Dead Souls Nikolai Gogol (phonics story books TXT) 📖

other “surprises.” Nevertheless changes and improvements have begun to take place, since things now are governed more by the personal inclinations and idiosyncracies of the keepers of such establishments. For instance, in some seminaries the regimen places piano-playing first, and the French language second, and then the above department of housewifery; while in other seminaries the knitting of “surprises” heads the list, and then the French language, and then the playing of pianos⁠—so diverse are the systems in force! None the less, I may remark that Madame Manilov⁠—

But let me confess that I always shrink from saying too much about ladies. Moreover, it is time that we returned to our heroes, who, during the past few minutes, have been standing in front of the drawing-room door, and engaged in urging one another to enter first.

“Pray be so good as not to inconvenience yourself on my account,” said Chichikov. “I will follow you.”

“No, Paul Ivanovitch⁠—no! You are my guest.” And Manilov pointed towards the doorway.

“Make no difficulty about it, I pray,” urged Chichikov. “I beg of you to make no difficulty about it, but to pass into the room.”

“Pardon me, I will not. Never could I allow so distinguished and so welcome a guest as yourself to take second place.”

“Why call me ‘distinguished,’ my dear sir? I beg of you to proceed.”

“Nay; be you pleased to do so.”

“And why?”

“For the reason which I have stated.” And Manilov smiled his very pleasantest smile.

Finally the pair entered simultaneously and sideways; with the result that they jostled one another not a little in the process.

“Allow me to present to you my wife,” continued Manilov. “My dear⁠—Paul Ivanovitch.”

Upon that Chichikov caught sight of a lady whom hitherto he had overlooked, but who, with Manilov, was now bowing to him in the doorway. Not wholly of unpleasing exterior, she was dressed in a well-fitting, high-necked morning dress of pale-coloured silk; and as the visitor entered the room her small white hands threw something upon the table and clutched her embroidered skirt before rising from the sofa where she had been seated. Not without a sense of pleasure did Chichikov take her hand as, lisping a little, she declared that she and her husband were equally gratified by his coming, and that, of late, not a day had passed without her husband recalling him to mind.

“Yes,” affirmed Manilov; “and every day she has said to me: ‘Why does not your friend put in an appearance?’ ‘Wait a little dearest,’ I have always replied. ‘ ’Twill not be long now before he comes.’ And you have come, you have honoured us with a visit, you have bestowed upon us a treat⁠—a treat destined to convert this day into a gala day, a true birthday of the heart.”

The intimation that matters had reached the point of the occasion being destined to constitute a “true birthday of the heart” caused Chichikov to become a little confused; wherefore he made modest reply that, as a matter of fact, he was neither of distinguished origin nor distinguished rank.

“Ah, you are so,” interrupted Manilov with his fixed and engaging smile. “You are all that, and more.”

“How like you our town?” queried Madame. “Have you spent an agreeable time in it?”

“Very,” replied Chichikov. “The town is an exceedingly nice one, and I have greatly enjoyed its hospitable society.”

“And what do you think of our Governor?”

“Yes; is he not a most engaging and dignified personage?” added Manilov.

“He is all that,” assented Chichikov. “Indeed, he is a man worthy of the greatest respect. And how thoroughly he performs his duty according to his lights! Would that we had more like him!”

“And the tactfulness with which he greets everyone!” added Manilov, smiling, and half-closing his eyes, like a cat which is being tickled behind the ears.

“Quite so,” assented Chichikov. “He is a man of the most eminent civility and approachableness. And what an artist! Never should I have thought he could have worked the marvellous household samplers which he has done! Some specimens of his needlework which he showed me could not well have been surpassed by any lady in the land!”

“And the Vice-Governor, too⁠—he is a nice man, is he not?” inquired Manilov with renewed blinkings of the eyes.

“Who? The Vice-Governor? Yes, a most worthy fellow!” replied Chichikov.

“And what of the Chief of Police? Is it not a fact that he too is in the highest degree agreeable?”

“Very agreeable indeed. And what a clever, well-read individual! With him and the Public Prosecutor and the President of the Local Council I played whist until the cocks uttered their last morning crow. He is a most excellent fellow.”

“And what of his wife?” queried Madame Manilov. “Is she not a most gracious personality?”

“One of the best among my limited acquaintance,” agreed Chichikov.

Nor were the President of the Local Council and the Postmaster overlooked; until the company had run through the whole list of urban officials. And in every case those officials appeared to be persons of the highest possible merit.

“Do you devote your time entirely to your estate?” asked Chichikov, in his turn.

“Well, most of it,” replied Manilov; “though also we pay occasional visits to the town, in order that we may mingle with a little well-bred society. One grows a trifle rusty if one lives forever in retirement.”

“Quite so,” agreed Chichikov.

“Yes, quite so,” capped Manilov. “At the same time, it would be a different matter if the neighbourhood were a good one⁠—if, for example, one had a friend with whom one could discuss manners and polite deportment, or engage in some branch of science, and so stimulate one’s wits. For that sort of thing gives one’s intellect an airing. It, it⁠—” At a loss for further words, he ended by remarking that his feelings were apt to carry him away; after which he continued with a gesture: “What I mean is that, were that sort of thing possible, I, for one, could find the country and an isolated life possessed of great attractions. But, as matters stand, such a