Nikolai Gogol - Dead Souls

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Dead Souls: краткое содержание, описание и аннотация

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Since its publication in 1842, Dead Souls has been celebrated as a supremely realistic portrait of provincial Russian life and as a splendidly exaggerated tale; as a paean to the Russian spirit and as a remorseless satire of imperial Russian venality, vulgarity, and pomp. As Gogol's wily antihero, Chichikov, combs the back country wheeling and dealing for "dead souls"--deceased serfs who still represent money to anyone sharp enough to trade in them--we are introduced to a Dickensian cast of peasants, landowners, and conniving petty officials, few of whom can resist the seductive illogic of Chichikov's proposition. This lively, idiomatic English version by the award-winning translators Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky makes accessible the full extent of the novel's lyricism, sulphurous humor, and delight in human oddity and error.

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"It is strange, though," said the lady agreeable in all respects. "What might they mean, these dead souls? I confess, I understand precisely nothing of it. It's the second time I've heard about these dead souls; but my husband still says Nozdryov's lying. No, there must be something to it."

"But do imagine, Anna Grigorievna, the position I was in when I heard it. And now,' says Korobochka, 'I don't know what I'm to do. He made me sign some false paper,' she says, 'threw down fifteen roubles in banknotes. I'm an inexperienced, helpless widow,' she says, 'I know nothing. . .' Such goings-on! But if only you could imagine at least slightly to yourself how totally alarmed I was."

"But, as you will, only it's not dead souls here, there's something else hidden in it."

"I confess, I think so, too," the simply agreeable lady said, not without surprise, and straightaway felt a strong desire to learn what it was that might be hidden in it. She even said in measured tones: "And what do you think is hidden in it?"

"Well, what do you think?"

"What do I think? ... I confess, I'm completely at a loss."

"But, all the same, I'd like to know your thoughts concerning it."

But the agreeable lady found nothing to say. She knew only how to be alarmed, but as for arriving at some sort of clever conjecture, she was not equal to the task, and therefore, more than any other woman, she was in need of tender friendship and advice.

"Well, listen then, here's what it is with these dead souls," said the lady agreeable in all respects, and at these words the visitor became all attention: her little ears pricked up of themselves, she rose slightly, almost not sitting or holding on to the sofa, and though she was somewhat on the heavy side, she suddenly became slenderer, like a light bit of fluff about to fly into the air with a breath of wind.

Thus a Russian squire, a dog-lover and hunter, approaching the woods from which a hare, startled by the beaters, is just about to leap, turns, all of him, together with his horse and raised crop, for one frozen moment into powder that is just about to be ignited. He is all fastened on the murky air with his eyes, and he will catch the beast, he will finish it off, ineluctably, no matter how the whole rebellious, snowy steppe rises up against him, sending silver stars into his mouth, his mustache, his eyes, his eyebrows, and his beaver hat.

"The dead souls . . . ," pronounced the lady agreeable in all respects.

"What, what?" the visitor picked up, all excitement.

"The dead souls! ..."

"Ah, speak, for God's sake!"

"That was simply invented as a cover, and here's the real thing: he wants to carry off the governor's daughter."

This conclusion was, indeed, quite unanticipated and in all respects extraordinary. The agreeable lady, on hearing it, simply froze on the spot, turned pale, pale as death, and, indeed, became seriously alarmed.

"Ah, my God!" she cried out, clasping her hands, "that is something I would never have thought."

"And, I confess, as soon as you opened your mouth, I grasped what it was," replied the lady agreeable in all respects.

"But what is boarding-school education after that, Anna Grigorievna! There's innocence for you!"

"What innocence! I've heard her say such things as, I confess, I would never have the courage to utter."

"You know, Anna Grigorievna, it's simply heartrending to see where immorality has finally come to."

"And men lose their minds over her. As for me, I confess, I find nothing in her . . . She's insufferably affected."

"Ah, Anna Grigorievna, dear heart, she's a statue, and if only she at least had some expression in her face."

