A family of noblemen

by Mikhail Evgrafovich Saltykov

"Oh, sir, will you come to me?"

"I shall not. That was merely an example. The world has seen greater reverses. There was Napoleon, about whom the newspapers have written so much. That's how it is, brother. So how much corn do you want?"

"A measure, if you please."

"Well, I can let you have a measure. Only let me warn you, corn is tremendously dear nowadays. This is what we are going to do: I shall give you six chetveriks, and in eight months you will deliver a measure to me. I don't take any interest, but an additional chetverik or two——"

Yudushka's offer makes Foka gasp. For some time he says nothing, only shrugs his shoulders. "Won't that be a bit too much, sir?" he says at last, evidently alarmed.

"If it's too much, go to others. You see, my friend, I am not forcing you, I am only making you an offer in a friendly way. I didn't send for you, did I? You came here yourself. You came to ask for something and that's my answer. Isn't it so, friend?"

"Yes, quite so, but don't you think it's too much interest?"

"Ah, ah, ah! And I thought you were a just, respectable peasant. Well, you will say to me, what am I going to live on? How will I meet my expenses? Do you know what expenses I have? My dear man, there is no end to them. I've got to pay here, and meet my obligations there, and produce cash in a third place. I've got to satisfy every one. All are after Porfiry Vladimirych, all ask something of him, and I've got to get along with them as best I can. And then again, if I sold the corn to the dealer, I should get money at once. And money, my friend, is a sacred thing. With money I can buy securities, put them in a safe place, and draw interest. No worry, you know, of any kind, no trouble at all. Just clip the coupon and get your money. But with the corn you've got to go carefully about it, and look after it, and all that. A lot of it will dry up, and be wasted, and the mice will eat it up. No, brother, money is the best thing—nothing like it! It would be high time for me to become sensible and turn everything into money and leave you folks."

"Oh, Porfiry Vladimirych, stay with us."

"Well, my dear man, I should like to, but I can't stand it any longer. If I had the strength of my youth, of course I would stay with you and keep at it. But no, it's time to rest. I will go to the Trinity Monastery, I will find shelter under the wing of the saints, and not a soul will hear from me. And how good I'll feel! All will be peaceful and quiet and honest; no noise, no quarrels—like in Heaven."