And he rode fast, fast—hurried the driver, just made the train and got to the regiment two hours before the respite was over. "Good for you, Golovliov," his comrades would say, "your hand, honorable young man! Let's forget the matter." And he not only remained in the regiment, but was even promoted to staff-captain, then captain, after that adjutant of the regiment (he had been bursar, already) and, finally, on the anniversary day of the regiment——Ah, if only the night would pass quickly! Tomorrow—well, let happen what may tomorrow. But what he would have to listen to! Gods, what would he not be told! Tomorrow—but why tomorrow? He had a whole day yet. He asked for two days just because he wanted to have enough time to move "him." A likely chance! A fine prospect of persuading and touching him! No use——
Here his thoughts became confused and sank, one after the other, into the mist of sleep. In a few minutes the Golovliovo manor was steeped in heavy slumber.
The next day the whole household was up early in the morning. Everybody went to church except Petenka, who pleaded fatigue. They listened to the mass and the requiem and returned home. Petenka, as usual, came up to kiss his father's hand, but Yudushka extended it sidewise, and everyone noticed that he did not even make the sign of the cross over his son. Tea was served, thenkutya.Yudushka was dismal, scraped the floor with his feet, avoided conversation, sighed, folded his hands incessantly as if for inner prayer, and never once looked at his son. Petenka, for his part, bristled up and smoked one cigarette after another. The strained situation of yesterday, so far from relaxing, became still more acute. It made Arina Petrovna very uneasy, and she decided to find out from Yevpraksia if anything had happened.
"Has anything happened," she asked, "that makes them look daggers at each other like that?"
"How do I know? I don't interfere in their private affairs," the girl snapped back.
"Maybe it's on account of you. Perhaps my grandson is running after you too?"
"Why should he run after me? A little while ago he tried to catch hold of me in the corridor, and Porfiry Vladimirych saw him."
"Oh. So that's what it is."
In fact, in spite of his critical situation, Petenka had not lost a bit of his levity. His eyes riveted themselves on Yevpraksia's powerful back and he determined to let her know about it. That was the real reason he had not gone to church, hoping Yevpraksia, as the housekeeper, would stay home. So, when the house had turned silent, he had thrown his cloak over his shoulders and hidden himself in the corridor. A minute or two passed, the door of the maids' room banged, and Yevpraksia appeared at the other end of the corridor, carrying a tray with a butter-cake to be served with the tea. Petenka struck her between the shoulder-blades and said, "A wonderful back you've got!" and that instant the dining-room door opened and his father appeared.
"You, scoundrel! If you came here to behave in a nasty way, I'll throw you down the stairs!" Yudushka hissed venomously.
Naturally, Petenka vanished in a moment. He could not fail to realize that the incident of the morning was scarcely likely to improve his case. So he decided to be silent and postpone the explanation until the morrow. Nevertheless he did nothing to allay his father's irritation; on the contrary, he behaved in a foolish, unguarded manner, smoking cigarettes incessantly, heedless of his father's energetically fanning away the clouds of smoke that filled the room; and every now and then making sheep's eyes at Yevpraksia, who smiled queerly under the influence of his glances. Yudushka noticed that, too.
The day dragged on slowly. Arina Petrovna tried to play fool with Yevpraksia, but nothing came of it. No one felt like playing or talking; they could not even think of small talk, though everyone had stores of this merchandise. At last dinner time came. But dinner passed in silence also. After dinner Arina Petrovna made preparations for returning to Pogorelka. But this intention of his "mother dear" alarmed Yudushka.
"God bless you, darling!" he exclaimed. "Do you mean to say you'll leave me here alone with this—this wicked son? No, no, don't think of it. I won't allow it."
"But what is the matter? Has anything happened between the two of you? Why don't you tell me?" she asked.
"No, nothing has happened—as yet, but you'll see. No, please don't go! Be present at——There is something behind his coming here in such a hurry. So, if anything happens—you be the witness."
Arina Petrovna shook her head and decided to stay.
After dinner Porfiry Vladimirych retired, having first sent Yevpraksia to the village priest, and Arina Petrovna also went to her room and dozed off in her easy-chair.
Petenka thought it the most favorable time to try his luck with grandmother, and went to her room.
"What is the matter? Have you come to play a game of fool with an old woman?" she asked.
"No, granny, I am on business."
"Well, what is your business? Tell me."
Petenka hesitated a minute, then blurted out:
"I lost crown money at cards."
Arina Petrovna's eyes grew dim from the shock.
"Much?" she asked in a frightened voice, staring at him.
"Three thousand."
For a moment both were silent. Arina Petrovna looked around restlessly, as if expecting somebody to come to her rescue.
"Do you know they can send you to Siberia for that?" she said at last.
"Yes, I know."
"Poor fellow!"
"Granny, I meant to borrow it from you. I'll pay good interest."
Arina Petrovna became thoroughly frightened.
"Oh no, no!" she protested. "I have only enough money for my coffin and memorial prayers. It's my granddaughters that keep me a-going, and my son, too. No, no, no! You'd better let me alone. Let me see—why not ask your papa?"
"Oh, well, you can't squeeze blood out of an onion. All my hope was in you, granny."
"Just think of what you are saying. I would gladly do it, but where am I to get the money from? I have no money at all. But suppose you ask father, you know, affectionately, respectfully. 'Here, father dear, such is the case. I know I am guilty, I am young and I made a blunder.' You know, with a smile and a laugh. Kiss his hand and fall on your knees, and cry a bit. He likes it. Then maybe father will untie his purse for his sonny dear."
"So you really think it's worth trying? Just a moment. See here, granny, suppose you say to him, 'If you don't give him the money I'll lay a curse on you!' He has always been afraid of your curse, you know."
"No, why curse? You can ask right out. Do ask him, my dear. There is no harm if you bow before your father once too many. He will understand your position, you know. Do it. Be sure to do it."
Petenka, his arms akimbo, walked back and forth as if deliberating. Finally he halted and said:
"No, I won't. He is not likely to give it—it's no use. No matter what I do, even if I smash my head in bowing—he won't do it. But you see, if you threatened him with your curse. What am I to do, granny?"
"I don't know, really. Try and perhaps you'll soften him a bit. How did you come to take such liberties? To lose crown money is no small matter. Did anybody inveigle you into it?"
"It just happened. I took it and lost it at cards. Well, if you have no money of your own, give me some of the orphans'."
"What is the matter with you? Have you lost your wits? How can I let you have the orphans' money? No, no, I can't. Don't talk to me about it, for Christ's sake."
"So you won't. Too bad. And I would pay good interest. Do you want five per cent. per month? No? Well, double the principal in a year?"
"Don't you tempt me!" shouted Arina Petrovna, throwing up her hands. "Leave me alone, for Christ's sake! It won't surprise me if father hears us and says I urged you on! Oh, Lord! I am an old woman, I wanted to rest a bit. I had just dozed off and then he comes with such an offer."
"Very well, then. I am going. So it's impossible? Very good. Just like kinsfolk. On account of three thousand rubles your grandson will go to Siberia. Don't forget to have a Te Deum sung when I go."
Petenka left the room, closing the door with a bang. One of his flimsy hopes was gone. What was he to do next? Only one way out was left—to confess all to father. Who knows, perhaps, perhaps, something would——
"I'll go at once and be done with it," he said to himself. "Or no! What can I hope for? Better tomorrow. Yes, I think tomorrow is better. I'll tell him and leave at once." So he decided. Tomorrow would see and end it all.
