Kabanata Kabanata 1 · Chapter I

To the door of an inn in the provincial town of N. there drew up a smart

britchka--a light spring-carriage of the sort affected by bachelors,

retired lieutenant-colonels, staff-captains, land-owners possessed of

about a hundred souls, and, in short, all persons who rank as gentlemen

of the intermediate category. In the britchka was seated such a

gentleman--a man who, though not handsome, was not ill-favoured, not

over-fat, and not over-thin. Also, though not over-elderly, he was

not over-young. His arrival produced no stir in the town, and was

accompanied by no particular incident, beyond that a couple of peasants

who happened to be standing at the door of a dramshop exchanged a few

comments with reference to the equipage rather than to the individual

who was seated in it. “Look at that carriage,” one of them said to the

other. “Think you it will be going as far as Moscow?” “I think it will,”

replied his companion. “But not as far as Kazan, eh?” “No, not as far as

Kazan.” With that the conversation ended. Presently, as the britchka was

approaching the inn, it was met by a young man in a pair of very short,

very tight breeches of white dimity, a quasi-fashionable frockcoat, and

a dickey fastened with a pistol-shaped bronze tie-pin. The young man

turned his head as he passed the britchka and eyed it attentively;

after which he clapped his hand to his cap (which was in danger of being

removed by the wind) and resumed his way. On the vehicle reaching the

inn door, its occupant found standing there to welcome him the polevoi,

or waiter, of the establishment--an individual of such nimble and

brisk movement that even to distinguish the character of his face was

impossible. Running out with a napkin in one hand and his lanky form

clad in a tailcoat, reaching almost to the nape of his neck, he tossed

back his locks, and escorted the gentleman upstairs, along a wooden

gallery, and so to the bedchamber which God had prepared for the

gentleman’s reception. The said bedchamber was of quite ordinary

appearance, since the inn belonged to the species to be found in all

provincial towns--the species wherein, for two roubles a day, travellers

may obtain a room swarming with black-beetles, and communicating by a

doorway with the apartment adjoining. True, the doorway may be blocked

up with a wardrobe; yet behind it, in all probability, there will be

standing a silent, motionless neighbour whose ears are burning to learn

every possible detail concerning the latest arrival. The inn’s exterior

corresponded with its interior. Long, and consisting only of two

storeys, the building had its lower half destitute of stucco; with the

result that the dark-red bricks, originally more or less dingy, had

grown yet dingier under the influence of atmospheric changes. As for the

upper half of the building, it was, of course, painted the usual tint

of unfading yellow. Within, on the ground floor, there stood a number

of benches heaped with horse-collars, rope, and sheepskins; while the

window-seat accommodated a sbitentshik [4], cheek by jowl with a samovar

[5]--the latter so closely resembling the former in appearance that, but

for the fact of the samovar possessing a pitch-black lip, the samovar

and the sbitentshik might have been two of a pair.

During the traveller’s inspection of his room his luggage was brought

into the apartment. First came a portmanteau of white leather whose

raggedness indicated that the receptacle had made several previous

journeys. The bearers of the same were the gentleman’s coachman,

Selifan (a little man in a large overcoat), and the gentleman’s

valet, Petrushka--the latter a fellow of about thirty, clad in a worn,

over-ample jacket which formerly had graced his master’s shoulders, and

possessed of a nose and a pair of lips whose coarseness communicated to

his face rather a sullen expression. Behind the portmanteau came a

small dispatch-box of redwood, lined with birch bark, a boot-case,

and (wrapped in blue paper) a roast fowl; all of which having been

deposited, the coachman departed to look after his horses, and the valet

to establish himself in the little dark anteroom or kennel where already

he had stored a cloak, a bagful of livery, and his own peculiar smell.

Pressing the narrow bedstead back against the wall, he covered it with

the tiny remnant of mattress--a remnant as thin and flat (perhaps also

as greasy) as a pancake--which he had managed to beg of the landlord of

the establishment.

