a year, then immediately lower,
but in much smaller characters, councillor of state, gentleman, so and
so; in fact, all was done and written as it ought to be, and in two
hours later his work was accomplished.
When he once more cast a glance over the various documents with the
names of the serfs on them, who had at one time been real slaves,
working, tilling, drinking, cheating their master, and perhaps
also simply honest serfs, it was then that he felt a strange and
incomprehensible sensation suddenly overcome him.
Each of the lists possessed, as it were, a distinct character, and
through that fact, it seemed again that each serf named upon them
assumed also an individual character. The serfs who formerly belonged
to the widow-lady, Korobotchka, had nearly all nicknames attached to
them. The note of old Pluschkin distinguished itself by its brevity of
construction; many of the names were only indicated by the first two
letters of the Christian and family name, and then followed two points,
or rather blots.
Sobakevitch's list attracted his special attention by its unusual
fullness and minuteness; not one of the various qualifications of any
one of his serfs had been omitted; one of them had been noted down as a
"clever joiner," to the name of another the following was appended, "a
sharp fellow, eats no tallow." Particular _nota benes_ were also made
who their father, and who their mother had been; only one individual
of the name of Phedot was distinguished thus, "father unknown, but was
born of a girl in the house, of the name of Capitolina, good principles
and no thief."
All these particulars had a peculiar appearance of reality; it seemed
to Tchichikoff himself, as if these poor dead serfs were alive
yesterday. He kept looking for a long time at their names, until he
felt his heart melting, as it were, to a feeling of pity, and heaving a
deep sigh, he exclaimed:
"Good heavens, how many there are of you, to be sure! Poor fellows, I
wish you could tell me, what you have been doing during your existence!
How have you been battling your way through this world of woe?"
And his eyes rested involuntarily upon the, to us, already familiar
name of Peter Savelieff Neuvaschaikorito, who once had been the
property of Lady Korobotchka. And again he could not forbear making the
observation:
"What a rich name to be sure, he takes a whole line all to himself;"
and he then continued, "when among the living, were you a clever fellow
in your profession, or simply a clumsy mouzhik; and were did you meet
your death-blow? Was it in a dram-shop, or on the high road, or were
you surrounded by those dear to you by the ties of nature? Stephen
Korobka, joiner, a sober and steady man. Ah! here he is, Stephen
Korobka, that is the fellow, who, according to Sobakevitch, would have
been a giant in the Imperial Life-Guards! No doubt the poor fellow
wandered about in obscurity with a hatchet on his side, and his boots
across his shoulders, making his meals at the slender expense of one
copek for brown bread, and two for dried fish, whilst, on returning
home from his yearly work, he would bring with him a purse stuffed with
silver roubles, and perhaps have some bank notes sewn up between the
lining of his shirt or boots--where are you now? Have you, anxious for
larger profits, been even as far as Moscow, and elevated yourself as
high as the spire of Ivan Veliki, and tried to ring the changes on an
Easter-night, but unsuccessfully fallen to the ground, whilst some more
clever fellow than yourself standing close by would scratch himself
behind the ear, and say: 'poor Stephen, can't you stand the noise?'
and coolly take your place.
"Maxim Teliatnikoff, shoemaker--shoemaker. Oh, ah, a shoemaker! 'drunk
like a cobbler,' says our proverb. I know you, know you well, my fine
fellow; if you like, I can tell you in a few words your own history;
you were brought up to your trade by a native from Germany, who fed
you at the same table, and beat your shoulders with the same strap
to punish you for your own neglect and carelessness, and kept you at
work and strictly in doors; at that time you were really an excellent
fellow, but not a cobbler, and your German master thought that he could
not praise you enough in the presence of his wife or friends. But when
you had finished your apprenticeship, you said to yourself: 'now I
will keep a strap myself, and not have to scrape together, one by one,
the copper copeks as my German master used to do.' Thinking thus, you
contrived to pay your yearly impost to your lawful master, and were
allowed to remain in town and set up in your profession. You succeeded
so far well enough, for you happened to obtain numerous orders by way
of encouragement, and you sat down to your work. Some wretched tanner
supplied you with rotten leather, three times cheaper, it is true, than
you could have bought a good material for; and really for a short time
you even succeeded in making double profit upon each pair of boots you
sold; but in about two weeks later, the boots of your manufacture were
completely worn out, and you were called by your customers all sorts
of names. In consequence of this mode of dealing, your shop was soon
deserted by them, and by yourself; because you took to drinking and
rolling about the streets, whilst in your state of intoxication you
would often exclaim: 'No, really there is no consolation in life! we
Russians cannot make a decent living, these foreigners push themselves
forward everywhere, they positively take the very bread out of our
mouths!'
"What peasant have we here? Elizabeth Vorobei. What a shame! a woman!
how has she got among the men? He is a thorough cheat, that fellow
Sobakevitch, even here he has tried to take advantage over me!"
Tchichikoff was right, it was really a woman. How she had slipped among
the men, it was quite impossible to tell, but certainly it was done
very cleverly, for the woman might at a first glance have easily been
taken for a man. However, he did not take the imposition in good part,
and struck the name from the list at once.
"Gregory Dogeschainedogedish! What sort of a man have you been, I
wonder? Were you perhaps one of those carriers by profession, driving
your gallant troika from town to town, and fair to fair, bidding a long
farewell to your family and friends to go and lead a wandering life in
the service of some travelling tradesman between Russia and China? Did
you surrender your soul to Heaven on the high road, or were you carried
to your last resting-place by your village kindred, and your mourning
wife and children?
"And you, my fine fellows?" he continued, as he cast a glance over the
list of run-away serfs belonging to Pluschkin.
