Nikolai Gogol - Dead Souls

"Kindly do not worry so for my sake, I will go in after," Chichikov said.

"No, Pavel Ivanovich, no, you are a guest," Manilov said, motioning him to the door with his hand.

"Do not trouble yourself, please, do not trouble yourself. Go in, please," Chichikov said.

"No, excuse me, I will not allow such an agreeable, well-educated guest to go in after me."

"Why well-educated? . . . Go in, please."

"Ah, no, you go in, please."

"But why?"

"Ah, but, just because!" Manilov said with an agreeable smile.

Finally the two friends went through the door sideways, squeezing each other slightly.

"Allow me to introduce you to my wife," said Manilov. "Sweetie! Pavel Ivanovich!"

Chichikov indeed saw a lady whom he had entirely failed to notice at first, as he was exchanging bows with Manilov in the doorway. She was not bad-looking and was dressed becomingly. Her housecoat of pale-colored silk sat well on her; her small, slender hand hastily dropped something on the table and clutched a cambric handkerchief with embroidered corners. She rose from the sofa on which she was sitting; Chichikov, not without pleasure, went up to kiss her hand. Mrs. Manilov said, even with a slightly French r, [5] Russians sometimes affected the uvular French r when speaking their own language, thinking it a sign of gentility. that they were very glad he had come, and that no day went by without her husband's remembering him.

"Yes," Manilov chimed in, "she indeed kept asking me: 'But why does your friend not come?' 'Wait a bit, sweetie, he will come.' And now at last you've honored us with your visit. It is truly such a delight... a May day ... a heart's feast..."

When Chichikov heard that things had already gone as far as a heart's feast, he even became slightly embarrassed, and replied modestly that he had neither a renowned name, nor even any notable rank.

"You have everything," Manilov interrupted with the same agreeable smile, "everything, and even more besides."

"How do you find our town?" Mrs. Manilov chimed in. "Have you spent an agreeable time there?"

"A very good town, a wonderful town," replied Chichikov, "and my time there has been very agreeable: the society is most mannerly."

"And what do you think of our governor?" said Mrs. Manilov.

"A most respectable and amiable man, isn't it true?" Manilov added.

"Absolutely true," said Chichikov, "a most respectable man. And how well he enters into his duty, how he understands it! We can only wish for more such people!"

"And, you know, he has such a way of receiving everyone, of observing delicacy in all he does," Manilov appended with a smile, narrowing his eyes almost completely with pleasure, like a cat that has been tickled lightly behind the ears with a finger.

"A very mannerly and agreeable man," continued Chichikov, "and so artistic! I even never could have imagined it. How well he embroiders various household patterns! He showed me a purse he made: it's a rare lady that can embroider so artfully."

"And the vice-governor, such a dear man, isn't it true?" said Manilov, again narrowing his eyes slightly.

"A very, very worthy man," responded Chichikov.

"And, permit me, how do you find the police chief? A very agreeable man, isn't it true?"

"Exceedingly agreeable, and such an intelligent, such a well-read man! I played whist at his place with the prosecutor and the head magistrate till the last cockcrow—a very, very worthy man."

"And what is your opinion of the police chief's wife?" Mrs. Manilov added. "A most amiable woman, isn't it true?"

"Oh, she is one of the worthiest women I have ever known," replied Chichikov.

Whereupon they did not omit the head magistrate, the postmaster, and in this manner went through almost all the town's officials, all of whom turned out to be most worthy people.

"Do you spend all your time in the country?" Chichikov finally put a question in his turn.

"Mainly in the country," replied Manilov. "Sometimes, however, we go to town, if only so as to meet educated people. One grows wild, you know, if one lives in seclusion all the time."

"True, true," said Chichikov.

"Of course," Manilov continued, "it's another thing if one has a nice neighbor, if one has, for example, the sort of man with whom one can in some way discuss matters of courtesy, of good manners, keep up with some sort of science or other, so as somehow to stir the soul, to lend it, so to speak, a sort of soaring ..." Here he wished to express something further, but noticing that he was running off at the mouth, he merely scooped the air with his hand and went on: "Then, of course, the country and its solitude would have a great deal of agreeableness. But there is decidedly no one . . . One merely reads the Son of the Fatherland [6] The Son of the Fatherland was a reactionary political and literary review published in Petersburg between 1812 and 1852. occasionally."

Chichikov agreed with this completely, adding that nothing could be more pleasant than to live in solitude, enjoy the spectacle of nature, and occasionally read some book . . .

"But, you know," Manilov added, "still, if there is no friend with whom one can share ..."

"Oh, that is correct, that is perfectly correct!" Chichikov interrupted. "What are all the treasures of the world then! 'Keep not money, but keep good people's company,' the wise man said."

"And you know, Pavel Ivanovich!" Manilov said, showing on his face an expression not merely sweet but even cloying, like the mixture a shrewd society doctor sweetens unmercifully, fancying it will please his patient. "Then one feels a sort of spiritual delight, in some way... As now, for instance, when chance has given me the, one might say, exemplary happiness of talking with you and enjoying your agreeable conversation ...”

"Good gracious, what agreeable conversation? . . . An insignificant man, nothing more," responded Chichikov.

"Oh! Pavel Ivanovich, allow me to be frank: I would gladly give half of all I possess for a portion of the virtues that are yours! ..."

"On the contrary, I, for my part, would regard it as the greatest..."

There is no knowing what the mutual outpouring of feelings between the two friends would have come to, if an entering servant had not announced that the meal was ready.

"I beg you to join us," said Manilov. "You will excuse us if we do not have such a dinner as on parquet floors and in capitals, we simply have, after the Russian custom, cabbage soup, but from the bottom of our hearts. Join us, I humbly beg you."

Here they spent some more time arguing over who should go in first, and Chichikov finally entered the dining room sideways.

In the dining room there already stood two boys, Manilov's sons, who were of the age when children already sit at the table, but still on raised seats. By them stood their tutor, who bowed politely and with a smile. The hostess sat down to her soup tureen; the guest was seated between the host and the hostess, the servant tied napkins around the children's necks.

"Such dear little children," said Chichikov, having looked at them, "and of what ages?"

"The older one is going on eight, and the younger one turned six just yesterday," said Mrs. Manilov.

"Themistoclus!" said Manilov, addressing the older boy, who was making efforts to free his chin from the napkin the lackey had tied around it.

Chichikov raised an eyebrow slightly on hearing this partly Greek name, to which, for some unknown reason, Manilov gave the ending "-us," but tried at once to bring his face back to its usual state.

"Themistoclus, tell me, what is the best city in France?"

Here the tutor turned all his attention on Themistoclus and seemed to want to jump into his eyes, but calmed himself at last and nodded when Themistoclus said: "Paris."