Nikolai Gogol - Dead Souls

As Nozdryov was saying this, Porfiry brought in a bottle. But Chichikov refused decidedly either to play or to drink.

"Why don't you want to play?" said Nozdryov.

"Well, because I'm not disposed to. And, truth to tell, I'm not at all an avid gambler."

"Why not?"

Chichikov shrugged his shoulders and added:

"Because I'm not."

"Trash is what you are!"

"No help for it. God made me this way."

"Simply a foozle. I used to think you were at least a somewhat decent man, but you have no notion of manners. It's impossible to talk with you like someone close ... no straightforwardness, no sincerity! a perfect Sobakevich, a real scoundrel!"

"But what are you abusing me for? Am I to blame for not gambling? Sell me just the souls, if you're the sort of man who trembles over such nonsense."

"The hairy devil is what you'll get! I was going to, I was just going to make you a gift of them, but now you won't get them! Not even for three kingdoms would I give them to you. You're a cheat, you vile chimney sweep! From now on I don't want to have anything to do with you. Porfiry, go and tell the stable boy not to give any oats to his horses, let them eat only hay."

This last conclusion Chichikov had not expected at all.

"You'd better simply not show your face to me!" said Nozdryov.

In spite of this falling out, however, guest and host had supper together, though this time no wines with fanciful names stood on the table. There was just one bottle sticking up, containing some sort of Cyprian wine which was what is known as sourness in all respects. After supper, Nozdryov, leading Chichikov to a side room where a bed had been prepared for him, said:

"There's your bed! I don't even want to wish you good night!"

Chichikov remained after Nozdryov's departure in a most unpleasant state of mind. He was inwardly vexed with himself, scolded himself for having come to him and lost time for nothing. But he scolded himself even more for having talked with him about business, for having acted imprudently, like a child, like a fool: for the business was not at all the sort to be entrusted to Nozdryov . . . Nozdryov was trash, Nozdryov could tell a pack of lies, add on, spread the devil knows what, gossip might come of it—not good, not good. "I'm simply a fool," he kept saying to himself. That night he slept very badly. Some small, most lively insects kept biting him unbearably painfully, so that he raked at the wounded spot with all five fingers, repeating: "Ah, the devil take you along with Nozdryov!" He woke up early in the morning. The first thing he did after putting on his dressing gown and boots was go across the yard to the stables and order Selifan to harness the britzka at once. Coming back across the yard, he met with Nozdryov, who was also in his dressing gown, a pipe clenched in his teeth.

Nozdryov greeted him amiably and asked how he had slept.

"So-so," Chichikov replied rather dryly.

"And I, brother," said Nozdryov, "kept dreaming about such vileness all night, it's disgusting to speak of it, and after yesterday it feels as if a squadron spent the night in my mouth. Just fancy: I dreamed I got a whipping, by gosh! and imagine who from? You'll never guess: Staff Captain Potseluev and Kuvshinnikov."

"Yes," Chichikov thought to himself, "it would be nice if you got a thrashing in reality."

"By God! and a most painful one! I woke up: devil take it, something's itching for a fact—must be these cursed fleas. Well, you go and get dressed now, I'll come to you at once. I've only got to yell at that scoundrel of a steward."

Chichikov went to his room to dress and wash. When he came out to the dining room after that, a tea service and a bottle of rum were already standing on the table. The room bore traces of yesterday's dinner and supper; it seemed not to have been touched by a broom. The floor was strewn with bread crumbs, and tobacco ashes could even be seen on the tablecloth. The host himself, who was not slow to come in, had nothing under his dressing gown except a bare chest on which some sort of beard was growing. Holding a chibouk in his hand and sipping from a cup, he was a fine subject for a painter with a terrible dislike of sleek and curled gentlemen who look like barbers' signboards, or those with shaved necks.

"Well, what do you think?" Nozdryov said, after a short silence. "You don't want to play for the souls?"

"I've already told you, brother, I don't gamble; as for buying— I will if you like."

"I don't want to sell, it wouldn't be friendly. I'm not going to skim from the devil knows what. But faro—that's another thing. Just once through the deck!"

"I already told you no."

"And you don't want to trade?"

"I don't."

"Well, listen, let's play checkers—if you win, they're all yours. I do have a lot that ought to be crossed off the lists. Hey, Porfiry, bring us the checkerboard."

"Wasted effort, I won't play."

"But this isn't faro; there can't be any luck or bluffing here: it's all art; I'm even warning you that I can't play at all, unless you give me some kind of handicap."

"Why not sit down and play checkers with him!" Chichikov thought. "I used to be not so bad at checkers, and it will be hard for him to pull any tricks here."

"If you like, so be it, I'll play checkers."

"The souls against a hundred roubles."

"Why so much? Fifty's enough."

"No, what kind of stake is fifty? Better let me throw in some puppy of a middling sort or a gold seal for a watch for the same money."

"Well, if you like!" said Chichikov.

"How much of a handicap are you giving me?" said Nozdryov.

"Why on earth? Nothing, of course."

"At least let me have the first two moves."

"I will not, I'm a poor player myself."

"We know what a poor player you are!" said Nozdryov, advancing a piece.

"I haven't touched checkers in a long time!" said Chichikov, also moving a piece.

"We know what a poor player you are!" said Nozdryov, advancing a piece.

"I haven't touched checkers in a long time!" said Chichikov, moving a piece.

"We know what a poor player you are!" said Nozdryov, moving a piece, and at the same time moving another piece with the cuff of his sleeve.

"I haven't touched checkers in a long . . . Hey, hey, what's this, brother? Put that one back!" said Chichikov.

"Which one?"

"That piece there," said Chichikov, and just then he saw almost under his very nose another piece that seemed to be sneaking towards being kinged; where it had come from God only knew. "No," said Chichikov, getting up from the table, "it's absolutely impossible to play with you! You can't move like that, three pieces at a time!"

"What do you mean three? It was a mistake. One got moved by accident, I'll move it back if you like."

"And the other one came from where?"

"Which other one?"

"This one that's sneaking towards being kinged?"

"Come now, as if you don't remember!"

"No, brother, I counted all the moves and remember everything; you stuck it in there just now. It belongs here!"

"What, where does it belong?" Nozdryov said, flushing. "Ah, yes, brother, I see you're an inventor!"

"No, brother, it seems you are the inventor, only not a very successful one."

"What do you take me for?" said Nozdryov. "Would I go and cheat?"

"I don't take you for anything, I'll just never play with you from now on."

"No, you can't refuse," Nozdryov said, getting excited, "the game's begun!"

"I have the right to refuse, because you're not playing as befits an honest man."

"No, you're lying, you can't say that!"

"No, brother, it's you who are lying!"

"I wasn't cheating, and you can't refuse, you have to finish the game!

"That you will not make me do," Chichikov said coolly, and going over to the board, he mixed up the pieces.