While the attendants had been thus setting things straight the gentleman

had repaired to the common parlour. The appearance of common parlours of

the kind is known to every one who travels. Always they have varnished

walls which, grown black in their upper portions with tobacco smoke,

are, in their lower, grown shiny with the friction of customers’

backs--more especially with that of the backs of such local tradesmen

as, on market-days, make it their regular practice to resort to

the local hostelry for a glass of tea. Also, parlours of this kind

invariably contain smutty ceilings, an equally smutty chandelier, a

number of pendent shades which jump and rattle whenever the waiter

scurries across the shabby oilcloth with a trayful of glasses (the

glasses looking like a flock of birds roosting by the seashore), and a

selection of oil paintings. In short, there are certain objects which

one sees in every inn. In the present case the only outstanding feature

of the room was the fact that in one of the paintings a nymph was

portrayed as possessing breasts of a size such as the reader can never

in his life have beheld. A similar caricaturing of nature is to be noted

in the historical pictures (of unknown origin, period, and creation)

which reach us--sometimes through the instrumentality of Russian

magnates who profess to be connoisseurs of art--from Italy; owing to

the said magnates having made such purchases solely on the advice of the

couriers who have escorted them.

To resume, however--our traveller removed his cap, and divested his neck

of a parti-coloured woollen scarf of the kind which a wife makes for

her husband with her own hands, while accompanying the gift with

interminable injunctions as to how best such a garment ought to be

folded. True, bachelors also wear similar gauds, but, in their case,

God alone knows who may have manufactured the articles! For my part,

I cannot endure them. Having unfolded the scarf, the gentleman ordered

dinner, and whilst the various dishes were being got ready--cabbage

soup, a pie several weeks old, a dish of marrow and peas, a dish of

sausages and cabbage, a roast fowl, some salted cucumber, and the sweet

tart which stands perpetually ready for use in such establishments;

whilst, I say, these things were either being warmed up or brought in

cold, the gentleman induced the waiter to retail certain fragments of

tittle-tattle concerning the late landlord of the hostelry, the amount

of income which the hostelry produced, and the character of its present

proprietor. To the last-mentioned inquiry the waiter returned the answer

invariably given in such cases--namely, “My master is a terribly hard

man, sir.” Curious that in enlightened Russia so many people cannot even

take a meal at an inn without chattering to the attendant and making

free with him! Nevertheless not ALL the questions which the gentleman

asked were aimless ones, for he inquired who was Governor of the town,

who President of the Local Council, and who Public Prosecutor. In short,

he omitted no single official of note, while asking also (though with an

air of detachment) the most exact particulars concerning the landowners

of the neighbourhood. Which of them, he inquired, possessed serfs, and

how many of them? How far from the town did those landowners reside?

What was the character of each landowner, and was he in the habit of

paying frequent visits to the town? The gentleman also made searching

inquiries concerning the hygienic condition of the countryside. Was

there, he asked, much sickness about--whether sporadic fever, fatal

forms of ague, smallpox, or what not? Yet, though his solicitude

concerning these matters showed more than ordinary curiosity, his

bearing retained its gravity unimpaired, and from time to time he

blew his nose with portentous fervour. Indeed, the manner in which he

accomplished this latter feat was marvellous in the extreme, for, though

that member emitted sounds equal to those of a trumpet in intensity,

he could yet, with his accompanying air of guileless dignity, evoke the

waiter’s undivided respect--so much so that, whenever the sounds of

the nose reached that menial’s ears, he would shake back his locks,

straighten himself into a posture of marked solicitude, and inquire

afresh, with head slightly inclined, whether the gentleman happened

to require anything further. After dinner the guest consumed a cup of

coffee, and then, seating himself upon the sofa, with, behind him,

one of those wool-covered cushions which, in Russian taverns,

resemble nothing so much as a cobblestone or a brick, fell to snoring;

whereafter, returning with a start to consciousness, he ordered himself

to be conducted to his room, flung himself at full length upon the bed,

and once more slept soundly for a couple of hours. Aroused, eventually,

by the waiter, he, at the latter’s request, inscribed a fragment of

paper with his name, his surname, and his rank (for communication, in

accordance with the law, to the police): and on that paper the waiter,

leaning forward from the corridor, read, syllable by syllable: “Paul

Ivanovitch Chichikov, Collegiate Councillor--Landowner--Travelling

on Private Affairs.” The waiter had just time to accomplish this

feat before Paul Ivanovitch Chichikov set forth to inspect the town.