After the talk with grandmother the evening dragged on still more slowly. Even Arina Petrovna grew silent after she had learned the real cause of Petenka's arrival. Yudushka tried to be jocular with mother, but perceiving she was absorbed in her own thoughts, also grew silent. Petenka did nothing but smoke. At supper Porfiry Vladimirych asked him:
"Are you going to tell me at last why you have honored me with this visit?"
"I will tell you tomorrow," answered Petenka morosely.
Petenka rose early after a sleepless night. His harassed mind vacillated between hope and utter despair. Perhaps he did not really know his father, but one thing he was sure of, that there was not in him a single feeling, a single weak spot that could be grasped at and made use of. When face to face with his father, all he felt was something inexplicable. He did not know how to approach him, what to say first, and this made him very uneasy in his presence. It had been like that since his childhood. As far back as he could remember, it always seemed better not to attempt any forecast at all than to make a matter depend upon his father's decision. So now, too. How was he to begin? How was he to approach the matter? What was he to say first? And why had he come here at all?
A feeling of disgust seized him. Nevertheless he realized he had only a few hours left and something had to be done. Having worked himself up into a fair state of courage, he buttoned up his coat, and walked firmly to his father's study, whispering something to himself. Yudushka was saying prayers. He was pious, and every day gladly devoted a few hours to prayer, not because he loved God and hoped through prayer to enter into communion with Him, but because he feared the devil and hoped God would deliver him from the Evil One.
He knew many prayers and was especially versed in the technique of the poses and gestures of worship. He knew how to move his lips, how to roll his eyes, when it was proper to place the hands palm inward, and when they were to be lifted up, when to be moved with feeling, and when to stand with reverential calm and slowly make the sign of the cross. Even his eyes and his nostrils moistened at the proper moments. But prayer did not rejuvenate him, did not ennoble his feelings, or bring a single ray into his dull existence. He could pray and go through all the requisite bodily movements, and at the same time be looking out of the window to see if someone was entering the cellar without his permission. It was quite a distinct, particular function of life, which was self-sufficient and could exist outside of the general scheme of life.
When Petenka entered the study, Porfiry Vladimirych was on his knees with his hands raised. He did not change his position, but made a jerky movement with one of his hands to indicate that he had not yet finished. Petenka seated himself in the dining-room, where the table was already set for tea, and waited. The half hour that passed seemed like eternity, especially as he was sure his father was prolonging the wait intentionally. The studied coolness with which he had armed himself little by little gave way to vexation. At first he sat stiff, then began to walk to and fro, and finally fell to whistling airs. As a result, the door of the study opened, and Yudushka's irritated voice was heard calling:
"Whoever wants to whistle may do so in the stables."
After a while Porfiry Vladimirych came out clad all in black, in clean linen, as if prepared for a solemn occasion. His countenance was radiant, glowing, breathing meekness and joy, as if he had just been at communion. He approached his son, made the sign of the cross over him, and then kissed him.
"Good morning, friend," he said.
"Good morning."
"Did you sleep well? Was your bed made properly? Were there no little fleas and bedbugs to bother you?"
"Thank you. I slept well."
"Well, thanks to God, if you slept well. It's only at one's parents' home that one can sleep really well. I know it from my own experience. No matter how comfortable I might be at St. Petersburg, I could never sleep so well as at Golovliovo. You feel just as if you were rocked in a cradle. So what are we going to do? Shall we have some tea first, or do you want to say something now?"
"Let's talk it over now. I have to leave in six hours, and maybe we'll need some time for deliberation."
"Oh, well. But, my dear, I tell you directly, I never deliberate, my answer is always ready. If your request is a proper one, well, I never refuse anything proper. It may be hard on me at times, and I can't always afford it, but if it is proper, I can't refuse it. That's the kind of man I am. But if you ask for something that isn't right, I am sorry. Though I feel for you, I shall have to refuse. You observe, my son, I have no underhand ways. I am exactly as you see me. Well, then, let's go into the study. Speak and I will listen. Let's hear, let's hear what the matter is."
On entering the study, Porfiry left the door ajar and instead of seating himself and asking his son to be seated, he began pacing the room, as if instinctively feeling that the matter was delicate and it would be easier to discuss it while walking. The expression of one's face may be more easily concealed, and if the conversation takes a disagreeable turn it may be more readily cut off, and the door half ajar makes it possible to appeal to witnesses; for mother dear and Yevpraksia were sure to come into the dining-room before long to have tea.
"Papa," blurted out Petenka, "I lost some crown money at cards."
Yudushka said nothing, but his lips quivered, and he immediately fell to muttering, as was his habit.
"I lost three thousand," explained Petenka, "and if I don't return the money the day after tomorrow, there may be very disagreeable consequences for me."
"Well, refund the money," said Porfiry Vladimirych affably.
Father and son made a few turns around the room in silence. Petenka wished to make further explanations, but felt a lump rising in his throat.
"Yes, but where am I to get the money from?" he said at last.
"My dear friend, I don't know your resources. Pay it back from the resources you figured on when you gambled crown money away."
"You know very well that in such cases people forget about their resources."
"I don't know a thing, my friend. I never played cards, except with mother, when I play fool to amuse the old woman. And please don't drag me into this dirty business, and let's go and have tea. We'll have tea and sit around, maybe we'll talk about something, but, for the Lord's sake, not about that."
Yudushka started to make for the door and into the dining-room, but Petenka stopped him.
"Look here," he said, "I have to get out of this predicament somehow."
Yudushka grinned and stared at Petenka.
"Yes, my dear, you have to," he agreed.
"Then help me."
"Ah, that's a different matter. You have to get out of the difficulty somehow, to be sure, but how to get out of it—well, that's none of my business."
"But why don't you want to help me?"
"First, because I have no money to cover up your dastardly deeds, and secondly because the entire matter does not concern me in the least. You knew how to get in, then know how to get out. The cat likes fish, then let her wet her feet. You see, my boy, that's just what I said at the start, that if your request is a proper one——"
"I know. You've got a lot of words on the tip of your tongue."
"Wait, save your impudent remarks, and let me say what I wish to say. That they are not mere words I'll prove to you in a minute. So, as I said a while ago, if your request is a proper, a sensible one, all right, my boy. I am always ready to satisfy you. But if you come to me with an unreasonable request, I am very sorry, I have no money for stuff and nonsense. No sir, never. And you won't get any—you may as well be sure of it. And don't dare tell me I use mere words. My words are mighty near deeds."
"But think what will become of me."
"Whatever pleases God, that will happen," answered Yudushka, slightly lifting up his arms and looking sideways at the ikon.
Father and son again made a few turns across the room. Yudushka paced reluctantly, as if in complaint that his son was holding him in captivity. Petenka, his arms akimbo, followed him, biting his moustache and smiling nervously.
"I am your last son," he said. "Don't forget that."
"My boy, God bereft Job of everything, and Job did not complain, but only said: 'God hath given and God hath taken away—may thy will be done, oh, Lord!' So, my boy."
"In the Bible it was God that took, and here you take away from yourself. Volodya——"
"Oh, well, you are talking nonsense."
