 DEAD SOLES, INTRODUCTION AND AUTHORS PREFACE. DEAD SOLES by Nikolai Vasilyevich Gogol, translated by D. J. Hogarth. INTRODUCTION by John Cornos. Nikolai Vasilyevich Gogol, born at Sorochinsky, Russia, on the 31st of March 1809, obtained government post at St. Petersburg, and later an appointment at the university. Lived in Rome, from 1836 to 1848, died on the 21st of February 1852. DEAD SOLES, first published in 1842, is the great prose classic of Russia. And amazing institution, the Russian novel, not only began its career with this unfinished masterpiece by Nikolai Vasilyevich Gogol, but practically all the Russian masterpieces that have come since have grown out of it, like the limbs of a single tree. Dostoevsky goes so far as to bestow this tribute upon an earlier work by the same author, a short story entitled The Cloak. This idea has been bitterly expressed by another compatriot who says we have all issued out of Gogol's cloak. DEAD SOLES, which bears the word poem upon the title page of the original, has been generally compared to Don Quixote and to the Pickwick Papers, while E. M. Vogue places its author somewhere between Cervantes and Lausage. However considerable the influences of Cervantes and Dickens may have been, the first on the matter of structure, the other in background, humour and detail of characterisation. The predominating and distinguishing quality of the work is undeniably something foreign to both and quite peculiar to itself, something which, for want of a better term, might be called the quality of the Russian soul. The English reader familiar with the works of Dostoevsky, Turgonyev and Tolstoy need hardly be told what this implies. It might be defined in the words of the French critic, just named, as a tendency to pity. One might indeed go further and say that it implies a certain tolerance of one's characters, even though they be, in the conventional sense, knaves, products, as the case might be, of conditions or circumstance, which, after all, is the thing to be criticised and not the man. But pity and tolerance are rare in satire, even clash with it, producing in the result a deep sense of tragic humour. It is this that makes of dead souls a unique work, peculiarly Gogolian, peculiarly Russian, and distinct from its authors Spanish and English masters. Still more profound are the contradictions to be seen in the author's personal character, and unfortunately they prevented him from completing his work. The trouble is that he made his art out of life, and when in his final years he carried his struggle, as Tolstoy did later, back into life, he repented of all he had written, and in the frenzy of a wakeful night burned all his manuscripts, including the second part of Dead Souls, only fragments of which were saved. There was yet a third part to be written. Only the second part had been written and burned twice. Accounts differ as to why he had burnt it finally. Religious remorse, fury at adverse criticism, and despair at not reaching ideal perfection are among the reasons given. Again it is said that he had destroyed the manuscript with the others inadvertently. The poet Pushkin, who said of Gogol that, behind his laughter you feel the unseen tears, was the chief friend and inspirer. It was he who suggested the plot of Dead Souls, as well as the plot of the earlier work, The Reviser, which is almost the only comedy in Russian. The importance of both is their introduction of the social element in Russian literature, as Prince Kropotkin points out. Both hold up the mirror to Russian officialdom, and the effects it has produced on the national character. The plot of Dead Souls is simple enough, and is said to have been suggested by an actual episode. It was the day of serfdom in Russia, and a man's standing was often judged by the numbers of souls he possessed. There was a periodical consensus of serfs, say once every ten or twenty years. This being the case, an owner had to pay a tax on every soul registered at the last census, though some of the serfs might have died in the meantime. Nevertheless the system had its material advantages, in as much as an owner might borrow money from a bank on the Dead Souls no less than on the living ones. The plan of Chichikov, Gogol's hero-villain, was therefore to make a journey through Russia and buy up the Dead Souls at reduced rates, of course, saving their owners the government tax and acquiring for himself a list of fictitious serfs, which he might mortgage to a bank for a considerable sum. With this money he would buy an estate and some real life serfs, and make the beginning of a fortune. Obviously, this plot, which is really no plot at all but merely a ruse to enable Chichikov to go across Russia in a troika, with Selefan the coachman as a sort of Russian sancho-panzer, gives Gogol a magnificent opportunity to reveal his genius as a painter of Russian panorama, peopled with characteristic native types, commonplace enough but drawn in comic relief. The comic, explained the author, yet at the beginning of his career, is hidden everywhere, only living in the midst of it we are not conscious of it. But if the artist brings it into his art, on the stage, say, we shall roll about with laughter, and only wonder we did not notice it before. But the comic, in dead souls, is merely external. Let us see how Pushkin, who loved to laugh, regarded the work. As Gogol read it aloud to him from the manuscript, the poet grew more and more gloomy, and at last cried out, God, what a sad country Russia is! And later he said of it, Gogol invents nothing. It is the simple truth, the terrible truth. The work, on one hand, was received as nothing less than an exposure of all Russia. What would foreigners think of it? The liberal elements, however, the critical Belinsky among them, welcomed it as a revelation, as an omen of a freer future. Gogol, who had meant to do a service to Russia and not to heap ridicule upon her, took the criticisms of the Slavophiles to heart, and he palliated his critics by promising to bring about, in the succeeding parts of his novel, the redemption of Chichikov and the other knaves and blockheads. But the Westerner, Belinsky, and others of the liberal camp, were mistrustful. It was about this time, 1847, that Gogol published his correspondence with friends, and aroused a literary controversy that is alive to this day. Opinions as to the actual significance of Gogol's masterpiece differ. Some consider the author a realist, who has drawn with meticulous detail a picture of Russia. Others, Merikovsky among them, see