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Updated: May 7, 2025
LYUBOV GRIGORYEVNA, a substantial, buxom lady of forty who undertook matchmaking and many other matters of which it is usual to speak only in whispers, had come to see Stytchkin, the head guard, on a day when he was off duty.
You are after my own heart, and you suit me in your qualities. I am a practical, sober man, and if you like me . . . what could be better? Allow me to make you a proposal!" The matchmaker dropped a tear, laughed, and, in token of her consent, clinked glasses with Stytchkin.
The matchmaker drained her glass without winking. Stytchkin looked her over from head to foot in silence, then said: "Fifty roubles. . . . Why, that is six hundred roubles a year. . . . Please take some more. . . With such dividends, you know, Lyubov Grigoryevna, you would have no difficulty in making a match for yourself. . . ." "For myself," laughed the matchmaker, "I am an old woman."
Stytchkin, somewhat embarrassed, but, as always, grave, practical, and severe, was walking up and down the room, smoking a cigar and saying: "Very pleased to make your acquaintance. Semyon Ivanovitch recommended you on the ground that you may be able to assist me in a delicate and very important matter affecting the happiness of my life.
In view of your favourable disposition, allow me to enquire now how much you ask for your exertions in regard to a bride?" "I don't ask much. Give me twenty-five roubles and the stuff for a dress, as is usual, and I will say thank you . . . but for the dowry, that's a different account." Stytchkin folded his arms over his chest and fell to pondering in silence.
Stytchkin got up and walked about the room in excitement. "I don't want a young wife," said he. "I am a middle-aged man, and I want someone who . . . as it might be like you . . . staid and settled and a figure something like yours. . . ." "Goodness knows what you are saying . . ." giggled the matchmaker, hiding her crimson face in her kerchief. "There is no need to be long thinking about it.
One likes dark ladies, the other prefers fair ones." "You see, Lyubov Grigoryevna," said Stytchkin, sighing sedately, "I am a practical man and a man of character; for me beauty and external appearance generally take a secondary place, for, as you know yourself, beauty is neither bowl nor platter, and a pretty wife involves a great deal of anxiety.
Stytchkin began loudly blowing his nose, while the matchmaker turned crimson, and looking bashfully at him, asked: "And how much do you get, Nikolay Nikolayitch?" "I? Seventy-five roubles, besides tips. . . . Apart from that we make something out of candles and hares." "You go hunting, then?" "No. Passengers who travel without tickets are called hares with us." Another minute passed in silence.
"Not at all. . . . You have such a figure, and your face is plump and fair, and all the rest of it." The matchmaker was embarrassed. Stytchkin was also embarrassed and sat down beside her.
Stytchkin looked at the matchmaker in amazement and shrugged his shoulders. "H'm! . . . Do you call fifty roubles little?" he asked. "Of course it is little! In old days we sometimes made more than a hundred." "H'm! I should never have thought it was possible to earn such a sum by these jobs. Fifty roubles! It is not every man that earns as much! Pray drink your wine. . . ."
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