CHAPTER XI.
On their entrance in the dining-hall, they found Madame Maniloff waiting with her two little sons. These children were of that tender age when parents are induced to seat them already among adults, though they still are accommodated with high stools. Near them stood their teacher who bowed courteously and with a smile.
The lady of the house took her seat before the soup-tureen; her guest was placed between herself and husband; the servant tied a napkin under the chin of the little boys, and the dinner ceremonial commenced.
“What pretty little boys!” said Tchichikoff, after a while, and looking intently at them. “What is their age?”
“The elder is in his eighth year, and the younger celebrated his sixth birth-day yesterday,” answered Madame Maniloff, smiling.
“Themistoclus!” said Maniloff, whilst turning towards his elder boy, who was just engaged in liberating his chin from the napkin which the servant bad tied too tightly round his neck. Tchichikoff lifted up his head and frowned slightly when he heard this classic name, of which heaven knows why Maniloff had made the final syllable us; however he recovered immediately from his surprise, and his features reassumed their wonted expression.
“Themistoclus, my boy!” repeated Maniloff, “tell me which is the finest town in France?” Here the teacher directed all the power of his attention upon his pupil thus questioned by his father; and it seemed as if he intended to pierce him with his glance; but he gradually calmed down, and soon after nodded approvingly with his head, when he heard Themistocles give the answer:
“Paris.”
“And which is the finest town in Russia?” demanded again Maniloff.
The master fixed his eyes again upon his pupil and frowned.
“St. Petersburg,” replied Themistocles, quickly.
“And what town besides?”
“Moscow,” again replied the boy with sparkling eyes, for he seemed to be sure of his lesson.
“Now for the last question,” said his father, evidently pleased with his child’s progresses. “Who are the natural enemies of Russia and of Christendom?”
“The Turks; and we ought to take Constantinople from them,” replied Themistocles, with the air of a conqueror, and looking for approval towards his master.
“Oh, the clever darling!” exclaimed Tchichikoff, when he had heard all these replies. “Really,” he continued, whilst turning with an air of agreeable surprise towards the happy parents, “I am of opinion that this little boy displays signs of great proficiency.”
“Oh, you don’t know him half,” replied Maniloff; “he possesses a great deal of perspicuity. As for the younger son, Alcides,” (here Tchichikoff, was startled again as before), “he is not so sharp a boy as his elder brother; Themistoclus is livelier, and his eyes will sparkle at anything. If even an insect, he will immediately run after it, and pay it the greatest attention. I intend to have him educated for the diplomatic career. Themistoclus,” he continued, turning again towards the boy, “would you like to be an ambassador?”
“Oh yes, papa!” answered the child, with his mouth full of cake, and balancing his head like a Chinese mandarin.
At that very moment, the servant, who stood behind the future ambassador, wiped that young gentleman’s nose, and it was well he did so, or else some mishap would have been the consequence. The conversation at table now turned upon the pleasures of domestic life, and was now and then enlivened by the observations of Madame Maniloff on the theatre and the actors of their town.
The teacher listened and looked very attentively upon the conversing parties, and whenever he saw the company laughing at some observations, he would at once open his mouth and join them in a most hearty approbation. No doubt he was a man with a deep sense of gratitude, and strove to display in this manner his acknowledgment for the treatment he met at the hands of his employer. Once, however, he could not prevent assuming an expression of reproof and knocking gently upon the table, while frowning at his pupils, who sat opposite to him. This was done at an opportune moment, because Themistocles had just bitten the ear of his brother Alcides, who instantly closed his eyes, and opened his mouth, and was on the point of beginning a most lamentable tune; but seeing the frowning forehead of his master, and fearing he might lose his dinner, he brought back his mouth to its former position, and began to gnaw lustily, with tears in his eyes at a large bone of roast mutton, which made both his cheeks shiny with grease.
The lady of the house frequently encouraged her guest in the following manner:
“You scarcely eat anything; you have taken so very little indeed.”
To these observations Tchichikoff would invariably reply:
“I am very much obliged to you, Madame; I have had plenty—besides, pleasant intercourse surpasses the finest dish.”
They at last rose from table. Maniloff seemed exceedingly pleased, and laying his hand gently on the back of his guest, he was on the point of leading him gently into the drawing-room, when the latter suddenly informed him, and with an air of confidential importance, that he had a wish to converse with him on the subject of some important business.
“In that event, allow me to show you into my private room,” said Maniloff, and led him into a small adjoining chamber, the windows of which afforded a view of a gloomy fir-tree forest looming in the distance. “This is my own little corner,” added Maniloff.
“A very pretty and comfortable room,” said Tchichikoff, whilst casting a glance around. The room had really its pleasing features; the walls were painted of a light blue colour of a greyish tint; it contained four chairs, one arm-chair, a table; upon the latter lay the book with the marked page, of which we had already had occasion to speak, a few writing materials, and a quantity of tobacco. That fragrant weed was laying about in various forms and places, in packages, in pouches and boxes, and lastly even upon the table. Upon both windows numerous little heaps of tobacco ashes from his pipe were ranged, not without taste, in symmetrical order. It was obvious that this arrangement sometimes assisted the master of the house in passing his time pleasantly.