in him a great symbolist. The very title, Dead Souls, is taken to describe the living of Russia as well as its dead. Chichikov himself is now generally regarded as a universal character. We find an American professor, William Lyon Phelps, of Yale, holding the opinion that no one can travel far in America without meeting scores of Chichikovs. Indeed, he is an accurate portrait of the American promoter of the successful commercial traveller, whose success depends entirely not on the real value and usefulness of his stock in trade, but on his knowledge of human nature, and of the persuasive power of his tongue. Footnote. Essays on Russian novelists. McMillan. End footnote. This is also the opinion held by Prince Kropotkin, who says, Chichikov may buy Dead Souls or Railway shares, or he may collect funds for some charitable institution, or look for a position in a bank, but he is an immortal international type. We meet him everywhere. He is of all lands and of all times. But he takes different forms to suit the requirements of nationality and time. Footnote. Ideals and realities in Russian literature. Duckworth and Co. End footnote. Again, the work appears an interesting relation to Gogol himself. A romantic writing of realities, he was appalled at the common places of life, at finding no outlet for his love of colour derived from his Cossack ancestry. He realised that he had drawn a host of, quote, heroes, one more common place than another, that there was not a single palliating circumstance, that there was not a single place where the reader might find pause to rest and to console himself, and that when he had finished the book it was as though he had walked out of an oppressive cellar into the open air, unquote. He felt perhaps inward need to redeem Chichikov. In Merikovsky's opinion he really wanted to save his own soul, but had succeeded only in losing it. His last years were spent morbidly. He suffered torments and ran from place to place like one hunted, but really always running from himself. Rome was his favourite refuge and he returned to it again and again. In 1848 he made a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, but he could find no peace for his soul. Something of this mood had reflected itself, even much earlier, in the memoirs of a madman, quote, O little mother, save your poor son. Look how they are tormenting him. There's no place for him on earth. He's being driven. O little mother, take pity on thy poor child," end quote. All the contradictions of Gogol's character are not to be disposed of in a brief essay. Such a strange combination of the tragic and the comic was truly some scene in one man. He for one realised that it is dangerous to jest with laughter. Everything that I laughed at became sad. And terrible, and Merikovsky. But earlier his humour was lighter, less tinged with the tragic. In those days Pushkin never failed to be amused by what Gogol had brought to read to him. Even Caesar, 1835, with its tragic undercurrent, was a trifle compared to dead souls, so that one is not astonished to hear that not only did the Tsar, Nicholas I, give permission to have it acted, in spite of its being a criticism of official rottenness, but laughed uproariously, and led the applause. Moreover he gave Gogol a grant of money, and asked that its source should not be revealed to the author, lest, quote, he might feel obliged to write from the official point of view, unquote. Gogol was born at Sorochinets, little Russia, in March 1809. He left college at nineteen and went to St Petersburg, where he secured a position as copying clerk in a government department. He did not keep his position long, yet long enough to store away in his mind a number of bureaucratic types which proved useful later. He quite suddenly started for America with money given to him by his mother for another purpose, but when he got as far as Lubeck he turned back. He then wanted to become an actor, but his voice proved not strong enough. Later he wrote a poem which was unkindly received. As the copies remained unsold he gathered them all up at the various shops and burnt them in his room. His next effort, Evenings at the Farm of Dikanka, 1831, was more successful. It was a series of gay and colourful pictures of Ukraine, the land he knew and loved, and if he is occasionally a little over-romantic here and there he also achieved some beautiful lyrical passages. Then came another, even finer series, called Mirgorod, which won the Declaration of Pushkin. Next he planned a history of little Russia and a history of the Middle Ages. This last work to be in eight or nine volumes. The result of all this study was a beautiful and short Homeric epic in prose called Taras Bulba. His appointment to a professorship in history was a ridiculous episode in his life. After a brilliant first lecture in which he had evidently said all he had to say he settled to a life of boredom for his self and his pupils. When he resigned he said joyously, I am once more a free Cossack. Between 1834 and 1835 he produced a new series of stories, including his famous Cloak, which may be regarded as the legitimate beginning of the Russian novel. Gogol knew little about women, who played an equally minor role in his life and in his books. This may be partly because his personal appearance was not prepossessing. He's described by contemporary as a little man with legs too short for his body. He walked crookedly, he was clumsy, ill-dressed and rather ridiculous looking, with his long lock of hair flapping on his forehead and his large prominent nose. From 1835 Gogol spent almost his entire time abroad. Some strange unrest, possibly his Cossack blood, possessed him like a demon and he never stopped anywhere very long. After his pilgrimage in 1848 to Jerusalem he returned to Moscow, his entire possessions in a little bag. These consisted of pamphlets, critiques and newspaper articles mostly inimical to himself. He wandered about with these from house to house. Everything he had of value he gave away to the poor. He ceased work entirely. According to all accounts he spent his last days in praying and fasting. Visions came to him. His death which came in 1852 was extremely fantastic. His last words uttered in a loud frenzy were, a ladder, quick, a ladder. This call for a ladder, a spiritual ladder, in the words of Merikovsky, had been made on an earlier occasion by a certain Russian saint, who used almost the same language. I shall laugh my bitter laugh, was the inscription placed on Gogol's grave. Authors prefaced to the first portion of