he latter, a village church with its cross flashing
like a star. There also comes wafted to your ear the sound of peasants'
laughter, while in your inner man you are becoming conscious of an
appetite which is not to be withstood.

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