Apparently the place succeeded in satisfying him, and, to tell the

truth, it was at least up to the usual standard of our provincial

capitals. Where the staring yellow of stone edifices did not greet his

eye he found himself confronted with the more modest grey of wooden

ones; which, consisting, for the most part, of one or two storeys (added

to the range of attics which provincial architects love so well), looked

almost lost amid the expanses of street and intervening medleys of

broken or half-finished partition-walls. At other points evidence of

more life and movement was to be seen, and here the houses stood crowded

together and displayed dilapidated, rain-blurred signboards whereon

boots or 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-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 of

drying his full, round face, from the ears downwards, with a towel which

he took from the waiter’s shoulder. Twice he snorted into the waiter’s

countenance as he did this, and then he posted himself in front of the

mirror, donned a false shirt-front, plucked out a couple of hairs which

were protruding from his nose, and appeared vested in a frockcoat

of bilberry-coloured check. Thereafter driving through broad streets

sparsely lighted with lanterns, he arrived at the Governor’s residence

to find it illuminated as for a ball. Barouches with gleaming lamps,

a couple of gendarmes posted before the doors, a babel of postillions’

cries--nothing of a kind likely to be impressive was wanting; and, on

reaching the salon, the visitor actually found himself obliged to

close his eyes for a moment, so strong was the mingled sheen of lamps,

candles, and feminine apparel. Everything seemed suffused with light,

and everywhere, flitting and flashing, were to be seen black coats--even

as on a hot summer’s day flies revolve around a sugar loaf while the

old housekeeper is cutting it into cubes before the open window, and

the children of the house crowd around her to watch the movements of her

rugged hands as those members ply the smoking pestle; and airy squadrons

of flies, borne on the breeze, enter boldly, as though free of the

house, and, taking advantage of the fact that the glare of the sunshine

is troubling the old lady’s sight, disperse themselves over broken

and unbroken fragments alike, even though the lethargy induced by the

opulence of summer and the rich shower of dainties to be encountered at

every step has induced them to enter less for the purpose of eating than

for that of showing themselves in public, of parading up and down the

sugar loaf, of rubbing both their hindquarters and their fore against

one another, of cleaning their bodies under the wings, of extending

their forelegs over their heads and grooming themselves, and of flying

out of the window again to return with other predatory squadrons.