this work. Second edition published in 1846. From the author to the reader. Reader. Whosoever or wheresoever you be, and whatsoever be your participation, whether that of a member of the higher ranks of society or that of a member of the plain aworks of life, I beg of you, if God shall have given you any skill in letters, and my book shall fall into your hands to extend to me your assistance. For in the book which lies before you, and which probably you have read in its first edition, there is portrayed a man who is a type taken from our Russian empire. This man travels about the Russian land, and meets with folk of every condition, from the nobly born to the humble toiler, him I have taken as a type, to show forth the vices and the failings, rather than the merits and the virtues, of the commonplace Russian individual, and the characters which revolve around him have also been selected for the purpose of demonstrating our national weaknesses and shortcomings. As for men and women of the better sort, I propose to portray them in subsequent volumes. Probably much of what I have described is improbable, and does not happen as things customarily happen in Russia, and the reason for that is that for me to learn all that I have wished to do has been impossible, in that human life is not sufficiently long to become acquainted with even a hundredth part of what takes place within the borders of the Russian empire. Also carelessness, inexperience and lack of time have led to my perpetuating numerous errors and inaccuracies of detail, with the result that in every line of the book there is something which calls for correction. For these reasons I beg of you, my reader, to act also as my corrector. Do not despise the task, for however superior be your education, and however lofty your station, and however insignificant in your eyes my book, and however trifling the apparent labour of correcting and commenting upon that book I implore you to do as I have said. And you too, O reader of lowly education and simple status, I beseech you not to look upon yourself as too ignorant to be able in some fashion, however small, to help me. Every man who has lived in the world, and mixed with his fellow men, will have remarked something which has remained hidden from the eyes of others. And therefore I beg of you not to deprive me of your comments, seeing that it cannot be that, should you read my book with attention, you'll have nothing to say at some point therein. For example, how excellent it would be if some reader who is sufficiently rich in experience and the knowledge of life to be acquainted with the sort of characters which I have described herein would annotate in detail the book, without missing a single page, and undertake to read it precisely as though, laying pen and paper before him, he were first to peruse a few pages of the work, and then to recall his own life, and the lives of the folk with whom he has come into contact, and everything which he has seen with his own eyes, or has heard of from others, and to proceed to annotate insofar as may tally with his own experience or otherwise, what is set forth in the book, and to jot down the whole exactly as it stands pictured to his memory. And lastly, to send me the jottings as they may issue from his pen, and to continue doing so until he has covered the entire work, yes he would indeed do me a vital service. Of style or beauty of expression he would need take no account, for the value of a book lies in its truth, and its actuality, rather than in its wording. Nor would he need to consider my feelings if at any point he should feel minded to blame, or to abrade me, or to demonstrate the harm rather than the good which has been done through any lack of thought, or very similitude, of which I have been guilty. In short, for anything and for everything in the way of criticism, I should be thankful. Also, it would be an excellent thing if some reader, in the higher walks of life, some person who stands remote, both by life and by education, from the circle of folk which I have pictured in my book, but who knows the life of the circle in which he himself revolves, would undertake to read my work in similar fashion, and methodically to recall to his mind any members of superior social classes whom he has met, and carefully to observe whether there exists any resemblance between one such class and another, and whether, at times, there may not be repeated in a higher sphere what is done in a lower, and likewise to note any additional fact in the same connection which may occur to him, that is to say, any fact pertaining to the higher ranks of society which would seem to confirm or to disprove his conclusions. And lastly, to record that fact, as it may have occurred within his own experience, while giving full details of persons, of individual manners, tendencies and customs, and also of inanimate surroundings, of dress, furniture, fittings of houses, and so forth, for I need knowledge of the classes in question which are the flower of our people. In fact, this very reason, the reason that I do not yet know Russian life in all its aspects, and in the degree to which it is necessary for me to know it in order to become a successful author, is what has until now prevented me from publishing any subsequent volumes of this story. Again, it would be an excellent thing if someone who is endowed with the faculty of imagining, and vividly picturing to himself the various situations wherein a character may be placed, and of mentally following up a character's career in one field and another. By this I mean someone who possesses the power of entering into and developing the ideas of the author whose work he may be reading, would scan each character here in portrait, and tell me how each character ought to have acted at a given juncture, and what, to judge from the beginnings of each character, ought to have become of that character later, and what new circumstances might be devised in connection therewith, and what new details might advantageously be added to those already described. Honestly, can I say that to consider these points against the time when a new edition of my book may be published in a different and a better form would give me the greatest possible pleasure. One thing in particular would I ask of any reader who may be willing to give me the benefit of his advice. That is to say, I would beg of him to suppose, while recording his remarks, that it is for the benefit of a man in no way his equal in education, or similar to him in tastes and ideas, or capable