"No, it isn't nonsense, it's the truth. Everybody knows that Volodya——"
"No, no, no! I don't want to listen to your preposterous remarks. Enough! You've said everything necessary. I have given you my answer. And now let's go and have tea. We'll chat a while, then we'll have a bite, then a drink before you go—and then God speed you! You see how good the Lord is to you? The weather has abated and the road become smoother. Little by little, bit by bit, one, two, and you'll hardly notice when you get to the station."
"Now, listen, I implore you. If you have a drop of feeling——"
"No, no, no! Don't let us talk about it. Let's go into the dining-room. I dare say mother dear must be dull without her tea. It isn't proper to keep the dear old woman waiting."
Yudushka made a sharp turn and almost ran to the door.
"You may go or not, it's all the same to me, but I am not going to drop this conversation," Petenka shouted after him. "It will be worse if we begin talking in the presence of witnesses."
Yudushka came back and planted himself squarely before his son.
"What do you want of me, you scoundrel? Speak up!"
"I want you to pay the money that I lost."
"Never!"
"Is that your last word?"
"You see," exclaimed Yudushka solemnly, pointing at the ikon that hung in the corner, "You see that? It is grandfather's benediction. So, in the presence of that image I say, Never!"
And with a firm step he left the study.
"Murderer!" was hurled after him.
Arina Petrovna was already at the table, and Yevpraksia was busy arranging the tea things. The old woman was silent and thoughtful, and looked as if she were ashamed of Petenka. In the customary way Yudushka kissed her hand, and she made the sign of the cross over him. Then came the usual questions, whether everybody felt well, and had had a good night's rest, followed by the customary monosyllabic answers. Petenka's asking Arina Petrovna for money and awakening the memory of the "curse" had put her into a state of peculiar uneasiness. She was pursued by the thought, "What if I threaten him with my curse?" When she had heard that explanations in the study had begun, she had turned to Yevpraksia with the request:
"Suppose, my dear, you go to the door quietly and listen to what they say."
Yevpraksia went to eavesdrop, but was so stupid she could understand nothing.
"Oh, they're just having a chat," she explained upon her return.
Then Arina Petrovna could not hold out any longer and went to the dining-room, where the samovar had already been brought in. But the interview was nearing its end, and all she noted was that Petenka's voice was loud and angry, and Porfiry Vladimirych's replies were given in a nagging voice.
"He's nagging him, that just it, nagging!" ran in her head. "I remember he used to nag that way, and how is it I did not understand him then?"
At last, father and son appeared in the dining-room. Petenka's face was red and he was breathing heavily. His eyes were staring widely, his hair was disheveled, his forehead was covered with beads of perspiration. Yudushka, on the contrary, entered pale and cross. He wanted to appear indifferent but, in spite of all his efforts, his lower lip trembled. He could hardly utter the customary morning greetings to his mother dear.
All took their places at the table. Petenka seated himself at some distance, leaned against the back of his chair, crossed his legs, lighted a cigarette, and looked at his father ironically.
"You see, mother, the storm has abated," Yudushka began. "Yesterday there was such an uproar, but God only had to will it, and here we have a nice, bright, quiet day. Am I right, mother dear?"
"I don't know. I haven't been out to-day."
"By the way, we are going to see our dear guest off," continued Yudushka. "I rose early this morning, looked out of the window—it was still and quiet outdoors, as if God's angel had flown by and in a moment allayed the riot with his wings."
But no one answered Yudushka's kindly words. Yevpraksia sipped her tea from the saucer, blowing and puffing. Arina Petrovna looked into her cup and was silent. Petenka, swaying in his chair, continued to eye his father with an ironical, defiant air, as if he had to exert great efforts to keep from bursting out laughing.
"Even if Petenka does not ride fast, he will reach the railway station toward night," Porfiry Vladimirych resumed. "Our horses are not overworked. They will feed for a couple of hours at Muravyevo, and they will get him to the place in a jiffy. Ah, Petka, you are a bad boy! Suppose you stay with us a while longer—really. We would enjoy your company, and you would improve greatly in a week."
But Petenka continued to sway in his chair and eye his father.
"Why do you stare at me?" Yudushka flared up at last. "Do you see pictures on me?"
"I'm just looking at you waiting for what's coming next."
"No use waiting, my son. It will be as I said. I will not change my mind."
A minute of silence followed, after which a whisper could be distinctly heard.
"Yudushka!"
Porfiry Vladimirych undoubtedly heard it, he even turned pale, but he pretended the exclamation did not concern him.
"Ah, my dear little children," he said. "I should like to caress and fondle you, but it seems it can't be done—ill luck! You run away from your parents, you've got bosom friends who are dearer to you than father and mother. Well, it can't be helped. One ponders a bit over it, then resigns oneself. You are young folk, and youth, of course, prefers the company of youth to that of an old grouch. So, I resign myself and don't complain. I only pray to Our Father in Heaven, 'Do Thy will, oh Lord!'"
"Murderer!" Petenka whispered, but this time so distinctly that Arina Petrovna looked at him in fright. Something passed before her eyes. It looked like the shadow of Simple Simon.
"Whom do you mean?" asked Yudushka, trembling with excitement.
"Oh, just an acquaintance of mine."
"I see. Well, you'd better make that clear. Lord knows what's in your head. Maybe it is one of us that you style so."
Everybody became silent. The glasses of tea remained untouched. Yudushka leaned against the back of his chair, swaying nervously. Petenka, seeing that all hope was gone, had a sensation of deadly anguish, under the influence of which he was ready to go to any lengths. But father and son looked at each other with an indescribable smile. Hardened though Porfiry Vladimirych was, the minute was nearing when he would be unable to control himself.
"You'd better go, while the going's good," he burst out, finally. "You better had."
"I'm going."
"Then why wait? I see you're trying to pick a quarrel, and I don't want to quarrel with anybody. We live here quietly and in good order, without disputes. Your old grandmother is here. You ought to have regard for her at least. Well, tell us why you came here?"
"I told you why."
"If it's only for that, you are wasting your efforts. Go at once, my son. Hey, who's there? Have the horses ready for the young master. And some fried chicken, and caviar, and other things, eggs, I suppose. Wrap them up well in paper. You'll take a bite at the station, my son, while they feed the horses. Godspeed!"
"No, I am not going yet. I'm going to church first to have a memorial service performed for the murdered servant of God, Vladimir."
"That is, for the suicide."
"No, for the murdered."
Father and son stared at each other. It looked as if in a moment both would jump up. But Yudushka made a superhuman effort and, turning his chair, faced the table again.
"Wonderful!" he said in a strained voice. "Wonderful!"
"Yes, for the murdered!" Petenka persisted brutally.
"Who murdered him?" Yudushka asked with curiosity, still hoping, apparently, that his son would come to his senses.
But Petenka, unperturbed, whipped out:
"You!"
"I?"
Porfiry Vladimirych was astounded. It was a few moments before he came to himself. He rose hastily from his seat, faced the ikon and began to pray.
"You, you, you!" Petenka repeated.
"Well, now! Thank God, I feel better after praying," said Yudushka, seating himself at table again. "Just a minute, though. I, as your father, should not take you up on your talk, but we'll pursue the matter this time. Then you mean to say that I killed Volodenka?"
"Yes, you did."
"And I beg leave to differ. I consider he shot himself. At that time I was at Golovliovo and in St. Petersburg. So what could I have to do with it? How could I kill him when he was seven hundred versts away?"
"As if you don't understand!"
"I don't understand, by the Lord, I don't!"
