To the door of an inn in the provincial
town of N. there drew up a smart britchka a
light spring-carriage of the sort affected by bachelors,
retired lieutenant-colonels, staff-captains, land-owners
possessed of about a hundred souls, and, in short,
all persons who rank as gentlemen of the intermediate
category. In the britchka was seated such a gentleman a
man who, though not handsome, was not ill-favoured,
not over-fat, and not over-thin. Also, though
not over-elderly, he was not over-young. His
arrival produced no stir in the town, and was accompanied
by no particular incident, beyond that a couple of
peasants who happened to be standing at the door of
a dramshop exchanged a few comments with reference
to the equipage rather than to the individual who
was seated in it. “Look at that carriage,”
one of them said to the other. “Think you
it will be going as far as Moscow?” “I
think it will,” replied his companion.
“But not as far as Kazan, eh?” “No,
not as far as Kazan.” With that the conversation
ended. Presently, as the britchka was approaching
the inn, it was met by a young man in a pair of very
short, very tight breeches of white dimity, a quasi-fashionable
frockcoat, and a dickey fastened with a pistol-shaped
bronze tie-pin. The young man turned his head
as he passed the britchka and eyed it attentively;
after which he clapped his hand to his cap (which was
in danger of being removed by the wind) and resumed
his way. On the vehicle reaching the inn door,
its occupant found standing there to welcome him the
polevoi, or waiter, of the establishment an
individual of such nimble and brisk movement that
even to distinguish the character of his face was
impossible. Running out with a napkin in one hand
and his lanky form clad in a tailcoat, reaching almost
to the nape of his neck, he tossed back his locks,
and escorted the gentleman upstairs, along a wooden
gallery, and so to the bedchamber which God had prepared
for the gentleman’s reception. The said
bedchamber was of quite ordinary appearance, since
the inn belonged to the species to be found in all
provincial towns the species wherein, for
two roubles a day, travellers may obtain a room swarming
with black-beetles, and communicating by a doorway
with the apartment adjoining. True, the doorway
may be blocked up with a wardrobe; yet behind it,
in all probability, there will be standing a silent,
motionless neighbour whose ears are burning to learn
every possible detail concerning the latest arrival.
The inn’s exterior corresponded with its interior.
Long, and consisting only of two storeys, the building
had its lower half destitute of stucco; with the result
that the dark-red bricks, originally more or less dingy,
had grown yet dingier under the influence of atmospheric
changes. As for the upper half of the building,
it was, of course, painted the usual tint of unfading
yellow. Within, on the ground floor, there stood
a number of benches heaped with horse-collars, rope,
and sheepskins; while the window-seat accommodated
a sbitentshik , cheek by jowl with a samovar the
latter so closely resembling the former in appearance
that, but for the fact of the samovar possessing a
pitch-black lip, the samovar and the sbitentshik might
have been two of a pair.
During the traveller’s inspection
of his room his luggage was brought into the apartment.
First came a portmanteau of white leather whose raggedness
indicated that the receptacle had made several previous
journeys. The bearers of the same were the gentleman’s
coachman, Selifan (a little man in a large overcoat),
and the gentleman’s valet, Petrushka the
latter a fellow of about thirty, clad in a worn, over-ample
jacket which formerly had graced his master’s
shoulders, and possessed of a nose and a pair of lips
whose coarseness communicated to his face rather a
sullen expression. Behind the portmanteau came
a small dispatch-box of redwood, lined with birch
bark, a boot-case, and (wrapped in blue paper) a roast
fowl; all of which having been deposited, the coachman
departed to look after his horses, and the valet to
establish himself in the little dark anteroom or kennel
where already he had stored a cloak, a bagful of livery,
and his own peculiar smell. Pressing the narrow
bedstead back against the wall, he covered it with
the tiny remnant of mattress a remnant as
thin and flat (perhaps also as greasy) as a pancake which
he had managed to beg of the landlord of the establishment.
