AT
LAST?"
However, the old lady still communed with herself. She could see that
the transaction would be to her advantage, yet it was one of such a
novel and unprecedented nature that she was beginning to fear lest
this purchaser of souls intended to cheat her. Certainly he had come
from God only knew where, and at the dead of night, too!
"But, sir, I have never in my life sold dead folk—only living ones.
Three years ago I transferred two wenches to Protopopov for a hundred
roubles apiece, and he thanked me kindly, for they turned out splendid
workers—able to make napkins or anything else.
"Yes, but with the living we have nothing to do, damn it! I am asking
you only about DEAD folk."
"Yes, yes, of course. But at first sight I felt afraid lest I should
be incurring a loss—lest you should be wishing to outwit me, good
sir. You see, the dead souls are worth rather more than you have
offered for them."
"See here, madam. (What a woman it is!) HOW could they be worth
more? Think for yourself. They are so much loss to you—so much loss,
do you understand? Take any worthless, rubbishy article you like—a
piece of old rag, for example. That rag will yet fetch its price, for
it can be bought for paper-making. But these dead souls are good for
NOTHING AT ALL. Can you name anything that they ARE good for?"
"True, true—they ARE good for nothing. But what troubles me is the
fact that they are dead."
"What a blockhead of a creature!" said Chichikov to himself, for he
was beginning to lose patience. "Bless her heart, I may as well be
going. She has thrown me into a perfect sweat, the cursed old shrew!"
He took a handkerchief from his pocket, and wiped the perspiration
from his brow. Yet he need not have flown into such a passion. More
than one respected statesman reveals himself, when confronted with a
business matter, to be just such another as Madam Korobotchka, in
that, once he has got an idea into his head, there is no getting it
out of him—you may ply him with daylight-clear arguments, yet they
will rebound from his brain as an india-rubber ball rebounds from a
flagstone. Nevertheless, wiping away the perspiration, Chichikov
resolved to try whether he could not bring her back to the road by
another path.
"Madam," he said, "either you are declining to understand what I say
or you are talking for the mere sake of talking. If I hand you over
some money—fifteen roubles for each soul, do you understand?—it is
MONEY, not something which can be picked up haphazard on the street.
For instance, tell me how much you sold your honey for?"
"For twelve roubles per pood."
"Ah! Then by those words, madam, you have laid a trifling sin upon
your soul; for you did NOT sell the honey for twelve roubles."
"By the Lord God I did!"
"Well, well! Never mind. Honey is only honey. Now, you had collected
that stuff, it may be, for a year, and with infinite care and labour.
You had fussed after it, you had trotted to and fro, you had duly
frozen out the bees, and you had fed them in the cellar throughout the
winter. But these dead souls of which I speak are quite another
matter, for in this case you have put forth no exertions—it was
merely God's will that they should leave the world, and thus decrease
the personnel of your establishment. In the former case you received
(so you allege) twelve roubles per pood for your labour; but in this
case you will receive money for having done nothing at all. Nor will
you receive twelve roubles per item, but FIFTEEN—and roubles not in
silver, but roubles in good paper currency."
That these powerful inducements would certainly cause the old woman to
yield Chichikov had not a doubt.
"True," his hostess replied. "But how strangely business comes to me
as a widow! Perhaps I had better wait a little longer, seeing that
other buyers might come along, and I might be able to compare prices."
"For shame, madam! For shame! Think what you are saying. Who else, I
would ask, would care to buy those
LAST?"
However, the old lady still communed with herself. She could see that
the transaction would be to her advantage, yet it was one of such a
novel and unprecedented nature that she was beginning to fear lest
this purchaser of souls intended to cheat her. Certainly he had come
from God only knew where, and at the dead of night, too!
"But, sir, I have never in my life sold dead folk—only living ones.
Three years ago I transferred two wenches to Protopopov for a hundred
roubles apiece, and he thanked me kindly, for they turned out splendid
workers—able to make napkins or anything else.
"Yes, but with the living we have nothing to do, damn it! I am asking
you only about DEAD folk."
"Yes, yes, of course. But at first sight I felt afraid lest I should
be incurring a loss—lest you should be wishing to outwit me, good
sir. You see, the dead souls are worth rather more than you have
offered for them."
"See here, madam. (What a woman it is!) HOW could they be worth
more? Think for yourself. They are so much loss to you—so much loss,
do you understand? Take any worthless, rubbishy article you like—a
piece of old rag, for example. That rag will yet fetch its price, for
it can be bought for paper-making. But these dead souls are good for
NOTHING AT ALL. Can you name anything that they ARE good for?"
"True, true—they ARE good for nothing. But what troubles me is the
fact that they are dead."
"What a blockhead of a creature!" said Chichikov to himself, for he
was beginning to lose patience. "Bless her heart, I may as well be
going. She has thrown me into a perfect sweat, the cursed old shrew!"
He took a handkerchief from his pocket, and wiped the perspiration
from his brow. Yet he need not have flown into such a passion. More
than one respected statesman reveals himself, when confronted with a
business matter, to be just such another as Madam Korobotchka, in
that, once he has got an idea into his head, there is no getting it
out of him—you may ply him with daylight-clear arguments, yet they
will rebound from his brain as an india-rubber ball rebounds from a
flagstone. Nevertheless, wiping away the perspiration, Chichikov
resolved to try whether he could not bring her back to the road by
another path.
"Madam," he said, "either you are declining to understand what I say
or you are talking for the mere sake of talking. If I hand you over
some money—fifteen roubles for each soul, do you understand?—it is
MONEY, not something which can be picked up haphazard on the street.
For instance, tell me how much you sold your honey for?"
"For twelve roubles per pood."
"Ah! Then by those words, madam, you have laid a trifling sin upon
your soul; for you did NOT sell the honey for twelve roubles."
"By the Lord God I did!"
"Well, well! Never mind. Honey is only honey. Now, you had collected
that stuff, it may be, for a year, and with infinite care and labour.
You had fussed after it, you had trotted to and fro, you had duly
frozen out the bees, and you had fed them in the cellar throughout the
winter. But these dead souls of which I speak are quite another
matter, for in this case you have put forth no exertions—it was
merely God's will that they should leave the world, and thus decrease
the personnel of your establishment. In the former case you received
(so you allege) twelve roubles per pood for your labour; but in this
case you will receive money for having done nothing at all. Nor will
you receive twelve roubles per item, but FIFTEEN—and roubles not in
silver, but roubles in good paper currency."
That these powerful inducements would certainly cause the old woman to
yield Chichikov had not a doubt.
"True," his hostess replied. "But how strangely business comes to me
as a widow! Perhaps I had better wait a little longer, seeing that
other buyers might come along, and I might be able to compare prices."
"For shame, madam! For shame! Think what you are saying. Who else, I
would ask, would care to buy those
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