is a kind of colossal note-book. Gogol poured into it all his
observations, reflections, and comments on life. It is not only a
picture of Russia, it is a spiritual autobiography. It is without
form, but not void. Gogol called his work a poem; and he could not
have found a less happy name. Despite lyrical interludes, it is as far
removed from the nature and form of Poetry as it is from Drama. It is
a succession of pictures of life, given with the utmost detail, having
no connection with each other, and absolutely no crescendo, no
movement, no approach to a climax. The only thread that holds the work
together is the person of the travelling promoter, Chichikov, whose
visits to various communities give the author the opportunity he
desired. After one has grasped the plan of the book, the purpose of
Chichikov's mission, which one can do in two minutes, one may read the
chapters in any haphazard order. Fortunately they are all interesting
in their photographic reality.

The whole thing is conceived in the spirit of humour, and its author
must be ranked among the great humorists of all time. There is an
absurdity about the mission of the chief character, which gives rise
to all sorts of ludicrous situations. It takes time for each
serf-owner to comprehend Chichikov's object, and he is naturally
regarded with suspicion. In one community it is whispered that he is
Napoleon, escaped from St. Helena, and travelling in disguise. An old
woman with whom he deals has an avaricious cunning worthy of a Norman
peasant. The dialogue between the two is a masterly commentary on the
root of all evil. But although all Russia is reflected in a comic
mirror, which by its very distortion emphasises the defects of each
character, Gogol was not primarily trying to write a funny book. The
various scenes at dinner parties and at the country inns are
laughable; but Gogol's laughter, like that of most great humorists, is