Dead Souls

"For pity's sake, brother, what Jewish instincts you have! You ought simply to give them to me."

"Well, listen, to prove to you that I'm not some kind of niggard, I won't ask anything for them. Buy the stallion from me, and I'll throw them in to boot."

"For pity's sake, what do I need a stallion for?" said Chichikov, amazed indeed at such an offer.

"You ask what for? But I paid ten thousand for him, and I'm giving him to you for four."

"But what do I need with a stallion? I don't keep a stud."

"But listen, you don't understand: I'll take only three thousand from you now, and you can pay me the remaining thousand later."

"But I don't need a stallion, God bless him!"

"Well, then buy the chestnut mare."

"No need for a mare either."

"For the mare and the gray horse, the one I showed you, I'll ask only two thousand from you."

"But I don't need any horses."

"You can sell them, you'll get three times more for them at the nearest fair."

"Then you'd better sell them yourself, if you're so sure you'll make three times more."

"I know I'll make more, but I want you to profit, too."

Chichikov thanked him for his benevolence and declined outright both the gray horse and the chestnut mare.

"Well, then buy some dogs. I'll sell you such a pair, they just give you chills all over! Broad-chested, mustached, coat standing up like bristles. The barrel shape of the ribs is inconceivable to the mind, the paw is all one ball, never touches the ground!"

"But what do I need dogs for? I'm not a hunter."

"But I want you to have dogs. Listen, if you don't want dogs, then buy my barrel organ, it's a wonderful barrel organ; as I'm an honest man, I got it for fifteen hundred myself: I'm giving it to you for nine."

"But what do I need a barrel organ for? Am I some kind of German, to go dragging myself over the roads begging for money?"

"But this is not the sort of barrel organ Germans go around with. This is a real organ; look on purpose: it's all mahogany. Come, I'll show it to you again!" Here Nozdryov, seizing Chichikov by the hand, started pulling him into the other room, and no matter how he dug his heels into the floor and assured him that he already knew this barrel organ, he still had to listen again to precisely how Malbrough went off to war. "If you don't want to stake money, listen, here's what: I'll give you the barrel organ and all the dead souls I have, and you give me your britzka and three hundred roubles on top of it."

"Well, what next! And how am I going to get around?"

"I'll give you another britzka. Let's go to the shed, I'll show it to you! Just repaint it, and it'll be a wonder of a britzka."

"Eh, what a restless demon's got into him!" Chichikov thought to himself, and resolved to be rid at whatever cost of every sort of britzka, barrel organ, and all possible dogs, despite any inconceivable-to-the-mind barrel shape of ribs or ball-likeness of paws.

"But it's britzka, barrel organ, and dead souls all together."

"I don't want to," Chichikov said yet again.

"Why don't you want to?"

"Because I just don't want to, that's all."

"Eh, really, what a man you are! I can see there's no getting along with you like good friends and comrades—what a man, really! . . . It's clear at once that you're a two-faced person!"

"But what am I, a fool, or what? Consider for yourself: why should I acquire something I decidedly do not need?"

"Well, spare me your talk, please. I know you very well now. Such scum, really! Well, listen, want to have a little go at faro? I'll stake all my dead ones, and the barrel organ, too."

"Well, venturing into faro means subjecting oneself to uncertainty," Chichikov said and at the same time glanced out of the corner of his eye at the cards in the man's hands. Both decks seemed very much like false ones to him, and the back design itself looked highly suspicious.

"Why uncertainty?" said Nozdryov. "None whatsoever! If only luck is on your side, you can win a devil of a lot! Look at that! What luck!" he said, starting to slap down cards so as to egg him on. "What luck! what luck! there: it keeps hitting! There's that damned nine I blew everything on! I felt it was going to sell me out, but then I shut my eyes and thought to myself: 'Devil take you, sell me out and be damned!'"

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."