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thither to see
whether the Governor's footmen had set out green tables for whist.
Their features were full and plump, some of them had beards, and in no
case was their hair curled or waved or arranged in what the French
call "the devil-may-care" style. On the contrary, their heads were
either close-cropped or brushed very smooth, and their faces were
round and firm. This category represented the more respectable
officials of the town. In passing, I may say that in business matters
fat men always prove superior to their leaner brethren; which is
probably the reason why the latter are mostly to be found in the
Political Police, or acting as mere ciphers whose existence is a
purely hopeless, airy, trivial one. Again, stout individuals never
take a back seat, but always a front one, and, wheresoever it be, they
sit firmly, and with confidence, and decline to budge even though the
seat crack and bend with their weight. For comeliness of exterior they
care not a rap, and therefore a dress coat sits less easily on their
figures than is the case with figures of leaner individuals. Yet
invariably fat men amass the greater wealth. In three years' time a
thin man will not have a single serf whom he has left unpledged;
whereas—well, pray look at a fat man's fortunes, and what will you
see? First of all a suburban villa, and then a larger suburban villa,
and then a villa close to a town, and lastly a country estate which
comprises every amenity! That is to say, having served both God and
the State, the stout individual has won universal respect, and will
end by retiring from business, reordering his mode of life, and
becoming a Russian landowner—in other words, a fine gentleman who
dispenses hospitality, lives in comfort and luxury, and is destined to
leave his property to heirs who are purposing to squander the same on
foreign travel.
    That the foregoing represents pretty much the gist of Chichikov's
reflections as he stood watching the company I will not attempt to
deny. And of those reflections the upshot was that he decided to join
himself to the stouter section of the guests, among whom he had
already recognised several familiar faces—namely, those of the Public
Prosecutor (a man with beetling brows over eyes which seemed to be
saying with a wink, "Come into the next room, my friend, for I have
something to say to you"—though, in the main, their owner was a man
of grave and taciturn habit), of the Postmaster (an
insignificant-looking individual, yet a would-be wit and a
philosopher), and of the President of the Local Council (a man of much
amiability and good sense). These three personages greeted Chichikov
as an old acquaintance, and to their salutations he responded with a
sidelong, yet a sufficiently civil, bow. Also, he became acquainted
with an extremely unctuous and approachable landowner named Manilov,
and with a landowner of more uncouth exterior named Sobakevitch—the
latter of whom began the acquaintance by treading heavily upon
Chichikov's toes, and then begging his pardon. Next, Chichikov
received an offer of a "cut in" at whist, and accepted the same with
his usual courteous inclination of the head. Seating themselves at a
green table, the party did not rise therefrom till supper time; and
during that period all conversation between the players became hushed,
as is the custom when men have given themselves up to a really serious
pursuit. Even the Postmaster—a talkative man by nature—had no sooner
taken the cards into his hands than he assumed an expression of
profound thought, pursed his lips, and retained this attitude
unchanged throughout the game. Only when playing a court card was it
his custom to strike the table with his fist, and to exclaim (if the
card happened to be a queen), "Now, old popadia [7] !" and (if the card
happened to be a king), "Now, peasant of Tambov!" To which
ejaculations invariably the President of the Local Council retorted,
"Ah, I have him by the ears, I have him by the ears!" And