Dead Souls

"Excuse me, I don't quite understand . . . would that mean a history of some period, or separate biographies, and is it all of them, or only those who took part in the year 'twelve?"

"That's right, Your Excellency, those who took part in the year 'twelve!" Having said which, he thought to himself: "Strike me dead if I understand."

"But why doesn't he come to me, then? I could gather quite a bit of curious material for him."

"He doesn't dare, Your Excellency."

"What nonsense! Because of some trifling word . . . But I'm not that sort of man at all. I might even be ready to call on him myself."

"He wouldn't allow that, he'll come to you," Chichikov said, and at the same time thought to himself: "The generals came in nicely; and yet my tongue just stupidly blurted it out."

A rustling was heard in the study. The walnut door of a carved wardrobe opened by itself. On the other side of the open door, her wonderful hand grasping the door handle, a live little figure appeared. If a transparent painting, lit from behind, were suddenly to shine in a dark room, it would not be so striking as this little figure radiant with life appearing as if in order to light up the room. It seemed as though along with her a ray of sunlight flew into the room, suddenly illumining its ceiling, its moldings, and its dark corners. She seemed to be of glorious height. This was an illusion; it came from her extraordinary slenderness and the harmonious relation of all the parts of her body, from head to little toe. The solid-color dress that was thrown on her was thrown on with such taste that it seemed as if all the seamstresses of the capital had held a council among themselves on how best to adorn her. But it only seemed so. She made her own dresses, haphazardly; gathered an uncut piece of fabric in two or three places, and it clung and arranged itself around her in such folds as a sculptor could at once transfer to marble, and the young ladies who dressed fashionably all looked like some sort of motley hens beside her. Though her face was almost familiar to Chichikov from Andrei Ivanovich's drawings, he looked at her as if stunned, and only later, having come to his senses, did he notice that she lacked something very essential—namely, plumpness.

"Allow me to introduce my naughty little girl!" said the general, addressing Chichikov. "However, I still don't know your name."

"Though why should people know the name of a man not distinguished by deeds of valor?" said Chichikov.

"Still, however, one must know ..."

"Pavel Ivanovich, Your Excellency," said Chichikov, inclining his head slightly to one side.

"Ulinka! Pavel Ivanovich has just told me the most interesting news. Our neighbor Tentetnikov is not at all as stupid a man as we thought. He's occupied with something rather important: the history of the generals of the year 'twelve."

Ulinka suddenly seemed to flush and became animated.

"But who thought he was a stupid man?" she said quickly. "Maybe only Vishnepokromov could think that, whom you believe, papa, though he's both empty and mean."

"Why mean? He's a bit empty, it's true," said the general.

"He's a bit base, and a bit vile, not just a bit empty," Ulinka picked up promptly. "Whoever offends his own brothers like that, and throws his sister out of the house, is a vile man ..."

"But that's just talk."

"There wouldn't be talk for no reason. You, father, have the kindliest soul and a rare heart, but the way you act could make people think quite otherwise about you. You'll receive a man who you yourself know is bad, only because he's a fancy talker and an expert at twining himself around you."

"But, dear heart! I couldn't really throw him out," said the general.

"Don't throw him out, then, but don't love him either!"

"Not so, Your Excellency," Chichikov said to Ulinka, inclining his head slightly, with a pleasant smile. "According to Christianity, it's precisely them that we ought to love."

And, straightaway turning to the general, he said with a smile, this time a somewhat coy one:

"If you please, Your Excellency, have you ever heard it said, in this regard—'love us black, anyone can love us white'?"

"No, I haven't."

"It's a most singular anecdote," said Chichikov, with a coy smile. "There was, Your Excellency, on the estate of Prince Gukzovsky, whom Your Excellency is no doubt pleased to know ..."

"I don't."

"There was a steward, Your Excellency, of German stock, a young man. He had to go to town for supplying recruits and on other occasions, and, of course, to grease the palms of the court clerks." Here Chichikov, narrowing one eye, showed with his face how court clerks' palms are greased. "However, they also liked him and used to wine and dine him. So once, at dinner with them, he said: 'You know, gentlemen, one day you must also visit me on the prince's estate.' They said: 'We will.' Soon after that the court happened to go to investigate a case that occurred on the domains of Count Trekhmetyev, whom Your Excellency is no doubt also pleased to know."