menu_book Chapter 29

Book 5, Chapter 2A of A Family of Noblemen by Mikhail Saltikov-Shedrin. Translated by Avram Yarmolinsky, 1890-1975. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Expatriate in Bangor, Maine. Book 5, Forbidden Family Joys, Chapter 2A. Porfiry Vladimirich's hopes were not realized. First occurred the catastrophe with Potenka, then Irina Petrovna's death. And there was no possibility in sight of his extricating himself by means of some ugly machinations.

He could not dismiss Yevproxia for dissolute conduct because Irina Petrovna had carried the affair too far and made it too widely known. Nor was Ulita so very reliable. Dextrous woman though she was, yet if he put his trust in her he might have to deal with a coroner. For the first time in his life Yudushka seriously and sincerely regretted his loneliness. For the first time he realized vaguely that the people around him were not mere pawns to be played with. Why didn't she wait a while to die, Yudushka reproached his mother dear?

She should have fixed it all up quietly and with good sense and then as she pleased. If it's time to die you can't help it. I am sorry for the old woman. But if God wills it so, all our tears and the doctors and the cures and all of us are not before the power of God. The old woman lived long enough. She had her day, was herself a mistress all her life and left her children a gentry estate. She lived to old age. Well, that's enough.

And as usual his idle mind, not used to dwell on a matter presenting practical obstacles, skipped to the easier topic that gave occasion to endless unhampered verbiage. And to think how she died. Why her death was worthy of a saint, he lied to himself, not knowing though whether he lied or spoke the truth. Without ailment, without trouble, just so. She heaved a sigh and before we knew it she was no more. Oh mother dear, and her smile and the glow of her cheeks, her hands placed together as if she wanted to confer a blessing. She shut her eyes and goodbye. But in the very heat of his sentimental babblings something would suddenly prick him.

That filthy business again. Fie, fie. And really why didn't she wait a while? It was only a matter of a month or so and now look what she did. For some time he attempted to pretend ignorance and answered Ulita's inquiries just as he had answered his mother's. I don't know. I don't know anything. But Ulita, an impudent woman who had suddenly become conscious of her power, could not be dismissed like that.

Do I know? Have I brought this business on? She cut him short. And then he realized that from that moment on the happy combination of the role of adulterer with the role of the unconcerned observer of the consequences of his adultery had become quite impossible. Nearer and nearer came the disaster, inevitable, tangible. It pursued him relentlessly and what was worst of all, it paralyzed his idle mind.

He exerted all possible efforts to rid himself of the thought of the approaching calamity, to drown it in a torrent of idle words, but he succeeded only in part. He tried to hide behind the infallibility of the law of providence and, as was his custom, turned it into a ball of thread which he could wind and unwind without end. There was the parable of the hair falling from a man's head and the legend of the house built on sand.

But just at the moment when his idle thoughts were about to roll down into a kind of mysterious abyss, when the endless winding of the ball seemed quite assured, a single word suddenly jumped out from the ambush and broke the thread. Alas, that one word was adultery and designated an act of which Yudushka did not wish to confess himself guilty even to himself. When all his efforts to forget the disaster or to do away with it proved futile,

when he realized at last that he was caught, his soul became filled with anguish. He walked back and forth in the room thinking of nothing and he felt that something inside of him trembled and ached. It was a check that his idle mind felt for the first time. Up to now, wherever his idle and empty imagination carried him, it always found boundless space, space that gave room to all possible kinds of combinations.

Even the deaths of Velodka and Petka, even the death of Irina Petrovna had not baffled his flow of idle thoughts and words. Those were common, well-recognized situations met by well-recognized, well-established forms, requiems, funeral dinners and the like. All this he had done in strict accordance with the custom and thus vindicated himself, so to speak, before the laws of man and providence. But adultery, what was that? Why, that meant an arraignment of his entire life, the showing up of its inner sham.

Though he had formerly been known as a petty fogger, even as a bloodsucker, gossip had had so little legal background that he could safely retort, prove it. And now all of a sudden adulterer, a known convicted adulterer, he had not even resorted to measures so great had been his confidence in Irina Petrovna. He had not even worked up a story to cover the thing. And on a Lenten day at that, the shame of it.

In these inner talks with himself, in spite of their confusion, there was something like an awakening of conscience. But the question was whether Yudushka would continue along that path or whether his idle mind would even in this grave matter perform its usual function of finding a loophole through which he could crawl out and emerge unscathed. While Yudushka was thus smarting under his own mental vacuity,

Yevproxia was undergoing an unexpected inner change. Evidently, the anticipation of motherhood untied the mental fetters that had hitherto held her bound. Up to that time, she had been indifferent to everything and regarded Porfiry Vladimirovich as a master in relation to whom she was a mere subordinate. Now, for the first time, she grasped a definite idea.

It began to dawn on her that here was a state of affairs where she was the most important figure and where she could not be driven about with impunity. As a consequence, even her face, usually blank and stolid, became lighted up and intelligent. The death of Irina Petrovna had been the first fact in her semi-conscious life that produced a sobering effect upon her.

