Dead Souls (15 page)

"What do you mean, you fool? Think for yourself. Why should I acquire
articles which I don't want?"

"Say no more about it, if you please. I have quite taken your measure.
But see here. Should you care to play a game of banker? I am ready to
stake both the dead souls and the barrel-organ at cards."

"No; to leave an issue to cards means to submit oneself to the
unknown," said Chichikov, covertly glancing at the pack which Nozdrev
had got in his hands. Somehow the way in which his companion had cut
that pack seemed to him suspicious.

"Why 'to the unknown'?" asked Nozdrev. "There is no such thing as 'the
unknown.' Should luck be on your side, you may win the devil knows
what a haul. Oh, luck, luck!" he went on, beginning to deal, in the
hope of raising a quarrel. "Here is the cursed nine upon which, the
other night, I lost everything. All along I knew that I should lose my
money. Said I to myself: 'The devil take you, you false, accursed
card!'"

Just as Nozdrev uttered the words Porphyri entered with a fresh bottle
of liquor; but Chichikov declined either to play or to drink.

"Why do you refuse to play?" asked Nozdrev.

"Because I feel indisposed to do so. Moreover, I must confess that I
am no great hand at cards."

"WHY are you no great hand at them?"

Chichikov shrugged his shoulders. "Because I am not," he replied.

"You are no great hand at ANYTHING, I think."

"What does that matter? God has made me so."

"The truth is that you are a Thetuk, and nothing else. Once upon a
time I believed you to be a good fellow, but now I see that you don't
understand civility. One cannot speak to you as one would to an
intimate, for there is no frankness or sincerity about you. You are a
regular Sobakevitch—just such another as he."

"For what reason are you abusing me? Am I in any way at fault for
declining to play cards? Sell me those souls if you are the man to
hesitate over such rubbish."

"The foul fiend take you! I was about to have given them to you for
nothing, but now you shan't have them at all—not if you offer me
three kingdoms in exchange. Henceforth I will have nothing to do with
you, you cobbler, you dirty blacksmith! Porphyri, go and tell the
ostler to give the gentleman's horses no oats, but only hay."

This development Chichikov had hardly expected.

"And do you," added Nozdrev to his guest, "get out of my sight."

Yet in spite of this, host and guest took supper together—even though
on this occasion the table was adorned with no wines of fictitious
nomenclature, but only with a bottle which reared its solitary head
beside a jug of what is usually known as vin ordinaire. When supper
was over Nozdrev said to Chichikov as he conducted him to a side room
where a bed had been made up:

"This is where you are to sleep. I cannot very well wish you
good-night."

Left to himself on Nozdrev's departure, Chichikov felt in a most
unenviable frame of mind. Full of inward vexation, he blamed himself
bitterly for having come to see this man and so wasted valuable time;
but even more did he blame himself for having told him of his
scheme—for having acted as carelessly as a child or a madman. Of a
surety the scheme was not one which ought to have been confided to a
man like Nozdrev, for he was a worthless fellow who might lie about
it, and append additions to it, and spread such stories as would give
rise to God knows what scandals. "This is indeed bad!" Chichikov said
to himself. "I have been an absolute fool." Consequently he spent an
uneasy night—this uneasiness being increased by the fact that a
number of small, but vigorous, insects so feasted upon him that he
could do nothing but scratch the spots and exclaim, "The devil take
you and Nozdrev alike!" Only when morning was approaching did he fall
asleep. On rising, he made it his first business (after donning
dressing-gown and slippers) to cross the courtyard to the stable, for
the purpose of ordering Selifan to harness the britchka. Just as he
was returning from his errand he encountered Nozdrev, clad in a
dressing-gown, and holding a pipe between his teeth.

Host and guest greeted one another in friendly fashion, and Nozdrev
inquired how Chichikov had slept.

"Fairly well," replied Chichikov, but with a touch of dryness in his
tone.

"The same with myself," said Nozdrev. "The truth is that such a lot of
nasty brutes kept crawling over me that even to speak of it gives me
the shudders. Likewise, as the effect of last night's doings, a whole
squadron of soldiers seemed to be camping on my chest, and giving me a
flogging. Ugh! And whom also do you think I saw in a dream? You would
never guess. Why, it was Staff-Captain Potsieluev and Lieutenant
Kuvshinnikov!"

"Yes," though Chichikov to himself, "and I wish that they too would
give you a public thrashing!"

