menu_book Chapter 21

Book 4, Chapter 1 of A Family of Noblemen by Mikhail Saltikov-Shedrin. Translated by Avram Yarmolinsky, 1890 to 1975. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by ex-patriot in Bangor, Maine. Book 4, The Good Little Niece, Chapter 1. Yudushka did not give the money to Patenka, though kind father that he was. He gave orders just before the moment of departure for some chicken,

veal, and pie to be placed in the carriage. Then he went out on the porch in the chilling wind to see his son off and inquired whether Patenka was seated comfortably and whether he had wrapped his feet up well. Re-entering the house, he stood at the window in the dining room a long time, making the sign of the cross and sending his blessings after the vehicle that was carrying Patenka

away. In a word, he performed the farewell ceremony fittingly as becomes good kinsfolk. Oh, Petka, Petka, he said, you are a bad, bad son. Look at the mischief you have done. My, my, my. And what could have been better than to live on quietly and peacefully, nicely and easily with father and old granny? But no, crash, bang, I am my own master. I've got a head on my shoulders, too. Well, there's your head.

My, what trouble. Not a muscle quivered in his wooden face. Not a note in his voice sounded like an appeal to a prodigal son. But then there was nobody to hear his words, for Irina Petrovna was the only one beside himself in the room. And as a result of the shock she had just gone through, she seemed to have lost all vitality and sat near the samovar, her mouth open, looking straight

ahead without hearing anything, without a single thought in her mind. Then life flowed on as usual, full of idle bustle and babbling. Contrary to Petka's expectations, Porfiry Vladimirich took the maternal curse quite coolly and did not recede a hair's breadth from the decision that had come from his head full-formed, as it were. It is true he turned slightly pale and rushed toward

his mother with a cry. Mother, dear, darling, Lord be with you. Be calm, dear. God is merciful. All will be well. But his words were expressive of alarm for her rather than for himself. Her act had been so unexpected that Yudushka even forgot to pretend to be frightened. Only last night his mother had been affectionate, had jested, and

played fool with Yevproxia. Evidently then it had all happened in a moment of sudden anger, and there was nothing premeditated, nothing real about it all. Indeed, he had been very much afraid of his mother's curse, but he had pictured it quite differently. In his idle mind he had built an elaborate staging for the occasion. Icons, burning candles, his mother standing in the center of the room

terrible with a darkened face as she hurled the curse, then thunder, candles going out, the veil tearing asunder, darkness covering the earth and above amidst the clouds, the wrathful countenance of Jehovah, illumined by a flash of lightning. But nothing of the sort had happened, so his mother had simply done something rash and silly. And she had had no reason to curse him in

earnest because of late there had been no cause for quarreling. Many changes had occurred since Yudushka expressed his doubt as to whether a certain coach belonged to his mother dear. Yudushka admitted to himself that then he had been wrong and deserved damnation. Irina Petrovna had become more submissive and Porfiry Vladimirich had but one thought in his head how to placate his mother

dear. The old woman is doing poorly, my how poorly. At times she even raves, he consoles himself. The darling sits down to play fool and before you know it she dozes off. Injustice to Yudushka, it must be admitted that his mother's decrepitude gave him some alarm. Even he was not quite ready for her death, had not made any plans, had had no time to make estimates. How much capital mother

had when she left Dubrovino, what that capital might bring in annually, how much of the interest she had spent and how much she had added to the principal. In a word he had not gone through an infinity of useless trifles without which he always felt as if he were caught unawares. The old woman is hale and hearty he would muse at times. Still she won't spend it all, impossible. When she shared

us out she had a neat sum. Maybe she transferred some to the orphans. Oh the old woman is rich, yes she is. But these musings were not so very serious and vanished without leaving an impress on his mind. The massive daily trivialities was already great and there was as yet no urgent need to augment them by the addition of new trivialities. Porfiry Vladimirich kept putting the matter off

