Authors: Nikolai Gogol
Oh long-drawn highway, how excellent you are! How often have I in
weariness and despondency set forth upon your length, and found in you
salvation and rest! How often, as I followed your leading, have I been
visited with wonderful thoughts and poetic dreams and curious, wild
impressions!
At this moment our friend Chichikov also was experiencing visions of a
not wholly prosaic nature. Let us peep into his soul and share them.
At first he remained unconscious of anything whatsoever, for he was
too much engaged in making sure that he was really clear of the town;
but as soon as he saw that it had completely disappeared, with its
mills and factories and other urban appurtenances, and that even the
steeples of the white stone churches had sunk below the horizon, he
turned his attention to the road, and the town of N. vanished from his
thoughts as completely as though he had not seen it since childhood.
Again, in its turn, the road ceased to interest him, and he began to
close his eyes and to loll his head against the cushions. Of this let
the author take advantage, in order to speak at length concerning his
hero; since hitherto he (the author) has been prevented from so doing
by Nozdrev and balls and ladies and local intrigues—by those thousand
trifles which seem trifles only when they are introduced into a book,
but which, in life, figure as affairs of importance. Let us lay them
aside, and betake ourselves to business.
Whether the character whom I have selected for my hero has pleased my
readers is, of course, exceedingly doubtful. At all events the ladies
will have failed to approve him for the fair sex demands in a hero
perfection, and, should there be the least mental or physical stain on
him—well, woe betide! Yes, no matter how profoundly the author may
probe that hero's soul, no matter how clearly he may portray his
figure as in a mirror, he will be given no credit for the achievement.
Indeed, Chichikov's very stoutness and plenitude of years may have
militated against him, for never is a hero pardoned for the former,
and the majority of ladies will, in such case, turn away, and mutter
to themselves: "Phew! What a beast!" Yes, the author is well aware of
this. Yet, though he could not, to save his life, take a person of
virtue for his principal character, it may be that this story contains
themes never before selected, and that in it there projects the whole
boundless wealth of Russian psychology; that it portrays, as well as
Chichikov, the peasant who is gifted with the virtues which God has
sent him, and the marvellous maiden of Russia who has not her like in
all the world for her beautiful feminine spirituality, the roots of
which lie buried in noble aspirations and boundless self-denial. In
fact, compared with these types, the virtuous of other races seem
lifeless, as does an inanimate volume when compared with the living
word. Yes, each time that there arises in Russia a movement of
thought, it becomes clear that the movement sinks deep into the
Slavonic nature where it would but have skimmed the surface of other
nations.—But why am I talking like this? Whither am I tending? It is
indeed shameful that an author who long ago reached man's estate, and
was brought up to a course of severe introspection and sober, solitary
self-enlightenment, should give way to such jejune wandering from the
point. To everything its proper time and place and turn. As I was
saying, it does not lie in me to take a virtuous character for my
hero: and I will tell you why. It is because it is high time that a
rest were given to the "poor, but virtuous" individual; it is because
the phrase "a man of worth" has grown into a by-word; it is because
the "man of worth" has become converted into a horse, and there is not
a writer but rides him and flogs him, in and out of season; it is
because the "man of worth" has been starved until he has not a shred
of his virtue left, and all that remains of his body is but the ribs
and the hide; it is because the "man of worth" is for ever being
smuggled upon the scene; it is because the "man of worth" has at
length forfeited every one's respect. For these reasons do I reaffirm
that it is high time to yoke a rascal to the shafts. Let us yoke that
rascal.
