Dead Souls, Nikolai Gogol [best biographies to read .TXT] 📗

became a perfect glutton on his guests’ behalf. Should he notice that a guest had taken but a single piece of a comestible, he added thereto another one, saying: “Without a mate, neither man nor bird can live in this world.” Should anyone take two pieces, he added thereto a third, saying: “What is the good of the number 2? God loves a trinity.” Should anyone take three pieces, he would say: “Where do you see a wagon with three wheels? Who builds a three-cornered hut?” Lastly, should anyone take four pieces, he would cap them with a fifth, and add thereto the punning quip, “Na piat opiat.”46 After devouring at least twelve steaks of sturgeon, Chichikov ventured to think to himself, “My host cannot possibly add to them,” but found that he was mistaken, for, without a word, Pietukh heaped upon his plate an enormous portion of spit-roasted veal, and also some kidneys. And what veal it was!

“That calf was fed two years on milk,” he explained. “I cared for it like my own son.”

“Nevertheless I can eat no more,” said Chichikov.

“Do you try the veal before you say that you can eat no more.”

“But I could not get it down my throat. There is no room left.”

“If there be no room in a church for a newcomer, the beadle is sent for, and room is very soon made⁠—yes, even though before there was such a crush that an apple couldn’t have been dropped between the people. Do you try the veal, I say. That piece is the titbit of all.”

So Chichikov made the attempt; and in very truth the veal was beyond all praise, and room was found for it, even though one would have supposed the feat impossible.

“Fancy this good fellow removing to St. Petersburg or Moscow!” said the guest to himself. “Why, with a scale of living like this, he would be ruined in three years.” For that matter, Pietukh might well have been ruined already, for hospitality can dissipate a fortune in three months as easily as it can in three years.

The host also dispensed the wine with a lavish hand, and what the guests did not drink he gave to his sons, who thus swallowed glass after glass. Indeed, even before coming to table, it was possible to discern to what department of human accomplishment their bent was turned. When the meal was over, however, the guests had no mind for further drinking. Indeed, it was all that they could do to drag themselves on to the balcony, and there to relapse into easy chairs. Indeed, the moment that the host subsided into his seat⁠—it was large enough for four⁠—he fell asleep, and his portly presence, converting itself into a sort of blacksmith’s bellows, started to vent, through open mouth and distended nostrils, such sounds as can have greeted the reader’s ear but seldom⁠—sounds as of a drum being beaten in combination with the whistling of a flute and the strident howling of a dog.

“Listen to him!” said Platon.

Chichikov smiled.

“Naturally, on such dinners as that,” continued the other, “our host does not find the time dull. And as soon as dinner is ended there can ensue sleep.”

“Yes, but, pardon me, I still fail to understand why you should find life wearisome. There are so many resources against ennui!”

“As for instance?”

“For a young man, dancing, the playing of one or another musical instrument, and⁠—well, yes, marriage.”

“Marriage to whom?”

“To some maiden who is both charming and rich. Are there none in these parts?”

“No.”

“Then, were I you, I should travel, and seek a maiden elsewhere.” And a brilliant idea therewith entered Chichikov’s head. “This last resource,” he added, “is the best of all resources against ennui.”

“What resource are you speaking of?”

“Of travel.”

“But whither?”

“Well, should it so please you, you might join me as my companion.” This said, the speaker added to himself as he eyed Platon: “Yes, that would suit me exactly, for then I should have half my expenses paid, and could charge him also with the cost of mending the koliaska.”

“And whither should we go?”

“In that respect I am not wholly my own master, as I have business to do for others as well as for myself. For instance, General Betristchev⁠—an intimate friend and, I might add, a generous benefactor of mine⁠—has charged me with commissions to certain of his relatives. However, though relatives are relatives, I am travelling likewise on my own account, since I wish to see the world and the whirligig of humanity⁠—which, in spite of what people may say, is as good as a living book or a second education.” As a matter of fact, Chichikov was reflecting, “Yes, the plan is an excellent one. I might even contrive that he should have to bear the whole of our expenses, and that his horses should be used while my own should be put out to graze on his farm.”

“Well, why should I not adopt the suggestion?” was Platon’s thought. “There is nothing for me to do at home, since the management of the estate is in my brother’s hands, and my going would cause him no inconvenience. Yes, why should I not do as Chichikov has suggested?”

Then he added aloud:

“Would you come and stay with my brother for a couple of days? Otherwise he might refuse me his consent.”

“With great pleasure,” said Chichikov. “Or even for three days.”

“Then here is my hand on it. Let us be off at once.” Platon seemed suddenly to have come to life again.

“Where are you off to?” put in their host unexpectedly as he roused himself and stared in astonishment at the pair. “No, no, my good sirs. I have had the wheels removed from your koliaska, Monsieur Chichikov, and have sent your horse, Platon Mikhalitch, to a grazing ground fifteen versts away. Consequently you must spend the night here, and depart tomorrow morning after breakfast.”

What could be done with a man like Pietukh? There