Indeed, so dazed was Chichikov that scarcely did he realise that the

Governor was taking him by the arm and presenting him to his (the

Governor’s) lady. Yet the newly-arrived guest kept his head sufficiently

to contrive to murmur some such compliment as might fittingly come

from a middle-aged individual of a rank neither excessively high nor

excessively low. Next, when couples had been formed for dancing and the

remainder of the company found itself pressed back against the walls,

Chichikov folded his arms, and carefully scrutinised the dancers. Some

of the ladies were dressed well and in the fashion, while the remainder

were clad in such garments as God usually bestows upon a provincial

town. Also here, as elsewhere, the men belonged to two separate and

distinct categories; one of which comprised slender individuals who,

flitting around the ladies, were scarcely to be distinguished from

denizens of the metropolis, so carefully, so artistically, groomed were

their whiskers, so presentable their oval, clean-shaven faces, so easy

the manner of their dancing attendance upon their womenfolk, so glib

their French conversation as they quizzed their female companions. As

for the other category, it comprised individuals who, stout, or of the

same build as Chichikov (that is to say, neither very portly nor very

lean), backed and sidled away from the ladies, and kept peering hither

and thither to see whether the Governor’s footmen had set out green

tables for whist. Their features were full and plump, some of them had

beards, and in no case was their hair curled or waved or arranged in

what the French call “the devil-may-care” style. On the contrary, their

heads were either close-cropped or brushed very smooth, and their faces

were round and firm. This category represented the more respectable

officials of the town. In passing, I may say that in business matters

fat men always prove superior to their leaner brethren; which is

probably the reason why the latter are mostly to be found in the

Political Police, or acting as mere ciphers whose existence is a purely

hopeless, airy, trivial one. Again, stout individuals never take a back

seat, but always a front one, and, wheresoever it be, they sit firmly,

and with confidence, and decline to budge even though the seat crack and

bend with their weight. For comeliness of exterior they care not a rap,

and therefore a dress coat sits less easily on their figures than is the

case with figures of leaner individuals. Yet invariably fat men amass

the greater wealth. In three years’ time a thin man will not have a

single serf whom he has left unpledged; whereas--well, pray look at

a fat man’s fortunes, and what will you see? First of all a suburban

villa, and then a larger suburban villa, and then a villa close to a

town, and lastly a country estate which comprises every amenity! That is

to say, having served both God and the State, the stout individual

has won universal respect, and will end by retiring from business,

reordering his mode of life, and becoming a Russian landowner--in other

words, a fine gentleman who dispenses hospitality, lives in comfort and

luxury, and is destined to leave his property to heirs who are purposing

to squander the same on foreign travel.

That the foregoing represents pretty much the gist of Chichikov’s

reflections as he stood watching the company I will not attempt to deny.

And of those reflections the upshot was that he decided to join

himself to the stouter section of the guests, among whom he had

already recognised several familiar faces--namely, those of the Public

Prosecutor (a man with beetling brows over eyes which seemed to be

saying with a wink, “Come into the next room, my friend, for I have

something to say to you”--though, in the main, their owner was a man of

grave and taciturn habit), of the Postmaster (an insignificant-looking

individual, yet a would-be wit and a philosopher), and of the President

of the Local Council (a man of much amiability and good sense). These

three personages greeted Chichikov as an old acquaintance, and to their

salutations he responded with a sidelong, yet a sufficiently civil, bow.

Also, he became acquainted with an extremely unctuous and approachable

landowner named Manilov, and with a landowner of more uncouth exterior

named Sobakevitch--the latter of whom began the acquaintance by treading

heavily upon Chichikov’s toes, and then begging his pardon. Next,

Chichikov received an offer of a “cut in” at whist, and accepted

the same with his usual courteous inclination of the head. Seating

themselves at a green table, the party did not rise therefrom till

supper time; and during that period all conversation between the players

became hushed, as is the custom when men have given themselves up to

a really serious pursuit. Even the Postmaster--a talkative man by

nature--had no sooner taken the cards into his hands than he assumed

an expression of profound thought, pursed his lips, and retained this

attitude unchanged throughout the game. Only when playing a court card

was it his custom to strike the table with his fist, and to exclaim (if

the card happened to be a queen), “Now, old popadia [7]!” and (if

the card happened to be a king), “Now, peasant of Tambov!” To which

ejaculations invariably the President of the Local Council retorted,

“Ah, I have him by the ears, I have him by the ears!” And from the

neighbourhood of the table other strong ejaculations relative to the

play would arise, interposed with one or another of those nicknames

which participants in a game are apt to apply to members of the various

suits. I need hardly add that, the game over, the players fell to

quarrelling, and that in the dispute our friend joined, though so

artfully as to let every one see that, in spite of the fact that he was

wrangling, he was doing so only in the most amicable fashion possible.

Never did he say outright, “You played the wrong card at such and such

a point.” No, he always employed some such phrase as, “You permitted

yourself to make a slip, and thus afforded me the honour of covering

your deuce.” Indeed, the better to keep in accord with his antagonists,

he kept offering them his silver-enamelled snuff-box (at the bottom

of which lay a couple of violets, placed there for the sake of their

scent). In particular did the newcomer pay attention to landowners

Manilov and Sobakevitch; so much so that his haste to arrive on good

terms with them led to his leaving the President and the Postmaster

rather in the shade. At the same time, certain questions which he put

to those two landowners evinced not only curiosity, but also a certain

amount of sound intelligence; for he began by asking how many peasant

souls each of them possessed, and how their affairs happened at present

to be situated, and then proceeded to enlighten himself also as their

standing and their families. Indeed, it was not long before he had

succeeded in fairly enchanting his new friends. In particular did

Manilov--a man still in his prime, and possessed of a pair of eyes

which, sweet as sugar, blinked whenever he laughed--find himself unable

to make enough of his enchanter. Clasping Chichikov long and fervently

by the hand, he besought him to do him, Manilov, the honour of visiting

his country house (which he declared to lie at a distance of not more

than fifteen versts from the boundaries of the town); and in return

Chichikov averred (with an exceedingly affable bow and a most sincere

handshake) that he was prepared not only to fulfil his friend’s behest,

but also to look upon the fulfilling of it as a sacred duty. In the same

way Sobakevitch said to him laconically: “And do you pay ME a visit,”