No matter how peculiar the attitude of the old mistress to Yevproxia's prospective motherhood was, still there were glimpses of sympathy in it and nothing of the disgusting evasiveness of Yudushka. So Yevproxia had begun to see a protector in Irina Petrovna, as if expecting that some kind of attack was being planned against her. The forebodings of that attack were all the more persistent since they were not illuminated by consciousness,

but merely filled the whole of her being with vague anxiety. Her mind was not vigorous enough to tell her definitely the point from which the attack would come and the form it would take, but her instincts had already been so aroused that the very sight of Yudushka filled her with an inexplicable fear. Yes, that's where it will come from, reverberated in the inner chambers of her soul.

From that coffin filled with dead dust, from that coffin she had so long been tending like a hireling, from that coffin which by some miracle had become the father and lord of her child. The feeling this thought awakened in her was akin to hatred and would inevitably have passed into hatred had it not been diverted by the sympathy and interest of Irina Petrovna, who by constant chatter never gave Yevproxia a chance to think.

But Irina Petrovna retired to Pogorelka and then vanished entirely. The feeling of anxiety and uneasiness in Yevproxia became still more intense. The stillness in which the Golovliovo manor became engulfed was broken only by a rustle announcing that Yudushka was stealing through the corridors, listening at the doors. Or sometimes some one of the servants would come running from the yard and bang the door of the maid's room.

But then stillness would again creep in from all sides. It was a dead stillness that filled Yevproxia's being with superstitions and anguish. And since she was nearing her time, she had not even the sleepy feeling to look forward to that came in the evening after a day of household chores. She tried once or twice to be affectionate with Porfiry Vladimirich and engage his kindly sympathies.

Her attempts only resulted in brief but mean scenes that reacted painfully even on her crude sensibilities. All that was left to her was to sit with her arms folded and think, that is, be alarmed. And as to the causes for alarm, they multiplied daily. The death of Irina Petrovna had untied Yudushka's hands and introduced into the Golovliovo manor a new element of tail-bearing, which thereafter became the one thing in which Yudushka's soul reveled.

Ulita was aware that Porfiry Vladimirich was afraid, and that with his idle, empty, perfidious character, fear bordered on hatred. Besides, she knew very well that he was incapable not only of attachment, but even of simple pity. And he kept Yevproxia only because, thanks to her, his daily life flowed on in an undeviating rut. Equipped with these simple data, Ulita was in a position to nurse the feeling of hatred

that arose in Yudushka whenever he was reminded of the coming disaster. Soon, Yevproxia became entangled in a web of gossip. Ulita, every now and then, reported to the master. In one instance, she complained about the wasteful disposal of house provisions. I am afraid, master, your stuff is spent a bit too fast.

I went to the cellar a while ago to get cured beef. I remembered a new tub had been begun not long ago, and would you believe it? I'd look into the tub and find only two or three slices at the bottom. Is it possible, said Porfiry Vladimirich, staring at her? If I had not seen it myself, I shouldn't have believed it either.

It's surprising what heaps of stuff are used up. Butter, barley, pickles, everything. Other folk feed their servants on gruel and goose fat, but our servants must have it with butter and sweet butter at that. Is that so, exclaimed Porfiry Vladimirich, almost frightened?

At another time, she entered casually and reported about the master's linen. Master, I think you ought to stop Yevproxia, really. Of course, she is a girl, inexperienced. But still, take the linen, for instance. She wasted piles of it on bedsheets and swaddling clothes.

And it's all fine linen, you know. Porfiry Vladimirich merely cast a fiery glance, but the whole of his empty being was thrown into convulsions by her report. Of course, she cares for her infant, continued Ulita, in a mellifluous voice. She thinks, Lord knows what, a prince is going to be born.

And I think that he, I mean the infant, could well sleep on fustian bedding with such a mother. At times, she simply teased Yudushka. Do you know, master, what I was going to ask you, she began? What are you going to do about the infant? Are you going to make him your son, or will you, like other folk, put him in the family asylum?

At this, Porfiry Vladimirich flashed such a fierce glance at her that she was instantly silenced. And amidst the hatred that was rising from every corner, the moment drew nearer and nearer when the appearance of a tiny, crying servant of God would in one way or another bring order into the moral chaos of the Golovliovo manor and would increase the number of the servants of God that inhabit this universe.

It was seven o'clock in the evening. Porfiry Vladimirich had had his after-dinner nap and was in his study filling up sheets of paper with columns of figures. He was busy with the following problem. How much money would he now have had if his dear mother, Irina Petrovna,

had not appropriated the 100 ruble note his grandfather had given him on the day of his birth, but had placed it in the bank to the credit of the minor Porfiry? It came out not much, only 800 rubles in notes. It isn't a lot of money, let's say, Yudushka mused idly, but still it's good to know that you have it for a rainy day.