While the attendants had been thus
setting things straight the gentleman had repaired
to the common parlour. The appearance of common
parlours of the kind is known to every one who travels.
Always they have varnished walls which, grown black
in their upper portions with tobacco smoke, are, in
their lower, grown shiny with the friction of customers’
backs more especially with that of the backs
of such local tradesmen as, on market-days, make it
their regular practice to resort to the local hostelry
for a glass of tea. Also, parlours of this kind
invariably contain smutty ceilings, an equally smutty
chandelier, a number of pendent shades which jump
and rattle whenever the waiter scurries across the
shabby oilcloth with a trayful of glasses (the glasses
looking like a flock of birds roosting by the seashore),
and a selection of oil paintings. In short, there
are certain objects which one sees in every inn.
In the present case the only outstanding feature of
the room was the fact that in one of the paintings
a nymph was portrayed as possessing breasts of a size
such as the reader can never in his life have beheld.
A similar caricaturing of nature is to be noted in
the historical pictures (of unknown origin, period,
and creation) which reach us sometimes
through the instrumentality of Russian magnates who
profess to be connoisseurs of art from Italy;
owing to the said magnates having made such purchases
solely on the advice of the couriers who have escorted
them.
To resume, however our
traveller removed his cap, and divested his neck of
a parti-coloured woollen scarf of the kind which a
wife makes for her husband with her own hands, while
accompanying the gift with interminable injunctions
as to how best such a garment ought to be folded.
True, bachelors also wear similar gauds, but, in their
case, God alone knows who may have manufactured the
articles! For my part, I cannot endure them.
Having unfolded the scarf, the gentleman ordered dinner,
and whilst the various dishes were being got ready cabbage
soup, a pie several weeks old, a dish of marrow and
peas, a dish of sausages and cabbage, a roast fowl,
some salted cucumber, and the sweet tart which stands
perpetually ready for use in such establishments;
whilst, I say, these things were either being warmed
up or brought in cold, the gentleman induced the waiter
to retail certain fragments of tittle-tattle concerning
the late landlord of the hostelry, the amount of income
which the hostelry produced, and the character of its
present proprietor. To the last-mentioned inquiry
the waiter returned the answer invariably given in
such cases namely, “My master is a
terribly hard man, sir.” Curious that in
enlightened Russia so many people cannot even take
a meal at an inn without chattering to the attendant
and making free with him! Nevertheless not all
the questions which the gentleman asked were aimless
ones, for he inquired who was Governor of the town,
who President of the Local Council, and who Public
Prosecutor. In short, he omitted no single official
of note, while asking also (though with an air of
detachment) the most exact particulars concerning the
landowners of the neighbourhood. Which of them,
he inquired, possessed serfs, and how many of them?
How far from the town did those landowners reside?
What was the character of each landowner, and was he
in the habit of paying frequent visits to the town?
The gentleman also made searching inquiries concerning
the hygienic condition of the countryside. Was
there, he asked, much sickness about whether
sporadic fever, fatal forms of ague, smallpox, or
what not? Yet, though his solicitude concerning
these matters showed more than ordinary curiosity,
his bearing retained its gravity unimpaired, and from
time to time he blew his nose with portentous fervour.
