Читать книгу A Family of Noblemen - Mikhail Evgrafovich Saltykov - Страница 11

A hot midday in July; the Dubrovino manor-house all deserted. Workers and idlers alike resting in the shade. Under the canopy of a huge willow-tree in the front yard the dogs, too, were lying stretched out, and you could hear the sound of their jaws when they drowsily snapped at the flies. Even the trees drooped motionless, as if exhausted. All the windows in the manor-house and the servants' quarters were flung wide open. The heat seemed to surge in sweltering waves and the soil covered with short, singed grass was ablaze. The atmosphere was a blinding haze touched into gold, so that one could scarcely distinguish things in the distance. The manor-house, once painted gray and now faded into white, the small flower garden in front of the house, the birch grove, separated from the farm by the road, the pond, the village and the corn field, which touched the outskirts of the village, all were immersed in the dazzling torrent. The fragrance of blossoming linden trees mingled with the noxious emanations of the cattle shed. There was not a breath of air, not a sound. Only from the kitchen there came the grating of knives being sharpened, which foretold the inevitable hash and beef cutlets for dinner.

Inside the house reigned noiseless confusion. An old lady and two young girls were sitting in the dining room, forgetful of their crocheting, which lay on the table. They were waiting with intense anxiety. In the maids' room two women were busied preparing mustard plasters and poultices, and the rhythmic tinkling of the spoons pierced the silence like the chirping of a cricket. Barefooted girls were stealing silently along the corridor, scurrying back and forth from the entresol to the maids' room. At times a voice was heard from upstairs: "What about the mustard plasters? Are you asleep there?" And a girl would dash out of the maids' room. At last heavy footsteps sounded on the staircase, and the regimental surgeon entered the dining room, a tall, broad-shouldered man, with firm, ruddy cheeks, the picture of health. His voice was sonorous, his gait steady, his eyes clear, gay and frank, his lips full and fresh. In spite of his fifty years he was a thoroughly fast liver and expected to see many years pass before he would give up drinking and carousing. He wore a showy summer suit, and his spotless piqué coat was trimmed with white buttons bearing arms. On entering he made a clicking sound with his lips and tongue.

"Girls!" he shouted merrily, standing on the threshold. "Bring us some vodka and something to eat."

"Well, doctor, how is he?" the old lady asked, her voice full of anxiety.

"The Lord's mercy is infinite, Arina Petrovna," answered the physician.

"What do you mean? Then he——"

"Just so. He will last another two or three days, and then—good-bye!" The doctor made an expressive gesture with his hand and hummed: "Head over heels, head over heels he will fall."

"How's that? Doctors treated him—and now all of a sudden——"

"What doctors?"

"The zemstvo doctor and one from the town used to come here."

"Fine doctors! If they'd given him a good bleeding, they'd have saved him."

"So nothing at all can be done?"

"Well, I said, 'The Lord's mercy is great,' and I can add nothing to that."

"But perhaps it will work?"

"What will work?"

"I mean—the mustard plasters."

"Perhaps."

A woman in a black dress and black shawl brought in a tray holding a decanter of vodka, a dish of sausages and a dish of caviar. The doctor helped himself to the vodka, held the glass to the light and smacked his tongue.

"Your health, mother," he said to the old lady, and gulped the liquid.

"Drink in good health, my dear sir."

"This is the cause of Pavel Vladimirych dying in the prime of his life, this vodka," said the doctor, grimacing comfortably and spearing a piece of sausage with his fork.

"Yes, it's the ruin of many a man."

"That's because not everyone can stand it. But I can, and I shall have another glass. Your health, madam."

"Drink, drink. Nothing can happen to you."

"Nothing. My lungs and kidneys and liver and spleen are in excellent condition. By the way," he turned to the woman in black who stood at the door, listening to the conversation, "What will you have for dinner to-day?"

"Hash and beef cutlets and chicken for roast," she answered, smiling somewhat sourly.

"Have you any smoked fish?"

"We have, sir. We have white sturgeon and stellated sturgeon, plenty of it."

"Then have a cold soup with sturgeon for our dinner, and pick out a fat bit of sturgeon, you hear me? What is your name? Ulita?"

"Yes, sir, people call me Ulita."

"Well, then, hurry up, friend Ulita, hurry up."

Ulita left the room, and for a while oppressive silence reigned. Then Arina Petrovna rose from her seat and made sure Ulita was not eavesdropping.

"Andrey Osipych, have you spoken to him yet about the orphans?" she asked the doctor.

"Yes, I did."

"Well?"

"There was no change. 'When I get well' he kept on saying, 'I will make my will and write the notes.'"

Silence, heavier than before, filled the room. The girls took the crocheting from the table, and their trembling hands worked one row after the other. Arina Petrovna heaved a deep sigh of dejection. The doctor paced up and down the room and whistled, "Head over heels, head over heels."

"But did you try to drive the matter home to him, doctor?"

"Well, I said to him: 'You'll be a scoundrel if you don't make a definite provision for the orphans.' Could I make it clearer? Yes, mother, you certainly slipped up. If you had called me in a month ago, I would have given him a good bleeding and I would have seen to it that he made his will. But now everything will go to Yudushka, the lawful heir. It certainly will."

"Oh, grandmother, what will become of us?" said the older of the two girls, plaintively and almost in tears. "What is uncle doing to us?"

The girls were Anninka and Lubinka, the daughters of Anna Vladimirovna Ulanova, to whom Arina Petrovna had once "thrown a bone."

"I don't know, dear, I don't know. I don't even know what will become of me. Today I am here, and tomorrow God knows where I'll be. Maybe I'll have to sleep in a shed or at a peasant's."

"Goodness, isn't uncle silly!" exclaimed the younger girl.

"I wish, young lady, you would keep your mouth shut," remarked the doctor. Turning to Arina Petrovna, he suggested, "Why not try to talk to him yourself, mother?"

"No, no. There's no use my talking to him. He doesn't even want to see me. The other day I stuck my nose into his room, and he snarled, 'Have you come to see me off to the other world?'"

"I think Ulita is back of it all. She incites him against you."

"She surely does, nobody but she. And then she reports everything to Porfiry the Bloodsucker. People say he keeps a pair of horses harnessed all day waiting for the beginning of the agony. And just imagine, the other day Ulita went so far as to take an inventory of the furniture, wardrobe, and dishes, so that nothing should be lost, as she said. We are the thieves, just imagine it."

"Why don't you treat her more severely? Head over heels, you know, head over heels."

But fate decreed that the doctor should not develop his thought. A girl, all out of breath, dashed into the room and exclaimed in a fright:

"The master! The master wants the doctor."