of apprehending criticisms without full explanation appended, that he is doing so. Rather, would I ask such a reader to suppose that before him there stands a man of incomparably inferior enlightenment and schooling? A rude country bumpkin whose life throughout has been passed in retirement. A bumpkin to whom it is necessary to explain each circumstance in detail, while never forgetting to be as simple of speech as though he were a child, and at every step there were a danger of employing terms beyond his understanding. Should these precautions be kept constantly in view by any reader undertaking to annotate my book, that reader's remarks will exceed in weight and interest even his own expectations, and will bring me very real advantage. Thus, provided that my earnest request be heeded by my readers, and that among them there may be found a few kind spirits to do as I desire, the following is the manner in which I would request them to transmit their notes for my consideration. Inscribing the package with my name, let them then enclose that package in a second one, addressed either to the rector of the University of St. Petersburg, or to Professor Shevirev of the University of Moscow, according as the one or the other of those two cities may be the nearer to the sender. Lastly, while thanking all journalists and literateurs for their previously published criticisms of my book, criticisms which, in spite of a spice of that intemperance and prejudice which is common to all humanity, have proved of the greatest use both to my head and to my heart, I beg of such writers again to favour me with their reviews, for in all sincerity I can assure them that whatsoever they may be pleased to say for my improvement and my instruction will be received by me with naught but gratitude. End of Authors' Preface This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Dead Souls by Nikolay Vasilyevich Gogo Translated by DJ Hogarth Part 1, Chapter 1 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 dram shop exchanged a few comments with reference to the ekipage 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 frock-coat 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 indoor, 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 bed-chamber which God had prepared for the gentleman's reception. The said bed-chamber was of quite ordinary appearance, since the inn belonged to the species to be found in all provincial towns. The species were in, for two rubles a day, travelers 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 neighbor whose ears are burning to learn every possible detail concerning the latest arrival. The inn's exterior corresponded with its interior. Long and consisting of only two stories, 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 zbitenshik, cheek-pie-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 zbitenshik 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 had formerly 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 servants, and the valet, to establish himself in the little dark anti-room or kennel, where already he had stored a cloak, a bag full 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 gentlemen had repaired to the common parlor. The appearance of common parlors of the kind is known to everyone 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, parlors of this kind invariably contain smutty ceilings and equally smutty chandelier, a number of pendant shades which jump and rattle whenever the waiter scurries across the shabby oil cloth with a tray full 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 party-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 gods, 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 and in 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 the 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 neighborhood. 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 fear, fatal forms of agieu, 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 fervor. Indeed, the manner in which he accomplished this latter feat was marvelous in the extreme, for though that member omitted 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 the 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 as 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 Ivanovich Chichikov, collegiate counselor, landowner, traveling on private affairs. The waiter had just time to accomplish this feat before Paul Ivanovich 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 surfaces did not greet his eye, he found himself confronted with the more modest gray of wooden ones, which, consisting for the most part of one or two stories, added to the range of attics which provincial architects loved 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 Arshavsky, Taylor, and so forth were depicted. Over a shop containing hats and caps was written Vasily Tederov, foreigner. While at another spot, a signboard portrayed a billiard table and two players, the latter clad in frock coats 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, alfresco in the streets, there stood tables heat 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 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 plaisance full of unbridgeous, 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. On 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. So he bestowed upon a lady of pleasant exterior, who, escorted by footmen 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 tenor, 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 Kotsebua's plays would be given, and that one of the parts in the play was to be taken by certain Monsieur Poplevin, and another by certain Madame Moselle Ziablova, while the remaining parts were to be filled by a number of less important personages. Nevertheless, the gentlemen perused the notice with careful attention, and even jotted down the prices to be asked for seats at the performance. Also, he remarked that the bill had been printed in the press of the provincial council. 