Indeed, the manner in which he accomplished this latter
feat was marvellous in the extreme, for, though that
member emitted sounds equal to those of a trumpet in
intensity, he could yet, with his accompanying air
of guileless dignity, evoke the waiter’s undivided
respect so much so that, whenever the sounds
of the nose reached that menial’s ears, he would
shake back his locks, straighten himself into a posture
of marked solicitude, and inquire afresh, with head
slightly inclined, whether the gentleman happened
to require anything further. After dinner the
guest consumed a cup of coffee, and then, seating
himself upon the sofa, with, behind him, one of those
wool-covered cushions which, in Russian taverns, resemble
nothing so much as a cobblestone or a brick, fell to
snoring; whereafter, returning with a start to consciousness,
he ordered himself to be conducted to his room, flung
himself at full length upon the bed, and once more
slept soundly for a couple of hours. Aroused,
eventually, by the waiter, he, at the latter’s
request, inscribed a fragment of paper with his name,
his surname, and his rank (for communication, in accordance
with the law, to the police): and on that paper
the waiter, leaning forward from the corridor, read,
syllable by syllable: “Paul Ivanovitch
Chichikov, Collegiate Councillor Landowner Travelling
on Private Affairs.” The waiter had just
time to accomplish this feat before Paul Ivanovitch
Chichikov set forth to inspect the town. Apparently
the place succeeded in satisfying him, and, to tell
the truth, it was at least up to the usual standard
of our provincial capitals. Where the staring
yellow of stone edifices did not greet his eye he
found himself confronted with the more modest grey
of wooden ones; which, consisting, for the most part,
of one or two storeys (added to the range of attics
which provincial architects love so well), looked
almost lost amid the expanses of street and intervening
medleys of broken or half-finished partition-walls.
At other points evidence of more life and movement
was to be seen, and here the houses stood crowded
together and displayed dilapidated, rain-blurred signboards
whereon boots of cakes or pairs of blue breeches inscribed
“Arshavski, Tailor,” and so forth, were
depicted. Over a shop containing hats and caps
was written “Vassili Thedorov, Foreigner”;
while, at another spot, a signboard portrayed a billiard
table and two players the latter clad in
frockcoats of the kind usually affected by actors whose
part it is to enter the stage during the closing act
of a piece, even though, with arms sharply crooked
and legs slightly bent, the said billiard players
were taking the most careful aim, but succeeding only
in making abortive strokes in the air. Each emporium
of the sort had written over it: “This
is the best establishment of its kind in the town.”
Also, al fresco in the streets there stood
tables heaped with nuts, soap, and gingerbread (the
latter but little distinguishable from the soap), and
at an eating-house there was displayed the sign of
a plump fish transfixed with a gaff. But the
sign most frequently to be discerned was the insignia
of the State, the double-headed eagle (now replaced,
in this connection, with the laconic inscription “Dramshop").
As for the paving of the town, it was uniformly bad.
The gentleman peered also into the
municipal gardens, which contained only a few sorry
trees that were poorly selected, requiring to be propped
with oil-painted, triangular green supports, and able
to boast of a height no greater than that of an ordinary
walking-stick. Yet recently the local paper had
said (apropos of a gala) that, “Thanks to the
efforts of our Civil Governor, the town has become
enriched with a pleasaunce full of umbrageous, spaciously-branching
trees. Even on the most sultry day they afford
agreeable shade, and indeed gratifying was it to see
the hearts of our citizens panting with an impulse
of gratitude as their eyes shed tears in recognition
of all that their Governor has done for them!”
Next, after inquiring of a gendarme
as to the best ways and means of finding the local
council, the local law-courts, and the local Governor,
should he (Chichikov) have need of them, the gentleman
went on to inspect the river which ran through the
town. En route he tore off a notice affixed to
a post, in order that he might the more conveniently
read it after his return to the inn. Also, he
bestowed upon a lady of pleasant exterior who, escorted
by a footman laden with a bundle, happened to be passing
along a wooden sidewalk a prolonged stare. Lastly,
he threw around him a comprehensive glance (as though
to fix in his mind the general topography of the place)
and betook himself home. There, gently aided
by the waiter, he ascended the stairs to his bedroom,
drank a glass of tea, and, seating himself at the table,
called for a candle; which having been brought him,
he produced from his pocket the notice, held it close
to the flame, and conned its tenour slightly
contracting his right eye as he did so. Yet there
was little in the notice to call for remark.
