element of
Chichikov?" For how should there not be? Which of you is not liable at
any moment to be passed in the street by an acquaintance who, nudging
his neighbour, may say of you, with a barely suppressed sneer: "Look!
there goes Chichikov! That is Chichikov who has just gone by!"

But here are we talking at the top of our voices whilst all the time our
hero lies slumbering in his britchka! Indeed, his name has been repeated
so often during the recital of his life's history that he must almost
have heard us! And at any time he is an irritable, irascible fellow when
spoken of with disrespect. True, to the reader Chichikov's displeasure
cannot matter a jot; but for the author it would mean ruin to quarrel
with his hero, seeing that, arm in arm, Chichikov and he have yet far to
go.

"Tut, tut, tut!" came in a shout from Chichikov. "Hi, Selifan!"

"What is it?" came the reply, uttered with a drawl.

"What is it? Why, how dare you drive like that? Come! Bestir yourself a
little!"

And indeed, Selifan had long been sitting with half-closed eyes, and
hands which bestowed no encouragement upon his somnolent steeds save an
occasional flicking of the reins against their flanks; whilst Petrushka
had lost his cap, and was leaning backwards until his head had come to
rest against Chichikov's knees--a position which necessitated his being
awakened with a cuff. Selifan also roused himself, and apportioned to
the skewbald a few cuts across the back of a kind which at least had the
effect of inciting that animal to trot; and when, presently, the other
two horses followed their companion's example, the light britchka moved
forwards like a piece of thistledown. Selifan flourished his whip and
shouted, "Hi, hi!" as the inequalities of the road jerked him vertically
on his seat; and meanwhile, reclining against the leather cushions
of the vehicle's interior, Chichikov smiled with gratification at the
sensation of driving fast. For what Russian does not love to drive fast?
Which of us does not at times yearn to give his horses their head, and
to let them go, and to cry, "To the devil with the world!"? At such
moments a great force seems to uplift one as on wings; and one flies,
and everything else flies, but contrariwise--both the verst stones, and
traders riding on the shafts of their waggons, and the forest with
dark lines of spruce and fir amid which may be heard the axe of the
woodcutter and the croaking of the raven. Yes, out o