Anthology of Russian literature from the earliest period to the present time, volume 1 (of 2) : $b From the tenth century to the close of the eighteenth centuryWiener, Leo
General
Anthology of Russian literature from the earliest period to the present time, volume 1 (of 2) : $b From the tenth century to the close of the eighteenth century
Wiener, Leo
Russia -- Literary collections; Russian literature -- Translations into English
Don’t get frightened, dear Falaléy, all is not well in our house: your
mother, Akulína Sidórovna, is lying on her death-bed. Father Iván has
confessed her and given her the extreme unction. It is one of your dogs
that was the cause of her ailment. Somebody hit your Nalétka with a
stick of wood and broke her back. When she, my little dove, heard that,
she fainted away, and fell down like dead. When she came to again, she
started an inquiry into the matter, which so exhausted her that she
came back scarcely alive, and had to lie in bed. Besides, she emptied
a whole pitcher of cold water, which gave her a fever. Your mother is
ill, my friend, very ill! I am waiting every minute for God to take her
soul away. So I shall have to part, dear Falaléy, from my wife, and you
from your mother and Nalétka. It will be easier for you to bear the
loss than for me: Nalétka’s pups, thank the Lord! are all alive. Maybe
one of them will take after his mother, but I shall never have such a
wife again.
Alas, I am all undone! How can I ever manage to look after all things
myself? Cause me no more sorrow, but come home and get married, then I
shall at least be happy to have a daughter-in-law. It is hard, my dear
Falaléy, to part from my wife, for I have got used to her, having lived
with her for thirty years. I am guilty before her for having beaten
her so often in her lifetime; but how could it be otherwise? Two pots
staying a long time together will get knocked a great deal against each
other. Indeed it could not be otherwise: I am rather violent, and she
is not yielding; and thus, the least thing gave occasion for fights.
Thank the Lord! she was at least forgiving. Learn, my son, to live well
with your wife; though we have had many a quarrel, yet we are living
together, and now I am sorry for her. It’s too bad, my friend, the
fortune-tellers cannot do your mother any good: there have been a lot
of them here, but there is no sense in it, only money thrown away. And
now I, your father, Trifón, greet you and send you my blessing.
My Darling Falaléy Trifónovich:--
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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