No More Learning

In the pre-Emancipation days, a soul meant a male serf. The
women were not counted in the periodical revisions, though the work-
ing unit, a tyaglo, consisted of a man, his wife, and his horse-the
indispensable trinity to agricultural labor. In the interval between
the revisions, a landed proprietor continued to pay for all the serfs
accredited to him on the official list, the births being reckoned for
convenience as an exact offset to the deaths. Another provision
of the law was, that no one should purchase serfs without the land
to which they belonged, except for the purpose of colonization. An
ingenious fraud suggested by a combination of these two laws forms
the foundation of 'Dead Souls. ' The hero, Tchitchikoff, is an official
who has struggled up ambitiously and shrewdly, through numerous
vicissitudes of bribe-taking, extortion, and ensuing discomfiture, to
a snug berth in the custom-house service, from which he is ejected
under circumstances which render further flights difficult if not im-
possible. In this strait he hits upon the idea of purchasing from
landed proprietors of mediocre probity the souls who are dead,
though still nominally alive, and on whom they are forced to pay
taxes. Land is being given away gratuitously, in the southern gov-
ernments of Kherson and Tauris, to any one who will settle upon it,
as every one knows. His plan is to buy one thousand non-existent
serfs ("dead souls"), at a maximum of one hundred rubles apiece,
for colonization on an equally non-existent estate in the south, and
then, by mortgaging them to the loan bank for the nobility known
as the Council of Guardians, obtain a capital of two hundred thou-
sand rubles. In pursuance of this clever scheme he sets out on his
travels, visits provincial towns and the estates of landed gentry of
every shade of character, dishonesty, and financial standing, where


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he either buys for a song, or cajoles from them as a gift, large num-
bers of "dead souls. " It is unnecessary and impossible to do more
than reinforce the hint which this statement contains, by the assur-
ance that Gogol used to the uttermost the magnificent opportunity
thus afforded him of showing up Russian life and manners. Though
the scene of Tchitchikoff's wanderings does not include either capital,
the life there does not escape the author's notice in his asides and
illustrative arguments. It may also be said that while his talent lies
pre-eminently in the delineation of men, he does not fail in his por-
traits of women; though as a rule these are more general-in the
nature of a composite photograph-than particular. The day for mi-
nute analysis of feminine character had not arrived, and in all Gogol's
works there is, properly speaking, no such thing as the heroine play-
ing a first-class rôle, whether of the antique or the modern pattern.
Gogol's great historical novel, Taras Bulba,' which deals with the
famous Kazak republic of the Dniepr Falls (Zaporózhya), stands
equally with his other volumes of the first rank in poetry, dramatic
power, and truth to life. It possesses also a force of tragedy and
passion in love which are altogether lacking, or but faintly indi-
cated, in his other masterpieces.
Isabel 7. Hapgood
FROM THE INSPECTOR›
Scene: A room in the house of the Chief of Police. Present: Chief of
Police, Curator of Benevolent Institutions, Superintendent of Schools,
Judge, Commissary of Police, Doctor, two Policemen.
I have summoned you, gentlemen, in order to com-
municate to you an unpleasant piece of news:
spector is coming.
an In-
Judge-What! An Inspector?
Chief- An Inspector from St. Petersburg, incognito. And
with secret orders, to boot.
Judge-I thought so!
C
HIEF
-
Curator-If there's not trouble, then I'm mistaken!
Superintendent - Heavens! And with secret orders, too!
Chief I foresaw it: all last night I was dreaming of two
huge rats. I never saw such rats: they were black, and of


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NIKOLAI VASILIEVITCH GOGOL
supernatural size!
They came, and smelled, and went away.
I will read you the letter I have received from Andrei Ivan'itch
Tchorikoff, whom you know, Artemiy Philip'itch. This is what
he writes: "Dear friend, gossip and benefactor! " [Mutters in
an undertone, as he runs his eye quickly over it. ] "I hasten to
inform you, among other things, that an official has arrived with
orders to inspect the entire government, and our district in par-
ticular. " [Raises his finger significantly. ] "I have heard this
from trustworthy people, although he represents himself as a
private individual. As I know that you are not quite free from
faults, since you are a sensible man, and do not like to let slip
what runs into your hands [Pauses. ] Well, here are some
remarks about his own affairs—“so I advise you to be on your
guard: for he may arrive at any moment, if he is not already
arrived and living somewhere incognito. Yesterday—" Well,
what follows is about family matters. "My sister Anna Kiri-
lovna has come with her husband; Ivan Kirilitch has grown
very fat, and still plays the violin -" and so forth, and so forth.
So there you have the whole matter.
Judge-Yes, the matter is so unusual, so remarkable; some-
thing unexpected.
Superintendent - And why? Anton Anton'itch, why is this?
Why is the Inspector coming hither?
Chief [sighs]- Why? Evidently, it is fate. [Sighs. ] Up to
this time, God be praised, they have attended to other towns;
now our turn has come.
-
men.
>>>
―――――
Judge-I think, Anton Anton'itch, that there is some fine
political cause at the bottom of this. This means something:
Russia-yes-Russia wants to go to war, and the minister, you
see, has sent an official to find out whether there is any treason.
Chief- What's got hold of him? A sensible man, truly!
Treason in a provincial town! Is it a border town—is it, now?
Why, you could ride away from here for three years and not
reach any other kingdom.
The gov
Judge - No, I tell you. You don't-you don't-
ernment has subtle reasons; no matter if it is out of the way,
they don't care for that.
Chief - Whether they care or not, I have warned you, gentle-
See to it! I have made some arrangements in my own
department, and I advise you to do the same. Especially you,
Artemiy Philip'itch! Without doubt, this traveling official will


