“Has he talent?” asked the Czar. Being assured that he had, the Emperor immediately placed the sum of 5000 roubles[D] at his disposition, saying, with the greatest delicacy: “Do not let your protégé know that the gift comes from me; he would be less independent in the exercise of his talents.” The Emperor continued therefore in future to supply him incognito, through the poet Zhukovski. Thanks to the imperial munificence, this incorrigible traveller could expatriate himself to his heart’s content, and get rest and refreshment for future labors.
The year 1836 was a critical one for Gogol. He became ill in body and mind, and the melancholy side of his nature took the ascendency. Although his comedy had been a great success at St. Petersburg and at court, such a work could not but excite rancor and raise up enemies for its author. He became morbidly sensitive, and considered himself the object of persecution. A nervous disease, complicated with hypochondria, began to undermine his constitution. A migratory instinct, which always possessed him in any crisis of his life, now made him resolve to travel; “to fly,” as he said. But he never returned to his country for any length of time, and only at long intervals; declaring, as Turgenef did some years later, that his own country, the object of his studies, was best seen from afar.
After travelling extensively, Gogol finally settled at Rome, where he formed a strong friendship with the painter Ivanof, who for twenty years had been in retirement in a Capuchin monastery, working upon his picture, which he never finished, “The Birth of Christ.” The two friends became deeply imbued with an ascetic piety; and from this time dates the mysticism attributed to Gogol. But before his mind became obscured he collected his forces for his last and greatest effort. He carried away with him from Russia the conception of this work, which excluded all other thoughts from his mind. It ruled his whole existence, as Goethe was for thirty years ruled by his “Faust.”
Gogol gave Pushkin the credit of having suggested the work to him, which never was finished, but which he wrestled with until he finally succumbed, vanquished by it. Pushkin had spoken to him of his physical condition, fearing a premature death; and urged him to undertake a great work, quoting the example of Cervantes, whose works previous to “Don Quixote” would never have classed him among the great authors. He suggested a subject, which he said he never should have given to any other person. It was the subject of “Dead Souls.” In spite of the statement, I cannot help feeling that “Dead Souls” was inspired by Cervantes; for, on leaving Russia, Gogol had gone at once to Spain, where he studied the literature of that country diligently; especially “Don Quixote,” which had always been his favorite book. It furnished a theme just suited to his plan; the adventures of a hero impelled to penetrate into every strange region and into every stratum of society; an ingenious excuse for presenting to the world in a series of pictures the magic lantern of humanity. Both works proceed from a satirical and meditative mind, the sadness of which is veiled under a smile, and both belong to a style unique in itself, entirely original. Gogol objected to his work being called a romance. He called it a poem, and divided it into songs instead of chapters. Whatever title may be bestowed upon Cervantes’ masterpiece may just as appropriately be applied to “Dead Souls.”
His “poem” was to be in three parts. The first part appeared in 1842; the second, unfinished and rudimentary, was burned by the author in a frenzy of despair; but after his death it was printed from a copy which escaped destruction. As to the third, it is perhaps interred with his bones, which repose in the cemetery at Moscow under the block of marble which bears his name.
IV.
It is well known that the Russian peasants or serfs, “Souls” as they were popularly called, were personal property, and to be traded with in exactly the same way as any other kind of property. A proprietor’s fortune was reckoned according to the number of male serfs he owned. If any man owned, for instance, a thousand of them, he could sell or exchange them, or obtain loans upon them from the banks. The owner was, besides, obliged to pay taxes upon them at so much a head. The census was taken only at long intervals, during which the lists were never examined. The natural changes of population and increase by births being supposed to make up for the deaths. If a village was depopulated by an epidemic, the ruling lord and master sustained the loss, continuing to pay taxes for those whose work was done forever.
Tchitchikof, the hero of the book, an ambitious and evil-minded rascal, made this proposition to himself: “I will visit the most remote corners of Russia, and ask the good people to deduct from the number on their lists every serf who has died since the last census was taken. They will be only too glad, as it will be for their interest to yield up to me a fictitious property, and get rid of paying the tax upon it. I shall have my purchases registered in due form, and no tribunal will imagine that I require it to legalize a sale of dead men. When I have obtained the names of some thousands of serfs, I shall carry my deeds to some bank in St. Petersburg or Moscow, and raise a large sum on them. Then I shall be a rich man, and in condition to buy real peasants in flesh and blood.”
This proceeding offers great advantages to the author in attaining his ends. He enters, with his hero, all sorts of homes, and studies social groups of all classes. The demand the hero makes is one calculated to exhibit the intelligence and peculiar characteristics of each proprietor. The trader enters a house and makes the strange proposition: “Give me up the number of your dead serfs,” without explaining, of course, his secret motives. After the first shock of surprise, the man comprehends more or less quickly what is wanted of him, and acts from instinct, according to his nature. The simple-minded give willingly gratis what is asked of them; the distrustful are on their guard, and try to penetrate the mystery, and gain something for themselves by the arrangement; the avaricious exact an exorbitant price. Tchitchikof finds some wretches more evil than himself. The only case which never occurs is an indignant refusal, or a denunciation; the financier well knew how few scruples he should have to contend with in his fellow-countrymen.
The enterprise supplied Gogol with an inexhaustible source of both comic and touching incidents and situations. The skilful author, while he apparently ignores, under an assumption of pleasantry, the lugubrious element in what he describes, makes it the real background of the whole narrative, so that it reacts terribly upon the reader.