All that it said was that shortly one of Kotzebue’s
plays would be given, and that one of the parts
in the play was to be taken by a certain Monsieur
Poplevin, and another by a certain Mademoiselle Ziablova,
while the remaining parts were to be filled by a number
of less important personages. Nevertheless the
gentleman perused the notice with careful attention,
and even jotted down the prices to be asked for seats
for the performance. Also, he remarked that the
bill had been printed in the press of the Provincial
Government. Next, he turned over the paper, in
order to see if anything further was to be read on
the reverse side; but, finding nothing there, he refolded
the document, placed it in the box which served him
as a receptacle for odds and ends, and brought the
day to a close with a portion of cold veal, a bottle
of pickles, and a sound sleep.
The following day he devoted to paying
calls upon the various municipal officials a
first, and a very respectful, visit being paid to the
Governor. This personage turned out to resemble
Chichikov himself in that he was neither fat nor thin.
Also, he wore the riband of the order of Saint Anna
about his neck, and was reported to have been recommended
also for the star. For the rest, he was large
and good-natured, and had a habit of amusing himself
with occasional spells of knitting. Next, Chichikov
repaired to the Vice-Governor’s, and thence to
the house of the Public Prosecutor, to that of the
President of the Local Council, to that of the Chief
of Police, to that of the Commissioner of Taxes, and
to that of the local Director of State Factories.
True, the task of remembering every big-wig in this
world of ours is not a very easy one; but at least
our visitor displayed the greatest activity in his
work of paying calls, seeing that he went so far as
to pay his respects also to the Inspector of the Municipal
Department of Medicine and to the City Architect.
Thereafter he sat thoughtfully in his britchka plunged
in meditation on the subject of whom else it might
be well to visit. However, not a single magnate
had been neglected, and in conversation with his hosts
he had contrived to flatter each separate one.
For instance to the Governor he had hinted that a
stranger, on arriving in his, the Governor’s
province, would conceive that he had reached Paradise,
so velvety were the roads. “Governors who
appoint capable subordinates,” had said Chichikov,
“are deserving of the most ample meed of praise.”
Again, to the Chief of Police our hero had passed a
most gratifying remark on the subject of the local
gendarmery; while in his conversation with the Vice-Governor
and the President of the Local Council (neither of
whom had, as yet, risen above the rank of State Councillor)
he had twice been guilty of the gaucherie of addressing
his interlocutors with the title of “Your Excellency” a
blunder which had not failed to delight them.
In the result the Governor had invited him to a reception
the same evening, and certain other officials had
followed suit by inviting him, one of them to dinner,
a second to a tea-party, and so forth, and so forth.
Of himself, however, the traveller
had spoken little; or, if he had spoken at any length,
he had done so in a general sort of way and with marked
modesty. Indeed, at moments of the kind his discourse
had assumed something of a literary vein, in that
invariably he had stated that, being a worm of no
account in the world, he was deserving of no consideration
at the hands of his fellows; that in his time he had
undergone many strange experiences; that subsequently
he had suffered much in the cause of Truth; that he
had many enemies seeking his life; and that, being
desirous of rest, he was now engaged in searching for
a spot wherein to dwell wherefore, having
stumbled upon the town in which he now found himself,
he had considered it his bounden duty to evince his
respect for the chief authorities of the place.
This, and no more, was all that, for the moment, the
town succeeded in learning about the new arrival.
Naturally he lost no time in presenting himself at
the Governor’s evening party. First, however,
his preparations for that function occupied a space
of over two hours, and necessitated an attention to
his toilet of a kind not commonly seen. That is
to say, after a brief post-grandial nap he called
for soap and water, and spent a considerable period
in the task of scrubbing his cheeks (which, for the
purpose, he supported from within with his tongue)
and then of drying his full, round face, from the
ears downwards, with a towel which he took from the
waiter’s shoulder. Twice he snorted into
the waiter’s countenance as he did this, and
then he posted himself in front of the mirror, donned
a false shirt-front, plucked out a couple of hairs
which were protruding from his nose, and appeared
vested in a frockcoat of bilberry-coloured check.