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 playing calls upon the 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-governors, 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 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 tried 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 mead of praise. Again to the chief of police, our hero had passed a most gratifying remark on the subject of the local gendarmory, 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 counselor, he had twice been guilty of the gochari, 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 traveler had spoken little, or if he had spoken at any length he had done so in a general sort of way 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 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 events 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 kind not commonly seen. That is to say, after a brief post-prandial 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 drying his full round face from the ears downwards with the towel which he took from the waiter's shoulder. Twice he snorted into the waiter's countenance as he did this, and then he put 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 frock coat of bilberry-colored 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 gendams posted before the doors, hostiliant's 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 so fused 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 born 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 of themselves over broken and unbroken fragments of light 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 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 realize 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 be fittingly come from a middle-aged individual of a rank neither excessively high nor excessively low. Next, when the 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 scrutinized 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 attendants upon the woman folk, 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 whisk. 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 proved 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 may be, they sit firmly and with confidence and decline to budge even though a seat crack and bend with their weight. For comeliness of exterior, a wrap, 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 town, and lastly a state 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 proposing to squander the same on foreign travel. That the foregoing represents pretty much the jista 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 recognized several familiar faces, namely, those of the public prosecutor, a man with beatling brows over eyes which seemed to be saying with a wink, come into the next room, my friend, 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 side-long, 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 Sobakevich, 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 Wist, and accepted the same with his usual courteous inclination of the head. Seating themselves at a green table, the party did not rise there from till suffer-time, and during that period all conversation between the players had become 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 hand 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 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 his ejaculations invariably the president and the local council retorted, ah, I have him by the ears, I have him by the ears! And from the neighborhood of the table other strong ejaculations relative to the play would arise, interposed 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 everyone 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 enameled 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 Sobakevich 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 them how many peasant souls each of them possess 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 bursts from the boundaries of town. And in return, Chichikov averred with an exceedingly affable bow in 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, Sabakovich said to him laconically, and do you pay me a visit? And then proceeded to shuffle a pair of boots of such dimensions that 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, everyone sat down to wist and remained so seated until two o'clock in the morning. On this occasion, Chichikov made the acquaintance of, among others, a landowner named Nosdrev, a dissipated little fellow of 30 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 Nosdrev'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-governors, 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 particularly 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 chanced 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? 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 anyone 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 reign 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 said that he was a good man of business. The chief of gendarmerie 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 gendarmerie that his politeness of behaviour was equaled only by his affability of bearing. Nay, even Sobakovich, who was a rule never spoke well of any one, said to his lucky wife when, on returning late from the town, he undressed and betook himself to bed by her side, my dear, this evening after dinner with the chief of police, I went on to the governors and met there, among others, a certain Pavel Ivanovich Chichikov, who is a collegiate counsellor and a very pleasant fellow. To this his spouse replied, and then dealt him a hearty kick in the ribs. Slattering opinions earned by the newcomer to the town, and these opinions he retained until the time when a certain specialty of his, a certain scheme of his, the reader will learn presently what it was, plunged the majority of the town's folk into a sea of perplexity. For more than two weeks the visitor lived amid a round of evening parties and dinners, wherefore he spent, as the saying goes, a very pleasant time. Finally he decided to extend his visits beyond the urban boundaries, by going to the city of the town. And so he decided to extend his visits beyond the urban boundaries, by going and calling upon landowners Manilov and Tsabakovitch, seeing that he had promised on his honor to do so. Yet would really incite him to this may have been a more essential cause, a matter of greater gravity, a purpose which stood nearer to his heart, than the motive which I have just given. And of that purpose the reader will learn if only he will have the patience only he will have the patience to read this prefatory narrative, which, lengthy though it may be, may yet develop and expand in proportion as we approach the denouement with which the present work is destined to be crowned. One evening, therefore, cellophane the coachmen received orders to have the horses harnessed in good time next morning, while Petrusca received orders to remain behind, for the purpose of looking after the portmanteau