The Overcoat (Gogol)
Short summary
St. Petersburg, 19th century. In a certain government department worked a low-ranking official whose threadbare overcoat became an object of ridicule among his colleagues.
He lived only for his copying work, finding joy in forming letters. His colleagues mocked him mercilessly, but he endured it all silently. When the cold became unbearable, he took his worn cloak to a tailor, who declared it beyond repair and insisted he needed a new one.
The cost of a new cloak was eighty rubles. Akakiy began saving money by depriving himself of tea, candles, and other necessities. The thought of the future cloak transformed him, giving his life new meaning. After months of sacrifice and an unexpected bonus from his director, he finally accumulated enough money.
When the tailor delivered the magnificent new cloak, Akakiy wore it proudly to work. His colleagues noticed and insisted on celebrating. That evening, after a party at a superior's house, Akakiy walked home through deserted streets. Suddenly, robbers attacked him and stole his precious cloak.
Desperate, Akakiy sought help from the police and then from a prominent personage, who berated him so severely that he fell ill. Within days, he died of fever. Soon after, rumors spread that a dead official's ghost was roaming the streets, stealing cloaks. One night, the ghost confronted the prominent personage and seized his cloak, saying:
Ah, here you are at last! I have you, that—by the collar! I need your cloak; you took no trouble about mine, but reprimanded me; so now give up your own.
After this encounter, the apparition ceased to appear, suggesting that Akakiy's ghost had finally found peace.
Detailed summary
Division into chapters is editorial.
Akakiy Akakievitch: a copying clerks humble existence
In a certain department of the Russian civil service worked a low-ranking official named Akakiy Akakievitch Bashmachkin. He was short, pock-marked, red-haired, short-sighted, with a bald forehead and wrinkled cheeks. His sanguine complexion was attributed to the harsh St. Petersburg climate. His position was that of a perpetual titular councillor, a rank that writers often mocked, as these officials could not defend themselves.
His surname derived from the word for shoe, though when and how this came about remained unknown. His name, Akakiy Akakievitch, came about through peculiar circumstances at his baptism. His mother was offered various unusual names from the calendar, but finding them all unsuitable, she decided to name him after his father. The child wept at his christening, as though foreseeing his future as a titular councillor.
No one could remember when or how Akakiy Akakievitch entered the department. Directors and chiefs changed, but he remained in the same place, performing the same occupation. It seemed he had been born in his uniform with a bald head. The department showed him no respect. Porters did not rise when he passed, and his superiors treated him with cool despotism, thrusting papers at him without courtesy.
Young officials made fun of him constantly, telling invented stories about him and his elderly landlady, strewing bits of paper over his head and calling them snow. Akakiy Akakievitch never responded to these annoyances and never made mistakes in his work. Only when the joking became unbearable and they prevented him from working did he protest.
Leave me alone! Why do you insult me? ... In these moving words, other words resounded—I am thy brother. And the young man covered his face with his hand
One young newcomer, who had joined in mocking Akakiy, suddenly stopped when he heard these words. Something transformed within him, and he saw everything differently. An unseen force repelled him from his colleagues.
The worn-out cloak and Petrovitchs verdict
Akakiy Akakievitch lived entirely for his copying duties. He labored not just with zeal, but with love, finding varied and agreeable employment in his work. Enjoyment was written on his face as he traced each letter. His pay did not match his dedication, and he worked, as his colleagues said, like a horse in a mill.
It would be difficult to find another man who lived so entirely for his duties ... he laboured with love. In his copying, he found a varied and agreeable employment.
Outside his copying, nothing existed for him. He gave no thought to his clothes. His uniform was not green but a rusty-meal color with a low collar. Something was always sticking to it, and he had a peculiar knack of walking beneath windows just as rubbish was being thrown out. He never noticed what happened in the street, seeing only the clean strokes of his written lines.
For some time, Akakiy Akakievitch felt his back and shoulders suffering from the cold despite his attempts to walk quickly. He examined his cloak at home and discovered it had become thin as gauze in two places. The lining had fallen to pieces. His colleagues even refused to call it a cloak, calling it a cape instead. Its collar diminished yearly, serving to patch other parts. He decided to take it to a tailor named Petrovitch.
The necessity of a new cloak and the plan to save
Petrovitch lived on a fourth floor up a dark staircase reeking of spirits and dishwater. Despite having only one eye and pock-marks all over his face, he successfully repaired officials' clothing when sober. Akakiy Akakievitch arrived at an unfortunate moment when Petrovitch was angry and sober, making him rough and taciturn. The tailor examined the cloak thoroughly, shaking his head repeatedly, and finally declared it impossible to mend.
Akakiy Akakievitch pleaded for repairs, but Petrovitch insisted the garment was completely rotten. When pressed, he stated decisively that a new cloak was necessary. At the word 'new,' everything grew dark before Akakiy Akakievitch's eyes. He protested that he had no money for a new cloak. Petrovitch explained it would cost at least one hundred and fifty rubles, possibly two hundred with better materials.