"And who left Volodya without a penny? Who discontinued his allowances? Who?"
"Stuff and nonsense! Why did he marry against his father's will?"
"But you gave him your permission."
"Who? I? What are you talking about? I never did anything of the kind. Nev-v-v-er!"
"Oh, of course, you acted as you always do. Everyone of your words has ten meanings. Go, guess the right one."
"I never gave my permission. He wrote to me, 'Papa, I want to marry Lida,' you understand, 'I want to,' not 'I beg your permission.' Well, I answered him, 'If you want to marry, you can marry. I cannot stand in your way.' That's all there was to it."
"That's all there was to it," Petenka said jeeringly. "And wasn't that giving your permission?"
"That's exactly what it wasn't. What did I say? I said, 'I cannot stand in your way.' That's all. But whether I give my permission or not, is a different question. He did not ask my permission, he simply wrote, 'Papa, I want to marry Lida.' Well, and as to permission he kept mum. You want to marry. Well, my friend, may God be with you, marry Lida or Fida, I cannot stand in your way!"
"But you could leave him without a crust of bread. So why didn't you write this way, 'I do not approve of your intention, and therefore, though I will not hinder you, I warn you that you can not longer rely on financial aid from me.' That, at least, would have been clear."
"No, I shall never permit myself to do such things, to make threats against a grown son—never! I have a rule never to be in anybody's way. If you want to marry—marry! Well, and as to consequences—I am sorry. It was your business to foresee them yourself. That's why God gave you reason. And as to me, brother, I don't like to thrust myself into other people's affairs. I not only keep from meddling myself, but I don't invite others to meddle in my affairs, I don't invite it, I don't, I don't, I even forbid it! Do you hear me, you wicked, disrespectful son, I f-o-r-b-i-d it!"
"You may forbid it, if you like, but you can't muzzle everybody."
"If at least he had repented! And if at least he had realized that he offended his father! Well, you committed a folly—say you are sorry. Ask forgiveness! 'Forgive me, dear papa, for the mortification I caused you.' But he wouldn't!"
"But he did write to you. He made it clear to you that he had nothing to live on, that he could not endure it any longer."
"That's not the kind of thing to write to a father. From a father one asks pardon, that's all."
"He did so. He was so tortured that he begged forgiveness, too. He did everything, he did."
"And even if he did, he was wrong. You ask forgiveness once, you see your father does not forgive you, you ask again!"
"Oh, you!"
At this Petenka suddenly ceased swaying his chair, turned about, faced the table and rested both elbows on it.
"And here I, too——" he whispered.
His face gradually became disfigured.
"And here I too——" he repeated, and burst into hysterical sobbing.
"Whose fault——"
But Yudushka had no chance to finish his sermon. At that moment something quite unexpected took place. During their skirmish the man had almost forgotten about Arina Petrovna. But she had not remained an indifferent spectator. On the contrary, you could tell at a glance that something quite unusual was taking place within her, and that the moment perhaps had arrived when the ruthless vision of her entire life appeared before her spiritual eye in a glaring light. Her face livened up, her eyes widened and glittered, her lips moved as if they were struggling to utter some word and could not. Suddenly, just at the moment when Petenka's bitter weeping resounded in the dining-room she rose heavily from her arm-chair, stretched her arms forward, and a loud wail broke out from her breast.
"My cu-r-r-se upon you!"
Yudushka did not give the money to Petenka, though, kind father that he was, he gave orders just before the moment of departure for some chicken, veal and pie to be placed in the carriage. Then he went out on the porch in the chilling wind to see his son off, and inquired whether Petenka was seated comfortably and whether he had wrapped his feet up well. Re-entering the house, he stood at the window in the dining-room a long time making the sign of the cross and sending his blessings after the vehicle that was carrying Petenka away. In a word, he performed the farewell ceremony fittingly, as becomes good kinsfolk.
"Oh, Petka, Petka," he said, "you are a bad, bad son. Look at the mischief you have done. My, my, my! And what could have been better than to live on quietly and peacefully, nicely and easily with father and old granny? But no! Crash! Bang! I am my own master, I've got a head on my shoulders, too! Well, there's your head! My, what trouble!"
Not a muscle quivered in his wooden face, not a note in his voice sounded like an appeal to a prodigal son. But, then, there was nobody to hear his words, for Arina Petrovna was the only one beside himself in the room, and as a result of the shock she had just gone through she seemed to have lost all vitality, and sat near the samovar, her mouth open, looking straight ahead, without hearing anything, without a single thought in her mind.
Then life flowed on as usual, full of idle bustle and babbling. Contrary to Petenka's expectations, Porfiry Vladimirych took the maternal curse quite coolly and did not recede a hair's breadth from the decision that had come from his head full-formed, as it were.
It is true he turned slightly pale and rushed toward his mother with a cry:
"Mother, dear! Darling! Lord be with you! Be calm, dear! God is merciful. All will be well."
But his words were expressive of alarm for her rather than for himself. Her act had been so unexpected that Yudushka even forgot to pretend to be frightened. Only last night his mother had been affectionate, had jested, and played fool with Yevpraksia. Evidently, then, it had all happened in a moment of sudden anger, and there was nothing premeditated, nothing real about it all.
Indeed, he had been very much afraid of his mother's curse but he had pictured it quite differently. In his idle mind he had built an elaborate staging for the occasion, ikons, burning candles, his mother standing in the center of the room, terrible, with a darkened face as she hurled the curse. Then, thunder, candles going out, the veil tearing asunder, darkness covering the earth, and above, amidst the clouds the wrathful countenance of Jehovah illumined by a flash of lightning. But nothing of the sort had happened, so his mother had simply done something rash and silly. And she had had no reason to curse him in earnest, because of late there had been no cause for quarreling. Many changes had occurred since Yudushka expressed his doubt as to whether a certain coach belonged to his mother dear (Yudushka admitted tohimselfthatthenhe had been wrong and deserved damnation). Arina Petrovna had become more submissive, and Porfiry Vladimirych had but one thought in his head: how to placate his mother dear.
"The old woman is doing poorly, my, how poorly! At times she even raves," he consoled himself. "The darling sits down to play fool and before you know it, she dozes off."
In justice to Yudushka it must be admitted that his mother's decrepitude gave him some alarm. Even he was not quite ready for her death, had not made any plans, had had no time to make estimates—how much capital mother had when she left Dubrovino, what that capital might bring in annually, how much of the interest she had spent, and how much she had added to the principal. In a word, he had not gone through an infinity of useless trifles, without which he always felt as if he were caught unawares.
"The old woman is hale and hearty," he would muse at times. "Still she won't spend it all—impossible. When she shared us out, she had a neat sum. Maybe she transferred some to the orphans. Oh, the old woman is rich. Yes, she is."
But these musings were not so very serious, and vanished without leaving an impress on his mind. The mass of daily trivialities was already great, and there was as yet no urgent need to augment them by the addition of new trivialities. Porfiry Vladimirych kept putting the matter off, and did not realize it was time to begin until after the damnation scene.
