It was with an indefinable feeling that Tchichikoff now began to look
round him, at the houses, walls, gardens and streets, which on their
part seemed also to be tossing about, until at last they disappeared
before his sight, and which, Heaven knows he will perhaps never have
the chance of seeing again during his life. At the turning of one of
the streets, the britchka was suddenly obliged to stop, because of a
funeral procession, which was just slowly bending its way across the
street; it was headed as usual by a dozen mourners in deep black,
carrying burning torches in their hands, and followed by the bearers of
the military and civil orders, worn by the deceased, and then by the
funeral car and its followers.
Tchichikoff leaning forward ordered Petruschka to inquire who it was
whom they were thus leading to his grave, and he received the answer
that it was the right honorable the Imperial Procurator. Overwhelmed
with unpleasant sensations and recollections, he immediately lent back
into the farthest corner of his carriage, and covered himself with the
carriage apron, and drew down the leather curtains.
At the time when the britchka was thus stopped, Selifan and Petruschka
took their caps off with great fervour, and made the usual sign of the
cross, and began to gape about and see who were present, and how they
were following the mournful and exceedingly long procession, trying
to count the number of those that were walking, and those that were
driving in their own carriages behind the funeral car; their master,
after having cautioned them not to recognise nor salute any of the
servants with whom they might have made acquaintance, also begun to
look, or rather peep attentively through the small glass square fixed
in the leather curtains; he beheld nearly all the Imperial _employés_
of his acquaintance forming the majority of the chief mourners.
He began to feel alarmed lest they should accidentally recognise
his carriage, however this was but a false alarm, their minds were
differently pre-occupied.
They were even not occupied with any worldly talk, such as is usually
carried on between persons that follow a funeral. All their thoughts,
at that time, were principally concentrated upon themselves; they were
thinking and asking themselves the question--what kind of a man the
newly-appointed Governor-general would be, with what energy he would
undertake his duties, and how he would receive them.
Behind the Imperial _employés_, who followed all walking, came the
carriages from which ladies in mourning gowns were putting out their
heads to look about them. By the movements of their lips and hands,
it could easily be conjectured that they were engaged in lively
conversation; very likely they also spoke of the arrival of the new
Governor-general, and tried to imagine what kind of balls and routs
he would be likely to give on the occasion of his new appointment;
and they seemed very anxious about their new dresses with the recent
fashionable improvement of festoons and ornaments all over.
The private carriages were followed by a few empty droschkies, which
concluded the procession, and at last the road was free and open again
for our hero's britchka, which began to speed on to make up for lost
time.
Opening now freely again the leather curtains of his carriages,
Tchichikoff heaved a deep sigh, and pronounced, as if from the
innermost of his soul:
"There he went, the Imperial Procurator; he has lived and lived
until he has come to his death! and now they will advertise in the
newspapers, that his existence has terminated to the unspeakable regret
of his inferiors and superiors, as well as to humanity at large, a
respected citizen, a rare father, a beloved husband, and much more,
they will print in his memory; add perhaps, that he was followed to
his grave not only by his numerous friends, but also by many widows
and orphans of the town; but if we were to examine your virtues and
qualities more minutely and conscientiously, we would find perhaps
nothing more remarkable than your bushy and heavy eyebrows."
After having concluded this observation, our hero ordered Selifan to
speed on his horses, and meanwhile thought to himself--"however, it is
rather lucky that I have met with a funeral procession; it is said that
it prognosticates good fortune to meet with the dead."
Meanwhile, the britchka turned and passed through the more lonely and
distant streets; soon after Tchichikoff saw only the long and uniform
wooden walls of gardens and enclosed building grounds, which announced
the end of the town. And now there was an end to the wretched pavement;
and he had passed the last military frontier of the town of Smolensk,
which now remained behind him; and he was again on the free and high
wide road. And again, on either side of the britchka, were woods and
forests, and fields and plains, brooks and wells, military posts, and
grey villages, with chatting old women, and idle peasants, looking out
from their huge beards, like a bear from his den.
At first, the changing scenes around him did not make any particular
impression upon his mind; but by degrees, and as he continued to turn
round to convince himself, that the town of Smolensk was really behind
him, and nearly hidden from his sight, he began to pay a little more
attention to the high road, and to his own reflections, which begun so
fully to preoccupy his mind, that Smolensk was as much out of his mind
as out of his sight; and he really fancied that he had merely passed
through once in his early childhood. At last, even the high road ceased
to possess any attractions whatever for him, and he began slightly to
incline his head upon the leather pillow, and close his eyes.
Our hero was suddenly aroused from his slumber by an approaching noise
on the high road, behind his britchka. The noise approached rapidly,
and seemed to be caused by the galloping of numerous horses.
"Hallo! what are you about?" said Tchichikoff, calling out to his
coachman, Selifan; "why don't you drive on?"
"Yes, your glory!" answered Selifan, in a slow voice, and with a sleepy
countenance, without being able to comply at once with the request, so
much was he benumbed by the chilly night-air.
"How are you driving, you stupid goose? Why don't you flog the horses?"
But before Selifan had the time to comply with his master's command,
the last which either he or Petruschka was to receive from him; the
horses galloping behind had rejoined the britchka, and in a few moments
later Tchichikoff beheld before him the Commissioner of Police from
Smolensk, and another gentleman on horseback, who was introduced to him
as an imperial messenger.
The imperial messenger transmitted to Tchichikoff a document, with
the imperial seal beneath; after the hasty perusal of this mysterious
document, our hero's countenance changed suddenly; his eyes became dim,
and his face as pale as death. The imperial messenger then pointed
silently to a sinister-looking carriage, called a Siberian kibitka,
into which our hero was assisted, without being able to utter a
syllable, and the next moment he was a dead man.
THE END.