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wish first of all to inspect your institutions—and therefore you
must arrange things so that they will be decent. The nightcaps.
should be clean, and the sick people should not look like black-
smiths, as they usually do in private.
We can put clean night-
Curator Well, that's a mere trifle.
caps on them.
Chief - And then, you ought to have written up over the head
of each bed, in Latin or some other language- that's your busi-
ness the name of each disease: when each patient was taken
sick, the day and hour. It is not well that your sick people
should smoke such strong tobacco that one has to sneeze every
time he goes in there. Yes, and it would be better if there
were fewer of them: it will be set down at once to bad super-
vision or to lack of skill on the doctor's part.
Curator - Oh! so far as the doctoring is concerned, Christian
Ivan'itch and I have already taken measures: the nearer to nature
the better, we don't use any expensive medicines. Man is a
simple creature: if he dies, why then he dies; if he gets well,
why then he gets well. And then, it would have been difficult
for Christian Ivan'itch to make them understand him he doesn't
know one word of Russian.
―
-
――
-
Chief — I should also advise you, Ammos Feodor'itch, to turn
your attention to court affairs. In the ante-room, where the
clients usually assemble, your janitor has got a lot of geese and
goslings, which waddle about under foot. Of course it is praise-
worthy to be thrifty in domestic affairs, and why should not the
janitor be so too? only, you know, it is not proper in that
place. I meant to mention it to you before, but always forgot it.
Judge I'll order them to be taken to the kitchen this very
day. Will you come and dine with me?
Chief-And moreover, it is not well that all sorts of stuff
should be put to dry in the court-room, and that over the very
desk, with the documents, there should be a hunting-whip. I
know that you are fond of hunting, but there is a proper time
for everything, and you can hang it up there again when the
Inspector takes his departure. And then your assistant—he's a
man of experience, but there's a smell about him as though he
had just come from a distillery—and that's not as it should
be. I meant to speak to you about it long ago, but something, I
don't recall now precisely what, put it out of my mind. There
is a remedy, if he really was born with the odor, as he asserts:


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NIKOLAI VASILIEVITCH GOGOL
you might advise him to eat onions or garlic or something. In
that case, Christian Ivan'itch could assist you with some medica-
ments.
Judge-No, it's impossible to drive it out: he says that his
mother injured him when he was a child, and an odor of whisky
has emanated from him ever since.
Chief - Yes, I just remarked on it. As for internal arrange-
ments, and what Andrei Ivan'itch in his letter calls "faults," I
can say nothing. Yes, and strange to say, there is no man who
has not his faults. God himself arranged it so, and it is useless
for the freethinkers to maintain the contrary.
Judge - What do you mean by faults, Anton Anton'itch?
There are various sorts of faults. I tell every one frankly that
I take bribes; but what sort of bribes? greyhound pups. That's
quite another thing.
Chief-Well, greyhound pups or anything else, it's all the
same.
Judge-Well, no, Anton Anton'itch. But for example, if some
one has a fur coat worth five hundred rubles, and his wife has a
shawl-
-
Chief-Well, and how about your taking greyhound pups as
bribes? Why don't you trust in God? You never go to church.
I am firm in the faith, at all events, and go to church every
Sunday. But you-oh, I know you! If you begin to talk about
the creation of the world, one's hair rises straight up on his head.
Judge-It came of itself, of its own accord.
Chief - Well, in some cases it is worse to have brains than
to be entirely without them. Besides, I only just mentioned the
district court: but to tell the truth, it is only very rarely that
any one ever looks in there; 'tis such an enviable place that God
himself protects it. And as for you, Luka Luk'itch, as superin-
tendent of schools, you must bestir yourself with regard to the
teachers. They are educated people, to be sure, and were reared
at divers academies, but they have very peculiar ways which
go naturally with that learned profession. One of them, for in-
stance, the fat-faced one,-I don't recall his name, - cannot get
along without making grimaces when he takes his seat; - like this
[makes a grimace]: and then he begins to smooth his beard out
from under his neckerchief, with his hand. In short, if he makes
such faces at the scholars, there is nothing to be said: it must
be necessary; I am no judge of that. But just consider - if he