Our hero's beginnings were both modest and obscure. True, his parents
were dvoriane, but he in no way resembled them. At all events, a
short, squab female relative who was present at his birth exclaimed as
she lifted up the baby: "He is altogether different from what I had
expected him to be. He ought to have taken after his maternal
grandmother, whereas he has been born, as the proverb has it, 'like
not father nor mother, but like a chance passer-by.'" Thus from the
first life regarded the little Chichikov with sour distaste, and as
through a dim, frost-encrusted window. A tiny room with diminutive
casements which were never opened, summer or winter; an invalid father
in a dressing-gown lined with lambskin, and with an ailing foot
swathed in bandages—a man who was continually drawing deep breaths,
and walking up and down the room, and spitting into a sandbox; a
period of perpetually sitting on a bench with pen in hand and ink on
lips and fingers; a period of being eternally confronted with the
copy-book maxim, "Never tell a lie, but obey your superiors, and
cherish virtue in your heart;" an everlasting scraping and shuffling
of slippers up and down the room; a period of continually hearing a
well-known, strident voice exclaim: "So you have been playing the fool
again!" at times when the child, weary of the mortal monotony of his
task, had added a superfluous embellishment to his copy; a period of
experiencing the ever-familiar, but ever-unpleasant, sensation which
ensued upon those words as the boy's ear was painfully twisted between
two long fingers bent backwards at the tips—such is the miserable
picture of that youth of which, in later life, Chichikov preserved but
the faintest of memories! But in this world everything is liable to
swift and sudden change; and, one day in early spring, when the rivers
had melted, the father set forth with his little son in a
teliezshka
[37]
drawn by a sorrel steed of the kind known to horsy folk
as a soroka, and having as coachman the diminutive hunchback who,
father of the only serf family belonging to the elder Chichikov,
served as general factotum in the Chichikov establishment. For a day
and a half the soroka conveyed them on their way; during which time
they spent the night at a roadside inn, crossed a river, dined off
cold pie and roast mutton, and eventually arrived at the county town.
To the lad the streets presented a spectacle of unwonted brilliancy,
and he gaped with amazement. Turning into a side alley wherein the
mire necessitated both the most strenuous exertions on the soroka's
part and the most vigorous castigation on the part of the driver and
the barin, the conveyance eventually reached the gates of a courtyard
which, combined with a small fruit garden containing various bushes, a
couple of apple-trees in blossom, and a mean, dirty little shed,
constituted the premises attached to an antiquated-looking villa. Here
there lived a relative of the Chichikovs, a wizened old lady who went
to market in person and dried her stockings at the samovar. On seeing
the boy, she patted his cheek and expressed satisfaction at his
physique; whereupon the fact became disclosed that here he was to
abide for a while, for the purpose of attending a local school. After
a night's rest his father prepared to betake himself homeward again;
but no tears marked the parting between him and his son, he merely
gave the lad a copper or two and (a far more important thing) the
following injunctions. "See here, my boy. Do your lessons well, do not
idle or play the fool, and above all things, see that you please your
teachers. So long as you observe these rules you will make progress,
and surpass your fellows, even if God shall have denied you brains,
and you should fail in your studies. Also, do not consort overmuch
with your comrades, for they will do you no good; but, should you do
so, then make friends with the richer of them, since one day they may
be useful to you. Also, never entertain or treat any one, but see that
every one entertains and treats YOU. Lastly, and above all else,
keep and save your every kopeck. To save money is the most important
thing in life. Always a friend or a comrade may fail you, and be the
first to desert you in a time of adversity; but never will a KOPECK
fail you, whatever may be your plight. Nothing in the world cannot be
done, cannot be attained, with the aid of money." These injunctions
given, the father embraced his son, and set forth on his return; and
though the son never again beheld his parent, the latter's words and
precepts sank deep into the little Chichikov's soul.
