continued his half-drunken speech: “Wait, my good fellow, you, you—I shall not leave you until I find out why you were buying dead souls. Listen, Tchitchikoff, you really ought to be ashamed of yourself! You know yourself that you have no better friend than I. And here’s his excellency. It’s true, isn’t it, procurator? You cannot conceive, your excellency, how we are bound up in each other; that is, it is simply as though you were to say, here—I stand here, and you ask, ‘Nozdreff, tell me on your conscience, which is dearer to you, your own father, or Tchitchikoff?’ Well, I should answer, ‘Tchitchikoff, by Heavens!’ Permit me, my soul, I will give you one kiss.—Pardon me, your excellency; but I must kiss him.—Yes, Tchitchikoff; now don’t resist; allow me to imprint just one little kiss upon thy snow-white cheek!”
Nozdreff was so vigorously repulsed, however, as he attempted to bestow his kiss, that he came near flying full-length on the floor. Everyone had retreated from him, and listened no more. But his remarks about dead souls had been uttered at the top of his voice, and had been accompanied by such boisterous laughter, that they had attracted the attention, even of those who were in the most remote corners of the room. This news seemed so terrible, that all paused with a sort of wooden, stupidly interrogative expression on their faces. Tchitchikoff observed that several of the ladies winked at each other, with a malicious, biting smile; and there was an equivocal expression on some of their faces which still further increased his confusion.
That Nozdreff was a notorious liar was known to all; and the most utter nonsense from him would not have been the slightest novelty: but mortal man—truly, it is hard to understand how a mortal is constructed: no matter what a saying may be, so long as it is a novelty, he instantly communicates it to another mortal, if only for the sake of saying, “Just see what lies are disseminated!” and the other mortal inclines his ear with pleasure, although he himself afterwards says, “Why, that is a stupid lie, which is not worth noticing!” and then he instantly sets out to seek a third mortal, tells him all about it, and then they both exclaim, with noble indignation, “What a stupid lie!” And all this will infallibly go the rounds of the whole town; and all the mortals therein, no matter what their number may be, will inevitably talk their fill, and then confess that it deserves no attention and is not worth talking about.
This apparently trivial incident visibly disturbed our hero. No matter how stupid a fool’s words may be, they are often sufficient to perturb a sensible man. Tchitchikoff began to feel awkward and out of place; it was exactly as though a beautifully cleaned boot had been suddenly plunged into a muddy, evil-smelling puddle; in short, it was unpleasant, very unpleasant indeed. He tried not to think of it; he endeavoured to divert his thoughts, to enjoy himself: he sat down to the whist-table, but everything went crooked. Twice he made a mistake in the suit, and, forgetting that one does not deal to one’s self third, he gave a flourish with his hands, and proceeded. The president of the court could not in the least comprehend how it was that Pavel Ivanovitch, who knew how to play so well, and, one might even say, delicately, could make such mistakes, and had even sacrificed his king of spades, upon which, to use his own expression, he, the president, had relied as upon a stone wall. Finally, the postmaster and the president, and even the chief of police, as was proper, began to jest over our hero, to say that he was in love, that “We know all about it: Pavel Ivanovitch’s heart is bad, and we know by whom it has been wounded.” However, all this did not console him in the least, try as he would to laugh and to jest in return. He was not even in a state to unbend at supper, although the company at table was very agreeable, and Nozdreff had been led away long before: for even the ladies had at length perceived that his conduct had been quite too scandalous. In the middle of the cotillion, he had seated himself on the floor, and began to catch at the skirts of the feminine dancers, which, to use the ladies’ expression, was unlike anything else that had ever been heard of.
The supper was very gay: but Tchitchikoff did not even await the end of it; he went home much earlier than it was his custom to go. There, in his little chamber, which is so familiar to the reader, with some drawers half blocking up the door, and some beetles peeping out of the corners now and then, his thoughts and spirits became as uncomfortable as the uncomfortable arm-chair in which he sat. There was a troubled, disagreeable sensation at his heart: a sort of heavy void. “May the deuce take all those who originated balls!” he said angrily. “Now, what the Fiend is there to make merry about? There are bad crops and high prices all over the government, and yet they must needs have a ball. Eh, a pretty affair, truly!”