Thereafter driving through broad streets sparsely
lighted with lanterns, he arrived at the Governor’s
residence to find it illuminated as for a ball.
Barouches with gleaming lamps, a couple of gendarmes
posted before the doors, a babel of postillions’
cries nothing of a kind likely to be impressive
was wanting; and, on reaching the salon, the visitor
actually found himself obliged to close his eyes for
a moment, so strong was the mingled sheen of lamps,
candles, and feminine apparel. Everything seemed
suffused with light, and everywhere, flitting and
flashing, were to be seen black coats even
as on a hot summer’s day flies revolve around
a sugar loaf while the old housekeeper is cutting
it into cubes before the open window, and the children
of the house crowd around her to watch the movements
of her rugged hands as those members ply the smoking
pestle; and airy squadrons of flies, borne on the
breeze, enter boldly, as though free of the house,
and, taking advantage of the fact that the glare of
the sunshine is troubling the old lady’s sight,
disperse themselves over broken and unbroken fragments
alike, even though the lethargy induced by the opulence
of summer and the rich shower of dainties to be encountered
at every step has induced them to enter less for the
purpose of eating than for that of showing themselves
in public, of parading up and down the sugar loaf,
of rubbing both their hindquarters and their fore against
one another, of cleaning their bodies under the wings,
of extending their forelegs over their heads and grooming
themselves, and of flying out of the window again
to return with other predatory squadrons. Indeed,
so dazed was Chichikov that scarcely did he realise
that the Governor was taking him by the arm and presenting
him to his (the Governor’s) lady. Yet the
newly-arrived guest kept his head sufficiently to
contrive to murmur some such compliment as might fittingly
come from a middle-aged individual of a rank neither
excessively high nor excessively low. Next, when
couples had been formed for dancing and the remainder
of the company found itself pressed back against the
walls, Chichikov folded his arms, and carefully scrutinised
the dancers. Some of the ladies were dressed
well and in the fashion, while the remainder were
clad in such garments as God usually bestows upon a
provincial town. Also here, as elsewhere, the
men belonged to two separate and distinct categories;
one of which comprised slender individuals who, flitting
around the ladies, were scarcely to be distinguished
from denizens of the metropolis, so carefully, so
artistically, groomed were their whiskers, so presentable
their oval, clean-shaven faces, so easy the manner
of their dancing attendance upon their womenfolk, so
glib their French conversation as they quizzed their
female companions. As for the other category,
it comprised individuals who, stout, or of the same
build as Chichikov (that is to say, neither very portly
nor very lean), backed and sidled away from the ladies,
and kept peering hither and thither to see whether
the Governor’s footmen had set out green tables
for whist. Their features were full and plump,
some of them had beards, and in no case was their
hair curled or waved or arranged in what the French
call “the devil-may-care” style. On
the contrary, their heads were either close-cropped
or brushed very smooth, and their faces were round
and firm. This category represented the more respectable
officials of the town. In passing, I may say that
in business matters fat men always prove superior
to their leaner brethren; which is probably the reason
why the latter are mostly to be found in the Political
Police, or acting as mere ciphers whose existence is
a purely hopeless, airy, trivial one. Again,
stout individuals never take a back seat, but always
a front one, and, wheresoever it be, they sit firmly,
and with confidence, and decline to budge even though
the seat crack and bend with their weight. For
comeliness of exterior they care not a rap, and therefore
a dress coat sits less easily on their figures than
is the case with figures of leaner individuals.
Yet invariably fat men amass the greater wealth.