and the room. In passing the reader may care to become more fully acquainted with the two serving men of whom I have spoken. Naturally they were not persons of much note, but merely what folk call characters of secondary or even tertiary importance. Yet, despite the fact that the springs and the thread of this romance will not depend upon them, but only touch upon them, and occasionally include them, the author has a passion for circumstantiality, and like the average Russian such a desire for accuracy as even a German could not rival. To what the reader already knows concerning the personages in hand it is therefore necessary to add that Petrusca actually wore a cast-off brown jacket of a size too large for him, as also that he had, according to the custom of individuals of his calling, a pair of thick lips and a very prominent nose. In temperament he was taciturn rather than loquacious, and he cherished a yearning for self-education. That is to say he loved to read books, even though their contents came alike to him whether they were books of heroic adventure or mere grammars or liturgical compendia. As I say he perused every book with an equal amount of attention, and had he been offered a work on chemistry, would have accepted that also. Not the words which he read, but the mere solace derived from the act of reading was what especially pleased his mind. Even though at any moment there might launch itself from the page some devil-scent word whereof he could make neither head nor tail. For the most part his task of reading was performed in a recumbent position in the anti-room, which circumstance ended by causing his mattress to become as ragged and as thin as a wafer. In addition to his love of pouring over books he could boast of two habits which constituted two other essential features of his character, namely a habit of retiring to rest in his clothes, that is to say in the brown jacket above mentioned, and a habit of everywhere bearing with him his own peculiar atmosphere, his own peculiar smell, a smell which filled any lodging with such subtlety that he needed but to make up his bed anywhere, even in a room hitherto untenanted, and to drag thither his great coat and other impedimenta for that room at once to assume an air of having been lived in during the past ten years. Nevertheless, though a fastidious and even an irritable man, Chichikov would merely frown when his nose caught this smell amid the freshness of the morning and exclaimed with a toss of his head, the devil only knows what is up with you. Surely you sweat a good deal, do you not? The best thing you can do is go and take a bath. To this Petrusko would make no reply but, approaching, brush in hand, the spot where his master's coat would be pendant, or starting to arrange one and another article in order would strive to seem wholly immersed in his work. Yet of what was he thinking as he remained thus silent? Perhaps he was saying to himself, My master is a good fellow, but for him to keep on saying the same thing forty times over is a little worrisome. Only God knows and sees all things. Wherefore, for a mere human being to know what is in the mind of a servant while his master is scolding him is wholly impossible. However, no more need be said about Petrusko. On the other hand, Kochman's cellophane. But here let me remark that I do not like engaging the reader's attention in connection with persons of a lower class than himself. For experience has taught me that we do not willingly familiarize ourselves with the lower orders, that it is the custom of the average Russian to yearn exclusively for information concerning persons on the higher rungs of the social ladder. In fact, even a bowing acquaintance with a prince or a lord counts, in his eyes, for more than do the most intimate of relations with ordinary folk. For the same reason the author feels apprehensive on his hero's account, seeing that he has made that hero a mere collegiate counselor, a mere person with whom aeulic counselors might consort but upon whom persons of the grade of full general would probably bestow one of those glances proper to a man who is cringing at their august feet. Worse still, such persons of the grade of general are likely to treat Chichikov with studied negligence, and to an author studied negligence spells death. Note one. In this case the term general refers to a civil grade equivalent to the military rank of the same title. However, in spite of the distressfulness of the foregoing possibilities, it is time that I return to my hero. After issuing overnight the necessary orders, he awoke early, washed himself, rubbed himself from head to foot with a wet sponge, a performance executed only on Sundays, and the day in question happened to be a Sunday. Shaved his face with such care that his cheeks issued of absolutely satin-like smoothness and polish, donned his first bilberry-colored spotted frockcoat, and then his bare-skin overcoat descended the staircase, attended throughout by the waiter, and entered his britchka. With a loud rattle the vehicle left the in-yard and issued unto the street. A passing priest doffed his cap, and a few urchins and grimy shirts shouted, Gentlemen, please give a poor orphan a trifle. Presently the driver noticed that a sturdy young rascals on the point of climbing onto the splash-board. Wherefore he cracked his whip and the britchka leapt forward with increased speed over the cobblestones, at last with a feeling of relief. The travelers caught sight of Makadam ahead, which promised an end both to the cobblestones and to sundry other annoyances, and sure enough after his head had been bumped a few more times against the boot of the conveyance, Chichikov found himself bowling over softer ground. On the town receding into the distance the sides of the road began to be varied with the usual hillocks, fir trees, clumps of young pine, trees with old scarred trunks, bushes of wild juniper, and so forth. Presently there came into view also strings of country villas, which, with their carved supports and gray roofs, the latter looking like pendant embroidered tablecloths, resembled rather bundles of old faggots. Likewise the customary peasants, dressed in sheepskin jackets, could be seen yawning on benches before their huts, while their women folk, fat of feature and swath of bosom, gazed out of upper windows, and the windows below displayed here appearing calf, and there the unsightly jaws of a pig. In short, the view was one of the familiar type. After passing the fifteenth verse stone, Chichikov suddenly