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But about the list of those good-for-nothing souls I happen to possess such a list, since I have drawn one up in readiness for the next revision." With that Plushkin donned his spectacles, and once more started to rummage in the cupboard, and to smother his guest with dust as he untied successive packages of papers so much so that his victim burst out sneezing.
"To the town?" repeated Plushkin. "But why? Moreover, how could I leave the house, seeing that every one of my servants is either a thief or a rogue? Day by day they pilfer things, until soon I shall have not a single coat to hang on my back." "Then you possess acquaintances in the town?" "Acquaintances? No. Every acquaintance whom I ever possessed has either left me or is dead. But stop a moment.
"Why have you gone and purchased souls from Plushkin?" whispered Sobakevitch in Chichikov's other ear. "Why did YOU go and add the woman Vorobei to your list?" retorted Chichikov. "Vorobei? Who is Vorobei?" "The woman 'Elizabet' Vorobei 'Elizabet, not 'Elizabeta?" "I added no such name," replied Sobakevitch, and straightway joined the other guests.
And bring me a match too." Mavra departed, and Plushkin, seating himself, and taking up a pen, sat turning the sheet of paper over and over, as though in doubt whether to tear from it yet another morsel.
The proposal seemed to astonish Plushkin, for he sat staring open-eyed. At length he inquired: "My dear sir, have you seen military service?" "No," replied the other warily, "but I have been a member of the CIVIL Service." "Oh! Of the CIVIL Service?" And Plushkin sat moving his lips as though he were chewing something. "Well, what of your proposal?" he added presently.
This reassured Plushkin as to his guest's intention of doing business, so he got out his keys, approached a cupboard, and, having pulled back the door, rummaged among the cups and glasses with which it was filled. At length he said: "I cannot find it now, but I used to possess a splendid bottle of liquor. Probably the servants have drunk it all, for they are such thieves.
"Also," went on Plushkin, "I am ashamed to say that hardly a wisp of fodder does the place contain. But how can I get fodder? My lands are small, and the peasantry lazy fellows who hate work and think of nothing but the tavern. In the end, therefore, I shall be forced to go and spend my old age in roaming about the world."
Indeed, had any one, on a slushy winter's morning, glanced from a window into the said courtyard, he would have seen Plushkin's servitors performing saltatory feats worthy of the most vigorous of stage-dancers. "Look at that boy's face!" said Plushkin to Chichikov as he pointed to Proshka. "It is stupid enough, yet, lay anything aside, and in a trice he will have stolen it.
This was Proshka a thirteen-year-old youngster who was shod with boots of such dimensions as almost to engulf his legs as he walked. The reason why he had entered thus shod was that Plushkin only kept one pair of boots for the whole of his domestic staff.
"My word!" reflected Chichikov. "The fellow has a pretty good holding capacity!" "None of it for me," repeated Sobakevitch as he wiped his hands on his napkin. "I don't intend to be like a fellow named Plushkin, who owns eight hundred souls, yet dines worse than does my shepherd." "Who is Plushkin?" asked Chichikov. "A miser," replied Sobakevitch. "Such a miser as never you could imagine.
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