Any time you need it, you can just go and get it. You don't have to bow to anybody or ask favors. Just take your own money given to you by your grandfather. Oh, mother dear, how could you have acted so rashly? Porfiry Vladimirich had allayed the fears that it only recently paralyzed his capacity

for thinking idle nonsense. The glimmerings of conscience awakened by the difficult position in which yet Proxia's pregnancy put him, and by the sudden death of Irina Petrovna little by little faded away. His idle mind had done its work,

and Yudushka had finally succeeded by great effort, it is true, in drowning all thought of the impending disaster in his bottomless pit of verbiage. One could not say he had made up his mind consciously, but rather intuitively. It was instinct in him that made him revert to his favorite formula, I don't know anything, I allow nothing, I forbid everything,

which he applied in every difficulty. On this occasion, too, it put an end to the inner turbulence that had briefly agitated him. Now, this matter of the coming birth was of no concern to him, and his face assumed an indifferent, impenetrable look.

He almost ignored Yevproxia, not even calling her by name. If ever he did inquire about her, he would say, so about that woman, still sick? He proved to be so strong that even Ulita, who had been through the school of serfdom

and had learned quite a lot about reading people's minds, realized that to battle with a man who had no scruples and who would go to any lengths was quite impossible. The Golovliovo manor was plunged in darkness. Only Yudushka's study and the side room occupied by Yevproxia

were illuminated by a glimmering light. Stillness reigned in Yudushka's rooms, broken only by the rattle of the beads on the counting board and the faint squeak of Yudushka's pencil. Suddenly, in the dead stillness, he heard a distant but piercing groan.

Yudushka trembled, his lips quivered, his pencil jerked, 120 rubles plus 12 rubles and 10 kopecks, whispered Porfiry Vladimirich, endeavoring to stifle the unpleasant sensation produced by the groan.

But the groans were now coming with increasing frequency. Finally, they got to be annoying. It became so difficult for him to work that he left the desk. First he paced back and forth, trying not to hear, but little by little curiosity gained the upper hand.

He opened the door cautiously, put his head into the darkness of the adjacent room and listened in an attitude of watchful expectation. My, I think I forgot to light the lamp before the icon of the Holy Virgin,

the assuager of our sorrows flashed through his mind. Suddenly he heard quick footsteps in the corridor and he darted back into his study, cautiously closing the door and mincing on tiptoe to the icon. A moment later he was already in proper form,

so that when the door opened wide and Ulita rushed into the room, she found him in a pose of prayer with folded hands. I am afraid, yet Proxia's life is in danger, said Ulita,

not hesitating to interrupt Yudushka's prayers. But Porfiry Vladimirich did not even turn his face. He began to move his lips faster than before and instead of answering waved his hand in the air as if to chase away an annoying fly.

What's the use of waving your hand I say Yevproxia is doing poorly. She may die any moment, Ulita insisted gruffly. This time Yudushka turned toward her, but his face was as calm and unctuous

as if he had just been in communion with the deity and had cast off all earthly cares and did not even understand what would make people disturb him. Though it's sinful to chide after prayer,

still as a human being I cannot keep from complaining. How many times have I asked you not to disturb me when I say my prayers? He said in a voice befitting his worshipful mood and permitting himself only a shake of his head

as a sign of Christian reproach. Well, what has happened? What could have happened? Yevproxia is in labor and cannot give birth as if you haven't heard it before.

Oh, you, go and look at her at least. What is there to look at? Am I a doctor? Can I give her advice or what? I don't know anything.

I don't know any of your business. I know there is a sick woman in the house, but why she is sick and what her sickness is, that I confess I never had the curiosity to find out. Send for the priest if the patient is in danger.

That's one piece of advice I can give you. Send for the priest, pray with him, light the icon lamps, and then I'll have tea with the parson. Poor free Vladimirich was glad

that he expressed himself so well in this most decisive moment. He looked at Ulita firmly as if he meant to say, well, refute me if you can. Even she was baffled by his equanimity.

Suppose you do come and take a look, she repeated. I will not go because I have nothing to do there. If it were business, I would go without being cold. If I have to go five verse on business, I'll go five verse.

And if ten verse, I'll go ten. It may be in wind and storm, but I'll go. For I know there is business to attend to, and I've got to go whether I want to or not. Ulita thought she was asleep and that in her sleep

she saw Satan himself standing before her and discoursing. To send for the priest, that's business. A prayer. Do you know what the scriptures say about a prayer? A prayer cures the afflicted.

That's what it says. So see to it. Send for the priest, pray together, and I too will pray in the meantime. You will pray there in the icon lamps

and I will pray there in the icon room and I will invoke God's mercy here in my study. By joint effort, you on one side, I on the other, we may after all succeed in making our prayers heard in heaven. The priest was sent for, but before he came,

yet Proxia in agony delivered herself of the child. From the hurried steps and banging doors, poor free Vladimirich understood that something decisive had happened. And indeed, in a few minutes, hurried steps were heard in the corridor and Ulita rushed in, holding a tiny creature wrapped up in linen.