Dead Souls

by Nikolai Gogol

the fair-haired one

said Nozdryov.

brother Chichikov,

devil take it!

clicquot-matradura,

the fair-haired

replied Nozdryov.

brother Chichikov,

Eh, Chichikov,

Kuvshinnikov is,

‘Devil take it!’

Opodealdoc Ivanovich!”

it’s Sobakevich.”

Here Nozdryov guffawed with that ringing laughter into which only a fresh, healthy man can dissolve, showing all his teeth, white as sugar, to the last one; his cheeks quiver and shake, and his neighbor, two doors away, in the third room, jumps up from his sleep, goggling his eyes, and saying: “Eh, how he carries on!” “What’s so funny?” said Chichikov, somewhat displeased by this laughter. But Nozdryov went on guffawing at the top of his lungs, all the while saying: “Oh, spare me, really, I’ll split my sides!”

Chichikov.

to the devil with Sobakevich,

Kuvshinnikov

Nozdryov shouted,

turning to Chichikov.

the old woman

replied the old woman.

old woman,

Porfiry

said Nozdryov,

Look here, Chichikov,

Nozdryov went on.

Porfiry took the puppy

Chichikov thought

Chichikov and Nozdryov

the fair-haired one,

The fair-haired man was one of those people in whose character there is at first sight a certain obstinacy. Before you can open your mouth, they are already prepared to argue and, it seems, will never agree to anything that is clearly contrary to their way of thinking, will never call a stupid thing smart, and in particular will never agree to dance to another man’s tune; but it always ends up that there is a certain softness in their character, that they will agree precisely to what they had rejected, will call a stupid thing smart, and will then go off dancing their best to another man’s tune—in short, starts out well, ends in hell.

A malleable man 😂😂😂

Nozdryov

old woman.

the in-law.

the old woman,

The travelers took their seats. Chichikov’s britzka drove alongside the britzka in which Nozdryov and his in-law were sitting, and therefore the three of them could freely converse with each other on the road. After them, constantly lagging behind, followed Nozdryov’s wretched carriage, drawn by the scrawny hired hacks. In it sat Porfiry with the puppy.

Nozdryov

The person of Nozdryov, surely, is already somewhat familiar to the reader. Everyone has met not a few such people. They are known as rollicksome fellows, have the reputation of boon companions already in childhood and at school, and for all that they sometimes get quite painfully beaten. In their faces one always sees something open, direct, daring. They strike up an acquaintance quickly, and before you can turn around they are already on personal terms with you. They embark on friendship, as it seems, forever; but it almost always happens that the new friend will pick a fight with them that same evening at a friendly party. They are always big talkers, revelers, daredevils, conspicuous folk. Nozdryov at thirty-five was exactly the same as he had been at eighteen and twenty: a great carouser.

And—what was strangest of all, what can happen only in Russia—not long afterwards he would again meet the friends who had thrashed him, and they would meet as if nothing had happened, and it was, as they say, fine with him, and fine with them. Nozdryov was in a certain respect a storied man. Not one gathering he attended went by without some story. Some sort of story inevitably occurred: either he was taken under the arm and removed from the hall by gendarmes, or his own friends were obliged to throw him out. And if that did not happen, then something else did, of a sort that never happened to others: either he would get so potted at the buffet that he could do nothing but laugh, or he would pour out such a wicked pack of lies that he would finally become ashamed himself.

Nozdryov, too, had this strange passion. The closer you got with him, the sooner he would muck things up for you: spread some cock-and-bull story, than which it would be hard to invent a stupider, thwart a wedding or a business deal, and yet by no means consider himself your enemy; on the contrary, if chance should bring him together with you again, he would again treat you in a friendly way, and even say: “What a scoundrel you are, you never come to see me.”

If he was lucky enough to come across a simpleton at a fair and beat him at cards, he would buy up a heap of all that had first caught his eye in the shops: yokes, scented candles, kerchiefs for the nanny, a colt, raisins, a silver washbasin, Holland linen, cake flour, tobacco, pistols, herring, paintings, a grindstone, crockery, boots, faïence dishes—for all the money he had. However, it rarely happened that these things got brought home; almost the same day it would all be gambled away to another, luckier player, sometimes even with the addition of his own pipe, tobacco pouch and mouthpiece included, or another time with his entire four-in-hand, everything included: coach and coachman—so that the master himself had to set out in a short frock coat or a striped smock to look for some friend and use his carriage.

😂😂😂 Reminds me of Mitya and his father

Nozdryov

Nozdryov’s house.

two muzhiks

Nozdryov

Chichikov,

Nozdryov swore by God

said Nozdryov.

Then Nozdryov

Nozdryov’s words,