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6465
were to do that to a visitor it might be very unpleasant; the
Inspector or any one else might take it as personal. The Devil
knows what might come of it.
Superintendent -What am I to do with him? I have spoken
to him about it several times already. A few days ago, when
our chief went into the class-room, he made such a grimace as I
never beheld before. He made it out of good-will; but it is a
judgment on me, because freethinking is being inculcated in the
young people.
Chief- And I must also mention the teacher of history. He's
a wise man, that's plain, and has acquired a great mass of learn-
ing; but he expresses himself with so much warmth that he loses
control of himself. I heard him once: well, so long as he was
talking about the Assyrians and Babylonians, it was all right;
but when he got to Alexander of Macedon, I can't describe
to you what came over him. I thought there was a fire, by
heavens! He jumped from his seat and dashed his chair to the
floor with all his might. Alexander of Macedon was a hero, no
doubt; but why smash the chairs? There will be a deficit in
the accounts, just as the result of that.
Superintendent - Yes, he is hasty! I have remarked on it to
him several times.
He says,
"What would you have? I would
sacrifice my life for science. "
Chief-Yes, such is the incomprehensible decree of fate: a
learned man is always a drunkard, or else he makes faces that
would scare the very saints.
-
Superintendent — God forbid that he should inspect the educa-
tional institutions. Everybody meddles and tries to show every-
body else that he is a learned man.
Chief That would be nothing: that cursed incognito! All
of a sudden you hear-"Ah, here you are, my little dears! And
who," says he, "is the Judge here? "-"Lyapkin-Tyapkin. ”—
"And who is the Superintendent of the Hospital? "-"Zemlyan-
ika! " That's the worst of it!
ton'itch?
tle.
Enter Postmaster
Chief-Well, how do you feel, Ivan Kusmitch?
Postmaster - How do I feel? How do you feel, Anton An-
Chief-How do I feel? I'm not afraid; and yet I am,-a lit-
The merchants and citizens cause me some anxiety. They
XI-405


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NIKOLAI VASILIEVITCH GOGOL
say I have been hard with them; but God knows, if I have ever
taken anything from them it was not out of malice. I even
think [takes him by the arm and leads him aside] - I even think
there may be a sort of complaint against me. Why, in fact, is
the Inspector coming to us? Listen, Ivan Kusmitch: why can't
you—for our common good, you know-open every letter which
passes through your office, going or coming, and read it, to see
whether it contains a complaint or is simply correspondence? If
it does not, then you can seal it up again. Besides, you could
even deliver the letter unsealed.
Postmaster-I know, I know. You can't tell me anything
about that; I always do it, not out of circumspection but out of
curiosity: I'm deadly fond of knowing what is going on in the
world. It's very interesting reading, I can tell you! It is a real
treat to read some letters: they contain such descriptions of occur-
rences, and they're so improving- better than the Moscow News.
[The play proceeds: two men, the town busybodies, happen to find at
the inn a traveler who has been living on credit and going nowhere for two
weeks. The landlord is about to put his lodger in prison for debt, when these
men jump to the conclusion that he is the Inspector. The Prefect and other
terrified officials accept the suggestion, in spite of his plain statement as to
his identity. They set about making the town presentable, entertain and
bribe him, and bow down to him. He accepts their hospitality, asks loans,
makes love to the Prefect's silly wife and daughter, betroths himself to the
latter, receives the petitions and bribes of the oppressed townspeople,-and
drives off with the best post-horses the town can furnish, ostensibly to ask the
blessing of his rich old uncle on his marriage. The Postmaster intercepts a
letter which he has written to a friend. Its revelations, and the ridicule which
he therein casts on his hosts, open their eyes at last. At that moment a
gendarme appears and announces that the Inspector has arrived. Tableau. ]
Translated for A Library of the World's Best Literature,' by Isabel F.
Hapgood
OLD-FASHIONED GENTRY
From Mirgorod›
I
AM very fond of the modest life of those isolated owners of
remote estates which are generally called "old-fashioned" in
Little Russia, and which, like ruinous and picturesque houses,
are beautiful through their simplicity and complete contrast to
a new and regular building whose walls have never yet been
washed by the rain, whose roof has not yet been overgrown with
moss, and whose porch, still possessed of its stucco, does not yet


