Dead Souls

o 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.