The next day young Pavlushka made his first attendance at school. But
no special aptitude in any branch of learning did he display. Rather,
his distinguishing characteristics were diligence and neatness. On the
other hand, he developed great intelligence as regards the PRACTICAL
aspect of life. In a trice he divined and comprehended how things
ought to be worked, and, from that time forth, bore himself towards
his school-fellows in such a way that, though they frequently gave him
presents, he not only never returned the compliment, but even on
occasions pocketed the gifts for the mere purpose of selling them
again. Also, boy though he was, he acquired the art of self-denial. Of
the trifle which his father had given him on parting he spent not a
kopeck, but, the same year, actually added to his little store by
fashioning a bullfinch of wax, painting it, and selling the same at a
handsome profit. Next, as time went on, he engaged in other
speculations—in particular, in the scheme of buying up eatables,
taking his seat in class beside boys who had plenty of pocket-money,
and, as soon as such opulent individuals showed signs of failing
attention (and, therefore, of growing appetite), tendering them, from
beneath the desk, a roll of pudding or a piece of gingerbread, and
charging according to degree of appetite and size of portion. He also
spent a couple of months in training a mouse, which he kept confined
in a little wooden cage in his bedroom. At length, when the training
had reached the point that, at the several words of command, the mouse
would stand upon its hind legs, lie down, and get up again, he sold
the creature for a respectable sum. Thus, in time, his gains attained
the amount of five roubles; whereupon he made himself a purse and then
started to fill a second receptacle of the kind. Still more studied
was his attitude towards the authorities. No one could sit more
quietly in his place on the bench than he. In the same connection it
may be remarked that his teacher was a man who, above all things,
loved peace and good behaviour, and simply could not abide clever,
witty boys, since he suspected them of laughing at him. Consequently
any lad who had once attracted the master's attention with a
manifestation of intelligence needed but to shuffle in his place, or
unintentionally to twitch an eyebrow, for the said master at once to
burst into a rage, to turn the supposed offender out of the room, and
to visit him with unmerciful punishment. "Ah, my fine fellow," he
would say, "I'LL cure you of your impudence and want of respect! I
know you through and through far better than you know yourself, and
will take good care that you have to go down upon your knees and curb
your appetite." Whereupon the wretched lad would, for no cause of
which he was aware, be forced to wear out his breeches on the floor
and go hungry for days. "Talents and gifts," the schoolmaster would
declare, "are so much rubbish. I respect only good behaviour, and
shall award full marks to those who conduct themselves properly, even
if they fail to learn a single letter of their alphabet: whereas to
those in whom I may perceive a tendency to jocularity I shall award
nothing, even though they should outdo Solon himself." For the same
reason he had no great love of the author Krylov, in that the latter
says in one of his Fables: "In my opinion, the more one sings, the
better one works;" and often the pedagogue would relate how, in a
former school of his, the silence had been such that a fly could be
heard buzzing on the wing, and for the space of a whole year not a
single pupil sneezed or coughed in class, and so complete was the
absence of all sound that no one could have told that there was a soul
in the place. Of this mentor young Chichikov speedily appraised the
mentality; wherefore he fashioned his behaviour to correspond with it.
Not an eyelid, not an eyebrow, would he stir during school hours,
howsoever many pinches he might receive from behind; and only when the
bell rang would he run to anticipate his fellows in handing the master
the three-cornered cap which that dignitary customarily sported, and
then to be the first to leave the class-room, and contrive to meet the
master not less than two or three times as the latter walked homeward,
in order that, on each occasion, he might doff his cap. And the scheme
proved entirely successful. Throughout the period of his attendance at
school he was held in high favour, and, on leaving the establishment,
received full marks for every subject, as well as a diploma and a book
inscribed (in gilt letters) "For Exemplary Diligence and the
Perfection of Good Conduct." By this time he had grown into a fairly
good-looking youth of the age when the chin first calls for a razor;
and at about the same period his father died, leaving behind him, as
his estate, four waistcoats completely worn out, two ancient
frockcoats, and a small sum of money. Apparently he had been skilled
only in RECOMMENDING the saving of kopecks—not in ACTUALLY
PRACTISING the art. Upon that Chichikov sold the old house and its
little parcel of land for a thousand roubles, and removed, with his
one serf and the serf's family, to the capital, where he set about
organising a new establishment and entering the Civil Service.
Simultaneously with his doing so, his old schoolmaster lost (through
stupidity or otherwise) the establishment over which he had hitherto
presided, and in which he had set so much store by silence and good
behaviour. Grief drove him to drink, and when nothing was left, even
for that purpose, he retired—ill, helpless, and starving—into a
broken-down, cheerless hovel. But certain of his former pupils—the
same clever, witty lads whom he had once been wont to accuse of
impertinence and evil conduct generally—heard of his pitiable plight,
and collected for him what money they could, even to the point of
selling their own necessaries. Only Chichikov, when appealed to,
pleaded inability, and compromised with a contribution of a single
piatak
[38]
: which his old schoolfellows straightway returned him—full
in the face, and accompanied with a shout of "Oh, you skinflint!" As
for the poor schoolmaster, when he heard what his former pupils had
done, he buried his face in his hands, and the tears gushed from his
failing eyes as from those of a helpless infant. "God has brought you
but to weep over my death-bed," he murmured feebly; and added with a
profound sigh, on hearing of Chichikov's conduct: "Ah, Pavlushka, how
a human being may become changed! Once you were a good lad, and gave
me no trouble; but now you are become proud indeed!"