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display its red bricks. I can still see the low-roofed little house,
with its veranda of slender, blackened wooden columns, surround-
ing it on all sides, so that in case of a thunder-storm or a hail-
storm you could close the window shutters without getting wet;
behind it fragrant wild-cherry trees, row upon row of dwarf
fruit-trees, overtopped by crimson cherries and a purple sea of
plums, covered with a lead-colored bloom, luxuriant maples under
whose shade rugs were spread for repose; in front of the house
the spacious yard, with short fresh grass, through which paths
had been worn from the storehouses to the kitchen, from the
kitchen to the apartments of the family; a long-necked goose
drinking water with her young goslings, soft as down; the picket
fence festooned with bunches of dried apples and pears, and
rugs hung out to air; a cart-load of melons standing near the
store-house, the oxen unyoked and lying lazily beside it.
All
this has for me an indescribable charm,- perhaps because I no
longer see it, and because anything from which we are separated
pleases us.
But more than all else, the owners of this distant nook,—
an old man and old woman,- hastening eagerly out to meet me,
gave me pleasure. Afanasy Ivanovitch Tovstogub and his wife,
Pulkheria Ivanovna Tovstogubikha, according to the neighboring
peasants' way of expressing it, were the old people of whom I
began to speak. If I were a painter and wished to depict Phile-
mon and Baucis on canvas, I could have found no better models
than they. Afanasy Ivanovitch was sixty years old, Pulkheria
Ivanovna was fifty-five. Afanasy Ivanovitch was tall, always wore
a short sheepskin coat covered with camlet, sat all doubled up,
and was almost always smiling, whether he were telling a story
or only listening to one. Pulkheria Ivanovna was rather serious,
and hardly ever laughed; but her face and eyes expressed so
much goodness, so much eagerness to treat you to all the best
they owned, that you would probably have found a smile too
repelling on her kind face. The delicate wrinkles were so agree-
ably disposed on their countenances that an artist would certainly
have appropriated them. It seemed as though in them you might
read their whole life: the pure, peaceful life led by the old,
patriotic, simple-hearted, and at the same time wealthy families,
which always present a marked contrast to those baser Little-
Russians who work up from tar-burners and peddlers, throng the
court-rooms like grasshoppers, squeeze the last copper from their


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NIKOLAI VASILIEVITCH GOGOL
fellow-countrymen, crowd Petersburg with scandal-mongers, finally
acquire capital, and triumphantly add an f to their surnames
which end in o. No, they did not resemble those despicable and
miserable creatures, but all ancient and native Little-Russian
families.
They never had any children, so all their affection was con-
centrated on themselves.
The rooms of the little house in which our old couple dwelt
were small, low-ceiled, such as are generally to be seen with old-
fashioned people. In each room stood a huge stove, which occu-
pied nearly one-third of the space. These little rooms were
frightfully hot, because both Afanasy Ivanovitch and Pulkheria
Ivanovna were fond of heat. All their fuel was stored in the
ante-room, which was always filled nearly to the ceiling with.
straw, which is generally used in Little Russia in place of wood.
The chairs of the room were of wood, and massive, in the
style which generally marked those of the olden times: all had
high, turned backs of natural wood, without any paint or var-
nish; they were not even upholstered, and somewhat resembled
those which are still used by bishops. Triangular tables stood in
the corners, a square table stood in front of the sofa; and there
was a large mirror in a slender gilt frame, carved in foliage,
which the flies had covered with black spots; in front of the
sofa was a mat with flowers which resembled birds, and birds
which resembled flowers: and these things constituted almost the
entire furniture of the far from elegant little house where my
old people lived. The maids' room was filled with young and
elderly serving-women in striped chemises, to whom Pulkheria
Ivanovna sometimes gave trifles to sew, and whom she set to
picking over berries, but who ran about the kitchen or slept the
greater part of the time. Pulkheria Ivanovna regarded it as a
necessity that she should keep them in the house, and she kept a
strict watch of their morals; but to no purpose.
Afanasy Ivan'itch very rarely occupied himself with the farm-
ing; although he sometimes went out to see the mowers and
reapers, and gazed with great intensity at their work. All the
burden of management devolved upon Pulkheria Ivan'na. Pul-
kheria Ivanovna's housekeeping consisted of a constant locking
and unlocking of the storehouse, of salting, drying, and preserv-
ing incalculable quantities of fruits and vegetables.
Her house
was exactly like a chemical laboratory. A fire was constantly