“Pray be seated in this arm-chair,” said Maniloff; “here you will be more comfortable.”
“I beg you will allow me to prefer this chair.”
“Permit me to insist upon your’ seating yourself in this arm-chair;” said Maniloff with a smile. “This old arm-chair has been assigned by me for my friends; and, therefore, whether you like it or not you must sit down in it.”
Tchichikoff seated himself in the arm-chair.
“Will you take a pipe or a cigar?”
“I thank you, but I do not smoke,” replied Tchichikoff civilly, as if with an air of regret.
“And pray, why don’t you?” inquired Maniloff, also civilly, and with an air of regret.
“I did not contract the habit, I am afraid, because I was told that smoking originates consumption.”
“I beg to observe that this is a prejudice. I am of opinion that to smoke a pipe is by far more healthy than taking snuff. In my regiment we had a lieutenant who was an excellent and well-bred officer, his pipe never quitted him, not even at table—and with your leave—not even at any other place. At present he is more than forty years old, and thank Heaven, as well and healthy as he could wish to be.”
Tchichikoff observed that such instances were of frequent occurrence, and that there were many phenomena in human nature, quite incomprehensible to the most cultivated mind.
“But allow me now to put you a question.” He then proceeded in a tone of voice in which there was a peculiar and nearly a strange expression, and after having spoken the last words, he, for some reason or other looked around him. Maniloff also looked round, but for what reason he did so, it is impossible to tell.
“How long, may I ask, if you please,” continued Tchichikoff, “is it since you last handed in to government the census of the population on your estate?”
“Oh, if I recollect rightly, it is some time since;” replied Maniloff, “but to tell the truth, I do not exactly remember when.”
“And can you perhaps recollect if many of your serfs have died since?”
“I must confess I don’t know!” said Maniloff with a little embarrassment; “but I could question my steward about it. Hilloah! Ivan! or some one else, call my steward, he ought to be here to-day.”
Soon after, the manager of Maniloff’s estate made his appearance. He was a man under forty years of age, with a closely shaved head, fashionably dressed, and evidently enjoying and spending a pleasant existence; because his fat and rosy cheeks seemed to attest that he was well familiar with the comforts of a soft mattress and downy pillows. It was easy to see at a glance that he had accomplished his aim in life, as is usual among men of his calling: early in youth he was but an adopted orphan, charitably brought up in the family of his present master, and instructed in a little reading and writing; later he managed to marry the house-keeper—a favourite of her ladyship’s—contrived to become housekeeper himself, until ultimately he got himself promoted to the rank of steward. And when he had become the general manager of the estate, he did like other stewards do: he frequented and connected himself only with the richer families in the village, exacted more tribute from the poorer, rose at nine o’clock in the morning, heated his samovar and took his tea comfortably.
“I say, my good fellow,” Maniloff addressed himself to his humble steward; “how many of my peasants have died since you sent the last census to government?”
“Your glory wishes to know how many? Since then many have indeed died,” replied the steward, whilst putting his hand before his mouth in lieu of a shield, to screen a slight hiccup, which he was unable to repress.
“Yes, I must confess, I thought as much myself,” added Maniloff; “just so, a great many have died since.” Hereupon he turned towards Tchichikoff, and repeated again; “exactly so, a great many have died.”
“But, about how many in number?” demanded again Tchichikoff.
“Yes, to be sure, how many in number? repeated Maniloff.
“Yes, your glory; but how could I fix upon the number? It is impossible to say how many, no one has counted them,” said the steward again, and with increasing embarrassment.
“Just so,” said Maniloff, whilst turning towards his guest; “I anticipated as much; there was a great mortality during these latter years; and I think it is difficult to say with any precision how many have died.”
“You had better number the dead, my good man;” Tchichikoff addressed himself to the steward, “and make out a correct list of all, together with their family and Christian names.”
“Yes, to be sure,” added Maniloff adopting the same positive tone of voice as his guest: “and give their names carefully.”
“It shall be done, your glory!” replied the steward, and left the room.
“But for what purpose do you want these particulars?” inquired Maniloff, after the steward had left them.
This question seemed to embarrass his guest considerably; his face flushed, his countenance betrayed uneasiness and was altogether striking in its momentary change, and difficult to be described in words. At last Maniloff was obliged to listen to one of the strangest and most extraordinary proposals to which human ears were ever yet fated to listen. “You wish to know for what purpose? The reasons are the following: I should like to purchase some serfs—” said Tchichikoff, whilst recovering gradually; but scarcely had he uttered the last word, when he had a sudden attack of his cough, and did not, of course, conclude the phrase.
“But allow me to ask you,” continued Maniloff, “on what condition do you wish to purchase peasants, is it together with the land they live upon, or do you want them for colonisation elsewhere, that is to say, without the land they live upon?”
“No, that is not exactly what I mean,” replied Tchichikoff, after a moment’s hesitation, “what I wish to purchase, are dead serfs.”
“What? pardon me—I am rather deaf in one ear, but it seemed to me as if I had heard the strangest words that could possibly be spoken.”
“Strange, perhaps,” added Tchichikoff, more coolly than might have been expected after his first agitation; “yes, my dear sir, I have a wish to make the acquisition of the dead—who, however, must stand booked as existing or living in the columns of the last governmental census.”