Chapter 20
Book 3, Chapter 6 of A Family of Noblemen by Mikhail Saltigraf-Shedrin. Translated by Avram Yarmolinsky, 1890-1975. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Expatriate in Bangor, Maine. Book 3, Family Accounts Settled, Chapter 6.
Irina Petrovna was already at the table, and Yevproxia was busy arranging the tea things. The old woman was silent and thoughtful, and looked as if she were ashamed of Potenka. In the customary way, Yudushka kissed her hand, and she made the sign of the cross over him. Then came the usual questions, whether everybody felt well and had had a good night's rest,
followed by the customary monosyllabic answers. Potenka's asking Irina Petrovna for money and awakening the memory of the curse had put her into a state of peculiar uneasiness. She was pursued by the thought, what if I threaten him with my curse? When she had heard that explanations in the study had begun, she had turned to Yevproxia
with the request, suppose, my dear, you go to the door quietly and listen to what they say. Yevproxia went to eavesdrop, but was so stupid she could understand nothing. Oh, they're just having a chat, she explained upon her return. Then Irina Petrovna could not hold out any longer, and went to the dining room where
the samovar had already been brought in. But the interview was nearing its end, and all she noted was that Potenka's voice was loud and angry, and poor free Vladimirich's replies were given in a nagging voice. He's nagging him, that's just it, nagging, ran in her head, I remember he used to nag that way.
But how is it I did not understand him then? At last, father and son appeared in the dining room. Potenka's face was red, and he was breathing heavily. His eyes were staring widely, his hair was disheveled, his forehead was covered with beads of perspiration.
Yudushka, on the contrary, entered pale and crossed. He wanted to appear indifferent, but in spite of all his efforts, his lower lip trembled. He could hardly utter the customary morning greetings to his mother dear. All took their places at the table. Potenka seated himself at some distance, leaned against the back of his chair, crossed his
legs, lighted a cigarette, and looked at his father ironically. You see, mother, the storm has abated, Yudushka began. Yesterday there was such an uproar, but God only had to will it, and here we have a nice, bright, quiet day. Am I right, mother dear?
I don't know. I haven't been out today. By the way, we are going to see our dear Gastov, continued Yudushka. I rose early this morning, looked out of the window. It was still and quiet outdoors, as if God's angel had flown by and in a moment allayed
the riot with his wings. But no one answered Yudushka's kindly words, yet Proxia sipped her tea from the saucer, blowing and puffing. Irina Petrovna looked into her cup and was silent. Petenka, swaying in his chair, continued to eye his father with an ironical, defiant
air, as if he had to exert great efforts to keep from bursting out laughing. Even if Petenka does not ride fast, he will reach the railway station toward night, Porfiry Vladimirich resumed. Our horses are not overworked. They will feed for a couple of hours at Muravyevo, and they will get him to the place in a jiffy.
Ah, Petka, you are a bad boy. Suppose you stay with us a while longer, really. We would enjoy your company and you would improve greatly in a week. But Petenka continued to sway in his chair and eye his father. Why do you stare at me, Yudushka flared up at last?
Do you see pictures on me? I am just looking at you waiting for what's coming next. No use waiting, my son. It will be as I said. I will not change my mind.
A minute of silence followed, after which a whisper could be distinctly heard, Yudushka. Porfiry Vladimirich undoubtedly heard it. He even turned pale, but he pretended the exclamation did not concern him. Ah, my dear little children, he said, I should like to caress and fondle you, but it seems it can't be done.
Ill luck. You run away from your parents, you've got bosom friends who are dearer to you than father and mother. Well, it can't be helped. One ponders a bit over it, then resigns oneself.
You are young folk, and youth, of course, prefers the company of youth to that of an old grouch. So I resign myself and don't complain. I only pray to our father in heaven, do thy will, O Lord. Murderer, Petenka whispered, but this time so distinctly that Irina Petrovna looked at
him in fright. Something passed before her eyes. It looked like the shadow of simple Simon. What do you mean? asked Yudushka, trembling with excitement.
Oh, just an acquaintance of mine. I see. Well, you'd better make that clear. Lord knows what's in your head. Maybe it is one of us that you style so.
Everybody became silent. The glasses of tea remained untouched. Yudushka leaned against the back of his chair, swaying nervously. Petenka, seeing that all hope was gone, had a sensation of deadly anguish, under the influence of which he was ready to go to any lengths.
But father and son looked at each other with an indescribable smile. Hardened though porphyry Vladimirich was, the minute was nearing when he would be unable to control himself. You'd better go while the going's good, he burst out finally. You'd better had.
I'm going. Then why wait? I see you're trying to pick a quarrel, and I don't want to quarrel with anybody. We live here quietly and in good order, without disputes. Your old grandmother is here.
