Dead Souls (33 page)

"Well," said Chichikov to himself, "I have done my best, and now
everything has failed. Lamenting my misfortune won't help me, but only
action." And with that he decided to begin his career anew, and once
more to arm himself with the weapons of patience and self-denial. The
better to effect this, he had, of course to remove to another town.
Yet somehow, for a while, things miscarried. More than once he found
himself forced to exchange one post for another, and at the briefest
of notice; and all of them were posts of the meanest, the most
wretched, order. Yet, being a man of the utmost nicety of feeling, the
fact that he found himself rubbing shoulders with anything but nice
companions did not prevent him from preserving intact his innate love
of what was decent and seemly, or from cherishing the instinct which
led him to hanker after office fittings of lacquered wood, with
neatness and orderliness everywhere. Nor did he at any time permit a
foul word to creep into his speech, and would feel hurt even if in the
speech of others there occurred a scornful reference to anything which
pertained to rank and dignity. Also, the reader will be pleased to
know that our hero changed his linen every other day, and in summer,
when the weather was very hot, EVERY day, seeing that the very
faintest suspicion of an unpleasant odour offended his fastidiousness.
For the same reason it was his custom, before being valeted by
Petrushka, always to plug his nostrils with a couple of cloves. In
short, there were many occasions when his nerves suffered rackings as
cruel as a young girl's, and so helped to increase his disgust at
having once more to associate with men who set no store by the
decencies of life. Yet, though he braced himself to the task, this
period of adversity told upon his health, and he even grew a trifle
shabby. More than once, on happening to catch sight of himself in the
mirror, he could not forbear exclaiming: "Holy Mother of God, but what
a nasty-looking brute I have become!" and for a long while afterwards
could not with anything like sang-froid contemplate his reflection.
Yet throughout he bore up stoutly and patiently—and ended by being
transferred to the Customs Department. It may be said that the
department had long constituted the secret goal of his ambition, for
he had noted the foreign elegancies with which its officials always
contrived to provide themselves, and had also observed that invariably
they were able to send presents of china and cambric to their sisters
and aunts—well, to their lady friends generally. Yes, more than once
he had said to himself with a sigh: "THAT is the department to which
I ought to belong, for, given a town near the frontier, and a sensible
set of colleagues, I might be able to fit myself out with excellent
linen shirts." Also, it may be said that most frequently of all had
his thoughts turned towards a certain quality of French soap which
imparted a peculiar whiteness to the skin and a peerless freshness to
the cheeks. Its name is known to God alone, but at least it was to be
procured only in the immediate neighbourhood of the frontier. So, as I
say, Chichikov had long felt a leaning towards the Customs, but for a
time had been restrained from applying for the same by the various
current advantages of the Building Commission; since rightly he had
adjudged the latter to constitute a bird in the hand, and the former
to constitute only a bird in the bush. But now he decided that, come
what might, into the Customs he must make his way. And that way he
made, and then applied himself to his new duties with a zeal born of
the fact that he realised that fortune had specially marked him out
for a Customs officer. Indeed, such activity, perspicuity, and
ubiquity as his had never been seen or thought of. Within four weeks
at the most he had so thoroughly got his hand in that he was
conversant with Customs procedure in every detail. Not only could he
weigh and measure, but also he could divine from an invoice how many
arshins of cloth or other material a given piece contained, and then,
taking a roll of the latter in his hand, could specify at once the
number of pounds at which it would tip the scale. As for searchings,
well, even his colleagues had to admit that he possessed the nose of a
veritable bloodhound, and that it was impossible not to marvel at the
patience wherewith he would try every button of the suspected person,
yet preserve, throughout, a deadly politeness and an icy sang-froid
which surpass belief. And while the searched were raging, and foaming
at the mouth, and feeling that they would give worlds to alter his
smiling exterior with a good, resounding slap, he would move not a
muscle of his face, nor abate by a jot the urbanity of his demeanour,
as he murmured, "Do you mind so far incommoding yourself as to stand
up?" or "Pray step into the next room, madam, where the wife of one of
our staff will attend you," or "Pray allow me to slip this penknife of
mine into the lining of your coat" (after which he would extract
thence shawls and towels with as much nonchalance as he would have
done from his own travelling-trunk). Even his superiors acknowledged
him to be a devil at the job, rather than a human being, so perfect
was his instinct for looking into cart-wheels, carriage-poles, horses'
ears, and places whither an author ought not to penetrate even in
thought—places whither only a Customs official is permitted to go.