and did not realize it was time to begin until after the damnation scene. The catastrophe came sooner than he expected. On the second day after Potenka's departure, Irina Petrovna left for Pogorelka and never again visited Golovliovo. She spent a month in total solitude, keeping to her room and scarcely exchanging a word with her servants. From force of habit she rose

early in the morning, sat down at her desk and began to play patience. But hardly ever brought the game to an end and sat in frozen rigidity with her glazed eyes fixed on the window. What she thought about or whether she thought at all, even the keenest judge of the deep lying mysteries of the human soul could not have divine. She seemed to be trying to recollect something, perhaps how she

came to be within those walls and could not. Alarmed by her mistress's silence, Afimushka would appear in the room, arrange the pillows lining her easy chair and try to open a conversation on this or that, but received only impatient monosyllabic replies. Once or twice Porfiry Vladimirich came to Pogorelka, invited Mother dear to Golovliovo, tried to kindle her imagination with a

prospect of mushrooms, German carp and the other allurements of Golovliovo, but his overtures evoke nothing but an enigmatic smile. One morning she tried to leave her bed as usual but could not, though she felt no particular pain and nothing. She took it apparently as a matter of course without any sign of alarm. The very day before she had been sitting at the table and even walked,

though with difficulty, and now she was in bed feeling indisposed. It was even more comfortable. But Afimushka became thoroughly frightened and without the mistress's knowledge sent a messenger to Porfiry Vladimirich. Yudushka came early the next morning. Irina Petrovna was considerably worse. He put the servants through a cross-examination as to what Mother had eaten and whether she had not

overeaten. But Irina Petrovna had eaten almost nothing for a whole month and had refused all food the previous day. Yudushka expressed his grief, waved his hands, and like a good son warmed himself at the oven in the maid's room so that he would not bring the cold into the patient's room. At the same time he began to give orders and make arrangements. He had an extraordinary keenness for

senting death. He made inquiries as to whether the priest was home and arranged that in case of emergency he should be sent for at once. He informed himself where Mother's chest with her papers was, whether it was locked, and having satisfied himself concerning the state of things, he called in the cook and ordered dinner for himself.

I need but little, he said. Have you got a chicken? Well, prepare some chicken soup. If you have some cured beef, get a bit of cured beef ready. Then something fried and I'll have enough. Irina Petrovna lay prostrate on her back with her mouth open, breathing heavily. Her eyes were staring wide, one hand projected from under the quilt of hair as fur and hung stiff. She was evidently

alive to the commotion incident upon her son's arrival, and perhaps his orders even reached her ears. The lowered window shades put the room in twilight. The wicks were flickering there last at the bottom of the icon lamps and sputtered audibly at contact with the water. The air was close and fetid, unbearably suffocating. From the overheated stoves the sickening smell of the icon lamps

and the breath of illness. Porfiry Vladimirich in his felt boots glided to his mother's bed like a snake. His tall lean figure wrapped in twilight swayed uncannily. Irina Petrovna, with a look half of surprise and half of fright, followed his movements and huddled under her quilt. It is I, mother dear, he said. What's the matter with you? You are all out of gear today. My, my, my. No wonder I

could not sleep all night. Something seemed to urge me on. Let's go and see, I thought, how our Pogorelka friends are getting along. I got up in the morning, hitched a couple of horses to the pony cart, and here I am. Porfiry Vladimirich tittered affably, but Irina Petrovna did not answer and drew herself together in a closer coil under her quilt. Well, God is merciful, mother dear, continued

Yudushka. The main thing is to stand up for yourself. Don't put any stock in the ailment. Get up and take a walk through the room like a sound, hail person. You see, just like this. Porfiry Vladimirich rose from his seat and demonstrated how sound, hail persons walk. Oh, just a moment. I'll raise the window shade and take a good look at you. Oh, but you are first rate, my darling. Just pluck up

some courage, say your prayers, doll up, get into your Sunday best, and you'll be ready for a dance. There, I have brought you some jolly good holy water. Just taste some. Porfiry Vladimirich took a flask out of his pocket, found a wine glass on the table, filled it, and gave it to the patient. Irina Petrovna made an effort to lift her head, but in vain. I wish the orphans were here, she moaned.

