Tchichikoff was just awaking, and stretching out his hands and legs like a man preparing for gymnastics, he also began to be aware that he had slept uncommonly well. After lying for about two minutes longer thus outstretched upon his back, he suddenly smacked his fingers in the air, for he at once distinctly remembered, and with a face radiant with satisfaction, that he now possessed nearly four hundred serfs, a stock worth about half a million of silver roubles.
After these satisfactory reflections, he jumped gaily out of bed, and did not even think of looking at his face, for which he had a particular affection, and in which, as it seemed, he thought his chin was the most attractive feature, because he had the habit of passing his hand frequently over it when in the presence of any intimate friend; he did this particularly when he had been shaving in the morning.
"Just look here," he used to say, whilst stroking it gently with his hand, "behold what a chin I have got—perfectly round and smooth!"
But this time, he examined neither his chin nor his face, but directly, such as he was, he got into his red morocco-leather morning boots, richly embroidered with silk of a variety of colours, for the manufacture of which the ancient Tartar town of Kazan is so justly celebrated; and thanks to his Russian constitution, that heeds no temperature, just as he was, with nothing but his night-shirt on, in the real Scotch fashion, he forgot for a moment his sedate character and middle age, and executed two regular jumps round his room, touching himself, very cleverly indeed, twice with the soles of his feet.
The very next moment, he immediately sat down to attend to his business: as he was thus seated before his dressing-case, he rubbed his hands cheerfully for a moment—just as they would be rubbed by a honest and incorruptible judge when he is about to sit down to a luncheon before pronouncing his judgment in court; after having done this, Tchichikoff produced at once his papers and documents.
He was anxious to settle his affairs in Smolensk as speedily as possible, and leave nothing undone which could be attended to on that very day. He determined upon drawing up the contracts of sale himself; to write down and copy everything with his own hand, so as not to have to pay a copek to any of the government employés. He was perfectly familiar with the particular style and lawful forms of such documents; and he, therefore, with a bold hand wrote down in large characters, one thousand eight hundred and forty such a year, then immediately lower, but in much smaller characters, councillor of state, gentleman, so and so; in fact, all was done and written as it ought to be, and in two hours later his work was accomplished.
When he once more cast a glance over the various documents with the names of the serfs on them, who had at one time been real slaves, working, tilling, drinking, cheating their master, and perhaps also simply honest serfs, it was then that he felt a strange and incomprehensible sensation suddenly overcome him.
Each of the lists possessed, as it were, a distinct character, and through that fact, it seemed again that each serf named upon them assumed also an individual character. The serfs who formerly belonged to the widow-lady, Korobotchka, had nearly all nicknames attached to them. The note of old Pluschkin distinguished itself by its brevity of construction; many of the names were only indicated by the first two letters of the Christian and family name, and then followed two points, or rather blots.
Sobakevitch\'s list attracted his special attention by its unusual fullness and minuteness; not one of the various qualifications of any one of his serfs had been omitted; one of them had been noted down as a "clever joiner," to the name of another the following was appended, "a sharp fellow, eats no tallow." Particular nota benes were also made who their father, and who their mother had been; only one individual of the name of Phedot was distinguished thus, "father unknown, but was born of a girl in the house, of the name of Capitolina, good principles and no thief."
All these particulars had a peculiar appearance of reality; it seemed to Tchichikoff himself, as if these poor dead serfs were alive yesterday. He kept looking for a long time at their names, until he felt his heart melting, as it were, to a feeling of pity, and heaving a deep sigh, he exclaimed:
"Good heavens, how many there are of you, to be sure! Poor fellows, I wish you could tell me, what you have been doing during your existence! How have you been battling your way through this world of woe?"
And his eyes rested involuntarily upon the, to us, already familiar name of Peter Savelieff Neuvaschaikorito, who once had been the property of Lady Korobotchka. And again he could not forbear making the observation:
"What a rich name to be sure, he takes a whole line all to himself;" and he then continued, "when among the living, were you a clever fellow in your profession, or simply a clumsy mouzhik; and were did you meet your death-blow? Was it in a dram-shop, or on the high road, or were you surrounded by those dear to you by the ties of nature? Stephen Korobka, joiner, a sober and steady man. Ah! here he is, Stephen Korobka, that is the fellow, who, according to Sobakevitch, would have been a giant in the Imperial Life-Guards! No doubt the poor fellow wandered about in obscurity with a hatchet on his side, and his boots across his shoulders, making his meals at the slender expense of one copek for brown bread, and two for dried fish, whilst, on returning home from his yearly work, he would bring with him a purse stuffed with silver roubles, and perhaps have some bank notes sewn up between the lining of his shirt or boots—where are you now? Have you, anxious for larger profits, been even as far as Moscow, and elevated yourself as high as the spire of Ivan Veliki, and tried to ring the changes on an Easter-night, but unsuccessfully fallen to the ground, whilst some more clever fellow than yourself standing close by would scratch himself behind the ear, and say: \'poor Stephen, can\'t you stand the noise?\' and coolly take your place.
"Maxim Teliatnikoff, shoemaker—shoemaker. Oh, ah, a shoemaker! \'drunk like a cobbler,\' says our proverb. I know you, know you well, my fine fellow; if you like, I can tell you in a few words your own history; you were brought up to your trade by a native from Germany, who fed you at the same table, and beat your shoulders with the same strap to punish you for your own neglect and carelessness, and kept you at work and strictly in doors; at that time you were really an excellent fellow, but not a cobbler, and your German master thought that he could not praise you enough in the presence of his wife or friends. But when you had finished your apprenticeship, you said to yourself: \'now I will keep a strap myself, and not have to scrape together, one by one, the copper copeks as my German master used to do.\' Thinking thus, you contrived to pay your yearly impost to your lawful master, and were allowed to remain in town and set up in your profession. You succeeded so far well enough, for you happened to obtain numerous orders by way of encouragement, and you sat down to your work. Some wretched tanner supplied you with rotten leather, three times cheaper, it is true, than you could have bought a good material for; and really for a short time you even succeeded in making double profit upon each pair of boots you sold; but in about two weeks later, the boots of your manufacture were completely worn out, and you were called by your customers all sorts of names. In consequence of this mode of dealing, your shop was soon deserted by them, and by yourself; because you took to drinking and rolling about the streets, whilst in your state of intoxication you would often exclaim: \'No, really there is no consolation in life! we Russians cannot make a decent living, these foreigners push themselves ............