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NIKOLAI VASILIEVITCH GOGOL
6469
laid under an apple-tree; and the kettle or the brass pan with
preserves, jelly, marmalade,—made with honey, with sugar, and
with I know not what else,- was hardly ever taken from the
tripod. Under another tree the coachman was forever distilling
vodka with peach-leaves, with wild cherry, cherry flowers, wild
gentian, or cherry-stones, in a copper still; and at the end of the
process he was never able to control his tongue, but chattered all
sorts of nonsense which Pulkheria Ivanovna did not understand,
and took himself off to the kitchen to sleep. Such a quantity of
all this stuff was preserved, salted, and dried that it would prob-
ably have overwhelmed the whole yard at least (for Pulkheria
Ivanovna liked to lay in a store far beyond what was calculated
for consumption), if the greater part of it had not been devoured
by the maid-servants, who crept into the storehouse and over-
ate themselves to such a fearful extent that they groaned and
complained of their stomachs for a whole day afterwards.
Both the old folks, in accordance with old-fashioned customs,
were very fond of eating. As soon as daylight dawned (they
always rose early) and the doors had begun their many-toned
concert of squeaks, they sat down at the table and drank coffee.
When Afanasy Ivanovitch had drunk his coffee, he went out,
flirted his handkerchief, and said, "Kish, kish! go away from
the veranda, geese! " In the yard he generally encountered the
steward: he usually entered into conversation with him, inquired
about the work of the estate with the greatest minuteness, and
imparted to him such a multitude of observations and orders as
would have caused any one to marvel at his understanding of
business; and no novice would have ventured to conjecture that
so acute a master could be robbed. But his steward was a clever
rascal: he knew well what answers he must give, and better still
how to manage things.
This done, Afanasy Ivanovitch returned to the house, and
approaching Pulkheria Ivanovna, said, "Well, Pulkheria Ivan'na,
is it time to eat something, do you think? ”
some
"What shall we have to eat now, Afanasy Ivan'itch,-
wheat and suet cakes, or some patties with poppy-seeds, or some
salted mushrooms? »
-
"Some mushrooms, then, or some patties, if you please," said
Afanasy Ivan'itch; and then suddenly a table-cloth would make
its appearance on the table, with the patties and mushrooms.
An hour before dinner Afanasy Ivan'itch took another snack,
and drank vodka from an ancient silver cup, ate mushrooms,


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NIKOLAI VASILIEVITCH GOGOL
divers dried fishes, and other things. They sat down to dine at
twelve o'clock. There stood upon the table, in addition to the
platters and sauce-boats, a multitude of pots with covers pasted
on, that the appetizing products of the savory old-fashioned
cooking might not be exhaled abroad. At dinner the conversa-
tion turned upon subjects closely connected with the meal.
After dinner Afanasy Ivanovitch went to lie down for an
hour, at the end of which time Pulkheria Ivanovna brought him.
a sliced watermelon and said, "Here, try this, Afanasy Ivan'itch;
see what a good melon it is. "
"Don't put faith in it because it is red in the centre, Pul-
kheria Ivan'na," said Afanasy Ivanovitch, taking a good-sized
chunk. "Sometimes they are not good though they are red. "
But the watermelon slowly disappeared. Then Afanasy Ivan-
ovitch ate a few pears, and went out into the garden for a walk
with Pulkheria Ivanovna. When they returned to the house,
Pulkheria Ivanovna went about her own affairs; but he sat down
on the veranda facing the yard, and observed how the interior
of the store-room was alternately disclosed and revealed, and how
the girls jostled each other as they carried in or brought out all
sorts of stuff in wooden boxes, sieves, trays, and other recep-
tacles for fruit. After waiting a while, he sent for Pulkheria
Ivanovna or went in search of her himself, and said, "What is
there for me to eat, Pulkheria Ivan'na? "
"What is there? " asked Pulkheria Ivanovna.
"Shall I go
and tell them to bring you some curd dumplings with berries,
which I had set aside for you? "
"That would be good," answered Afanasy Ivanovitch.
"Or perhaps you could eat some kisel? " [A jelly-like pud-
ding, made of potato flour, and flavored with some sour fruit
juice. ]
"That is good also," replied Afanasy Invanovitch; whereupon
all of them were immediately brought and eaten in due course.
Before supper Afanasy Invanovitch took another appetizing
snack.
After supper
At half-past nine they sat down to supper.
they went directly to bed, and universal silence settled down
upon this busy yet quiet nook.
The chamber in which Afanasy Ivanovitch and Pulkheria
Ivanovna slept was so hot that very few people could have
stayed in it more than a few hours; but Afanasy Ivanovitch, for
the sake of more warmth, slept upon the stove bench, although