and then proceeded to shuffle a pair of boots of such dimensions that

to find a pair to correspond with them would have been indeed

difficult--more especially at the present day, when the race of epic

heroes is beginning to die out in Russia.

Next day Chichikov dined and spent the evening at the house of the Chief

of Police--a residence where, three hours after dinner, every one sat

down to whist, and remained so seated until two o’clock in the morning.

On this occasion Chichikov made the acquaintance of, among others, a

landowner named Nozdrev--a dissipated little fellow of thirty who had no

sooner exchanged three or four words with his new acquaintance than he

began to address him in the second person singular. Yet although he did

the same to the Chief of Police and the Public Prosecutor, the company

had no sooner seated themselves at the card-table than both the one

and the other of these functionaries started to keep a careful eye upon

Nozdrev’s tricks, and to watch practically every card which he played.

The following evening Chichikov spent with the President of the Local

Council, who received his guests--even though the latter included two

ladies--in a greasy dressing-gown. Upon that followed an evening at the

Vice-Governor’s, a large dinner party at the house of the Commissioner

of Taxes, a smaller dinner-party at the house of the Public Prosecutor

(a very wealthy man), and a subsequent reception given by the Mayor. In

short, not an hour of the day did Chichikov find himself forced to

spend at home, and his return to the inn became necessary only for the

purposes of sleeping. Somehow or other he had landed on his feet, and

everywhere he figured as an experienced man of the world. No matter what

the conversation chanced to be about, he always contrived to maintain

his part in the same. Did the discourse turn upon horse-breeding, upon

horse-breeding he happened to be peculiarly well-qualified to speak. Did

the company fall to discussing well-bred dogs, at once he had remarks of

the most pertinent kind possible to offer. Did the company touch upon

a prosecution which had recently been carried out by the Excise

Department, instantly he showed that he too was not wholly unacquainted

with legal affairs. Did an opinion chance to be expressed concerning

billiards, on that subject too he was at least able to avoid committing

a blunder. Did a reference occur to virtue, concerning virtue he

hastened to deliver himself in a way which brought tears to every eye.

Did the subject in hand happen to be the distilling of brandy--well,

that was a matter concerning which he had the soundest of knowledge. Did

any one happen to mention Customs officials and inspectors, from that

moment he expatiated as though he too had been both a minor functionary

and a major. Yet a remarkable fact was the circumstance that he always

contrived to temper his omniscience with a certain readiness to give

way, a certain ability so to keep a rein upon himself that never did his

utterances become too loud or too soft, or transcend what was perfectly

befitting. In a word, he was always a gentleman of excellent manners,

and every official in the place felt pleased when he saw him enter the

door. Thus the Governor gave it as his opinion that Chichikov was a man

of excellent intentions; the Public Prosecutor, that he was a good man

of business; the Chief of Gendarmery, that he was a man of education;

the President of the Local Council, that he was a man of breeding and

refinement; and the wife of the Chief of Gendarmery, that his politeness

of behaviour was equalled only by his affability of bearing. Nay, even

Sobakevitch--who as a rule never spoke well of ANY ONE--said to his

lanky wife when, on returning late from the town, he undressed and

betook himself to bed by her side: “My dear, this evening, after dining

with the Chief of Police, I went on to the Governor’s, and met there,

among others, a certain Paul Ivanovitch Chichikov, who is a Collegiate

Councillor and a very pleasant fellow.” To this his spouse replied “Hm!”

and then dealt him a hearty kick in the ribs.

Such were the flattering opinions earned by the newcomer to the town;

and these opinions he retained until the time when a certain speciality

of his, a certain scheme of his (the reader will learn presently what it

was), plunged the majority of the townsfolk into a sea of perplexity.