The catastrophe came sooner than he expected. On the second day after Petenka's departure Arina Petrovna left for Pogorelka, and never again visited Golovliovo. She spent a month in total solitude, keeping to her room and scarcely exchanging a word with her servants. From force of habit she rose early in the morning, sat down at her desk, and began to play patience, but hardly ever brought the game to an end, and sat in frozen rigidity—with her glazed eyes fixed on the window. What she thought about or whether she thought at all, even the keenest judge of the deep-lying mysteries of the human soul could not have divined. She seemed to be trying to recollect something, perhaps how she came to be within those walls, and could not. Alarmed by her mistress's silence, Afimyushka would appear in the room, arrange the pillows lining her easy-chair, and try to open a conversation on this or that, but received only impatient monosyllabic replies.
Once or twice Porfiry Vladimirych came to Pogorelka, invited mother dear to Golovliovo, tried to kindle her imagination with the prospect of mushrooms, German carp, and the other allurements of Golovliovo, but his overtures evoked nothing but an enigmatic smile.
One morning she tried to leave her bed as usual, but could not, though she felt no particular pain, and complained of nothing. She took it, apparently, as a matter of course, without any sign of alarm. The very day before she had been sitting at the table and even walked, though with difficulty, and now she was in bed "feeling indisposed." It was even more comfortable. But Afimyushka became thoroughly frightened and without the mistress's knowledge sent a messenger to Porfiry Vladimirych.
Yudushka came early the next morning. Arina Petrovna was considerably worse. He put the servants through a cross-examination as to what mother had eaten and whether she had not overeaten. But Arina Petrovna had eaten almost nothing for a whole month, and had refused all food the previous day. Yudushka expressed his grief, waved his hands, and like a good son, warmed himself at the oven in the maids' room so that he would not bring the cold into the patient's room. At the same time he began to give orders and make arrangements. He had an extraordinary keenness for scenting death. He made inquiries as to whether the priest was home and arranged that in case of emergency he should be sent for at once. He informed himself where mother's chest with her papers was, whether it was locked, and having satisfied himself concerning the state of things, he called in the cook and ordered dinner for himself.
"I need but little," he said. "Have you got a chicken? Well, prepare some chicken soup. If you have some cured beef, get a bit of cured beef ready. Then something fried, and I'll have enough."
Arina Petrovna lay prostrate on her back with her mouth open, breathing heavily. Her eyes were staring wide. One hand projected from under the quilt of hare's fur and hung stiff. She was evidently alive to the commotion incident upon her son's arrival, and perhaps his orders even reached her ears. The lowered window-shades put the room in twilight. The wicks were flickering their last at the bottom of the ikon lamps and sputtered audibly at contact with the water. The air was close and fetid, unbearably suffocating from the overheated stoves, the sickening smell of the ikon lamps, and the breath of illness. Porfiry Vladimirych, in his felt boots, glided to his mother's bed like a snake. His tall, lean figure wrapped in twilight swayed uncannily. Arina Petrovna with a look half of surprise and half of fright followed his movements and huddled under her quilt.
"It is I, mother dear," he said. "What's the matter with you? You are all out of gear today. My, my, my! No wonder I could not sleep all night. Something seemed to urge me on. 'Let's go and see,' I thought, 'how our Pogorelka friends are getting along.' I got up in the morning, hitched a couple of horses to the pony cart, and here I am!"
Porfiry Vladimirych tittered affably, but Arina Petrovna did not answer, and drew herself together in a closer coil under her quilt.
"Well, God is merciful, mother dear," continued Yudushka. "The main thing is to stand up for yourself. Don't put any stock in the ailment. Get up and take a walk through the room, like a sound, hale person. You see, just like this."
Porfiry Vladimirych rose from his seat and demonstrated how sound, hale persons walk.
"Oh, just a moment. I'll raise the window-shade and take a good look at you. Oh, but you are first rate, my darling. Just pluck up some courage, say your prayers, doll up, get into your Sunday best, and you'll be ready for a dance. There, I have brought you some jolly good holy water, just taste some."
Porfiry Vladimirych took a flask out of his pocket, found a wine glass on the table, filled it and gave it to the patient. Arina Petrovna made an effort to lift her head, but in vain.
"I wish the orphans were here," she moaned.
"Well, much need you have of the orphans here. Oh, mother, mother! How is it all of a sudden you—really! Just a little bad turn, and at once you are ready to give up the ship. We'll attend to it all. We'll send a special messenger to the orphans and we'll do everything else in due time. Now, what's the hurry, really? We are going to live yet, yes indeed we are. And we'll have a fine time of it, too. Wait till summer is here, we'll both of us go to the woods to pick mushrooms, and raspberries, and nice juicy black currants. Or else, we'll go to Dubrovino to catch German carps. We'll bring out the horse and carriage, get into it, and one, two, three—there we go. Nicely and easily."
"I wish the orphans were here," repeated Arina Petrovna in anguish.
"We'll bring the orphans, too. Give us time. We'll call them together, all of them. We'll all be here and sit by you. You will be the brood-hen and we'll be your chicks. We'll have it all, if you behave. Now you are a naughty girl, because you went and took sick. That's the kind of mischief you're up to. My, my! Instead of being good and serving as an example for others, look what you're doing. That's bad, my dear, very bad."
But no matter how hard Porfiry Vladimirych tried to cheer up his mother dear with banter, her strength waned from hour to hour. A messenger was dispatched to town to fetch a doctor, and since the patient persisted in moaning and calling the orphans, Yudushka in his own hand wrote a letter to Anninka and Lubinka in which he compared his and their conduct, called himself a Christian and them ungrateful. At night the doctor arrived, but it was too late. Arina Petrovna's fate was sealed. At about four o'clock in the morning the death agony set in and at six Porfiry Vladimirych was kneeling at his mother's bed wailing:
"Mother dear! My friend! Give me your blessing!"
But Arina Petrovna did not hear him. Her wide-open eyes stared dimly into space as if she were trying to understand something and could not.
Yudushka, too, did not understand. He did not understand that the yawning grave was to carry off the last creature that linked him to the living world.
With his usual bustle he delved into the mass of trifles and details that were incident upon the ceremonial of burial. He had requiems chanted, ordered memorial masses for the future, discussed matters with the priest, hurried from room to room with his shambling gait. Every now and then he peeped into the dining-room where the deceased lay, crossed himself, lifted his hands heavenward, and late at night stole quietly to the door to listen to the sexton's monotonous reading of the Psalms. He was pleasantly surprised that his expenses upon the occasions would be very slight, for Arina Petrovna long before her death had put away a sum of money for her burial and itemized in detail the various expenditures.
Having buried his mother, Porfiry Vladimirych at once began to familiarize himself with her effects. Examining the papers he found about a dozen various wills (in one of them she called him "undutiful"); but all of them had been written when Arina Petrovna was still the domineering, despotic mistress, and were incomplete—in the form of tentative drafts.
So Yudushka was quite pleased that he had no need to play foul in order to declare himself the sole legitimate heir to his mother's property. The latter consisted of a capital of fifteen thousand rubles and of a scanty movable estate which included the famous coach that had nearly become the cause of dissension between mother and son. Arina Petrovna kept her own accounts quite separate and distinct from those of her wards, so that one could see at a glance what belonged to her and what to the orphans. Yudushka lost no time in declaring himself heir at the proper legal places. He sealed the papers bearing on the guardianship, gave the servants his mother's scanty wardrobe, and sent the coach and two cows to Golovliovo, which were placed in the inventory under the heading "mine." Then he had the last requiem performed and went his way.
