The priest looked at her with his extinguished eyes, as if he meant to
ask, "Come now, do you really know what 'one's own bread is?'" but he
had not the courage to hurt her, so he only drew his cassock closer
about him.
"Do you receive much salary as an actress?" inquired the priest's wife.
The priest became thoroughly frightened, and even began to wink at his
wife. He expected Anninka to be offended, but Anninka was not offended
and answered without a waver, "At present I get a hundred and fifty
rubles a month, and my sister earns one hundred. But then we have
benefit performances. All told, the two of us net about six thousand a
year."
"Why does sister get less? Is she of inferior merit, or what?"
continued the priest's wife.
"No, hers is a different _genre._ I have a voice and I sing. The
audience likes it more. Sister's voice is a little weaker. So she plays
in vaudeville mostly."
"So even in acting some are priests, some deacons and others just
sextons?"
"Yes, but we share our income equally. That was our understanding from
the very beginning--to share all money equally."
"Like good sisters? Well, there is nothing better than that. How much
will that be, father? If you divide six thousand by months, how much
will that make?"
"Five hundred rubles a month, and divided by two it makes two hundred
and fifty rubles a month each."
"My, what a heap of money! We could not spend that much in a year.
Another thing I meant to ask you, is it true that actresses are treated
as if they were not real women?"
The priest became so alarmed that his cassock flew open; but seeing
that Anninka took the question quite indifferently, he said to himself,
"Eh--eh--she is really a hard nut to crack," and felt reassured.
"What do you mean 'not real women?'" she asked.
"Well, they kiss and embrace. I heard they must do it whether they want
to or not."
"No, they don't kiss--they only pretend to. And as to whether they want
to or not, that is out of the question entirely, because everything is
done according to the play. They must act whatever is written in the
play."
"Yes, but even if it's in the play--you know--sometimes a man with a
slabbery snout sidles up to you. He is loathsome to look at, but you've
got to hold your lips ready to let him kiss you."
A blush suffused Anninka's face. There suddenly flashed up in her
memory the slabbery face of the brave Captain Papkov, who had actually
"sidled up to her" and, alas! not even in accordance with the play.
"You have a wrong notion of what takes place on the stage," she said
drily.
"Of course, we've never been to the theatre, but I am sure many things
happen there. Father and I have often been speaking about you, madam.
We are sorry for you, very sorry, indeed."
Anninka was silent. The priest tugged at his beard as if he, too, had
finally gathered up enough courage to say something.
"Of course, it must be admitted, madam, that every calling has its
agreeable and disagreeable sides," he at last delivered himself, "but
we humans in our failings extol the former and try to forget the
latter. And why do we try to forget? Because, madam, we want as far as
possible to avoid even the remembrance of duty and of the virtuous life
we formerly led." He heaved a sigh and added, "And above all, madam,
you must guard your treasure."
The priest glanced at Anninka admonishingly, and his wife shook her
head sadly, as much as to say, "Not much chance of that."
"And it is very doubtful whether you can preserve your treasure while
an actress," he continued.
Anninka was at a loss what answer to make to these warnings. Little
by little she began to see that the talk of these simple-minded folk
about her "treasure" was of the same value as the pointed remarks of
the officers of the regiments stationed in the various towns about _la
chose._ Now it became quite clear to her that both at her uncle's and
at the priest's she was considered a peculiar individual to whom one
may condescend, but from a distance, so as not to soil oneself.
"Father, why is your church so poor?" she asked to change the subject.
"There is nothing here to make it rich--that's why it's poor. The
landlords are all away in the government service, and the peasants
haven't much to thrive on. In all there are a little over two hundred
parishioners."
"Our bell, you see, is a very poor one," sighed the priest's wife.
"Yes, the bell and everything. Our bell, madam, weighs only five
hundred pounds, and to make matters worse, it is cracked. It does not
ring, it coughs. To be so poor is even sinful. The late Arina Petrovna
promised to erect a new bell and, if she were alive we would most
likely have a new bell by now."
"Why don't you tell uncle that grandmother promised you one?"
"I did tell him, madam, and I must admit he listened very kindly to my
grievance, but he could not give me a satisfactory answer. He said he
had heard nothing about it from mother; that his late dear mother had
never spoken about the matter. He would gladly carry out her wishes, he
said, if he had only heard mother express them."
"He could not help hearing them," said the priest's wife. "It was known
throughout the district."
"So we live on in this wise. At first we had hopes, at least, now we
have no hopes left. Not to mention our own personal needs, there is
nothing to perform the service with sometimes--neither host nor red
wine."
Anninka wanted to rise and take leave, but a new tray appeared on the
table, with two dishes on it, one of mushrooms, the other with bits of
caviar, and a bottle of Madeira.
"Do oblige us and have a bite--it's the best we have."
Anninka obeyed and quickly swallowed some mushrooms, but refused the
Madeira.
"Another thing I meant to ask," continued the priest's wife, "we
have a girl in our parish, the daughter of a peasant in the service
of Lyshechevsky. She was the chambermaid of a certain actress in St.
Petersburg. She says the life of an actress is very easy and pleasant,
but an actress must produce a special passport every month. Is that
true?"
Anninka stared at her and did not understand.
"That is for the greater freedom," explained the priest. "But I
think she did not tell the truth. On the contrary, I heard that many
actresses even get pensions from the government for their services."
