Dead Souls, Nikolai Gogol [best biographies to read .TXT] 📗
- Author: Nikolai Gogol
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“Ha, ha, ha!” he cried with a gesture of astonishment at the sight of Chichikov. “What chance brings you here?”
Upon that Chichikov recognised Nozdrev—the man whom he had met at dinner at the Public Prosecutor’s, and who, within a minute or two of the introduction, had become so intimate with his fellow guest as to address him in the second person singular, in spite of the fact that Chichikov had given him no opportunity for doing so.
“Where have you been today?” Nozdrev inquired, and, without waiting for an answer, went on: “For myself, I am just from the fair, and completely cleaned out. Actually, I have had to do the journey back with stage horses! Look out of the window, and see them for yourself.” And he turned Chichikov’s head so sharply in the desired direction that he came very near to bumping it against the window frame. “Did you ever see such a bag of tricks? The cursed things have only just managed to get here. In fact, on the way I had to transfer myself to this fellow’s britchka.” He indicated his companion with a finger. “By the way, don’t you know one another? He is Mizhuev, my brother-in-law. He and I were talking of you only this morning. ‘Just you see,’ said I to him, ‘if we do not fall in with Chichikov before we have done.’ Heavens, how completely cleaned out I am! Not only have I lost four good horses, but also my watch and chain.” Chichikov perceived that in very truth his interlocutor was minus the articles named, as well as that one of Nozdrev’s whiskers was less bushy in appearance than the other one. “Had I had another twenty roubles in my pocket,” went on Nozdrev, “I should have won back all that I have lost, as well as have pouched a further thirty thousand. Yes, I give you my word of honour on that.”
“But you were saying the same thing when last I met you,” put in the flaxen-haired man. “Yet, even though I lent you fifty roubles, you lost them all.”
“But I should not have lost them this time. Don’t try to make me out a fool. I should not have lost them, I tell you. Had I only played the right card, I should have broken the bank.”
“But you did not break the bank,” remarked the flaxen-haired man.
“No. That was because I did not play my cards right. But what about your precious major’s play? Is that good?”
“Good or not, at least he beat you.”
“Splendid of him! Nevertheless I will get my own back. Let him play me at doubles, and we shall soon see what sort of a player he is! Friend Chichikov, at first we had a glorious time, for the fair was a tremendous success. Indeed, the tradesmen said that never yet had there been such a gathering. I myself managed to sell everything from my estate at a good price. In fact, we had a magnificent time. I can’t help thinking of it, devil take me! But what a pity you were not there! Three versts from the town there is quartered a regiment of dragoons, and you would scarcely believe what a lot of officers it has. Forty at least there are, and they do a fine lot of knocking about the town and drinking. In particular, Staff-Captain Potsieluev is a splendid fellow! You should just see his moustache! Why, he calls good claret ‘trash’! ‘Bring me some of the usual trash,’ is his way of ordering it. And Lieutenant Kuvshinnikov, too! He is as delightful as the other man. In fact, I may say that everyone of the lot is a rake. I spent my whole time with them, and you can imagine that Ponomarev, the wine merchant, did a fine trade indeed! All the same, he is a rascal, you know, and ought not to be dealt with, for he puts all sorts of rubbish into his liquor—Indian wood and burnt cork and elderberry juice, the villain! Nevertheless, get him to produce a bottle from what he calls his ‘special cellar,’ and you will fancy yourself in the seventh heaven of delight. And what quantities of champagne we drank! Compared with it, provincial stuff is kvass.18 Try to imagine not merely Clicquot, but a sort of blend of Clicquot and Matradura—Clicquot of double strength. Also Ponomarev produced a bottle of French stuff which he calls ‘Bonbon.’ Had it a bouquet, ask you? Why, it had the bouquet of a rose garden, of anything else you like. What times we had, to be sure! Just after we had left Pnomarev’s place, some prince or another arrived in
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