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NIKOLAI VASILIEVITCH GOGOL
6471
the excessive heat caused him to rise several times in the course
of the night and walk about the room. Sometimes Afanasy Ivan-
ovitch groaned as he walked thus about the room.
Then Pulkheria Ivanovna inquired, "Why do you groan,
Afanasy Ivan'itch? "
"God knows, Pulkheria Ivan'na! It seems to me that my
stomach aches a little," said Afanasy Ivanovitch.
"Hadn't you better eat something, Afanasy Ivan'itch? "
"I don't know; perhaps it would be well, Pulkheria Ivan'na:
by the way, what is there to eat? "
"Sour milk, or some stewed dried pears. "
"If you please, I will try them," said Afanasy Ivanovitch. A
sleepy maid was sent to ransack the cupboards, and Afanasy
Ivanovitch ate a plateful; after which he remarked, "Now I
seem to feel relieved. "
I loved to visit them; and though I over-ate myself horribly,
like all their guests, and although it was very bad for me, still
I was always glad to go to them. Besides, I think that the air
of Little Russia must possess some special properties which aid
digestion; for if any one were to undertake to eat in that way
here, there is not a doubt but that he would find himself lying
on the table a corpse, instead of in bed.
Pulkheria Ivanovna had a little gray cat, which almost always
lay coiled up in a ball at her feet. Pulkheria Ivanovna stroked
her occasionally, and tickled her neck with her finger, the petted
cat stretching it out as long as possible. It would not be correct
to affirm that Pulkheria Ivanovna loved her so very much, but
she had simply become attached to her from seeing her continu-
ally about. Afanasy Ivanovitch often joked about the attachment.
Behind their garden lay a large forest, which had been spared
by the enterprising steward, possibly because the sound of the
axe might have reached the ears of Pulkheria Ivanovna.
It was
dense, neglected; the old tree trunks were concealed by luxuriant
hazel-bushes, and resembled the feathered legs of pigeons. In
this wood dwelt wild cats. These cats had a long conference
with Pulkheria Ivanovna's tame cat through a hole under the
storehouse, and at last led her astray, as a detachment of sol-
diers leads astray a dull-witted peasant. Pulkheria Ivanovna
noticed that her cat was missing, and caused search to be made
for her; but no cat was to be found. Three days passed; Pulkhe-
ria Ivanovna felt sorry, but in the end forgot all about her loss.


## p. 6472 (#454) ###########################################

6472
NIKOLAI VASILIEVITCH GOGOL
[The cat returns to the place half starved, and is coaxed to come into the
house and eat, but runs away on Pulkheria Ivanovna's trying to pet her. ]
The old woman became pensive. "It is my death which is
come for me," she said to herself; and nothing could cheer her.
All day she was sad. In vain did Afanasy Ivanovitch jest, and
seek to discover why she had suddenly grown so grave. Pul-
kheria Ivanovna either made no reply, or one which did not
in the least satisfy Afanasy Ivanovitch. The next day she had
grown visibly thinner.
"What is the matter with you, Pulkheria Ivanovna? You are
not ill? »
"No, I am not ill, Afanasy Ivan'itch. I want to tell you
about a strange occurrence. I know that I shall die this year;
my death has already come for me. "
Afanasy Ivanovitch's mouth was distorted with pain. Never-
theless he tried to conquer the sad feeling in his mind, and said
smiling, "God only knows what you are talking about, Pulkheria
Ivan'na! You must have drunk some of your peach infusion
instead of your usual herb tea. "
"No, Afanasy Ivan'itch, I have not drunk my peach infusion,”
replied Pulkheria Ivanovna. "I beg of you, Afanasy Ivan'itch, to
fulfill my wishes. When I die, bury me by the church wall.
Put on me my grayish gown, the one with the small flowers on
a cinnamon ground. My satin gown with the red stripes you
must not put on me: a corpse needs no clothes; of what use
are they to her?
Make yourself
a fine dressing-gown, in case visitors come, so that you can make
a good appearance when you receive them. ”
But it will be good for you.
But it will be good for you.
"God knows what you are saying, Pulkheria Ivan'na! " said
Afanasy Ivanovitch. "Death will come some time; but you
frighten me with such remarks. "
"Mind, Yavdokha," she said, turning to the housekeeper, whom
she had sent for expressly, "that you look after your master when
I am dead, and cherish him like the apple of your eye, like your
own child. See that everything he likes is prepared in the
kitchen; that his linen and clothes are always clean; that when
visitors happen in, you dress him properly, otherwise he will
come forth in his old dressing-gown, for he often forgets now
whether it is a festival or an ordinary day. "
-
Poor old woman! She had no thought for the great moment
which was awaiting her, nor of her soul, nor of the future life;