recollected that, according to Manilov, fifteen verse was the exact distance between his country house and the town, but the sixteenth verse stone flew by, and the said country house was still nowhere to be seen. In fact, but for the circumstance that the travellers happened to encounter a couple of peasants, they would have come on their errand in Maine. To a query as to whether the country house known as Zamanilovka was anywhere in the neighborhood the peasants replied by doffing their caps, after which one of them who seemed to boast of a little more intelligence than his companion and who wore a wedge shaped beard made answer, Perhaps you mean Manilovka, not Zamanilovka? Yes, yes, Manilovka. Manilovka, eh? Well, you must continue for another verse, and then you will see it straight before you on the right. On the right re-eckled the coachman? Yes, on the right, affirmed the peasant. You are on the proper road for Manilovka, but Zamanilovka, well there is no such place. The house you mean is called Manilovka, because Manilovka is its name, but no house at all is called Zamanilovka. The house you mean stands there on that hill, and is a stone house in which a gentleman lives, and its name is Manilovka, but Zamanilovka does not stand hereabouts, nor ever has stood. So the travelers proceeded in search of Manilovka, and, after driving an additional two versets, arrived at a spot whence there branched off a by-road. Yet two, three, or four versets of the by-road had been covered before they saw the least sign of a two-storied stone mansion. Then it was that Chichikov suddenly recollected that, when a friend has invited one to visit his country-house, and has said that the distance there too is fifteen versets, the distance is sure to turn out to be at least thirty. Not many people would have admired the situation of Manilovka's abode, for it stood on an isolated rise, and was open to every wind that blew. On the slope of the rise lay closely moaned turf, while disposed here and there, after the English fashion, were flower beds containing clumps of lilac and yellow acacia. Also there were a few insignificant groups of slender-leaved, pointed-tipped birch trees which, under two of the latter, an arbor having a shabby green cupola, some blue-painted wooden supports, and the inscription, This is the temple of solitary thought. Over down the slope lay a green-coated pond. Green-coated ponds constitute a frequent spectacle in the gardens of Russian landowners, and, lastly, from the foot of the declivity there stretched a line of moldy, log-built huts which, for some obscure reason or another, our hero set himself to count. Up to two hundred or more did he count, but nowhere could he perceive a single leaf of vegetation or a single stick of timber. The only thing to greet the eye was the logs of which the huts were constructed. Nevertheless, the scene was to a certain extent enlivened by the spectacle of two peasant women who, with clothes, picturesquely tucked up, were wading knee-deep in the pond and dragging behind them, with wooden handles, a ragged fishing net, in the meshes of which two crawfish in a roach with glistening scales were entangled. The women appeared to have cause of dispute between themselves, to be raiding one another about something. In the background and to one side of the house showed a faint dusky blur of pine wood, and even the weather was in keeping with the surroundings since the day was neither clear nor dull, but of the gray tint which may be noted in uniforms of garrison soldiers which have seen long service. To complete the picture, a cock, the recognized harbinger of atmospheric mutations was present, and in spite of the fact that a certain connection with affairs of gallantry had led to his having had his head pecked bare by other cocks, he flapped a pair of wings, appendages as bare as two pieces of baste, and crowed loudly. As Chichikov approached the courtyard of the mansion, he caught sight of his host, clad in a green frock coat, standing on the veranda and pressing one hand to his eyes to shield them from the sun and to get a better view of the approaching carriage. In proportion as the Brichka drew nearer and nearer to the veranda, the host's eyes assumed a more and more delighted expression, and his smile a broader and broader sweep. Paul Ivanovich, he exclaimed, when at length Chichikov leapt from the vehicle, never should I have believed that you would have remembered us. The two friends exchanged hearty embraces, and Manilov then conducted his guest to the drawing room. During the brief time that they are traversing the hall, the anti-room, and the dining room, let me try to say something concerning the master of the house. But such an undertaking bristles with difficulties. It promises to be a far less easy task than the depicting of some outstanding personality which calls but for a wholesale dashing of colors upon the canvas. The colors of a pair of dark burning eyes, a pair of dark beadling brows, a forehead seemed with wrinkles, a black or a fiery red cloak thrown backwards over the shoulder, and so forth and so forth. Yet so numerous are Russian surf owners that, though careful scrutiny reveals to one's sight a quantity of outre peculiarities, they are as a class exceedingly difficult to portray, and one needs to strain one's faculties to the utmost before it becomes possible to pick out their variously subtle, their almost invisible features. In short, one needs, before doing this, to carry out a prolonged probing with the aid of an insight sharpened in the acute school of research. Only God can say what Manilov's real character was. A class of men exists whom the proverb has described as men unto themselves, neither this nor that, neither Bogdan of the city nor Celefan of the village. And to that class we had better assign also Manilov. Outwardly he was presentable enough, for his features were not wanting an amiability. But that amiability was a quality into which there entered too much of the sugary element, so that his every gesture, his every attitude seemed to connote an excess of eagerness to carry favor and cultivate a closer acquaintance. On first speaking to the man, his ingratiating smile, his flaxen hair, and his blue eyes would lead one to say, what a pleasant good-tempered fellow he seems. Yet during the next moment or two one would feel inclined to say nothing at all, and during the third moment only to say the devil alone knows what he is, and should, thereafter, one not hasten to depart, one would inevitably become overpowered with