Akakiy Akakievitch left in a dream-like state, wandering in the opposite direction from home. A chimney-sweep blackened his shoulder, rubbish fell on him from a building, and he bumped into a watchman before recovering himself. He decided to visit Petrovitch again on Sunday morning, when the tailor would be more reasonable after his Saturday drinking. However, even with a ten-kopek bribe, Petrovitch refused to repair the cloak and insisted on making a new one.
Akakiy Akakievitch realized a new cloak was unavoidable, but the question remained: where would the money come from? He had already allocated his Christmas bonus for new trousers, boots, and shirts. Even if his director awarded him forty-five or fifty rubles instead of forty, it would be merely a drop in the ocean. He knew Petrovitch often named outrageous prices, though he would likely make the cloak for eighty rubles.
Acquiring the cloak: anticipation and creation
Akakiy Akakievitch had a habit of saving a groschen from every ruble spent in a small locked box. Over the years, this had accumulated to over forty rubles. For the other forty rubles, he decided to curtail his expenses for at least a year. He would dispense with evening tea, burn no candles, walk carefully to preserve his heels, give less laundry to wash, and remove his clothes immediately upon arriving home to preserve them.
At first these deprivations were difficult, but he gradually adjusted. He even grew accustomed to evening hunger by nourishing himself spiritually with thoughts of his future cloak. His existence became fuller, as if he were married or another person lived within him.
From that time forth his existence seemed to become ... fuller, as if he were married ... as if some pleasant friend had consented to travel along life's path with him, the friend being no other than the cloak
He became more lively, and his character grew firmer. Doubt and indecision disappeared. Fire gleamed in his eyes, and bold ideas flitted through his mind. Once monthly, he conferred with Petrovitch about the cloak's cloth, color, and price. He always returned home satisfied, though troubled, reflecting that the time would finally come when everything could be purchased.
The affair progressed more briskly than expected. Far beyond his hopes, the director awarded Akakiy Akakievitch sixty rubles instead of forty or forty-five.
This circumstance hastened matters. After two or three more months of economizing, Akakiy Akakievitch had accumulated about eighty rubles. His normally quiet heart began to throb. He went shopping with Petrovitch, purchasing very good cloth at a reasonable rate. For lining, they selected firm, thick cotton that Petrovitch declared better than silk. They could not afford marten fur, but chose the best cat-skin available, which might be mistaken for marten at a distance.
Petrovitch worked on the cloak for two whole weeks, charging twelve rubles for the labor. It was sewn with silk in small, double seams, with Petrovitch going over each seam with his teeth, stamping in various patterns. On the most glorious day of Akakiy Akakievitch's life, Petrovitch brought the cloak in the morning, just before it was time to leave for the department. The severe cold had set in, making the timing perfect.
The triumphant day: the party at the sub-chiefs
Petrovitch brought the cloak with a significant expression on his face, fully sensible of having accomplished no small deed. He helped Akakiy Akakievitch try it on, and it proved perfect and seasonable. Petrovitch observed that he had made it cheaply only because he lived in a narrow street without a signboard and had known Akakiy Akakievitch for so long. On the Nevsky Prospect, he would have charged seventy-five rubles for the making alone.
Akakiy Akakievitch set out for the department in holiday mood, conscious every second of his new cloak. Everyone in the department immediately knew about it. They rushed to the ante-room to inspect it, congratulating him and saying pleasant things. When they insisted the new cloak must be christened with a party, Akakiy Akakievitch lost his head completely, not knowing how to respond.
A sub-chief offered to give the party instead, as it was his name-day.
The officials accepted with pleasure. Though Akakiy Akakievitch initially wanted to decline, he found he could not refuse. The notion became pleasant when he realized he would have a chance to wear his new cloak in the evening. That whole day was truly a triumphant festival for him. He returned home in the happiest frame of mind, hung his cloak carefully on the wall, and brought out his old cape for comparison, laughing at the vast difference.
After dinner, he dressed leisurely and stepped out into the street. The sub-chief lived in the best part of the city, requiring Akakiy Akakievitch to traverse deserted, dimly-lighted streets before reaching the more lively, populous, and brilliantly illuminated official quarter. He arrived at a fine house where officials had already gathered, drinking tea and playing cards. They received him with a shout, inspected his cloak again, then returned to their card games. After an hour, supper was served with champagne. They made Akakiy Akakievitch drink two glasses, after which things grew livelier for him.
The robbery: stripped of warmth and dignity
Despite the pleasant evening, Akakiy Akakievitch could not forget it was past midnight and he should have been home long ago. He stole out of the room, found his cloak lying on the floor in the ante-room, brushed it off, and descended to the street. The streets were still bright with open shops, but as he walked, they became dimmer and lonelier. He approached a vast square with barely visible houses on its far side, which seemed a fearful desert.
His cheerfulness diminished markedly. He entered the square with an involuntary sensation of fear. When he opened his eyes after closing them, he suddenly beheld bearded individuals standing before his nose. All grew dark before his eyes, and his heart throbbed.