The result was that the wretched traveller who had just crossed the
frontier would, within a few minutes, become wholly at sea, and,
wiping away the perspiration, and breaking out into body flushes,
would be reduced to crossing himself and muttering, "Well, well,
well!" In fact, such a traveller would feel in the position of a
schoolboy who, having been summoned to the presence of the headmaster
for the ostensible purpose of being give an order, has found that he
receives, instead, a sound flogging. In short, for some time Chichikov
made it impossible for smugglers to earn a living. In particular, he
reduced Polish Jewry almost to despair, so invincible, so almost
unnatural, was the rectitude, the incorruptibility which led him to
refrain from converting himself into a small capitalist with the aid
of confiscated goods and articles which, "to save excessive clerical
labour," had failed to be handed over to the Government. Also, without
saying it goes that such phenomenally zealous and disinterested
service attracted general astonishment, and, eventually, the notice of
the authorities; whereupon he received promotion, and followed that up
by mooting a scheme for the infallible detection of contrabandists,
provided that he could be furnished with the necessary authority for
carrying out the same. At once such authority was accorded him, as
also unlimited power to conduct every species of search and
investigation. And that was all he wanted. It happened that previously
there had been formed a well-found association for smuggling on
regular, carefully prepared lines, and that this daring scheme seemed
to promise profit to the extent of some millions of money: yet, though
he had long had knowledge of it, Chichikov had said to the
association's emissaries, when sent to buy him over, "The time is not
yet." But now that he had got all the reins into his hands, he sent
word of the fact to the gang, and with it the remark, "The time is
NOW." Nor was he wrong in his calculations, for, within the space of
a year, he had acquired what he could not have made during twenty
years of non-fraudulent service. With similar sagacity he had, during
his early days in the department, declined altogether to enter into
relations with the association, for the reason that he had then been a
mere cipher, and would have come in for nothing large in the way of
takings; but now—well, now it was another matter altogether, and he
could dictate what terms he liked. Moreover, that the affair might
progress the more smoothly, he suborned a fellow tchinovnik of the
type which, in spite of grey hairs, stands powerless against
temptation; and, the contract concluded, the association duly
proceeded to business. Certainly business began brilliantly. But
probably most of my readers are familiar with the oft-repeated story
of the passage of Spanish sheep across the frontier in double fleeces
which carried between their outer layers and their inner enough lace
of Brabant to sell to the tune of millions of roubles; wherefore I
will not recount the story again beyond saying that those journeys
took place just when Chichikov had become head of the Customs, and
that, had he not a hand in the enterprise, not all the Jews in the
world could have brought it to success. By the time that three or four
of these ovine invasions had taken place, Chichikov and his accomplice
had come to be the possessors of four hundred thousand roubles apiece;
while some even aver that the former's gains totalled half a million,
owing to the greater industry which he had displayed in the matter.