In three years’ time a thin man will not have
a single serf whom he has left unpledged; whereas well,
pray look at a fat man’s fortunes, and what
will you see? First of all a suburban villa,
and then a larger suburban villa, and then a villa
close to a town, and lastly a country estate which
comprises every amenity! That is to say, having
served both God and the State, the stout individual
has won universal respect, and will end by retiring
from business, reordering his mode of life, and becoming
a Russian landowner in other words, a fine
gentleman who dispenses hospitality, lives in comfort
and luxury, and is destined to leave his property
to heirs who are purposing to squander the same on
foreign travel.
That the foregoing represents pretty
much the gist of Chichikov’s reflections as
he stood watching the company I will not attempt to
deny. And of those reflections the upshot was
that he decided to join himself to the stouter section
of the guests, among whom he had already recognised
several familiar faces namely, those of
the Public Prosecutor (a man with beetling brows over
eyes which seemed to be saying with a wink, “Come
into the next room, my friend, for I have something
to say to you” though, in the main,
their owner was a man of grave and taciturn habit),
of the Postmaster (an insignificant-looking individual,
yet a would-be wit and a philosopher), and of the President
of the Local Council (a man of much amiability and
good sense). These three personages greeted Chichikov
as an old acquaintance, and to their salutations he
responded with a sidelong, yet a sufficiently civil,
bow. Also, he became acquainted with an extremely
unctuous and approachable landowner named Manilov,
and with a landowner of more uncouth exterior named
Sobakevitch the latter of whom began the
acquaintance by treading heavily upon Chichikov’s
toes, and then begging his pardon. Next, Chichikov
received an offer of a “cut in” at whist,
and accepted the same with his usual courteous inclination
of the head. Seating themselves at a green table,
the party did not rise therefrom till supper time;
and during that period all conversation between the
players became hushed, as is the custom when men have
given themselves up to a really serious pursuit.
Even the Postmaster a talkative man by
nature had no sooner taken the cards into
his hands than he assumed an expression of profound
thought, pursed his lips, and retained this attitude
unchanged throughout the game. Only when playing
a court card was it his custom to strike the table
with his fist, and to exclaim (if the card happened
to be a queen), “Now, old popadia !”
and (if the card happened to be a king), “Now,
peasant of Tambov!” To which ejaculations invariably
the President of the Local Council retorted, “Ah,
I have him by the ears, I have him by the ears!”
And from the neighbourhood of the table other strong
ejaculations relative to the play would arise, interposed
with one or another of those nicknames which participants
in a game are apt to apply to members of the various
suits. I need hardly add that, the game over,
the players fell to quarrelling, and that in the dispute
our friend joined, though so artfully as to let every
one see that, in spite of the fact that he was wrangling,
he was doing so only in the most amicable fashion possible.
Never did he say outright, “You played the wrong
card at such and such a point.” No, he
always employed some such phrase as, “You permitted
yourself to make a slip, and thus afforded me the honour
of covering your deuce.” Indeed, the better
to keep in accord with his antagonists, he kept offering
them his silver-enamelled snuff-box (at the bottom
of which lay a couple of violets, placed there for
the sake of their scent). In particular did the
newcomer pay attention to landowners Manilov and Sobakevitch;
so much so that his haste to arrive on good terms
with them led to his leaving the President and the
Postmaster rather in the shade. At the same time,
certain questions which he put to those two landowners
evinced not only curiosity, but also a certain amount
of sound intelligence; for he began by asking how many
peasant souls each of them possessed, and how their
affairs happened at present to be situated, and then
proceeded to enlighten himself also as their standing
and their families. Indeed, it was not long before
he had succeeded in fairly enchanting his new friends.
In particular did Manilov a man still in
his prime, and possessed of a pair of eyes which,
sweet as sugar, blinked whenever he laughed find
himself unable to make enough of his enchanter.