"Wait for the owners," he told the people gathered in the hallway to see him off. "If they come, they'll be welcome; if they don't—just as they please. For my part, I did all I could. I straightened out the guardianship accounts and hid nothing. Everything was done in plain view, in front of everybody. The money that mother left belongs to me legally. The coach and the two cows that I sent to Golovliovo are mineby law.Maybe some of my property is lefthere.However, I won't insist on it. God Himself commands us to give to orphans. I am sorry to have lost mother, she was a good old woman, a kindly soul. Oh, mother dear, it was not right of you, darling, to have left us poor orphans. But if it had pleased God to take you, it befits us to submit to His holy will. May, at least, your soul rejoice in heaven, and as for us—well, we are not to be considered."
The first death was soon followed by another.
Yudushka's attitude toward his son's fate was quite puzzling. Since he did not receive newspapers and was not in correspondence with anybody, he could not learn anything of the trial in which Petenka figured. And he hardly wished to. Above all things, he shunned disturbance of every kind. He was buried up to his ears in a swamp of petty details, all centering around the welfare and preservation of his precious self. There are many such people in this world. They live apart from the rest of humanity, having neither the desire nor the knowledge to identify themselves with a "cause," and bursting in the end like so many soap bubbles. They have no ties of friendship, for friendship presupposes the existence of common interests; nor do they have any business connections. For thirty years at a stretch Porfiry Vladimirych had marked time in a government office. Then, one fine day he disappeared, and no one noticed the fact.
He learned of his son's fate after his domestics had. But even then he feigned ignorance, so that when Yevpraksia once tried to mention Petenka, he waved her off and said:
"No, no, no! I don't know, I did not hear anything, and I don't want to hear anything. I don't want to know a thing about his dirty affairs."
But finally he did learn about Petenka. He received a letter from him saying he was about to leave for one of the remote provinces and asking his father to continue to send him an allowance in his new position. The whole of the next day Porfiry Vladimirych was in a state of visible perplexity. He darted from room to room, peeped into the oratory, crossed himself, and sighed. But toward evening he plucked up courage and wrote the following letter:
"My criminal son Piotr:"As a faithful and law-abiding subject I should not even answer your letter. But as a father given to human weaknesses, I cannot, from a sense of compassion, refuse good advice to a child who, through his own fault, plunged himself into a whirlpool of evil."Here, in short, is my opinion on the subject. The punishment that has been meted out to you is severe, but you quite deserve it. That is the first and most important consideration that should always accompany you in your new life from now on. All your other vagaries and even the memory thereof you must forget, for in your present situation all this will only tend to irritate you and urge you on to impious complaint. You have already tasted of the bitter fruits of haughtiness of spirit. Try now to taste of the fruits of humility, all the more so since there is nothing else left for you in the future. Do not complain of the punishment, for the authorities do not even punish you, but only provide means for your correction. To be grateful for this, and to endeavor to make amends for what you did—that is what you must incessantly bear in mind, and not the luxurious frittering away of time, which I myself, by the way, never did, although I was never under indictment. So follow this prudent advice of mine and turn over a new leaf, satisfied with what the authorities, in their kindness, will deem it necessary to allot to you. I, for my part, will pray the Giver of all things good to grant you firmness and humility. Even on the very day on which I write these lines I have been to church and offered up fervent prayers for you. And now, I bless you for the new journey and remain, your indignant but still loving father, Porfiry Golovliov."
"My criminal son Piotr:
"As a faithful and law-abiding subject I should not even answer your letter. But as a father given to human weaknesses, I cannot, from a sense of compassion, refuse good advice to a child who, through his own fault, plunged himself into a whirlpool of evil.
"Here, in short, is my opinion on the subject. The punishment that has been meted out to you is severe, but you quite deserve it. That is the first and most important consideration that should always accompany you in your new life from now on. All your other vagaries and even the memory thereof you must forget, for in your present situation all this will only tend to irritate you and urge you on to impious complaint. You have already tasted of the bitter fruits of haughtiness of spirit. Try now to taste of the fruits of humility, all the more so since there is nothing else left for you in the future. Do not complain of the punishment, for the authorities do not even punish you, but only provide means for your correction. To be grateful for this, and to endeavor to make amends for what you did—that is what you must incessantly bear in mind, and not the luxurious frittering away of time, which I myself, by the way, never did, although I was never under indictment. So follow this prudent advice of mine and turn over a new leaf, satisfied with what the authorities, in their kindness, will deem it necessary to allot to you. I, for my part, will pray the Giver of all things good to grant you firmness and humility. Even on the very day on which I write these lines I have been to church and offered up fervent prayers for you. And now, I bless you for the new journey and remain, your indignant but still loving father, Porfiry Golovliov."
It is uncertain whether the letter ever reached Petenka, but no more than a month after it was sent, Porfiry Vladimirych was officially notified that his son, while on his way to the place of exile, had fallen ill and died in a hospital.
Yudushka remained alone, but at first did not realize that this new loss had made his life an absolute void. The realization came soon after the death of Arina Petrovna, when he was all absorbed in reckoning and figuring. He read every paper of the deceased, took into account every kopek, traced the relation of this kopek to the kopeks of the guardianship, not wishing, as he put it, either to acquire another's, or to lose his own. Amidst this bustle the question never once arose in his mind: To what end was he doing all this, and who was to enjoy the fruits of his busy hoarding?
From morning to night he bent over his desk musing and criticizing the arrangements of the deceased. Engrossed in these cares he began little by little to neglect the bookkeeping of his own estate.
The manor fell into profound silence. The domestics, who had always preferred the servants' quarters, abandoned the house almost entirely, and when in the master's rooms would walk on tiptoe and speak in a whisper. There was an air of desertion and death about the place and about the man, something eery. The gloom enveloping Yudushka was to grow denser every day.
During Lent, when no theatrical performances were given, Anninka came to Golovliovo. Lubinka had been unable to accompany her because she had been engaged for the entire Lent and had gone to Romny, Izum, Kremenchug, etc., where she was to give concerts and sing her entire music-hall repertoire.
During her brief artistic career Anninka had greatly improved in looks. She was no longer the simple, anæmic, somewhat sluggish girl who in Dubrovino or Pogorelka had walked from room to room humming and swaying awkwardly, as if she could not find a place for herself. She was now quite developed, with confident, even dashing manners. At the very first glance one could tell she was quick at repartee. The change in her appearance gave Porfiry Vladimirych a pleasant surprise. Before him stood a tall, well-built woman with a lovely pink complexion, high, well-developed bust, full eyes, and abundant ash-colored hair, which she wore braided low on her neck—a woman evidently aware of her own attractiveness.
She arrived at Golovliovo early in the morning and at once retired to a room, from which she emerged in a splendid silk gown. She entered the dining-room with a swish of her train, manipulating it skilfully among the chairs. Though Yudushka loved God above all, it did not prevent him from having a taste for beautiful and, especially, tall, plump women. So he crossed Anninka first, then kissed her so emphatically on both cheeks, casting queer glances at her bust meanwhile, that Anninka could not refrain from smiling faintly.
They sat down at the tea table. Anninka raised her arms and stretched.
"Oh, uncle, how dull it is here!" she began, yawning slightly.
"There you are! Here only a minute and dull already. You stay with us some time, then we'll see, perhaps you won't find it so dull after all," answered Porfiry Vladimirych, his eyes suddenly taking on an oily glitter.
"No, there isn't an interesting thing here. What is there? Snow all around, no neighbors. Is there a regiment quartered anywhere near here?"
