Chapter 33
Book 6, 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 ex-patriot in Bangor, Maine. Book 6, The Deserted Manor House, Chapter 2A. One morning, when Porfiry Vladimirovich was sitting at tea, he was unpleasantly surprised.
He was discharging masses of verbal pus, while Yevproxia, with a saucer of tea in her hand and a piece of sugar between her teeth, was listening in silence, snorting from time to time. Warm, fresh-baked bread had been served, and he had just begun to develop a theory of his own, to the effect that there are two kinds of bread, visible bread which we eat and
thereby sustain our bodies, and the invisible, spiritual bread of which we partake for the good of our soul. Suddenly, Yevproxia broke in upon his discourse, most unceremoniously. People say Pala-Gayushka lives so well at Mazelina she began, turning her entire body round to the window and swinging her crossed feet with impudent nonchalance.
Yudushka was somewhat startled by the unexpected remark, but attributed no peculiar importance to it. In case we don't eat visible bread for a long time, he went on, we feel bodily hunger, and if we don't partake of the spiritual bread for some length of time, I say, Pala-Gayushka certainly lives well at Mazelina, Yevproxia interrupted again.
Porfiry Vladimirovich, somewhat startled, looked at her in amazement, but refrained from scolding, evidently smelling a rat. Pala-Gayushka has a fine life, let her, he replied meekly. Her master, Yevproxia kept on provokingly, makes it nice and easy for her. He does not compel her to work and dresses her in silk.
Because amazement grew, Yevproxia's words were so preposterous that he was taken completely by surprise. A different dress every day, one today, one tomorrow, and another for holidays. She drives to church in a four-horse carriage. She goes first and the master follows.
When the priest sees her carriage, he has the bells rung. Then she sits in her own room. If her master wishes to spend some time with her, she receives him in her room. And her maid entertains her, or she does bead embroidery. Well, one of it, asked Porfiry Vladimirovich, at last coming to his senses.
I was just telling what a pleasant life Pala-Gayushka leads. And you, is your life worse? My, my, aren't you insatiable? Had Yevproxia left his remark unanswered, Porfiry Vladimirovich would have belched forth a torrent of empty words to drown her foolish hints.
He would have resumed his twaddle, but apparently Yevproxia had no intention of holding her tongue. I can't say that, she snapped back. My life is not a sad one. Thank goodness I don't wear tic.
Last year you bought me two calico dresses and paid five rubles for each. How generous. Oh, and how about the woolen dress? And for whom was a shawl bought lately? My, my.
Instead of answering, Yevproxia placed her elbows on the table and flashed on Yudushka a side glance, brimming over with such deep contempt that, unaccustomed to such looks, he was overcome with something like dread. Do you know how the Lord punishes ingratitude? He mumbled feebly, hoping the reference to God would bring the woman to her senses.
But his remark did not placate the mutineer. She cut him short at once. Don't talk me blind, she exclaimed, and don't drag in God. I'm not a baby. Enough.
I've had enough of your tyranny. Porfiry Vladimirich grew silent. His glass of tea stood untouched. His face grew pale, his lips trembled, as if trying vainly to curl up into a grin. These are Aninka's tricks, he said finally, though without a clear perception of what
he was saying. It's she, the snake, who has incited you. What tricks do you mean? I mean the way you are talking to me. She, she taught you.
No one else, he foamed in a rage. Give her silk dresses. The impudence. Do you know, you shameless creature, who in your position wears silk dresses? Tell me and I will know.
The most, the most dissolute ones. They are the only ones who wear silk dresses. But yet Proxia was not impressed. On the contrary, she answered him back with saucy arguments. I don't know why you call them dissolute.
Everybody knows it's the masters that insist upon it. If a master seduces one of us, well, she lives with him. You and I are not so saintly either. We are doing the same as the mausoleum master and his queen. Oh, you, fie, fie for shame.
Yudushka stared at his rebellious companion in utter consternation. A flow of empty words came tripping to his tongue. But for the first time in his life he felt a vague suspicion that there are occasions when even talk is useless. Well, my friend, I see there's no use talking to you today, he said, rising from the table.
Neither today nor tomorrow, never. No more of your tyranny. I've listened to you enough. Now it's time for you to listen to me. Porphyry Vladimirich made a movement as if to throw himself at her with clenched fists.
But she protruded her chest with such determination that he lost heart. He turned his face to the icon, lifted up his hands prayerfully, mumbled a prayer, and trudged slowly away into his room. The whole day he felt uneasy. He had no definite fears for the future, but the feeling that something had broken in upon
his well-ordered life and had passed unpunished greatly upset him. He did not go to dinner, pleading ill health, and in a meek, feeble voice asked that his food be brought into his room. In the evening after tea, which passed in silence for the first time in his life, he rose as was his habit to say his prayers.
In vain did his lips seek to whisper the customary words. His agitated mind refused to follow the prayer. A persistent, enervating anxiety pervaded his being, and he involuntarily strained his ear to catch the dying echoes of the day, which were lingering in the various corners of the vast manor house.
