Dead Souls

The coachman, hearing that he should skip two turns and take the third, said, "We'll do fine, your honor"—and Chichikov left, accompanied for a long time by the bowing and handkerchief waving of his standing-on-tiptoe hosts.

Manilov stood for a long time on the porch, watching the departing britzka, and when it became quite invisible, he still stood there smoking his pipe. Finally he went inside, sat down on a chair, and gave himself over to reflection, rejoicing in his soul at having given his guest some small pleasure. Then his thoughts imperceptibly turned to other subjects and finally went off God knows where. He was thinking about the well-being of a life of friendship, about how nice it would be to live with a friend on the bank of some river, then a bridge began to be built across this river, then an enormous house with such a high belvedere that one could even see Moscow from it and drink tea there of an evening in the open air while discussing agreeable subjects. Then that he and Chichikov arrived together at some gathering in fine carriages, where they enchanted everyone with the agreeableness of their manners, and that the sovereign, supposedly learning there was such friendship between them, made them generals, and beyond that, finally, God knows what, something he himself could no longer figure out. Chichikov's strange request suddenly interrupted all his reveries. The thought of it somehow especially refused to get digested in his head: whichever way he turned it, he simply could not explain it to himself, and all the while he sat and smoked his pipe, which went on right up to suppertime.

Chapter Three

And Chichikov in a contented state of mind was sitting in his britzka, which had long been rolling down the high road. From the previous chapter it will already be clear what constituted the chief subject of his taste and inclinations, and therefore it is no wonder that he was soon immersed in it body and soul. The speculations, estimates, and considerations that wandered over his face were, apparently, very agreeable, for at every moment they left behind them traces of a contented smile. Occupied with them, he paid not the slightest attention to his coachman, who, content with his reception by Manilov's household serfs, was making most sensible observations to the dappled gray outrunner harnessed on the right side. This dappled gray horse was extremely sly and only made a show of pulling, while the bay shaft horse and the chestnut outrunner, who was called Assessor because he had been acquired from some assessor, put their whole hearts into it, so that the satisfaction they derived from it could even be read in their eyes. "Fox away, fox away! I'll still outfox you!" Selifan said, rising a little and lashing the lazybones with his whip. "To learn you your business, you German pantaloon! The bay's a respectable horse, he does his duty, and I'll gladly give him an extra measure, because he's a respectable horse, and Assessor's a good horse, too . . . Well, well, why are you twitching your ears? Listen to what you're told, fool! I won't learn you anything bad, you lout! Look at him crawling!" Here he lashed him again with the whip, adding: "Ooh, barbarian! Cursed Bonaparte!" Then he yelled at all of them: "Hup, my gentles!" and whipped all three of them, not with a view to punishment this time, but to show he was pleased with them. Having given them this pleasure, he again addressed his speech to the dapple-gray: "You think you can hide your behavior. No, you must live by the truth, if you want to be shown respect. At that landowner's now, where we were, they were good people. It's a pleasure for me to talk, if it's with a good man; with a good man I'm always friends, fine companions: whether it's having tea, or a bite to eat—I'm game, if it's with a good man. To a good man everybody shows respect. Our master, now, everybody honors him, because he was in the goverman's service, he's a scollegiate councillor ..."