Well, much need you have of the orphans here. Oh, mother, mother, how is it all of a sudden you... Really? Just a little bad turn, and at once you are ready to give up the ship. We'll attend to it all. We'll send a special messenger to the orphans, and we'll do everything else in due time. Now, what's the hurry, really? We are going to live yet. Yes, indeed we are. And we'll have a fine time of it, too.

Wait till summer is here. Will both of us go to the woods to pick mushrooms and raspberries and nice juicy black currants? Or else we'll go to Dubrovino to catch German carp. We'll bring out the horse and carriage. Get into it, and one, two, three. There we go. Nicely and easily. I wish the orphans were here, repeated Irina Petrovna in anguish. We'll bring the orphans, too. Give us time. We'll call

them together, all of them. We'll all be here and sit by you. You will be the brood hen and we'll be your chicks. We'll have it all if you behave. Now, you are a naughty girl because you went and took sick. That's the kind of mischief you're up to. My, my. Instead of being good and serving as an example for others, look what you're doing. That's bad, my dear. Very bad. But no matter how hard

Porfiry Vladimirich tried to cheer up his mother, dear, with banter, her strength waned from hour to hour. A messenger was dispatched to town to fetch a doctor, and since the patient persisted in moaning and calling the orphans, Yudushka in his own hand wrote a letter to Aninka and Lubinka in which he compared his and their conduct, called himself a Christian and them ungrateful. At night the doctor

arrived, but it was too late. Irina Petrovna's fate was sealed. At about four o'clock in the morning the death agony set in, and at six Porfiry Vladimirich was kneeling at his mother's bed wailing, Mother dear, my friend, give me your blessing. But Irina Petrovna did not hear him. Her wide open eyes stared dimly into space as if she were trying to understand something and could not.

Yudushka too did not understand. He did not understand that the yawning grave was to carry off the last creature that linked him to the living world. With his usual bustle he delved into the mass of trifles and details that were incident upon the ceremonial of burial. He had requiem chanted, ordered memorial masses for the future, discussed matters with the priest, hurried from room to room

with his shambling gait. Every now and then he peeped into the dining room where the deceased lay, crossed himself, lifted his hands heavenward, and late at night stole quietly to the door to listen to the sexton's monotonous reading of the Psalms. He was pleasantly surprised that his expenses upon the occasions would be very slight, for Irina Petrovna long before her death had put

away a sum of money for her burial and itemized in detail the various expenditures. Having buried his mother, Porphyry Vladimirich at once began to familiarize himself with her effects. Examining the papers he found about a dozen various wills. In one of them she called him undutiful, but all of them had been written when Irina Petrovna was still the domineering despotic mistress

and were incomplete in the form of tentative drafts. So Yudushka was quite pleased that he had no need to play foul in order to declare himself the sole legitimate heir to his mother's property. The latter consisted of a capital of 15,000 rubles and of a scanty movable estate which included the famous coach that had nearly become the cause of dissension between mother and son. Irina

Petrovna kept her own accounts quite separate and distinct from those of her wards so that one could see at a glance what belonged to her and what to the orphans. Yudushka lost no time in declaring himself heir at the proper legal places. He sealed the papers bearing on the guardianship, gave the servants his mother's scanty wardrobe, and sent the coach and two cows to

Golovliovo which were placed in the inventory under the heading mine. Then he had the last requiem performed and went his way. Wait for the owners, he told the people gathered in the hallway to see him off. If they come they'll be welcome. If they don't, just as they please. For my part, I did all I could. I straightened out the guardianship accounts and hid nothing. Everything was

done in plain view in front of everybody. The money that mother left belongs to me legally. The coach and the two cows that I sent to Golovliovo are mine by law. Maybe some of my property is left here. However, I won't insist on it. God himself commands us to give to orphans. I am sorry to have lost mother. She was a good old woman, a kindly soul. Oh mother dear, it was not right of you

