'Well, you see? Still, that was honey. You collected it for maybe a year, with care, with effort, with trouble; you had to go, smoke the bees, feed them in the cellar all winter; but the thing with the dead souls is not of this world. Here you made no effort on your side, it was God's will that they depart this life, to the detriment of your household. There you get twelve roubles for your labor, your effort, and here you take them for nothing, for free, and not twelve but fifteen, and not in silver but all in blue banknotes.'— After such strong assurances, Chichikov had scarcely any doubt that the old woman would finally give in.
'Really,' the lady landowner replied, 'I'm so inexperienced, what with being a widow and all! I'd better take a little time, maybe merchants will come by, I'll check on the prices.'
'For shame, for shame, dearie! simply for shame! Think what you are saying! Who is going to buy them? What use could they possibly be to anyone?'
'Maybe they'd somehow come in handy around the house on occasion . . . ,' the old woman objected and, not finishing what she was saying, opened her mouth and looked at him almost in fear, wishing to know what he would say to that.
'Dead people around the house! Eh, that's going a bit far! Maybe just to frighten sparrows in your kitchen garden at night or something?'
'Saints preserve us! What horrors you come out with!' the old woman said, crossing herself.
'Where else would you like to stick them? No, anyhow, the bones and graves—all that stays with you, the transfer is only on paper. So, what do you say? How about it? Answer me at least.'
The old woman again fell to thinking.
'What are you thinking about, Nastasya Petrovna?'
'Really, I still can't settle on what to do; I'd better sell you the hemp.'
'What's all this hemp? For pity's sake, I ask you about something totally different, and you shove your hemp at me! Hemp's hemp, the next time I come, I'll take the hemp as well. So, how about it, Nastasya Petrovna?'
'By God, it's such queer goods, quite unprecedented!'
Here Chichikov went completely beyond the bounds of all patience, banged his chair on the floor in aggravation, and wished the devil on her.
Of the devil the lady landowner was extraordinarily frightened.
'Oh, don't remind me of that one, God help him!' she cried out, turning all pale. 'Just two days ago I spent the whole night dreaming about the cursed one. I had a notion to tell my fortune with cards that night after prayers, and God sent him on me as a punishment. Such a nasty one; horns longer than a bull's.'
'I'm amazed you don't dream of them by the dozen. It was only Christian loving-kindness that moved me: I saw a poor widow wasting away, suffering want. . . no, go perish and drop dead, you and all your estate! ...'
'Ah, what oaths you're hanging on me!' the old woman said, looking at him in fear.
'But there's no way to talk with you! Really, you're like some— not to use a bad word—some cur lying in the manger: he doesn't eat himself, and won't let others eat. I thought I might buy up various farm products from you, because I also do government contracting ...' Here he was fibbing, though by the way and with no further reflection, but with unexpected success. The government contracting produced a strong effect on Nastasya Petrovna, at least she uttered now, in an almost pleading voice:
'But why all this hot anger? If I'd known before that you were such an angry one, I wouldn't have contradicted you at all.'
'What's there to be angry about! The whole affair isn't worth a tinker's dam—as if I'd get angry over it!'
'Well, as you please, I'm prepared to let you have them for fifteen in banknotes! Only mind you, my dear, about those contracts: if you happen to buy up rye flour, or buckwheat flour, or grain, or butchered cattle, please don't leave me out.'
'No, dearie, I won't leave you out,' he said, all the while wiping off the sweat that was streaming down his face. He inquired whether she had some attorney or acquaintance in town whom she could authorize to draw up the deed and do all that was necessary.
'Of course, our priest, Father Kiril, has a son who serves in the treasury,' said Korobochka.
Chichikov asked her to write a warrant for him, and, to save her needless trouble, even volunteered to write it himself.
'It would be nice,' Korobochka meanwhile thought to herself, 'if he'd start buying my flour and meat for the government. I must coax him: there's still some batter left from yesterday, I'll go and tell Fetinya to make some pancakes; it would also be nice to do up a short-crust pie with eggs, my cook does them so well, and it takes no time at all.' The mistress went to carry out her thought concerning the doing-up of a pie, and probably to expand it with other productions of domestic bakery and cookery; and Chichikov went to the drawing room where he had spent the night, to get the necessary papers from his chest. In the drawing room everything had long since been tidied up, the sumptuous feather bed had been taken out, and a set table stood in front of the sofa. Having placed the chest on it, he rested briefly, for he felt he was all in a sweat, as if in a river: everything he had on, from his shirt down to his stockings, everything was wet. 'She really wore me out, the damned hag!' he said, after resting a little, and he unlocked the chest. The author is sure that there are such curious readers as would even like to know the plan and internal arrangement of the chest. Very well, why not satisfy them! Here, then, is the internal arrangement: right in the middle a soap box, next to the soap box six or seven narrow partitions for razors; then square nooks for a sandbox and an ink bottle, with a hollowed-out little boat for pens, sealing wax, and everything of a longer sort; then various compartments with or without lids for things that were shorter, filled with calling cards, funeral announcements, theater tickets, and the like, stored away as mementos. The whole upper box with all its little partitions was removable, and under it was a space occupied by stacks of writing paper; then came a secret little drawer for money, which slid out inconspicuously from the side of the chest. It was always so quickly pulled open and pushed shut in the same instant by its owner that it was impossible to tell for certain how much money was in it. Chichikov got down to business at once and, having sharpened his pen, began to write. At that moment the mistress came in.
'A nice box you've got there, my dear,' she said, sitting herself down next to him. 'I expect you bought it in Moscow?'
'Yes, Moscow,' Chichikov replied, continuing to write.
'I knew it: always good workmanship there. Two years ago my sister brought some warm children's boots from there: such sturdy goods, they're still wearing them. Oh, look at all the stamped paper you've got here!' she went on, peeking into his chest. And there was indeed no small amount of stamped paper there. 'You ought to give me one sheet at least! I'm so short of it; if a petition happens to need filing in court, there's nothing to write it on.'
Chichikov explained to her that this was the wrong kind of paper, that it was for drawing up deeds, not for petitions. However, to quiet her down he gave her some sheet worth a rouble. Having written the letter, he gave it to her to sign and asked for a little list of the muzhiks. It turned out that the lady landowner did not keep any records or lists, but knew almost everyone by heart; he straightaway had her dictate them to him. Some of the peasants amazed him a bit with their last names, and still more with their nicknames, so that each time, on hearing one, he would pause first and only then begin to write. He was especially struck by a certain Pyotr Saveliev Disrespect-Trough, so that he could not help saying: 'My, that's a long one!' Another had 'Cow's Brick' hitched to his name, still another turned out to be simply: Wheel, Ivan. As he finished writing, he drew in air slightly through his nose and sensed the enticing smell of something hot in butter.
'I humbly invite you to have a bite to eat,' said the mistress.
Chichikov turned around and saw the table already laden with mushrooms, pirozhki, savory dumplings, cheesecakes, pancakes thick and thin, open pies with all kinds of fillings: onion filling, poppy seed filling, cottage cheese filling, smelt filling, and who knows what else.
'Short-crust pie with eggs!' said the mistress.
Chichikov moved closer to the short-crust pie with eggs and, having straightaway eaten slightly more than half of it, praised it. And in fact the pie was tasty in itself, but after all the fussing and tricks with the old woman it seemed tastier still.
'And some pancakes?' said the mistress.
In response to which, Chichikov rolled three pancakes up together, dipped them in melted butter, sent them into his mouth, and wiped his fingers with a napkin. After repeating this three times or so, he asked the mistress to