Finally, when even the yawning of the people could be heard no more, and the house was plunged in the profoundest quiet, he could not hold out any longer. Stealing noiselessly along the corridor, he went to Yevproxia's room and put his ear to the door to listen. She was alone, and Yudushka heard her yawning and saying, Lord, Savior, Holy Virgin, as
she scratched her back. Porfiry Vladimirich tried the knob, but the door was locked. Yevproxia, darling, are you there, he called? Yes, but not for you, she snapped, so rudely that he immediately retreated to his room. The next morning there was another conversation.
Yevproxia intentionally selected morning tea for launching her attacks on Porfiry Vladimirich. She felt instinctively that a spoiled morning would fill the entire day with anxiety and pain. I'd like to see how some people live, she began, in a rather enigmatic manner. Yudushka changed countenance.
Its beginning flashed through his mind, but he held his tongue and waited for what would come next. It's fine to live with a handsome young friend, upon my word. You walk about in the rooms and look at each other, not a crossword exchanged. My darling, in my heart, that's your whole conversation, lovely and noble.
The subject was peculiarly hateful to Porfiry Vladimirich. Although of necessity he tolerated adultery within strict limits, he nevertheless considered love-making a diabolical temptation. This time, however, he restrained himself, all the more so because he wanted his tea. The teapot had been boiling on the samovar for quite some time, but Yevproxia seemed
to have forgotten about filling the glasses. Of course, many of us women are foolish, she went on, impudently swinging in her chair and drumming on the table with her fingers. Some are so silly that they are ready to do anything for a calico dress. Others give themselves away for nothing at all.
Cider, you said, drink as much as you please, a fine thing to seduce a woman with. Is it from interest alone that Yudushka risked a timid remark, watching the teapot from which steam had begun to escape? Who says from interest alone? Is it I who am a selfish woman, cried Yevproxia, heatedly, suddenly shifting the conversation?
Do you mean to reproach me for the bread I eat? I don't reproach you. I only said that not from interest alone. Do people, I said, talk but talk sensibly, the idea, I serve from interest, kindly permit me to ask you what particular advantage I have derived except cider and gherkins.
Well cider and gherkins are not the only things, ventured Yudushka, unable to restrain himself. What else have I gutten? Let me hear, let me hear. Who sends four sacks of flour to your parents every month? Four sacks.
What else? Groats, hemp seed oil, and other things. So you are begrudging my poor parents the wretched groats and oil you send them? Oh, you. I am not begrudging them, it's you.
Now you are accusing me. I can't eat a crust of bread without being reproached for it, and it's I who am blamed for everything. Yevproxia could hold out no longer and burst into tears. Meanwhile, the tea kept on boiling so that poor free Vladimirich became seriously alarmed.
So he suppressed his growing temper, seated himself beside Yevproxia, and patted her on her back. Well, well, all right, pour the tea. What is all this crying for? Yevproxia emitted a few more sobs, pouted, and looked into space with her dull eyes.
You have just been speaking of young fellows, he went on, trying to lend his voice as caressing a ring as possible. Well, after all, I am not so old, am I? The idea. Leave me alone.
Come, come. I, do you know, when I served in St. Petersburg, our director wanted to give me his daughter in marriage. Must have been an old maid or a cripple. No, she was quite a presentable young lady, and how she sang, how she sang.
Maybe she sang well, but you accompanied her badly, she retorted. No, I, poor free Vladimirich was completely put out. He was ready to act against his conscience and show that he, too, was skilled in the art of lovemaking. So he began to rock his body rather clumsily and went so far as to make an attempt to embrace
Yevproxia around her waist. But she drew back firmly from his outstretched arms and cried out angrily, do me a favor and leave me, you goblin, else I'll scald you with this boiling water. And I don't want your tea, I don't want anything. The idea, to reproach me for the piece of bread I eat, I'll go away from here, by Jesus
I will. She banged the door and ran out, leaving poor free Vladimirich alone in the dining room. Yudushka was completely puzzled. He began to pour the tea himself, but his hands trembled so violently that he had to call a servant to his assistance.
No, this is impossible. I must think up something, arrange matters, he whispered, pacing up and down the dining room in excitement. But he turned out to be quite unable to think up something or to arrange matters. His mind was so accustomed to leaping unrestrainedly from one fantastic subject to another that
the simplest problem of work-a-day reality threw him off his balance. No sooner did he make an effort to concentrate than a swarm of feudal trifles attacked him from all sides and shut actuality out from his consideration. A strange stupor, a kind of mental and moral anemia, possessed his being. He was constantly lured away from the hard realities of life to the pleasant softness
of phantoms, which he could shift and rearrange at will and without any hindrance whatever. He spent the entire day in solitude, for Yevproxia did not make her appearance at dinner or at evening tea. She stayed at the priest the entire time and returned late in the evening. Yevproxia's distress was extreme.
He could not apply himself to any task, even lost his wanted interest in trifles. One irrepressible thought tormented him, I must somehow arrange matters, I must. He could not engage in idle calculations nor even say prayers. He felt that a strange ailment was about to attack him. Many a time he halted before the window in the hope of concentrating his wavering mind
on something or distracting his attention, but all in vain.
