Dead Souls - Nikolai Gogol (most life changing books .txt) 📗

The two brothers embraced.

“Really, Platon,” said the gentleman (whose name was Vassili), “what do you mean by treating me like this?”

“How so?” said Platon indifferently.

“What? For three days past I have seen and heard nothing of you! A groom from Pietukh’s brought your cob home, and told me you had departed on an expedition with some barin. At least you might have sent me word as to your destination and the probable length of your absence. What made you act so? God knows what I have not been wondering!”

“Does it matter?” rejoined Platon. “I forgot to send you word, and we have been no further than Constantine’s (who, with our sister, sends you his greeting). By the way, may I introduce Paul Ivanovitch Chichikov?”

The pair shook hands with one another. Then, doffing their caps, they embraced.

“What sort of man is this Chichikov?” thought Vassili. “As a rule my brother Platon is not overnice in his choice of acquaintances.” And, eyeing our hero as narrowly as civility permitted, he saw that his appearance was that of a perfectly respectable individual.

Chichikov returned Vassili’s scrutiny with a similar observance of the dictates of civility, and perceived that he was shorter than Platon, that his hair was of a darker shade, and that his features, though less handsome, contained far more life, animation, and kindliness than did his brother’s. Clearly he indulged in less dreaming, though that was an aspect which Chichikov little regarded.

“I have made up my mind to go touring our Holy Russia with Paul Ivanovitch,” said Platon. “Perhaps it will rid me of my melancholy.”

“What has made you come to such a sudden decision?” asked the perplexed Vassili (very nearly he added: “Fancy going travelling with a man whose acquaintance you have just made, and who may turn out to be a rascal or the devil knows what!” But, in spite of his distrust, he contented himself with another covert scrutiny of Chichikov, and this time came to the conclusion that there was no fault to be found with his exterior).

The party turned to the right, and entered the gates of an ancient courtyard attached to an old-fashioned house of a type no longer built⁠—the type which has huge gables supporting a high-pitched roof. In the centre of the courtyard two great lime trees covered half the surrounding space with shade, while beneath them were ranged a number of wooden benches, and the whole was encircled with a ring of blossoming lilacs and cherry trees which, like a beaded necklace, reinforced the wooden fence, and almost buried it beneath their clusters of leaves and flowers. The house, too, stood almost concealed by this greenery, except that the front door and the windows peered pleasantly through the foliage, and that here and there between the stems of the trees there could be caught glimpses of the kitchen regions, the storehouses, and the cellar. Lastly, around the whole stood a grove, from the recesses of which came the echoing songs of nightingales.

Involuntarily the place communicated to the soul a sort of quiet, restful feeling, so eloquently did it speak of that carefree period when everyone lived on good terms with his neighbour, and all was simple and unsophisticated. Vassili invited Chichikov to seat himself, and the party approached, for that purpose, the benches under the lime trees; after which a youth of about seventeen, and clad in a red shirt, brought decanters containing various kinds of kvass (some of them as thick as syrup, and others hissing like aerated lemonade), deposited the same upon the table, and, taking up a spade which he had left leaning against a tree, moved away towards the garden. The reason of this was that in the brothers’ household, as in that of Kostanzhoglo, no servants were kept, since the whole staff were rated as gardeners, and performed that duty in rotation⁠—Vassili holding that domestic service was not a specialised calling, but one to which anyone might contribute a hand, and therefore one which did not require special menials to be kept for the purpose. Moreover, he held that the average Russian peasant remains active and willing (rather than lazy) only so long as he wears a shirt and a peasant’s smock; but that as soon as ever he finds himself put into a German tailcoat, he becomes awkward, sluggish, indolent, disinclined to change his vest or take a bath, fond of sleeping in his clothes, and certain to breed fleas and bugs under the German apparel. And it may be that Vassili was right. At all events, the brothers’ peasantry were exceedingly well clad⁠—the women, in particular, having their headdresses spangled with gold, and the sleeves of their blouses embroidered after the fashion of a Turkish shawl.

“You see here the species of kvass for which our house has long been famous,” said Vassili to Chichikov. The latter poured himself out a glassful from the first decanter which he lighted upon, and found the contents to be linden honey of a kind never tasted by him even in Poland, seeing that it had a sparkle like that of champagne, and also an effervescence which sent a pleasant spray from the mouth into the nose.

“Nectar!” he proclaimed. Then he took some from a second decanter. It proved to be even better than the first. “A beverage of beverages!” he exclaimed. “At your respected brother-in-law’s I tasted the finest syrup which has ever come my way, but here I have tasted the very finest kvass.”

“Yet the recipe for the syrup also came from here,” said Vassili, “seeing that my sister took it with her. By the way, to what part of the country, and to what places, are you thinking of travelling?”

“To tell the truth,” replied Chichikov, rocking himself to and fro on the bench, and smoothing his knee with his hand, and gently inclining his head, “I am travelling less on my own affairs than on the affairs of others. That is to say, General Betristchev,