You ought to have regard for her, at least. Well tell us why you came here. I told you why. If it's only for that, you are wasting your efforts. Go at once, my son.
Hey, who's there? Add the horses ready for the young master, and some fried chicken and caviar and other things. Eggs, I suppose. Wrap them up well in paper.
You'll take a bite at the station, my son, while they feed the horses. Godspeed. No, I am not going yet. I'm going to church first to have a memorial service performed for the murdered servant of God, Vladimir.
That is, for the suicide. No, for the murdered. Father and son stared at each other. It looked as if in a moment both would jump up. But Yudushka made a superhuman effort, and turning his chair faced the table again.
Wonderful, he said in a strained voice. Wonderful. Yes, for the murdered, Potenka persisted brutally. Who murdered him, Yudushka asked with curiosity, still hoping, apparently, that his son would come to his senses.
But Potenka, unperturbed, whipped out, You, I? Porfiry Vladimirich was astounded. It was a few moments before he came to himself. He rose hastily from his seat, faced the icon, and began to pray. You, you, you, Potenka repeated.
Well now, thank God I feel better after praying, said Yudushka, seating himself at table again. Just a minute, though. I, as your father, should not take you up on your talk, but we'll pursue the matter this time. Then you mean to say that I killed the Lodenka?
Yes you did. And I beg leave to differ. I consider he shot himself. At that time I was in Golovliovo and in St. Petersburg. So what could I have to do with it?
How could I kill him when he was seven hundred verse away? As if you don't understand. I don't understand. By the Lord I don't. And who left Velozha without a penny?
Who discontinued his allowances? Who? Stuff and nonsense. Why did he marry against his father's will? But you gave him your permission.
Who? I? What are you talking about? I never did anything of the kind. Oh, of course you acted as you always do.
Every one of your words has ten meanings. Go, guess the right one. I never gave my permission. He wrote to me, Papa, I want to marry Leda. You understand?
I want to. Not, I beg your permission. Well, I answered him, if you want to marry you can marry. I cannot stand in your way. That's all there was to it.
That's all there was to it, Potenka said jeeringly. And wasn't that giving your permission? That's exactly what it wasn't. What did I say? I said, I cannot stand in your way.
That's all. But whether I give my permission or not is a different question. He did not ask my permission. He simply wrote, Papa, I want to marry Leda. Well, and as to permission, he kept mum.
You want to marry? Well, my friend, may God be with you. Marry Leda or Fida, I cannot stand in your way. But you could leave him without a crust of bread. So why didn't you write this way?
I do not approve of your intention, and therefore, though I will not hinder you, I warn you that you cannot longer rely on financial aid from me. That at least would have been clear. No, I shall never permit myself to do such things, to make threats against a grown son, never.
I have a rule never to be in anybody's way. If you want to marry, marry. Well, and as to consequences, I am sorry. It was your business to foresee them yourself. That's why God gave you reason.
And as to me, brother, I don't like to thrust myself into other people's affairs. I not only keep from meddling myself, but I don't invite others to meddle in my affairs. I don't invite it. I don't. I don't.
I even forbid it. You hear me, you wicked, disrespectful son? I forbid it. Well, you may forbid it if you like, but you can't muzzle everybody. If at least he had repented, and if at least he had realized that he offended his father,
well, you committed a folly, say you are sorry, ask forgiveness. Forgive me, dear Papa, for the mortification I caused you, but he wouldn't. But he did write to you. He made it clear to you that he had nothing to live on, that he could not endure it any longer. That's not the kind of thing to write to a father.
From a father one asks pardon, that's all. He did so. He was so tortured that he begged forgiveness, too. He did everything he did. And even if he did, he was wrong.
You ask forgiveness once, you see your father does not forgive you, you ask again. Oh, you! At this, Potenka suddenly ceased swaying his chair, turned about, faced the table, and rested both elbows on it. And here I, too, he whispered.
His face gradually became disfigured. And here I, too, he repeated, and burst into hysterical sobbing. Whose fault? But Yudushka had no chance to finish his sermon. At that moment, something quite unexpected took place.
During their skirmish, the man had almost forgotten about Irina Petrovna, but she had not remained an indifferent spectator. On the contrary, you could tell at a glance that something quite unusual was taking place within her, and that the moment perhaps had arrived when the ruthless vision of her entire life appeared before her spiritual eye in a glaring light.
Her face livened up, her eyes widened and glittered, her lips moved as if they were struggling to utter some word and could not. Suddenly just at the moment when Potenka's bitter weeping resounded in the dining room, she rose heavily from her armchair, stretched her arms forward, and a loud wail broke out from her breast.
My curse upon you!