## p. 6473 (#455) ###########################################

NIKOLAI VASILIEVITCH GOGOL
6473
she thought only of her poor companion, with whom she had
passed her life, and whom she was about to leave an orphan and
unprotected. After this fashion did she arrange everything with
great skill, so that after her death Afanasy Ivanovitch might
not perceive her absence. Her faith in her approaching end was
so firm, and her mind was so fixed upon it, that in a few days
she actually took to her bed, and was unable to swallow any
nourishment.
Afanasy Ivanovitch was all attention, and never left her bed-
side. "Perhaps you could eat something, Pulkheria Ivan'na," he
said, gazing uneasily into her eyes. But Pulkheria Ivanovna
made no reply. At length, after a long silence, she moved her
lips as though desirous of saying something- and her spirit fled.
Afanasy Ivanovitch was utterly amazed. It seemed to him so
terrible that he did not even weep. He gazed at her with
troubled eyes, as though he did not understand the meaning of
a corpse.
Five years passed. Being in the vicinity at the end of the
five years, I went to the little estate of Afanasy Ivanovitch, to
inquire after my old neighbor, with whom I had spent the day
so agreeably in former times, dining always on the choicest deli-
cacies of his kind-hearted wife. When I drove up to the door,
the house seemed twice as old as formerly; the peasants' cot-
tages were lying on one side, without doubt exactly like their
owners; the fence and hedge around the yard were dilapidated;
and I myself saw the cook pull out a paling to heat the stove,
when she had only a couple of steps to take in order to get the
kindling-wood which had been piled there expressly for her use.
I stepped sadly upon the veranda; the same dogs, now blind or
with broken legs, raised their bushy tails, all matted with burs,
and barked.
The old man came out to meet me. So this was he! I recog-
nized him at once, but he was twice as bent as formerly. He
knew me, and greeted me with the smile which was so familiar
to me. I followed him into the room. All there seemed as in
the past; but I observed a strange disorder, a tangible loss of
something. In everything was visible the absence of the pains-
taking Pulkheria Ivanovna. At table, they gave us a knife with
out a handle; the dishes were prepared with little art. I did not
care to inquire about the management of the estate; I was even
afraid to glance at the farm buildings. I tried to interest Afanasy


## p. 6474 (#456) ###########################################

6474
NIKOLAI VASILIEVITCH GOGOL
Ivanovitch in something, and told him divers bits of news. He
listened with his customary smile, but his glance was at times
quite unintelligent; and thoughts did not wander therein - they
simply disappeared.
"This is the dish-" said Afanasy Ivanovitch when they
brought us curds and flour with cream, "this is the dish—»
he continued, and I observed that his voice began to quiver, and
that tears were on the point of bursting from his leaden eyes;
but he collected all his strength in the effort to repress them:
"this is the dish which the-the- the de-ceas-" and his tears
suddenly gushed forth, his hand fell upon his plate, the plate
was overturned, flew from the table, and was broken. He sat
stupidly, holding the spoon, and tears like a never-ceasing fount-
ain flowed, flowed in streams down upon his napkin.
He did not live long after this. I heard of his death recently.
What was strange, though, was that the circumstances attending
it somewhat resembled those connected with the death of Pul-
kheria Ivanovna. One day, Afanasy Ivanovitch decided to take a
short stroll in the garden. As he went slowly down the path
with his usual heedlessness, a strange thing happened to him.
All at once he heard some one behind him say in a distinct
voice, "Afanasy Ivan'itch! " He turned round, but there was no
one there. He looked on all sides; he peered into the shrubbery,
no one anywhere. The day was calm and the sun was shin-
ing brightly. He pondered for a moment. Then his face lighted
up, and at last he cried, "It is Pulkheria Ivanovna calling me! "
He surrendered himself utterly to the moral conviction that
Pulkheria Ivanovna was calling him. He yielded with the meek-
ness of a submissive child, withered up, coughed, melted away
like a candle, and at last expired like it when nothing remains to
feed its poor flame. "Lay me beside Pulkheria Ivan'na "— that
was all he said before his death.
-
His wish was fulfilled; and they buried him beside the church-
yard wall close to Pulkheria Ivanovna's grave. The guests at
the funeral were few, but there was a throng of common and
poor people. The house was already quite deserted. The enter-
prising clerk and village elder carried off to their cottages all
the old household utensils which the housekeeper did not man-
age to appropriate.
Translated for A Library of the World's Best Literature,' by Isabel F.
Hapgood


## p. 6474 (#457) ###########################################



## p. 6474 (#458) ###########################################


CARLO GOLDONI.


## p. 6474 (#459) ###########################################

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## p. 6474 (#460) ###########################################