darling to have left us poor orphans. But if it had pleased God to take you, it befits us to submit to his holy will. May at least your soul rejoice in heaven. And as for us, well, we are not to be considered. The first death was soon followed by another. Yadushka's attitude toward his son's fate was quite puzzling. Since he did not receive newspapers and was not in correspondence with anybody,

he could not learn anything of the trial in which Patanka figured. And he hardly wished to. Above all things, he shunned disturbance of every kind. He was buried up to his ears in a swamp of petty details, all centering around the welfare and preservation of his precious self. There are many such people in this world. They live apart from the rest of humanity, having neither the desire nor the knowledge

to identify themselves with a cause, and bursting in the end like so many soap bubbles. They have no ties of friendship, for friendship presupposes the existence of common interests. Nor do they have any business connections. For thirty years at a stretch, Porfiry Vladimirich had marked time in a government office. Then, one fine day, he disappeared and no one noticed the fact. He learned of his son's

fate after his domestics had. But even then, he feigned ignorance, so that when Yevproxia once tried to mention Patanka, he waved her off and said, No, no, no. I don't know. I did not hear anything, and I don't want to hear anything. I don't want to know a thing about his dirty affairs. But finally, he did learn about Patanka. He received a letter from him saying he was about to

leave for one of the remote provinces, and asking his father to continue to send him an allowance in his new position. The whole of the next day, Porfiry Vladimirich was in a state of visible perplexity. He darted from room to room, peeped into the oratory, crossed himself and sighed. But toward evening, he plucked up courage and wrote the following letter. My criminal son, Pyotr,

As a faithful and law-abiding subject, I should not even answer your letter. But as a father given to human weaknesses, I cannot from a sense of compassion refuse good advice to a child who, through his own fault, plunged himself into a whirlpool of evil. Here, in short, is my opinion on the subject. The punishment that has been meted out to you is severe, but you quite deserve it. That is the

first and most important consideration that should always accompany you in your new life from now on. All your other vagaries and even the memory thereof you must forget. For in your present situation, all this will only tend to irritate you and urge you on to impious complaint. You have already tasted of the bitter fruits of haughtiness of spirit. Try now to taste of the fruits of

humility, all the more so since there is nothing else left for you in the future. Do not complain of the punishment, for the authorities do not even punish you, but only provide means for your correction. To be grateful for this, and to endeavor to make amends for what you did, that is what you must incessantly bear in mind, and not the luxurious frittering away of time, which I myself, by

the way, never did, although I was never under indictment. So follow this prudent advice of mine and turn over a new leaf, satisfied with what the authorities in their kindness will deem it necessary to allot to you. I, for my part, will pray the giver of all things good to grant you firmness and humility. Even on the very day on which I write these lines, I have been to church and offered up

fervent prayers for you, and now I bless you for the new journey and remain your indignant but still loving father, Porfiry Goloflyov. It is uncertain whether the letter ever reached Potenka, but no more than a month after it was sent, Porfiry Vladimirich was officially notified that his son, while on his way to the place of exile, had fallen ill and died in a hospital. Yudushka remained

alone, but at first did not realize that this new loss had made his life an absolute void. The realization came soon after the death of Irina Petrovna, when he was all absorbed in reckoning and figuring. He read every paper of the deceased, took into account every copac, traced the relation of this copac to the copacs of the guardianship, not wishing, as he put it, either to acquire

another's or to lose his own. Amidst this bustle, the question never once arose in his mind, to what end was he doing all this, and who was to enjoy the fruits of his busy hoarding? From morning to night he bent over his desk, musing and criticizing the arrangements of the deceased. Engrossed in these cares, he began, little by little, to neglect the bookkeeping of his own estate. The manor

fell into profound silence. The domestics, who had always preferred the abandoned the house almost entirely, and when in the master's rooms would walk on tiptoe and speak in a whisper, there was an air of desertion and death about the place and about the man, something eerie. The gloom enveloping Yudushka was to grow denser every day. End of book four, chapter one, recording by expatriate in

Bangor, Maine. you