But, of course, the cloak is mine! ... Akakiy Akakievitch felt them strip off his cloak and give him a push with a knee: he fell headlong upon the snow, and felt no more.
When he recovered consciousness and rose to his feet, no one was there. He felt the cold and realized his cloak was gone. He began to shout and ran toward a watchbox, where a watchman stood leaning on his halberd.
Futile attempts to recover the stolen cloak
Akakiy Akakievitch accused the watchman of sleeping and not seeing the robbery. The watchman replied that he had seen two men stop him but supposed they were friends, and suggested going to the police the next day. Akakiy Akakievitch ran home in complete disorder, his hair wholly disordered, his body covered with snow. His landlady, hearing terrible knocking, opened the door and fell back at seeing his state.
She advised him to go straight to the district chief of police, as subordinates would promise well but drop the matter. Early the next morning, Akakiy Akakievitch presented himself at the district chief's but was repeatedly told the official was asleep or not at home. Finally, he insisted he must see the chief in person, coming from the department of justice.
The chief listened to the story but instead of focusing on the theft, questioned why Akakiy Akakievitch was going home so late and whether he had been to a disorderly house. Akakiy Akakievitch left thoroughly confused, not knowing whether his case was in proper train. For the first time in his life, he never went near the department that day. The next day he appeared very pale in his old cape, which had become even more shabby.
The prominent personage: humiliation, illness, and death
One official, moved by pity, advised Akakiy Akakievitch to apply to a certain prominent personage who could expedite the matter by entering into relations with proper persons. This prominent personage had recently become important, having previously been insignificant. He strove to increase his importance through strict etiquette, requiring all business to come through proper channels. His system was based on strictness, and his ordinary conversation with inferiors consisted of three phrases asking how they dared speak to him and whether they realized who stood before them.
Akakiy Akakievitch presented himself at the most unfavorable time. The prominent personage was conversing with an old friend when informed that an official named Bashmatchkin had come. He ordered the official kept waiting to show his friend how long officials waited in his ante-room. When finally admitted, Akakiy Akakievitch explained his situation as well as his tongue permitted, with frequent additions of the word 'that.'
Do you know to whom you speak? Do you realise who stands before you? Do you realise it? do you realise it? ... he stamped his foot and raised his voice to such a pitch
The prominent personage's voice would have frightened even a different man from Akakiy Akakievitch. His senses failed him, he staggered and trembled, and would have fallen if porters had not supported him. They carried him out insensible. He went staggering through the snow-storm, which blew from all quarters. The wind had blown a quinsy into his throat by the time he reached home unable to utter a word. His throat was swollen, and he lay down on his bed.
So powerful is sometimes a good scolding! The next day a violent fever showed itself ... when the doctor arrived ... he predicted his end in thirty-six hours.
The doctor prescribed a fomentation but predicted Akakiy Akakievitch's end in thirty-six hours. He advised the landlady to order a pine coffin, as an oak one would be too expensive. Akakiy Akakievitch continued in a delirious condition with strange visions. He saw Petrovitch making a cloak with traps for robbers, inquired about his old mantle, fancied himself before the prominent person, and finally began cursing with horrible words. At length, poor Akakiy Akakievitch breathed his last.
A being disappeared who was protected by none, dear to none, interesting to none ... but to whom ... appeared a bright visitant in the form of a cloak, which momentarily cheered his poor life
The ghost of Akakiy Akakievitch seeks revenge
Several days after his death, a porter was sent from the department with an order for him to present himself immediately, but had to return with the answer that Akakiy Akakievitch was dead. The next day a new official sat in his place with handwriting more inclined and slanting. But this was not really the end. A rumor suddenly spread through St. Petersburg that a dead man had taken to appearing on the Kalinkin Bridge at night in the form of an official seeking a stolen cloak, dragging every sort of cloak from people's shoulders regardless of rank.
The police made arrangements to catch the corpse. A watchman in Kirushkin Alley caught it by the collar, but when he reached for his snuff-box, the corpse sneezed so violently that it filled all three watchmen's eyes, and the dead man vanished completely. Thereafter, watchmen conceived such terror of dead men that they were afraid even to seize the living. The dead official began to appear even beyond the Kalinkin Bridge, causing terror to all timid people.
The prominent personage felt something like remorse after Akakiy Akakievitch's departure. When it was reported that Akakiy Akakievitch had died suddenly of fever, he was startled and out of sorts for the whole day. To divert his mind, he went to a friend's house that evening, then determined to visit a certain well-known lady of German extraction. While traveling luxuriously in his sledge, the prominent personage suddenly felt someone clutch him firmly by the collar. Turning round, he recognized Akakiy Akakievitch with a face white as snow. The dead man's mouth opened and demanded his cloak. The prominent personage almost died of fright, flung his cloak from his shoulders, and shouted to his coachman to go home at full speed. He went home instead of to his mistress's and passed the night in direst distress. From that day forward, the apparition of the dead official ceased to be seen, evidently because the prominent personage's cloak fitted his shoulders perfectly.