"Yes, there is a regiment and there are neighbors; but, to tell the truth, it doesn't interest me. Yet, if you——"
Porfiry Vladimirych looked at her and did not end his sentence, but coughed. Perhaps he had stopped intentionally, wishing to excite her feminine curiosity. At any rate the same faint smile as before glided over her lips. She leaned her elbows on the table and looked at Yevpraksia fixedly. The, girl all flushed, was drying the glasses, casting sly glances at Anninka with her large, heavy eyes.
"My new housekeeper—very industrious," said Porfiry Vladimirych.
Anninka nodded slightly and began to purr softly:
"Ah, ah! que j'aime—que j'aime—que j'aime—les mili-mili-mili-taires!"and her hips quivered as she sang.
Silence set in, during which Yudushka, his eyes meekly lowered, sipped his tea from a glass.
"My, it's dull!" said Anninka, yawning again.
"It's dull, and it's dull! You never get tired of saying that. You wait a while, stay here a bit longer. We'll order the sleigh set to rights, and you'll ride to your heart's content."
"Uncle, why didn't you become a hussar?"
"Because, my friend, every man has his station ordained by the Lord. Some are to become hussars, others functionaries, others merchants; some are——"
"Oh, yes, and so on, and so forth. Who can keep track of it all? And God ordained all that, did He?"
"Why, yes, my friend, God. And it is not proper to scoff. Do you know what the Scriptures say? 'Without the will of God——'"
"Is it about the hair? Yes, I know that, too. But the trouble is, everybody wears false hair now, and I don't think that was foreseen. By the way, uncle, look what wonderful braids I have! Don't you think they're fine?"
Porfiry Vladimirych came nearer, for some reason, on tiptoe, and fingered her braids for some time. And Yevpraksia, without relaxing her hold on the saucer filled with tea and holding a bit of toast between her teeth, leaned forward and said, "False, I suppose?"
"Oh, no, my own. Some day I'll let my hair down for you, uncle."
"Yes, your hair is fine," said Yudushka, his lips parting in a repulsive smile. Then he recalled that one must turn his back on such temptations and added, "Oh, you hoyden! Always thinking about braids and trains, but you'd never think of inquiring about the main thing, the real thing?"
"Oh, about grandmother? She is dead, isn't she?"
"Yes, my friend, she died. And how she died! Peacefully, calmly, not a soul heard it. That's what I call a worthy end to one's earthly life. She thought of everybody, gave everybody her blessing, called a priest, received her last communion, and suddenly became so calm, so calm! Then she began to sigh. Sighed once, twice, three times, and before we knew it, she was no more."
Yudushka rose, turned toward the ikon, folded his hands, and offered up a prayer. Tears rose to his eyes, so well did he simulate. But Anninka apparently was not of the sentimental kind. It is true she remained pensive for a while but for quite a different reason.
"Do you remember, uncle, how she used to feed my sister and me on sour milk when we were little ones? Not later. Later she was splendid. I mean when she was still rich."
"Oh, well, let bygones be bygones. She fed you on sour milk, but you look none the worse for it, may the Lord be with you. Do you think you would care to visit her grave?"
"Yes, I wouldn't mind."
"But you know, it would be well if you purified yourself first."
"What do you mean, purified?"
"You know—an actress. You think it was easy for the old woman? So before you go to her grave I think you should attend a mass to purify yourself, you know. You see, I'll order a mass early tomorrow morning, and then—Godspeed!"
Absurd as Yudushka's proposition was, it confused Anninka for a minute. But she soon knitted her brows angrily and said sharply:
"No, I'll go now—as I am!"
"Well, I don't know, do as you please. But my advice is: let's attend the mass tomorrow morning, then take tea and have a pair of swift little horses hitched to a pony cart, and then go together. You see, you would become cleansed of your sins, and your grandmother's soul would——"
"Oh, uncle, how foolish you are, though. Lord knows what nonsense you talk. And you even insist on it."
"So you don't like it? Well, don't hold it against me, my dear. I am straight from the shoulder, you know. When it comes to truth, I'll tell it to others and take it from others as well. Though at times it goes against the grain, though truth is hard at times, but I'll always listen to it. And one must listen to it, because—it's the truth. So, my dear. You stay with us a while and live the way we do. Then you'll see that it's better than going with a guitar from fair to fair."
"Heaven knows what you're talking about, uncle. 'With a guitar!'"
"Well, if it isn't a guitar, then it's a bagpipe or something. Besides, you offended me first, called me foolish. So I, an old man, surely have a right to tell you the truth to your face."
"All right, let it be the truth. We won't argue about it. But tell me, please, did grandmother leave anything?"
"Why, of course, she did. But the legitimate heir was present in person."
"That is you. All the better. Was she buried here in Golovliovo?"
"No, near Pogorelka, at the St. Nicholas Church. It was her own wish."
"I'll go. Can I hire horses here, uncle?"
"Why hire? I've got my own. You are not a stranger, I dare say, a niece, my little niece."
Porfiry Vladimirych began to liven up, and put on anen famillegrin. "A pony cart, a pair of fine little horses—thank God, I am not poor, I dare say! And wouldn't it be well for me to go with you? We would visit the grave, you see, and then would go to Pogorelka and peep in here and there, and we would think matters over, talk things over—about this and that. Yours is a fine little estate, you know. It has some very good spots."
"No, I'll go alone, I think. Why should you go? By the way, Petenka's dead, too, I hear?"
"Yes, my dear friend, Petenka is dead, too. I am sorry for him in one way, very sorry—to the point of tears; but then—it was all his own fault. He was always disrespectful to his father, that's why God punished him. And what God, in His great wisdom, did, you and I cannot undo."
"Of course, we can't. But what makes me wonder is, why you don't find it too horrible to live."
"Why should I fear? You see how much succor I have all around." Yudushka made a gesture, pointing to the ikons. "Succor here and succor in my study. The ikon room is a veritable paradise. You see how many protectors I have."
"But still, you are always alone. It's frightful."
"And if I am afraid, I fall on my knees, say a prayer, and the fear is all gone. And why be afraid? It's light during the day, and at night I have ikon lamps burning in every room. From outside in the dark it looks as if there were a ball in the house. And what ball? Who are the guests? Holy protectors, God's chosen. Those are my guests!"
"You know, Petenka wrote to us before his death."
"Well, of course, he is a relative. It's a good thing he did not lose his feelings of kinship."
"Yes, he wrote to us. It was after the trial, when sentence had been pronounced. He wrote he had lost three thousand rubles in cards and you would not give him the money. But you are rich, uncle, aren't you?"
"Ah, my dear, it's easy to count money in another man's pocket. Sometimes we think a man has mountains of gold, and when you come closer you see he has barely enough for oil and a candle—not for himself—for God."
"Well, then, we are richer than you. We gave some of our own money and took up a collection among our gentlemen friends. We scraped six hundred rubles together and sent it to him."
"What do you mean 'gentlemen friends?'"
"Oh, uncle, we are actresses, you know. Didn't you yourself suggest that I purify myself?"
"I don't like it when you speak that way."
"What can you do? Whether you like it or not, you can't undo what has been done. According to you, God is in that, too."
"Don't blaspheme at least. You may say anything you want, but don't blaspheme. I won't stand for it. Where did you send the money to?"
"I don't remember. To a little town of some sort. He wrote us the name."