Nor can any one but God say to what a figure the fortunes of the pair
might not eventually have attained, had not an awkward contretemps cut
right across their arrangements. That is to say, for some reason or
another the devil so far deprived these tchinovnik-conspirators of
sense as to make them come to words with one another, and then to
engage in a quarrel. Beginning with a heated argument, this quarrel
reached the point of Chichikov—who was, possibly, a trifle
tipsy—calling his colleague a priest's son; and though that
description of the person so addressed was perfectly accurate, he
chose to take offence, and to answer Chichikov with the words (loudly
and incisively uttered), "It is YOU who have a priest for your
father," and to add to that (the more to incense his companion), "Yes,
mark you! THAT is how it is." Yet, though he had thus turned the
tables upon Chichikov with a tu quoque, and then capped that exploit
with the words last quoted, the offended tchinovnik could not remain
satisfied, but went on to send in an anonymous document to the
authorities. On the other hand, some aver that it was over a woman
that the pair fell out—over a woman who, to quote the phrase then
current among the staff of the Customs Department, was "as fresh and
as strong as the pulp of a turnip," and that night-birds were hired to
assault our hero in a dark alley, and that the scheme miscarried, and
that in any case both Chichikov and his friend had been deceived,
seeing that the person to whom the lady had really accorded her
favours was a certain staff-captain named Shamsharev. However, only
God knows the truth of the matter. Let the inquisitive reader ferret
it out for himself. The fact remains that a complete exposure of the
dealings with the contrabandists followed, and that the two
tchinovniks were put to the question, deprived of their property, and
made to formulate in writing all that they had done. Against this
thunderbolt of fortune the State Councillor could make no headway, and
in some retired spot or another sank into oblivion; but Chichikov put
a brave face upon the matter, for, in spite of the authorities' best
efforts to smell out his gains, he had contrived to conceal a portion
of them, and also resorted to every subtle trick of intellect which
could possibly be employed by an experienced man of the world who has
a wide knowledge of his fellows. Nothing which could be effected by
pleasantness of demeanour, by moving oratory, by clouds of flattery,
and by the occasional insertion of a coin into a palm did he leave
undone; with the result that he was retired with less ignominy than
was his companion, and escaped actual trial on a criminal charge. Yet
he issued stripped of all his capital, stripped of his imported
effects, stripped of everything. That is to say, all that remained to
him consisted of ten thousand roubles which he had stored against a
rainy day, two dozen linen shirts, a small britchka of the type used
by bachelors, and two serving-men named Selifan and Petrushka. Yes,
and an impulse of kindness moved the tchinovniks of the Customs also
to set aside for him a few cakes of the soap which he had found so
excellent for the freshness of the cheeks. Thus once more our hero
found himself stranded. And what an accumulation of misfortunes had
descended upon his head!—though, true, he termed them "suffering in
the Service in the cause of Truth." Certainly one would have thought
that, after these buffetings and trials and changes of fortune—after
this taste of the sorrows of life—he and his precious ten thousand
roubles would have withdrawn to some peaceful corner in a provincial
town, where, clad in a stuff dressing-gown, he could have sat and
listened to the peasants quarrelling on festival days, or (for the
sake of a breath of fresh air) have gone in person to the poulterer's
to finger chickens for soup, and so have spent a quiet, but not wholly
useless, existence; but nothing of the kind took place, and therein we
must do justice to the strength of his character. In other words,
although he had undergone what, to the majority of men, would have
meant ruin and discouragement and a shattering of ideals, he still
preserved his energy. True, downcast and angry, and full of resentment
against the world in general, he felt furious with the injustice of
fate, and dissatisfied with the dealings of men; yet he could not
forbear courting additional experiences. In short, the patience which
he displayed was such as to make the wooden persistency of the
German—a persistency merely due to the slow, lethargic circulation of
the Teuton's blood—seem nothing at all, seeing that by nature
Chichikov's blood flowed strongly, and that he had to employ much
force of will to curb within himself those elements which longed to
burst forth and revel in freedom. He thought things over, and, as he
did so, a certain spice of reason appeared in his reflections.

"How have I come to be what I am?" he said to himself. "Why has
misfortune overtaken me in this way? Never have I wronged a poor
person, or robbed a widow, or turned any one out of doors: I have
always been careful only to take advantage of those who possess more
than their share. Moreover, I have never gleaned anywhere but where
every one else was gleaning; and, had I not done so, others would have
gleaned in my place. Why, then, should those others be prospering, and
I be sunk as low as a worm? What am I? What am I good for? How can I,
in future, hope to look any honest father of a family in the face? How
shall I escape being tortured with the thought that I am cumbering the
ground? What, in the years to come, will my children say, save that
'our father was a brute, for he left us nothing to live upon?'"