Clasping Chichikov long and fervently by the hand,
he besought him to do him, Manilov, the honour of visiting
his country house (which he declared to lie at a distance
of not more than fifteen versts from the boundaries
of the town); and in return Chichikov averred (with
an exceedingly affable bow and a most sincere handshake)
that he was prepared not only to fulfil his friend’s
behest, but also to look upon the fulfilling of it
as a sacred duty. In the same way Sobakevitch
said to him laconically: “And do you pay
me a visit,” and then proceeded to shuffle
a pair of boots of such dimensions that to find a
pair to correspond with them would have been indeed
difficult more especially at the present
day, when the race of epic heroes is beginning to
die out in Russia.
Next day Chichikov dined and spent
the evening at the house of the Chief of Police a
residence where, three hours after dinner, every one
sat down to whist, and remained so seated until two
o’clock in the morning. On this occasion
Chichikov made the acquaintance of, among others, a
landowner named Nozdrev a dissipated little
fellow of thirty who had no sooner exchanged three
or four words with his new acquaintance than he began
to address him in the second person singular.
Yet although he did the same to the Chief of Police
and the Public Prosecutor, the company had no sooner
seated themselves at the card-table than both the one
and the other of these functionaries started to keep
a careful eye upon Nozdrev’s tricks, and to
watch practically every card which he played.
The following evening Chichikov spent with the President
of the Local Council, who received his guests even
though the latter included two ladies in
a greasy dressing-gown. Upon that followed an
evening at the Vice-Governor’s, a large dinner
party at the house of the Commissioner of Taxes, a
smaller dinner-party at the house of the Public Prosecutor
(a very wealthy man), and a subsequent reception given
by the Mayor. In short, not an hour of the day
did Chichikov find himself forced to spend at home,
and his return to the inn became necessary only for
the purposes of sleeping. Somehow or other he
had landed on his feet, and everywhere he figured
as an experienced man of the world. No matter
what the conversation chanced to be about, he always
contrived to maintain his part in the same. Did
the discourse turn upon horse-breeding, upon horse-breeding
he happened to be peculiarly well-qualified to speak.
Did the company fall to discussing well-bred dogs,
at once he had remarks of the most pertinent kind
possible to offer. Did the company touch upon
a prosecution which had recently been carried out by
the Excise Department, instantly he showed that he
too was not wholly unacquainted with legal affairs.
Did an opinion chance to be expressed concerning billiards,
on that subject too he was at least able to avoid committing
a blunder. Did a reference occur to virtue, concerning
virtue he hastened to deliver himself in a way which
brought tears to every eye. Did the subject in
hand happen to be the distilling of brandy well,
that was a matter concerning which he had the soundest
of knowledge. Did any one happen to mention Customs
officials and inspectors, from that moment he expatiated
as though he too had been both a minor functionary
and a major. Yet a remarkable fact was the circumstance
that he always contrived to temper his omniscience
with a certain readiness to give way, a certain ability
so to keep a rein upon himself that never did his
utterances become too loud or too soft, or transcend
what was perfectly befitting. In a word, he was
always a gentleman of excellent manners, and every
official in the place felt pleased when he saw him
enter the door. Thus the Governor gave it as
his opinion that Chichikov was a man of excellent
intentions; the Public Prosecutor, that he was a good
man of business; the Chief of Gendarmery, that he
was a man of education; the President of the Local
Council, that he was a man of breeding and refinement;
and the wife of the Chief of Gendarmery, that his politeness
of behaviour was equalled only by his affability of
bearing. Nay, even Sobakevitch who
as a rule never spoke well of any one said
to his lanky wife when, on returning late from the
town, he undressed and betook himself to bed by her
side: “My dear, this evening, after dining
with the Chief of Police, I went on to the Governor’s,
and met there, among others, a certain Paul Ivanovitch
Chichikov, who is a Collegiate Councillor and a very
pleasant fellow.” To this his spouse replied
“Hm!” and then dealt him a hearty kick
in the ribs.
Such were the flattering opinions
earned by the newcomer to the town; and these opinions
he retained until the time when a certain speciality
of his, a certain scheme of his (the reader will learn
presently what it was), plunged the majority of the
townsfolk into a sea of perplexity.