"Although you may be alive, yet where is the advantage of possessing
you? you are as worthless as your dead brethren, and Heaven only knows
whither your swift feet have borne you? Were you really so ill-used
by old Pluschkin that you thought it better to run away, or were you
naturally inclined to become vagabonds, and now plunder travellers on
the high road and in the forests? Are you perhaps incarcerated in some
gloomy prison, awaiting your sentence, or have you become the property
of a new master, and are at this moment tilling the land of another
lord?
"Jeremy Kariakin, Nikita Volokita, and Antony Volokita his son; these
fellows, I presume, were excellent run-aways, if I am to judge by
the first and classical syllables of their name. Some one of you,
I can have no doubt, has had the misfortune to fall into the hands
of what you call in the country the Capitän-Ispravnik, who, as a
gentleman strictly looking after passport regulations, has no doubt
cross-examined you on the subject, and perhaps in the following terms:
"'Whose serf are you?' said he, perhaps, in his imperative voice,
whilst interspersing his question with a few strong and fitting terms.
"'I am the serf of such and such a nobleman,' you will have answered
boldly.
"'Why are you here?' demands again the military Capitan.
"'I have received my due permission to go and search for work in town,'
is again your bold reply.
"'And where is your passport?'
"'With my landlord, the citizen Pimenoff.'
"'Send for Pimenoff immediately. Are you Pimenoff?'
"'I am Pimenoff.
"'Did this man give you his passport?'
"'No, your glory, he has given me no passport of any description.'
"'How dare you tell me a falsehood?' says the Capitän-Ispravnik,
adding, meanwhile a few strong and suitable terms.
"'Just so,' is your bold reply to this observation, 'I did not give it
to him because I returned home late, but I gave it for safe keeping to
the bell-ringer, Antip Prochoroff."
"'Send for the bell-ringer! Did he give to you his passport?'
"'No, Sir, I did not receive a passport from him.'
"'Why, that is another falsehood,' says the military Capitan,
strengthening his affirmation with a few more impressive words. 'Now,
can you tell me where your passport is?'
"'I am sure I had a passport,' you said quickly, 'but it seems I have
lost it somewhere on the road.'
"'And how do you account for the possession of this soldier's cloak?'
demands again the Capitän-Ispravnik sternly, whilst adding again a few
strong and fitting terms, 'why have you robbed the imperial servant of
his garb? and why have you dared to plunder the Pope's coffer of his
coppers?'
"'I'm innocent,' you say boldly, 'I have never yet been convicted of
theft.'
"'And how is it that they have picked you up drunk and incapable, and
clad in this cloak?'
"'I really can't say; no doubt some one else has put it on me.'
"'Ah, you are a rogue and a vagabond,' speaks the Capitän-Ispravnik,
shaking his head at you, and putting his hands to his sides. 'Guards,
put the fellow in irons, and lead him away into the darkest dungeon.'
"'Very well, your glory, I submit myself with pleasure,' is your polite
reply.
"And hereupon you produce your snuff-box, and treat with its contents,
and in the most friendly manner, the two invalids who are putting
the chains on your legs, asking them coolly how long ago they were
discharged from their hard service in the army, and in what battles
they have fought. And now you continue to live some time in prison,
until due inquiries are made about you, and your case properly and
leisurely investigated.
"At last, the following decision arrives: the run-away serf, Nikita
Volokita, will be transferred from the prisons of Zarevo-Kokaisk to
the prison of Mosaisk, from there a fresh order transfers you again to
the prison in Vesegonsk, and thus you continue to be transferred from
dungeon to dungeon, and you say to yourself as you inspect your new
habitation:
"'I don't know, but somehow I like Vesegonsk better than any of the
other places; the place is larger and cleaner, and the company here
much gayer!'
"Abakum Phiroff! and what are you? where and in what part of the vast
Empire could you now be met with? Have you gone down the river Volga
and taken a fancy to an agitated life on the swelling waves, and joined
some of the gay river men?"--
Saying this, Tchichikoff stopped short and began to muse and reflect.
What might he have been thinking about? Did he try to imagine the fate
of Abakum Phiroff, or did he plunge into reflections like any other
Russian, whatever his age might be, no matter of what rank or fortune,
when he reflects upon the broad road of human life?
And in truth where is Phiroff now? He wanders boisterously and gaily
along the rich shores of the Volga; he has hired his services to some
travelling merchant. Flowers and ribbons ornament his peculiarly shaped
hat; he seems now as cheerful and contented as any of his comrades
born and bred to that peculiar life; they are just bidding farewell to
their wives and sweethearts--tall, active, and healthy women, looking
as picturesque as the men, in their wide frocks and flowing tresses
mixed with gay ornaments and coloured ribbons; songs with and without
choruses, and again interrupted, but a solo or an accompaniment of
the national guitar or balalaika is to be heard all along the piers
and shores. The bustle and life among the people assembled is now at
its height, for they are completing the cargo of their barges, into
which they store the last sacks, containing wheat, barley, oats and
other grains, which the fertile soil in that part of the country so
abundantly produces.
Along the shores are yet hundreds and thousands more sacks filled with
various grains, heaped in columns and towering like Egyptian pyramids
into the air, and ready to be shipped as soon as the warm rays of the
spring can burst the melting ice, and allow this bread-stuff arsenal to
drift down the river, barge following barge like a band of swans when
proudly floating down the rapid stream.
Such is the occupation of our Russian river-men on the shores of the
Volga, where he has hard work, but where he leads a comparatively
independent and cheerful life, and where his gay and melodious songs
are heard from the source to the efflux of that magnificent river.