The Carriage

“You wouldn’t encounter a single soul on the streets, unless maybe a rooster crossed the roadway, which was as soft as a pillow from the dust that lay seven inches thick and would turn to mud from the slightest bit of rain, and then the streets of the little town of B— would be filled with those stout animals the mayor calls Frenchmen.”

This description of the village employs figurative language to emphasize how fundamentally rural, isolated, and unkempt it actually is. By using an extended metaphor comparing pigs to French people, the narrator reveals and critiques a stereotypically provincial attitude toward foreigners, setting the stage for the story’s larger engagement with both local and national identity politics.

“The squat houses often saw a nimble, well-built officer with a plume on his head walking by as he went to see his comrade to have a chat about promotions, about the most excellent tobacco, or sometimes to stake his droshky on a card.”

The village comes to life after the arrival of the cavalry regiment, the formerly drab houses themselves able to “see” the dramatic change. However, while they seem cheerful on the surface, the changes the soldiers bring are largely centered on material wealth and social status, setting the stage for the story’s critique of The Performance of Class and The Hazards of Consumption.

“The contents of the whole market had been confiscated for the dinner, so that the judge and his deaconess had nothing to eat but buckwheat flapjacks and farina porridge.”

These preparations for the general’s dinner party suggest that the cavalry regiment has figuratively invaded and taken over the small village, consuming everything in its wake. The interests and comfort even of local authority figures are being ignored in favor of the interests and comfort of the visitors, further complicating the relationships between people from varying social classes.