"I didn't know. If there was money, I should have gotten it after his death. It is not possible that he spent it all at once. Well, I don't know, I didn't get any. I suppose the jailers and guards were on to it."
"I'm not asking for it, uncle. I just mentioned it while we were on the subject. It's awful, uncle, for a man to perish on account of three thousand rubles."
"It wasn't all on account of the three thousand. Haven't you something else to say than to keep on repeating 'three thousand, three thousand?' But God——"
Yudushka had got his cue and was about to explain in detail how God—Providence—by unseen ways—and all that, but Anninka unceremoniously yawned and said:
"Oh, uncle, how boring it is here."
This time Porfiry Vladimirych was truly offended and became silent. For a long time they both paced up and down the dining room. Anninka yawned, Porfiry Vladimirych crossed himself at every step. At last the carriage was announced and the usual comedy of seeing relations off began. Golovliov put on his fur coat, went out on the porch, kissed Anninka and shouted to the servants, "Her feet! Wrap up her feet well!" and "What about the blankets, have you taken the blankets along? See you don't forget them!" all the while making signs of the cross in the air.
Anninka visited her grandmother's grave, asked the priest to say the mass, and when the choir began to chant the "Eternal memory," she cried a bit. The background of the ceremony was rather sad. The church near which Arina Petrovna had been buried was of the poorest kind. In some places the plaster had fallen off its walls and exposed large patches of brick. The sound of the bells was feeble and hollow, the priest's robe was threadbare. The cemetery was snowed under, so that the path to the grave had to be shovelled clear. No monument had yet been placed. Nothing but a plain white cross, even without an inscription, marked the grave. The cemetery was in a lonely spot removed from any dwelling. Not far from the church stood the houses of the priest and the church officials and all around the cheerless, snow-covered plains stretched as far as the eye could reach. Here and there one could see brushwood jutting out from the snow. A sharp March wind was sweeping over the churchyard, wafting away the chanting of the churchmen and lashing the priest's robe.
"Who would have thought, madam, that the richest landlady in the district would rest here under this modest cross in our poor parish?" said the priest when he was through with the requiem.
At these words Anninka cried again. She recalled the poet's line: "Where feasts once reigned a hearse now stands!" And the tears kept streaming down her cheeks. Then she went to the priest's house, had tea there, and talked with his wife. Another line came back to her: "And pallid death on all doth stare," and again she wept, long and bitterly.
Nobody had notified the people at Pogorelka that the young lady was coming, so that the rooms were not even heated. Anninka, with her fur coat on, walked through all the rooms, remaining a moment in grandmother's bedroom and the ikon room. In the former she found a bedstead with a heap of soiled, greasy pillows, some without pillow-cases. Scraps of paper lay on the desk in disorder, the floor had not been swept and a thick coat of dust covered everything. Anninka sat down in the easy-chair where her grandmother used to sit, and became lost in thought. At first came up reminiscences of the past; then they were crowded out by images of the present. The former came in the shape of fleeting patches and fragments, pausing in her mind for no more than a moment; the latter were more persistent. It was but a brief while ago that she had longed to flee from Pogorelka and it had seemed a hateful place. Now her heart suddenly filled with a morbid desire to live there again.
"It is quiet here, it is not cozy, and it is unsightly; but it is quiet, so quiet, as if everything around were dead. There is much air and much room."
She looked out over the endless fields and felt a desire to dash straight across them, without aim or purpose, just to breathe fast and feel a pain in her chest. Andthere,in the half-nomadic life from which she had just escaped and to which shemustreturn—what awaited her there? What had she gained by it? Nothing but recollections of hotels permeated with stench, of an everlasting din coming from the dining and billiard rooms, of unkempt porters, of rehearsals on the stage in the twilight and among the scenes of painted linen, the feel of which was abominable, in the draught and in the dampness. And then, army officers, lawyers, obscene language, and the eternal uproar! What hadn't the men told her! With what obscenity hadn't they touched her! Especially the one with the mustache, with a voice hoarse from drink, inflamed eyes, and a perpetual smell of the stable about him. Lord, what he had told her! Anninka shivered at the very recollection and shut her eyes. Then she came to, sighed, and went into the ikon room. There were now only a few ikons in the image-case, only those which had unquestionably belonged to her mother. The rest of them, her grandmother's, Yudushka, as the legitimate heir, had removed to Golovliovo. The empty spaces where they had stood stared like the hollow eye-sockets in a deathshead. Nor were there any ikon lamps. Yudushka had taken all of them. Only one yellow bit of wax candle stood out, orphan-like, from a miniature tin candlestick that had been forgotten.
"His Excellency wanted to take the image case, too. He was trying to make sure if it really was a part of madam's dowry," reported Afimyushka.
"Well, he could have taken it. Tell me, Afimyushka, did grandma suffer much before she died?"
"No, not much, she was laid up for only a day or so. She just went out, of her own self. She wasn't really sick or anything. She didn't talk either, just mentioned you and your sister once or twice."
"So Porfiry Vladimirych carried off the ikons?"
"Yes, he did. He said they were his mother's personal property. He also took the coach and two cows. From the mistress's papers he gathered, I suppose, that they belonged to your grandmother, not to you. He also wanted to take away a horse, but Fedulych would not give it to him. 'It's our horse,' he said, 'an old-timer in Pogorelka.' So Porfiry Vladimirych left it here. He was afraid."
Anninka walked through the yard, peeped into the servants' quarters, the barn, and the cattle yard. In a swamp of manure stood about twenty lean cows and three horses. She ordered some bread to be brought, saying, "I'll pay for it," and gave every cow a piece of bread.
Then the cattle-house woman invited the young lady into the house. There was a jug of milk on the table, and in the corner near the oven, behind a low wainscot screening, a new-born calf was sheltered.
Anninka tasted some milk, ran to the little calf, kissed his snout, but quickly wiped her lips, saying the calf had a horrid snout, all slabbery. At the end, she produced three yellow bills from her pocketbook, distributed them to the old domestics, and prepared to go.
"What are you going to do?" she asked, while she made herself comfortable in the pony cart, of old Fedulych, who, as thestarosta,followed the young owner, with his hands crossed on his breast.
"Well, what can we do? We'll live," answered Fedulych simply.
Anninka became sad again for a moment. There seemed to be irony in Fedulych's words. She waited a while, sighed, and said:
"Well, good-by."
"We thought that you would come back and live with us," said Fedulych.
"No, what's the use? Anyway—you live on!"
Tears flowed from her eyes again and the others cried, too. It seemed peculiar to her; there was nothing to regret in leaving the place, nothing sentimental to remember it by, and yet she was crying. And those people, too. She had not said anything out of the ordinary to them—just the usual questions and answers—and yet their hearts were heavy, they were sorry to see her go. She was seated in the cart, wrapped up and well covered. Everybody heaved a sigh. "Good luck!" came running after her when the cart started. Passing the churchyard she stopped again and went to the grave alone without the ecclesiastics, following the path that had been cleared. It was quite dark, and lights began to appear in the houses of the church officials. She stood there with one hand holding on to the cross rising from the grave. She did not cry, but only swayed slightly, thinking of nothing in particular, unable to formulate any definite thought. But she was unhappy, in every way unhappy. Not because of grandmother, but on her own account. So she stood for a quarter of an hour, and suddenly before her eyes rose the image of Lubinka, who perhaps at that very moment was singing merrily in a rollicking company, somewhere in Kremenchug: