"Would you care for some refreshment?" brother Vassily said to Chichikov, pointing to the carafes. "These are kvasses of our own making; our house has long been famous for them."

Chichikov poured a glass from the first carafe—just like the linden mead he used to drink in Poland: bubbly as champagne, and it went in a pleasant fizz right up his nose.

"Nectar!" said Chichikov. He drank a glass from another carafe—even better.

"In what direction and to what places are you thinking mainly of going?" brother Vassily asked.

"I'm going," said Chichikov, rubbing his knee with his hand to accompany the slight rocking of his whole body and inclining his head to one side, "not so much on my own necessity as on another man's. General Betrishchev, a close friend and, one might say, benefactor, has asked me to visit his relatives. Relatives, of course, are relatives, but it is partly, so to speak, for my own sake as well, for—to say nothing of the benefit in the hemorrhoidal respect—to see the world and the circulation of people—is already in itself, so to speak, a living book and a second education."

Brother Vassily lapsed into thought. "The man speaks somewhat ornately, but there's truth in his words," he thought. "My brother Platon lacks knowledge of people, the world, and life." After a short silence, he spoke aloud thus:

"I am beginning to think, Platon, that a journey may indeed stir you up. Your mind is hibernating. You've simply fallen asleep, and you've fallen asleep not from satiety or fatigue, but from a lack of living impressions and sensations. I, for instance, am quite the contrary. I'd very much like not to feel so keenly and not to take so closely to heart all that happens."

"Who makes you take it all so closely to heart?" said Platon. "You seek out worries and invent anxieties for yourself."

"Why invent, if there are troubles at every step even without that?" said Vassily "Have you heard what trick Lenitsyn has played on us? He's appropriated the waste land where our people celebrate Krasnaya Gorka."[66]

"He doesn't know, so he seized it," said Platon. "The man's new here, just come from Petersburg. He must be told, and have it explained to him."

"He knows, he knows very well. I sent to tell him, but he responded with rudeness."

"You must go yourself and explain it. Have a personal talk with him."

"Ah, no. He puts on too many airs. I won't go to him. You can go if you like."

"I'd go, but I don't want to mix in it. He may deceive me and swindle me."

"I'll go, if you like," said Chichikov.

Vassily glanced at him and thought: "He loves going places, this one!"

"Just give me an idea of what sort of man he is," said Chichikov, "and what it's about."

"I'm ashamed to charge you with such an unpleasant mission, because merely to talk with such a man is already an unpleasant mission for me. I must tell you that he is from simple, petty-landowning nobility of our province, got his rank serving in Petersburg, set himself up somehow by marrying someone's illegitimate daughter, and puts on airs. He sets the tone here. But, thank God, in our province people aren't so stupid: for us fashion is no order, and Petersburg is no church."

"Of course," said Chichikov, "and what is it about?"

"It's nonsense, in fact. He hasn't got enough land, so he appropriated our waste land—that is, he reckoned that it wasn't needed and that the owners had forgotten about it, but it so happens that from time immemorial our peasants have gathered there to celebrate Krasnaya Gorka. For that reason, I'm better prepared to sacrifice other, better land than to give up this piece. Custom is sacred to me."

"So you're prepared to let him have other land?"

"I would have been, if he hadn't acted this way with me; but he wants, as I can see, to do it through the courts. Very well, we'll see who wins. Though it's not so clear on the map, there are still witnesses—old people who are living and who remember."

"Hm!" thought Chichikov. "I see they're both a bit off." And he said aloud:

"But it seems to me that the business can be handled peaceably. Everything depends on the mediator. In writ...” [Two pages are missing from the manuscript.—Trans.]

". . . that for you yourself it would also be very profitable to transfer, to my name, for instance, all the dead souls registered on your estates in the last census lists, so that I pay the tax on them. And to avoid causing any offense, you can perform the transfer through a deed of purchase, as if the souls were alive."

"Well, now!" Lenitsyn thought. "This is something most strange." And he even pushed his chair back, so entirely puzzled he was.

"I have no doubts that you will agree entirely to this," Chichikov said, "because this is entirely the same sort of thing we've just been talking about. It'll be completed between solid people, in private, and there'll be no offense to anyone."

What to do here? Lenitsyn found himself in a difficult position. He could never have foreseen that an opinion he had just formulated would be so quickly brought to realization. The offer was highly unexpected. Of course, there could be no harm for anyone in this action: the landowners would mortgage these souls anyway, the same as living ones, so there could be no loss for the treasury; the difference was that they would all be in one hand rather than in several. But all the same he was at a loss. He knew the law and was a businessman—a businessman in a good sense: he would not decide a case unjustly for any bribe. But here he hesitated, not knowing what name to give to this action—was it right or wrong? If someone else had addressed him with such an offer, he would have said: "This is nonsense! trifles! I have no wish to fool around or play with dolls." But he liked his guest so much, they agreed on so many things with regard to the success of education and learning—how could he refuse? Lenitsyn found himself in a most difficult position.

But at that moment, just as if to help him in his woe, the young, pug-nosed mistress, Lenitsyn's wife, came into the room, pale, thin, small, and dressed tastefully, like all Petersburg ladies. Following her came a nurse carrying a baby in her arms, the firstborn fruit of the tender love of the recently married couple. Chichikov naturally approached the lady at once and, to say nothing of the proper greeting, simply by the agreeable inclining of his head to one side, disposed her greatly in his favor. Then he ran over to the baby. The baby burst into howls; nevertheless, by means of the words: "Goo, goo, darling!" and by flicking his fingers and the carnelian seal on his watch chain, Chichikov managed to lure him into his arms. Taking him into his arms, he started tossing him up, thereby provoking the baby's pleasant smile, which made both parents very happy.

Whether from pleasure or from something else, the baby suddenly misbehaved. Lenitsyn's wife cried out:

"Ah, my God! he's spoiled your whole tailcoat."

Chichikov looked: the sleeve of the brand new tailcoat was all spoiled. "Blast it, the cursed little devil!" he muttered vexedly to himself.

The host, the hostess, and the nurse all ran to fetch some eau de cologne; they began wiping him on all sides.

"It's nothing, nothing at all," Chichikov was saying. "What can an innocent baby do?" At the same time thinking to himself: "And so well aimed, the cursed little canaille!" "A golden age!" he said when he was well wiped off and the agreeable expression had returned to his face again.