Authors: Nikolai Gogol
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
[6]
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.