Such are the betrothed!
The morning after the betrothal, the Podzatylkins’ daughter rose from her slumbers and was told by the cook to pay a visit to her mama. Her mother, still in bed, delivered the following reprimand: “A wool dress? Why on earth did you deck yourself out in that? Couldn’t you have worn the plain cotton one? My head is killing me! Yesterday that ugly balding nitwit—your father, I mean—decided to play the joker. As if I needed that! He handed me a shot glass. ‘Drink up!’ he says. I thought that it was wine, but instead it was vinegar and herring oil. Some joke, the drunken slobbering nitwit! All he ever does is humiliate people! I’m shocked, I’m amazed you were so cheerful yesterday. You didn’t weep once! What was there to be so happy about? You found some money you lost? Astonishing! Everyone must have thought that you are happy to be leaving your parents. That’s how it looks. What? Love? What love? You’re not marrying for love, you’re marrying a collegiate assessor. It’s his rank you’re after! Isn’t that the truth? Of course, it is. As for me, my dear, I don’t much care for your intended. He’s stuck-up; he’s conceited. You should put him in his place. Whaaat? Don’t even think of it! In a month you’d be hammering at each other with your fists. He’s the sort and so are you. Unmarried girls are crazy to get married, but they’re the only ones, because it’s no good at all. I’m married, I should know. Give it time and you’ll see for yourself. Don’t fidget—my head is spinning as it is. Men are fools. It’s awful living with them. Your intended is another fool, for all the airs he puts on. Don’t pay much attention to what he says, don’t just do what he tells you to, and don’t go out of your way to show him respect. What’s to respect? No matter what comes up, always ask me first. Just as soon as anything happens, come to me. God forbid that you do anything without consulting your mother first! A husband’s never going to give you sound or sensible advice. He’s just going to do whatever suits him best. Remember that! Don’t listen to your father either. Don’t let him visit; be careful! Don’t be a ninny and blurt out an invitation. As it is, he’s trying to squeeze everything he can out of you. He’ll want to come and spend whole days at your place. Why would the two of you want that? He’ll just mooch vodka and smoke your husband’s tobacco. He may be your father, but he’s an obnoxious beast for all that. The stinker wears a kind face but he’s got a vicious soul. Don’t lend him money, even if he asks. He’s a crook, even if he does go by the name of titular councillor. And there he goes, yelling, wanting you! Go, but don’t say a word about all this. Otherwise he’ll tear right into me, that Cain. I hope he swells up till he can’t move! Go to him. My heart’s in my throat! You’re all my enemies! When I’m dead and gone, you’ll remember I warned you, not till then. Tormentors!”
The daughter left her mother and set off to see her father, who was sitting on his bed and sprinkling his pillow with Persian powder against bedbugs.
“My child!” said her father. “How pleased I am to see you engaged to a clever man like Nazariev. I’m really very pleased. I entirely approve of this match. Marry, my daughter, without fear. Marriage is such a solemn thing that . . . well, what can I say? Go forth, be fruitful and multiply. The Good Lord will bless you. I—I weep. Then again, tears are meaningless. What are man’s tears? Merely an expression of man’s enfeebled psychology! Heed what I say, my daughter! Do not forget your parents! Your husband won’t treat you better than your own parents do—he won’t. Husbands only care about your looks. We—we love you for yourself. What does your husband love? Your personality? Your kindness? Your tender feelings? None of that! He loves your dowry. An even one thousand rubles, that’s what we’re giving him, dearie, and that’s not chump change! You can see that! Nazariev is a good man, but don’t show him any more respect than you do your father. Oh, he’ll cleave unto you, I’m sure, but that doesn’t make him your friend. There’ll be a time when . . . Wait, no, mum’s the word about that, my child. Hear your mother out, sweetie, but be careful. She’s nice enough, but no less of a double-dealing, flighty, namby-pambyish unbeliever for all that. Oh, she’s noble and she’s honest, and—oh, the hell with her! Her advice can’t compare to that of your father, the very author of your being. Don’t let her move in with you. Husbands don’t take to mothers-in-law. I didn’t take to my mother-in-law. I detested her so much that I put burnt cork in her coffee. Now that was a hoot! Sublieutenant Ziumbumbunchikov sued his mother-in-law in military court. Remember that? Oh wait, you weren’t born yet. Anyway, a father comes first—always! Remember that and mind what I say. Don’t listen to anyone else. And, my daughter . . . European civilization got women thinking that the more children a woman has, the worse for her. How wrong! It’s a lie! The more children, the merrier! No, wait! It’s just the opposite! My mistake, sweetie. Less children—that’s what it is. I read it in some journal the other day—something someone named Malthus came up with. So there you go. A man just rode up. Well, if it isn’t your groom! Oh, he’s got style, that little rascal, that scoundrel! What a man! A regular Walter Scott! Go ahead, go entertain him, while I dress.”
Nazariev arrived and the bride greeted him. “Sit down,” she said, “there’s no need to stand on ceremony!”
Nazariev clicked his heels twice and sat down beside his bride.
“So how are you doing?” he said with a bold air. “How’d you sleep? You know, I didn’t sleep all night. I was reading Zola. I was dreaming of you. Have you read Zola? You haven’t? Really? But that’s criminal! An acquaintance of mine, a civil servant, loaned me some Zola. Such ravishing writing! I’ll lend it to you. Oh, but these feelings I feel! If you only knew what I feel—feelings such as you have never felt in your life! Let me kiss you!”
And rising from his seat, Nazariev gave a little peck to the Podzatylkins’ daughter’s lower lip.
“And your folks—where are they?” he asked even more boldly. “I must see them. Frankly, I’m a bit put out. They’ve pulled one over on me. Listen. Your father told me that he was a court councillor and now it turns out he’s only a titular councillor. How do you like that? Another thing: They promised one-and-a-half thousand rubles, then yesterday your mother says not a kopeck over a thousand. What kind of a dirty trick is that? Even the bloodthirsty Circassians wouldn’t stoop to that! Nobody’s going to swindle me! You can do what you want, but don’t trifle with either my pride or my humbleness! It’s indecent! It’s irrational! I’m an honest man and I don’t like crooks! The way I see it, you can do what you want, just don’t act shifty, don’t be underhanded, show some good faith. That’s right! And they’re ignorant! You can see it in their faces! What kind of a look is that? Those aren’t faces! Forgive me—they don’t seem like family to me. No! Once we’re married, we’ll bring them to heel. Bullying, barbaric! I won’t stand for it. I’m not an unbeliever of the cynical sort, but I know a thing or two about education. We’ll bring them to heel! My parents don’t dare say boo to me, and they haven’t for a long time now. Listen, have you had coffee yet? No? Well, let’s have some. And fetch me a cigarette—I forgot my tobacco at home.”
The bride left the room.
That was before the wedding. You don’t need to be a prophet to figure out what happens after.
* A cheap, low-quality sparkling wine, produced by the company of N. Lanin and sold as genuine champagne.
† “Oh what times! Oh what customs!” (Latin)
‡ “Long live the future good spouses!” (Latin)
* A weekly humor magazine (Razvlechenie) published in Moscow.