However, Tchitchikoff immediately remarked that he was even prepared to bear the expenses of the deed of sale.
On hearing that he would pay that, Pliushkin concluded that his visitor must be a thorough fool, and merely pretended that he had been in the civil service, but had probably been an officer instead, and had dallied with actresses. However, with all this, he could not conceal his joy, but wished all sorts of happiness to our hero, and to his children even, without waiting to inquire whether he had any or not. He went to the window, drummed with his fingers on the glass, and cried, “Hey, there, Proshka!”
A moment later, someone could be heard running on tiptoe in the vestibule, and rummaging about there for a long time. Finally the door opened, and Proshka entered, a boy of thirteen, shod in such huge boots that, as he stumbled along, he nearly drew his feet out of them. It may be asked why Proshka had such large boots. Well, for all his domestic servants, no matter how many of them there were in the house, Pliushkin had but a single pair of boots, which was always to be found in the vestibule. Anyone who was summoned into the master’s presence generally ran across the yard barefooted; but on entering the vestibule he pulled on the boots, and, thus arrayed, made his appearance in the room. On quitting the master’s apartment, he left the boots in the vestibule, and went his way again barefooted. If anyone had glanced out of the window in the autumn, and especially when the first morning frosts were setting in, he could have seen all the house-serfs taking such leaps as are hardly made on the stage by the most accomplished dancers.
“Look there, my good fellow, what a face!” said Pliushkin to Tchitchikoff, pointing at Proshka’s countenance. “Stupid, truly, like a block of wood; but only try to lay anything down for a minute, and he will steal it! Well, what have you come for, you fool—tell me, eh?” Here a brief silence ensued.
“Bring the samovar, do you hear?” added Pliushkin at last. “And here, take this key, and give it to Mavra, so that she may go to the storeroom. There, on the shelf, is the sugar off the Easter-cake which Alexandra Stepanovna brought me—let her bring it here for our tea. Stop! where are you going, you fool?—yes, you utter fool! Is the Fiend in your legs, busy scratching you? Listen first. The upper part of the sugar is probably spoilt, so let it be scraped off with a knife. And don’t you throw any of it away, but carry it to the fowl-house. And see to it that you don’t go into the storehouse, my boy. If you do, do you know what will happen? You will get a taste of a birch rod, so that, if you have a capital appetite now, you’ll have a better one then. Just try to go into the storehouse! I shall look out of the window in the meanwhile. He cannot be trusted in anything,” continued Pliushkin, turning to Tchitchikoff, after Proshka had taken himself off, in company with his boots.
Then he began to gaze suspiciously at our friend. Such remarkable magnanimity began to appear incredible to him; and he said to himself, “After all, the devil only knows, he may be simply a braggart, like most spendthrifts! He will lie and lie, just for the sake of talking, and then he will go off!” As a measure of precaution, therefore, and desirous of putting our hero to a further test, he said that it would not be a bad idea to draw up the deed of sale as speedily as possible: for one cannot depend upon man, you know; to-day he is alive, and to-morrow God knows where.
Tchitchikoff expressed his readiness to do so on the instant, and merely required the list of serfs. This reassured Pliushkin. It was evident that he had made up his mind to something; and in fact, taking his keys, he approached the sideboard, and having opened the door, he fumbled for a long time among the cups and glasses, and finally exclaimed, “Well, I can’t find it. But I had some splendid liquor, if it has not all been drunk; but my people are such thieves. However, perhaps this is it.” Tchitchikoff now saw that he held a decanter covered with dust. “My deceased wife made this,” continued Pliushkin. “That rascally housekeeper meant to spoil it completely, and she did not even cork it up, the beast! Beetles and all sorts of rubbish made their way into it; but I took all the filth out, and now it is perfectly clean, and I will pour you out a glass.”
However, Tchitchikoff made an effort to refuse the liquor, saying that he had already eaten and drunk.