"I felt so ill!" went on Nozdrev. "And just after I had fallen asleep
something DID come and sting me. Probably it was a party of hag
fleas. Now, dress yourself, and I will be with you presently. First of
all I must give that scoundrel of a bailiff a wigging."

Chichikov departed to his own room to wash and dress; which process
completed, he entered the dining-room to find the table laid with
tea-things and a bottle of rum. Clearly no broom had yet touched the
place, for there remained traces of the previous night's dinner and
supper in the shape of crumbs thrown over the floor and tobacco ash on
the tablecloth. The host himself, when he entered, was still clad in a
dressing-gown exposing a hairy chest; and as he sat holding his pipe
in his hand, and drinking tea from a cup, he would have made a model
for the sort of painter who prefers to portray gentlemen of the less
curled and scented order.

"What think you?" he asked of Chichikov after a short silence. "Are
you willing NOW to play me for those souls?"

"I have told you that I never play cards. If the souls are for sale, I
will buy them."

"I decline to sell them. Such would not be the course proper between
friends. But a game of banker would be quite another matter. Let us
deal the cards."

"I have told you that I decline to play."

"And you will not agree to an exchange?"

"No."

"Then look here. Suppose we play a game of chess. If you win, the
souls shall be yours. There are lot which I should like to see crossed
off the revision list. Hi, Porphyri! Bring me the chessboard."

"You are wasting your time. I will play neither chess nor cards."

"But chess is different from playing with a bank. In chess there can
be neither luck nor cheating, for everything depends upon skill. In
fact, I warn you that I cannot possibly play with you unless you allow
me a move or two in advance."

"The same with me," thought Chichikov. "Shall I, or shall I not, play
this fellow? I used not to be a bad chess-player, and it is a sport in
which he would find it more difficult to be up to his tricks."

"Very well," he added aloud. "I WILL play you at chess."

"And stake the souls for a hundred roubles?" asked Nozdrev.

"No. Why for a hundred? Would it not be sufficient to stake them for fifty?"

"No. What would be the use of fifty? Nevertheless, for the hundred
roubles I will throw in a moderately old puppy, or else a gold seal
and watch-chain."

"Very well," assented Chichikov.

"Then how many moves are you going to allow me?"

"Is THAT to be part of the bargain? Why, none, of course."

"At least allow me two."

"No, none. I myself am only a poor player."

"
I
know you and your poor play," said Nozdrev, moving a chessman.

"In fact, it is a long time since last I had a chessman in my hand,"
replied Chichikov, also moving a piece.

"Ah!
I
know you and your poor play," repeated Nozdrev, moving a
second chessman.

"I say again that it is a long time since last I had a chessman in my
hand." And Chichikov, in his turn, moved.

"Ah!
I
know you and your poor play," repeated Nozdrev, for the third
time as he made a third move. At the same moment the cuff of one of
his sleeves happened to dislodge another chessman from its position.

"Again, I say," said Chichikov, "that 'tis a long time since last—But
hi! look here! Put that piece back in its place!"

"What piece?"

"This one." And almost as Chichikov spoke he saw a third chessman
coming into view between the queens. God only knows whence that
chessman had materialised.

"No, no!" shouted Chichikov as he rose from the table. "It is
impossible to play with a man like you. People don't move three pieces
at once."

"How 'three pieces'? All that I have done is to make a mistake—to
move one of my pieces by accident. If you like, I will forfeit it to
you."

"And whence has the third piece come?"

"What third piece?"

"The one now standing between the queens?"

"'Tis one of your own pieces. Surely you are forgetting?"

"No, no, my friend. I have counted every move, and can remember each
one. That piece has only just become added to the board. Put it back
in its place, I say."

"Its place? Which IS its place?" But Nozdrev had reddened a good
deal. "I perceive you to be a strategist at the game."

"No, no, good friend. YOU are the strategist—though an unsuccessful
one, as it happens."

"Then of what are you supposing me capable? Of cheating you?"

"I am not supposing you capable of anything. All that I say is that I
will not play with you any more."

"But you can't refuse to," said Nozdrev, growing heated. "You see, the
game has begun."

"Nevertheless, I have a right not to continue it, seeing that you are
not playing as an honest man should do."

"You are lying—you cannot truthfully say that."

"'Tis you who are lying."

"But I have NOT cheated. Consequently you cannot refuse to play, but
must continue the game to a finish."