## p. 6475 (#461) ###########################################

6475
CARLO GOLDONI
(1707-1793)
BY WILLIAM CRANSTON LAWTON
TALY is generally felt to be, above all other lands, the natural
home of the drama. In acting, as in music, indeed, the scep-
tre has never wholly passed from her: Ristori and Salvini
certainly are not yet forgotten. The Græco-Roman comedies of Plau-
tus and Terence, the rhetorical tragedy of Seneca, have had a far
more direct hand in molding the modern dramatists' art than have
the loftier creative masterpieces of the great Attic Four. Indeed,
Latin has never become in Italy a really dead language, remote from
the popular consciousness. The splendor of the Church ritual, the
great mass of the educated clergy, the almost purely Latin roots of
the vernacular, have made such a loss impossible.
In the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries Terence and Plautus were
often revived on the stage, still oftener imitated in Latin. Many of
the greatest names in modern Italian literature are in some degree
associated with drama. Thus Machiavelli made free Italian versions
from both the comic Latin poets, and wrote a powerful though im-
moral prose comedy, The Magic Draught' (Mandragola). Tasso's
'Aminta' is as sweet and musical, and hardly so artificial, as that
famous 'Pastor Fido' of Guarini, which has become the ideal type of
all the mock-pastoral comedy out of which the modern opera has
risen.
་
So, when Goldoni is hailed as the father of modern Italian com-
edy, it can only mean that his prolific Muse has dominated the stage
in our own century and in its native land. In his delightfully naïve
Memoirs he frequently announces himself as the leader of reform in
the dramatic art. And this claim is better founded; though there is
a startling discrepancy between the character, the temper, the life
of this child of the sun, and the Anglo-Saxon ideal of "Man the
Reformer " as delineated, for instance, by our own cooler-blooded
Emerson!
Under the lead of Goldoni's elder contemporary Metastasio, the
lyrical drama of pastoral and artificial love had become fully wed-
ded to music; and it is rightly felt that the resulting modern opera
is a genus of its own, not essentially nor chiefly dramatic in charac-
ter and aims. An opera can be sung without action; it cannot be


## p. 6476 (#462) ###########################################

6476
CARLO GOLDONI
acted without music. On the other hand, the farce had become almost
restricted to the stock masked characters, Pantaloon, the Dottore,
Arlecchino, and the rest, with a narrow range of childish buffoonery
in the action. The companies of professional actors, endowed with
that marvelous power of improvisation which the very language of
Italy seems to stimulate, hardly permitted the poet to offer them
more than a mere outline of a shallow plot, to be filled in from
scene to scene at the impulse of the moment on the stage!
Under these circumstances it was indeed necessary to reclaim the
rights of the dramatic poet, to reduce to decent limits the "gag"
which the comic actor has doubtless always been eager to use, and
also to educate or beguile his public up to the point of lending a
moderately attentive ear to a play of sustained interest and culminat-
ing plot. In this seemingly modest but really most difficult task,
Goldoni scored a decided success,- a triumph.
Even his checkered life as a whole was, at eighty, in his own
retrospect a happy comedy, mingled with few serious reverses and
hardly darkened at all by remorse. Such lives at best are nowise
Adequate self-portraitures of successful artists are so rare
that the autobiographies of the gentle Goldoni, and of his savage
fellow-countryman Benvenuto Cellini, almost form a class of literature
by themselves.
numerous.
Born in Venice in fair social position, Goldoni spent his childhood
chiefly in Chiozza, a ruder and humbler miniature of the island city
some twenty-five miles away. Though an incurable wanderer,— in-
deed, so filled with the true Bohemian's feverish love for change that
he never could endure even success anywhere for many summers,
he yet gave more of his best years, and a heartier loyalty, to Venice
than to any other home. He knew best, and delineated best, the
ordinary life of the lagoons. Mr. Howells, himself by long residence
and love a half-Venetian, declares that the comedies in the local dia-
lect are invariably the best, and next best the Italian plays whose
scenes are at least laid in Venice. Perhaps the critic is here himself
unduly swayed by his affections. Goldoni knew well nearly all Italian
lands. He had even, for a series of years, a career as an advocate in
Pisa. "My comic genius was not extinguished, but suppressed," he
explains. He did not even then give up play-writing, and a traveling
theatre manager easily beguiled him back to Venice. This was in
1747, and this same manager, Medebac, setting up a new theatre in
Venice, absorbed Goldoni's energies for several years. It was in 1750
that he successfully carried out a rash vow to produce sixteen new
comedies in a single year! Among these are a goodly number of his
best, including The Coffee-House,' from which a few scenes are
given below.


## p. 6477 (#463) ###########################################

CARLO GOLDONI
6477
Though he passed over into the service of a different theatre,
traveled constantly with his actors, accepted invitations to Parma,
Rome, etc. , to oversee the performance of his plays, yet he never
gave up his home in Venice altogether, until summoned to Paris in
1761. These fourteen years, moreover, form the happiest period of his
life. His income from the theatres, from published editions of his
comedies, and from his inherited property, would have made him
wealthy, but for his extravagant and careless mode of life.
Despite one notable success in French with the comedy 'The Surly
Benefactor' (1771), Goldoni's life in France was relatively unprofitable
and ignoble. He became Italian teacher of various royal princesses,
with the utmost uncertainty and delay as to his salaries or pensions.
Yet he could never break the fascination of Paris. The art of the
French actors was a never-failing delight to him. There, at the age
of eighty, in French, he wrote and published his 'Memoirs. ' The
Revolution swept away his negligent patrons. In poverty and utter
neglect he died at last, just as the republicans were ready to restore
his royal pension.
Goldoni was the child of Italy and of the eighteenth century. He
had no serious quarrel with his environment.