The Overcoat by Nikolai Gogol
"The Overcoat" by Nikolai Gogol is a poignant short story that explores themes of identity, social status, and the human condition through the life of Akakii Akakiievich Bashmachkin, a lowly government clerk. Set in 19th-century St. Petersburg, the narrative follows Akakii's monotonous existence, characterized by his meager salary and the disdain of his colleagues. His life revolves around his work of copying documents, and he neglects personal care, including his tattered overcoat, which symbolizes his socioeconomic status.
In a turning point, he decides to save money for a new overcoat after the old one is deemed unrepairable by a tailor. After much sacrifice, he finally acquires a new coat, which becomes a source of pride and briefly elevates his social standing. However, this newfound happiness is short-lived, as he becomes a victim of theft and subsequently faces indifference from authorities. The emotional toll leads to his decline and tragic death, ultimately transforming into a ghost that haunts the city for his stolen overcoat.
Gogol's story serves as a commentary on the absurdities of bureaucracy and the fleeting nature of material possessions, as well as the harsh realities faced by those at the bottom of the social hierarchy. Its blend of humor and tragedy offers a rich exploration of the impacts of social isolation and the quest for dignity.
The Overcoat by Nikolai Gogol
First published: “Shinel,” 1842 (English translation, 1923)
Type of work: Short fiction
Type of plot: Social realism
Time of plot: Early nineteenth century
Locale: St. Petersburg, Russia
Principal Characters
Akakii Akakiievich Bashmachkin , a government clerkPetrovich , a tailorA Person of Consequence , a bureaucrat
The Story
In one of the bureaus of the government, there works a clerk named Akakii Akakiievich Bashmachkin. He is a short, pockmarked man with dim, watery eyes and reddish hair beginning to show spots of baldness. His grade in the service is that of perpetual titular councilor, a resounding title for his humble clerkship. He had been in the bureau for so many years that no one remembered when he had entered it or who had appointed him to the post. Directors and other officials come and go, but Akakii Akakiievich is always seen in the same place, in the same position, doing the same work: copying documents. No one ever treats him with respect. His superiors regard him with disdain, and his fellow clerks make him the butt of their rude jokes and horseplay.
Akakii Akakiievich lives only for his work, without thought for pleasure or his dress. His frock coat is no longer the prescribed green but a faded rusty color. Usually it has sticking to it wisps of hay or thread or bits of litter someone had thrown into the street as he was passing by, for he walks to and from work in complete oblivion of his surroundings. Reaching home, he gulps his cabbage soup and perhaps a bit of beef, in a hurry to begin transcribing papers he brings home from the office. He goes to bed soon after his labors are finished. Such is the life of Akakii Akakiievich, satisfied with his pittance of four hundred rubles a year.
Even clerks on four hundred a year, however, must protect themselves against the harsh cold of northern winters. Akakii Akakiievich owns an overcoat so old and threadbare that over the back and shoulders one can see through the material to the torn lining beneath. At last he decides to take the overcoat to Petrovich, a tailor who does a large business repairing the garments of petty bureaucrats. Petrovich shakes his head over the worn overcoat and announces that it is beyond mending, fit only for footcloths. For one hundred and fifty rubles, he says, he will make Akakii Akakiievich a new overcoat, but he will not touch the old one.
When he leaves the tailor’s shop, the clerk is in a sad predicament. He has no money for an overcoat and little prospect of raising so large a sum. Walking blindly down the street, he fails to notice the sooty chimney sweep who jostles him, blacking one shoulder, or the lime that falls on him from a building under construction. The next Sunday, he sees Petrovich again and begs the tailor to mend his old garment. The tailor surlily refuses. Then Akakii Akakiievich realizes that he must yield to the inevitable. He knows that Petrovich will do the work for eighty rubles. Half of that amount he could pay with money he saved, one kopeck at a time, over a period of years. Perhaps in another year he could put aside a like amount by doing without tea and candles at night and by walking as carefully as possible to save his shoe leather. He begins that very day to go without the small comforts he had previously allowed himself.
In the next year, Akakii Akakiievich has some unexpected luck when he receives a holiday bonus of sixty rubles instead of the expected forty, which he had already budgeted for other necessities. With the extra twenty rubles and his meager savings, he and Petrovich buy the cloth for the new overcoat—good, durable stuff with calico for the lining and catskin for the collar. After some haggling, Petrovich agrees to twelve rubles for his labor.
At last the overcoat is finished. Petrovich delivers it early one morning, and opportunely, for the season of hard frosts has already begun. Akakii Akakiievich wears the garment triumphantly to work. Hearing of his new finery, the other clerks run to the vestibule to inspect it. Some suggest that the owner ought to give a party to celebrate the event. Akakii Akakiievich hesitates but is saved from embarrassment when a minor official invites the clerks, including Akakii, to drink tea with him after work.
Wrapped in his warm coat, Akakii Akakiievich starts off to the party. It had been years since he had walked out at night, and he enjoys the novelty of seeing the strollers on the streets and looking into lighted shop windows.
The hour is past midnight when he leaves the party; the streets are deserted. His way takes him into a desolate square, with only the flickering light of a police sentry box visible in the distance. Suddenly, two strangers confront him and with threats of violence snatch his overcoat. The clerk runs to the police officer’s box to denounce the thieves. The police officer merely tells him to report the theft to the district inspector the next morning. Almost out of his mind with worry, Akakii Akakiievich runs all the way home.
Akakii Akakiievich’s landlady advises him not to go to the police but to lay the matter before a justice of the peace whom she knows. That official gives him little satisfaction. The next day his fellow clerks take up a collection for him, but the amount is so small that they decide to give him advice instead. They tell him to go to the Person of Consequence, who, they believe, could speed up the efforts of the police. Finally, Akakii Akakiievich secures an interview, but the very important person is so outraged by the clerk’s unimportance that he never gives the caller an opportunity to explain his errand. Akakii Akakiievich walks sadly home through a blizzard, which gives him a quinsy and puts him to bed. After several days of delirium, in which he babbles about his lost overcoat and the Person of Consequence, he dies. A few days later, another clerk sits in his place and does the same work at the bureau.
Before long, rumors begin to spread through the city that a dead government clerk seeking a stolen overcoat had been seen near Kalinkin Bridge. One night a clerk from the bureau sees him and almost dies of fright. After Akakii Akakiievich begins stripping overcoats from passersby, the police are ordered to capture the dead man. One night, the police come close to arresting him, but the ghost vanishes so miraculously that thereafter the police are afraid to lay hands on any malefactors, living or dead.
One night, after a sociable evening, the Person of Consequence is on his way to visit a lady friend about whom his wife knows nothing. As he relaxes comfortably in his sleigh, he feels a firm grip on his collar. Turning, he is eye to eye with Akakii Akakiievich. In his fright, he throws off his overcoat and orders his coachman to drive him home at once. The ghost of Akakii Akakiievich must have liked the important person’s warm greatcoat. From that time on he never again molested passersby or snatched away their overcoats.
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