"You cannot force me to play," retorted Chichikov coldly as, turning
to the chessboard, he swept the pieces into confusion.

Nozdrev approached Chichikov with a manner so threatening that the
other fell back a couple of paces.

"I WILL force you to play," said Nozdrev. "It is no use you making a
mess of the chessboard, for I can remember every move. We will replace
the chessmen exactly as they were."

"No, no, my friend. The game is over, and I play you no more."

"You say that you will not?"

"Yes. Surely you can see for yourself that such a thing is
impossible?"

"That cock won't fight. Say at once that you refuse to play with me."
And Nozdrev approached a step nearer.

"Very well; I DO say that," replied Chichikov, and at the same
moment raised his hands towards his face, for the dispute was growing
heated. Nor was the act of caution altogether unwarranted, for Nozdrev
also raised his fist, and it may be that one of her hero's plump,
pleasant-looking cheeks would have sustained an indelible insult had
not he (Chichikov) parried the blow and, seizing Nozdrev by his
whirling arms, held them fast.

"Porphyri! Pavlushka!" shouted Nozdrev as madly he strove to free himself.

On hearing the words, Chichikov, both because he wished to avoid
rendering the servants witnesses of the unedifying scene and because
he felt that it would be of no avail to hold Nozdrev any longer, let
go of the latter's arms; but at the same moment Porphyri and Pavlushka
entered the room—a pair of stout rascals with whom it would be unwise
to meddle.

"Do you, or do you not, intend to finish the game?" said Nozdrev.
"Give me a direct answer."

"No; it will not be possible to finish the game," replied Chichikov,
glancing out of the window. He could see his britchka standing ready
for him, and Selifan evidently awaiting orders to draw up to the
entrance steps. But from the room there was no escape, since in the
doorway was posted the couple of well-built serving-men.

"Then it is as I say? You refuse to finish the game?" repeated
Nozdrev, his face as red as fire.

"I would have finished it had you played like a man of honour. But, as
it is, I cannot."

"You cannot, eh, you villain? You find that you cannot as soon as you
find that you are not winning? Thrash him, you fellows!" And as he
spoke Nozdrev grasped the cherrywood shank of his pipe. Chichikov
turned as white as a sheet. He tried to say something, but his
quivering lips emitted no sound. "Thrash him!" again shouted Nozdrev
as he rushed forward in a state of heat and perspiration more proper
to a warrior who is attacking an impregnable fortress. "Thrash him!"
again he shouted in a voice like that of some half-demented lieutenant
whose desperate bravery has acquired such a reputation that orders
have had to be issued that his hands shall be held lest he attempt
deeds of over-presumptuous daring. Seized with the military spirit,
however, the lieutenant's head begins to whirl, and before his eye
there flits the image of Suvorov
^[21]
. He advances to the great
encounter, and impulsively cries, "Forward, my sons!"—cries it
without reflecting that he may be spoiling the plan of the general
attack, that millions of rifles may be protruding their muzzles
through the embrasures of the impregnable, towering walls of the
fortress, that his own impotent assault may be destined to be
dissipated like dust before the wind, and that already there may have
been launched on its whistling career the bullet which is to close for
ever his vociferous throat. However, if Nozdrev resembled the
headstrong, desperate lieutenant whom we have just pictured as
advancing upon a fortress, at least the fortress itself in no way
resembled the impregnable stronghold which I have described. As a
matter of fact, the fortress became seized with a panic which drove
its spirit into its boots. First of all, the chair with which
Chichikov (the fortress in question) sought to defend himself was
wrested from his grasp by the serfs, and then—blinking and neither
alive nor dead—he turned to parry the Circassian pipe-stem of his
host. In fact, God only knows what would have happened had not the
fates been pleased by a miracle to deliver Chichikov's elegant back
and shoulders from the onslaught. Suddenly, and as unexpectedly as
though the sound had come from the clouds, there made itself heard the
tinkling notes of a collar-bell, and then the rumble of wheels
approaching the entrance steps, and, lastly, the snorting and hard
breathing of a team of horses as a vehicle came to a standstill.
Involuntarily all present glanced through the window, and saw a man
clad in a semi-military greatcoat leap from a buggy. After making an
inquiry or two in the hall, he entered the dining-room just at the
juncture when Chichikov, almost swooning with terror, had found
himself placed in about as awkward a situation as could well befall a
mortal man.