"Ah, how affected! Ah, how affected! God, how affected! Who taught her I do not know, but I have never yet seen a woman in whom there was so much mincing."

"Darling! she's a statue, and pale as death."

"Ah, don't tell me, Sofya Ivanovna: she's sinfully rouged."

"Ah, how can you, Anna Grigorievna: she's chalk, chalk, the purest chalk!"

"My dear, I sat next to her: rouge finger-thick, and it comes off in pieces, like plaster. The mother taught her, she's a coquette herself, and the daughter will outdo her mama."

"No, excuse me, I'll take any oath you like, I'm ready to be deprived this instant of my children, my husband, all my property, if she wears the least drop, the least particle, the least shadow of any sort of rouge!"

"Ah, what are you saying, Sofya Ivanovna!" said the lady agreeable in all respects, clasping her hands.

"Ah, you really are the one, Anna Grigorievna! ... I look at you in amazement!" the agreeable lady said, also clasping her hands.

Let it not seem strange to the reader that the two ladies could not agree between them on what they had seen at almost the same time. There are, indeed, many things in the world that have this quality: when one lady looks at them, they come out perfectly white, and when another lady looks, they come out red, red as a cranberry.

"Now, here's another proof for you that she's pale," the simply agreeable lady went on. "I remember, as if it were today, sitting next to Manilov and saying to him: 'Look how pale she is!' Really, our men must be altogether witless to admire her. And our charmer . . . Ah, how disgusting I found him! You cannot imagine, Anna Grigorievna, to what extent I found him disgusting."

"But, all the same, certain ladies turned up who were not indifferent to him."

"Me, Anna Grigorievna? Now, that you can never say, never, never!

"But I'm not talking about you, as if there were no one else but you."

"Never, never, Anna Grigorievna! Allow me to point out to you that I know myself very well; but perhaps on the part of certain other ladies who play the role of untouchables."

"I beg your pardon, Sofya Ivanovna! Allow me to inform you that such scandaleusities have never yet occurred with me. Perhaps with someone else, but not with me, do allow me to point that out to you."

"Why are you so offended? There were other ladies present, there were even such as would be the first to grab the chair by the door in order to sit closer to him."

Well, now, after such words uttered by the agreeable lady, a storm had inevitably to ensue, but, to the greatest amazement, the two ladies suddenly quieted down, and absolutely nothing ensued. The lady agreeable in all respects recalled that the pattern for the fashionable dress was not yet in her hands, and the simply agreeable lady realized that she had not yet succeeded in ferreting out any details with regard to the discovery made by her bosom friend, and therefore peace very quickly ensued. Incidentally, it cannot be said that either lady had in her nature any need to inflict disagreeableness, and generally there was nothing wicked in their characters, but just like that, imperceptibly, a little wish to needle each other was born of itself in the course of conversation; one of them would simply thrust a lively little phrase at the other now and then, for the sake of a little pleasure: there, that's for you! take that and eat it! All sorts of needs exist in the hearts of both the male and the female sex.

"The one thing I can't understand, however," said the simply agreeable lady, "is how Chichikov, being a passing traveler, could resolve on such a bold venture. It can't be that there are no accomplices."

"And do you think there aren't any?"

"And who do you suppose could be helping him?"

"Well, let's say Nozdryov."

"Nozdryov, really?"

"And why not? He's capable of it. You know he wanted to sell his own father, or, better still, lose him at cards."

"Ah, my God, such interesting news I learn from you! I'd never have supposed Nozdryov could also be mixed up in this story!"

"And I always supposed so."

"When you think, really, the sorts of things that happen in the world! Now, could one have thought, when Chichikov had just come to our town, remember, that he would produce such a strange demarch in the world? Ah, Anna Grigorievna, if only you knew how alarmed I was! If it weren't for your good will and friendship . . . indeed, it was the brink of ruin . . . where, then? My Mashka saw I was pale as death. 'Darling mistress,' she says to me, 'you are pale as death.' 'Mashka,' I say, 'I can't be bothered with that.' What a thing to happen! So Nozdryov is in it, too, if you please!"

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