the deadly sense of anui, which comes of the intuition that nothing in the least interesting is to be looked for, but only a series of worrisome utterances of the kind which are apt to fall from the lips of a man whose hobby has once been touched upon. For every man has his hobby. One man's may be sporting dogs, another man's may be that of believing himself to be a lover of music, and able to sound the art to its inmost depths. Another's may be that of posing as a connoisseur of resher-shea cookery. Another's may be that of aspiring to play roles of a kind higher than nature has assigned him. Another's, though this is a more limited ambition, may be that of getting drunk and of dreaming that he is edifying both his friends, his acquaintances, and people with whom he has no connection at all by walking arm in arm with an imperial aid to comp. Another's may be that of possessing a hand able to chip corners off aces and deuces of diamonds. Another's may be that of yearning to set things straight, in other words to approximate his personality to that of a stationmaster or a director of posts. In short, almost every man has his hobby or his leaning, yet Manilov had none such. For at home he spoke little and spent the greater part of his time in meditation, though God only knows what that meditation comprised. Nor can it be said that he took much interest in the management of his estate, for he never rode into the country and the estate practically managed itself. Whether the bailiff said to him, it might be well to have such and such a thing done, he would reply, yes, that is not a bad idea, and then go on smoking his pipe, a habit which he had acquired during his service in the army, where he had been looked upon as an officer of modesty, delicacy, and refinement. Yes, it is not a bad idea, he would repeat. Again, whenever a peasant approached him and rubbing the back of his neck, said, Baron, may I have leave to go and work for myself in order that I may earn my obrock? Note, too. He would snap out with pipe in mouth as usual. Yes, go, and never trouble his head as to whether the peasant's real object might not be to go and get drunk. True, at intervals, he would say, while gazing from the veranda to the courtyard and from the courtyard to the pond, that it would be indeed splendid if a carriage drive could suddenly materialize, and the pond as suddenly becomes spanned with a stone bridge, and little shops as suddenly arise whence peddlers could dispense the petty merchandise of the kind which peasantry most need. And at such moments his eyes would grow winning, and his features assume an expression of intense satisfaction. Yet never did these projects pass beyond the stage of debate. Likewise, there lay in his study a book with the fourteenth page permanently turned down. It was a book which he had been reading for the past two years. In general, something seemed to be wanting in the establishment. For instance, although the drawing room was filled with beautiful furniture and upholstered in some fine silk and material which clearly had cost no inconsiderable sum, two of the chairs lacked any covering but vast, and for some years past the master had been accustomed to warn his guest with the words, do not sit upon these chairs, they are not yet ready for use. Another room contained no furniture at all, although a few days after the marriage it had been said, my dear, tomorrow let us set about procuring at least some temporary furniture for this room. Also every evening would see placed upon the drawing room table a fine bronze candelabrum, a statuette representative of the three graces, a tray in laid with mother of pearl, and a rickety lopsided copper envalide. Yet of the fact that all four articles were thickly coated with grease, neither the master of the house nor the mistress nor the servants seemed to entertain the least suspicion. At the same time Maniloff and his wife were quite satisfied with each other. More than eight years had elapsed since their marriage, yet one of them was forever offering his or her partner a piece of apple or a bonbon or a nut while murmuring some tender something which voiced a whole hearted affection. Open your mouth, dearest. Thus ran the formula, and let me pop into it this tit-bit. You may be sure that on such occasion the dearest mouth parted its lips most graciously. For their mutual birthdays the pair always contrived some surprise present in the shape of a glass receptacle for tooth powder or what not. And as they sat together on the sofa he would suddenly and for some unknown reason lay aside his pipe and she her work, if at the moment she happened to be holding it in her hands, and husband and wife would imprint upon one another's cheeks such a prolonged and languishing kiss that during its continuance you could have smoked a full cigar. In short they were what is known as a very happy couple, yet it may be remarked that a household requires other pursuits to be engaged in than lengthy embracings in the preparing of cunning surprises. Yes, many a function calls for fulfillment. For instance, why should it be thought foolish or low to super intend the kitchen? Why should care not be taken that the storeroom never lacks supplies? Why should a housekeeper be allowed to thieve? Why should slovenly and drunken servants exist? Why should a domestic staff be suffered in indulge in bouts of unconscionable debauchery during its leisure time? Yet none of these things were thought worthy of consideration by Manilov's wife, for she had been gently brought up, and gentle nurture as we all know is to be acquired only in boarding schools, and boarding schools, as we know, hold the three principal subjects which constitute the basis of human virtue to be the French language, a thing indispensable to the happiness of married life, piano playing, a thing wherewith to beguile a husband's leisure moments, and that particular department of housewifery which is comprised in the knitting of purses and other surprises, nevertheless changes and improvements have begun to take place, since things now are governed more by the personal inclinations and idiosyncrasies 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. Nonetheless, I may remark that Madame Manilov, note two, an annual tax upon peasants, payment of which secured to the payer the right of removal, and note two. But let me confess that I always shrink from saying too much about ladies. Moreover, it is time that we return 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. End of Part 1, Chapter 2, Section 1