Tchichikoff continued for some considerable time to remain seated in his uncomfortable chair, tormented by unpleasant recollections, cursing heartily, Nosdrieff, his ancestors and descendants, whilst the tallow-candle before him was melting rapidly down, because the wick was long since covered with a large black cap, and the light threatened every moment to expire altogether; a dark and gloomy night stared at him through the window, and was preparing to give precedence to the break of day, in the distance the hoarse crowing of a few early cocks became also audible, and in the yet soundly somnolent town, many a poor and homeless sheep-skin-wearer, might have been seen wandering about hopelessly and heaving sighs of despair, which unfortunately for old Russia are threatening to become more and more innumerable.
At this particular time, too, there happened also something unusual at the other end of the town, and which occurrence threatened to increase the already very unpleasant position of our hero: namely, through the distant and narrow streets of Smolensk a peculiarly shaped and antique-looking carriage was ricketting over the pavement in its approach to the centre of the town; the name and description of this carriage would have bewildered the cleverest coach-builder of England.
It was not like any of the carriages we are now accustomed to see in the streets of large towns; it was neither what we call a britchka nor a tarantas, nor was it anything like a barouche or a cart, but the nearest resemblance it presented, was to an immense hollowed water-melon, placed upon four wheels. The sides of this water-melon, or rather its cheeks, since they were to represent the doors of that carriage, still bore a trace of yellow colour about them, opened and shut very indifferently, because the handles and locks were in a dilapidated condition, and were not fastened with screws or nails, but common string. The water-melon (which reminds us forcibly of the carriage built in five minutes by the clowns at the Haymarket) was filled up with a variety of pillows of all sizes, bags containing bread, cakes and pastry. The stand behind was occupied by a sitting servile creature, in a short grey home-spun cloak, with unshaved beard, intersected here and there by silvery grey; this servile servant was known by the name of young Safran.
The noise and creaking of the iron hinges and rusty screws was so loud, that it awakened a sleeping policeman at the other end of the town, who, suddenly aroused, seized his halberd and shouted out with all his might, "Who comes there?" but, seeing that nobody was coming, he easily understood that he had taken the distant rattling noise for somebody approaching, at the same time he caught upon his coat an insect, which he at once took close to the lamp-post and executed on the spot upon his nail. After having thus punished the invader, he returned to his post, laid aside his halberd, and fell again asleep, according to the custom of the Russian police.
The horses before the water-melon kept falling on their fore-legs continually, because they had never been shod at all, and because the pavement of a town seemed to them perfectly strange ground. The old-fashioned vehicle made a few more turnings in and out of a few more narrow streets, and then turned again into a perfectly dark lane, at the end of which it passed a dilapidated old church, and then suddenly stopped before the house next to it, which was inhabited by the Proto-pope and his wife.
A young girl, with her head wrapped in a large handkerchief, was the first person that alighted from the old coach; she seized the knocker of the door with both her hands, and began to make as great a noise with it as a man (young Safran was dragged by his legs from his seat, because he had plunged himself in a death-like sleep).
The dogs of the house began barking as loud as they possibly could, and the gates were soon after thrown open, though it took considerable time to get the old vehicle through them into the court-yard, which was a very narrow one indeed, stocked with logs of wood, a poultry-yard, and other court-yard incumbrances; the second person that now alighted from out of the water-melon coach was an old lady, and this old lady was no one else than her ladyship Korobotchka.
The old lady had, soon after the departure of our hero, felt considerable uneasiness, and, in consequence, remained under the impression and apprehension that he might have taken an unwarrantable advantage over her inexperience, and, not having slept during three consecutive nights, she determined upon coming to town at once, notwithstanding that her horses were not fit for such a long journey, in order to ascertain positively what the real market value for dead serfs was, and to convince herself that she had made no mistake and sold them perhaps—which heaven forbid—for three times less than their real value.
What the further consequences of her arrival in town were, the reader will perhaps glean from a conversation between two ladies only. This conversation—but I think it will be more amusing to leave the dialogue for the following chapter.