a compound of irony, satire, pathos, tenderness, and moral
indignation. The general wretchedness of the serfs, the indifference
of their owners to their condition, the pettiness and utter meanness
of village gossip, the ridiculous affectations of small-town society,
the universal ignorance, stupidity, and dulness--all these are
remorselessly revealed in the various bargains made by the hero. And
what a hero! A man neither utterly bad nor very good; shrewd rather
than intelligent; limited in every way. He is a Russian, but a
universal type. No one can travel far in America without meeting
scores of Chichikovs: indeed, he is an accurate portrait of the
American promoter, of the successful commercial traveller, whose
success depends entirely not on the real value and usefulness of his
stock-in-trade, but on his knowledge of human nature and the
persuasive power of his tongue. Chichikov is all things to all men.

Not content with the constant interpolation of side remarks and
comments, queries of a politely ironical nature to the reader, in the
regular approved fashion of English novels, Gogol added after the
tenth chapter a defiant epilogue, in which he explained his reasons
for dealing with fact rather than with fancy, of ordinary people
rather than with heroes, of commonplace events rather than with
melodrama; and then suddenly he tried to jar the reader out of his
self-satisfaction, like Balzac in "Pere Goriot."

"Pleased with yourselves more than ever, you will smile slowly, and
then say with grave deliberation: 'It is true that in some of our
provinces one meets very strange people, people absolutely ridiculous,
and sometimes scoundrels too!'

"Ah, but who among you, serious readers, I address myself to those who