Anninka became convinced that matters were going from bad to worse, and
she rose to take leave.
"We thought you would give up acting now," the priest's wife persisted.
"Why should I?"
"Yes, but--you are a lady. You have reached your majority, you have an
estate of your own--what could be better?"
"And you are your uncle's heiress, you know," added the priest.
"No, I sha'n't live here."
"And how we were hoping for it! The father and I would often speak
about our little mistress. We thought you would surely come to live at
Pogorelka. In the summer it is very nice here. You can go to the woods
and pick mushrooms," tempted the priest's wife.
"We have mushrooms even in a dry summer, plenty of mushrooms," chimed
the priest.
At last Anninka left. When she reached Pogorelka, her first word was,
"Horses! Please have the horses ready at once!" But Fedulych only
shrugged his shoulders.
"What's the use of shouting horses? We haven't fed them yet," he
grumbled.
"But why? Oh, my God, as if everybody were conspiring against me!"
"That's it, we have conspired. How can you help conspiring if it's
clear as day that we can't ride at night in thawing weather? Anyway,
you'll get stranded in the mud a whole night, so it is better to be
stranded at home, I think."
Grandmother's apartments had been well heated. The bedroom had been
prepared, and a samovar was puffing on the table. Afimyushka scraped
together the remnants of tea at the bottom of Arina Petrovna's
tea-caddy. While the tea was drawing, Fedulych stood at the door, his
arms folded, facing the young mistress. Beside him stood the cattle
woman and Morkovna looking as if at the first wave of the hand they
were ready to flee for their lives.
Fedulych was first to begin the conversation.
"The tea is grandmother's--just a bit left in the bottom of the box.
Porfiry Vladimirych was going to take the box away, too, but I wouldn't
let him. 'Maybe,' I say, 'the young mistress will come and will want
to have some hot tea. So let it stay here till she gets some of her
own.' Well, I had no trouble with him--he even joked. 'You old rascal,'
he says, 'you will use it up yourself! Be sure,' he says, 'to bring
the box to Golovliovo.' I wouldn't be surprised if he sends for it
tomorrow."
"You should have given it to him then."
"Why should we? He has enough tea of his own. And now, at least, we,
too, will have some after you. Another thing, madam, are you going to
make us over to Porfiry Vladimirych?"
"Why, I never meant to."
"Just so. We were going to mutiny, you know. If, supposing, let's say,
we are put under the rule of the Golovliovo master, we will all hand in
our resignations."
"Why? Is uncle really so terrible?"
"No, he is not terrible, but he tortures you, he is all words. He can
talk a man into his grave."
Anninka smiled involuntarily. It was vile dirt indeed, that oozed from
Yudushka's orations, not mere babble. It was an ill-smelling wound from
which the pus flowed incessantly.
"And what have you decided, about yourself?" Fedulych continued to
question.
"Why, what was there to decide about myself?" said Anninka, a bit
confused, feeling that she would again be compelled to listen to
orations on the "treasure."
"Aren't you really going to give up acting?"
"No--that is, I haven't thought of it so far. But what harm is there in
my earning my own bread?"
"I don't see any good in going with a bagpipe from fair to fair to
amuse drunkards. Surely you are a lady."
Anninka did not reply, only knitting her brows. A painful thought
drummed in her head, "God, when will I leave this place?"
"Of course, you know better how to take care of yourself. But we
thought you would come back to live with us. The house is warm,
and roomy enough to play tag in. The late mistress looked after
the building herself. And if you feel dull, why then you can go
sleigh-riding. In the summer you can go to the woods to pick mushrooms."
"We have all kinds of mushrooms here--lots of them," lisped Afimyushka
temptingly.
Anninka leaned her elbows on the table and tried not to listen.
"There was a girl here," continued Fedulych cruelly. "She was a
chambermaid in St. Petersburg. She says all actresses must have special
passports. Every month they have to present their license at the police
station."
Anninka could bear it no longer. She had had to listen to such speeches
all day long.
"Fedulych!" she shouted in pain. "What have I done to you? Why do you
take pleasure in insulting me?"
It was all she could stand. She felt as if something was strangling
her. Another word--and she would break down.
BOOK V
FORBIDDEN FAMILY JOYS
CHAPTER I
Not long before the catastrophe that befell Petenka, Arina Petrovna,
on one of her visits to Golovliovo, noticed a change in Yevpraksia.
Brought up in the practices of serfdom, where the pregnancy of
a domestic was the subject of a detailed and not uninteresting
investigation, and was even considered an item of income, Arina
Petrovna had a keen eye for such matters. She merely looked at
Yevpraksia, and the girl, without saying a word, turned away her
flushed face in full cognizance of her guilt.
"Come now, come now, my lady. Look at me. Pregnant, eh?" the
experienced old woman asked the young culprit. However, there was no
reproach in her voice, on the contrary, it sounded jocose, almost gay,
as if the old woman scented a whiff of the dear, good, old times.
Yevpraksia, bashful and complacent, kept silence, but under Arina
Petrovna's inquisitive look, the red of her cheeks deepened.
"For some time I have been noticing that you walk kind of stiff,
strutting about and twirling your skirts as if you were a respectable
lady! But, my dear, you can't fool me with your strutting and twirling.
I can see your girlish tricks five versts ahead! Is it the wind that
puffed you up? Since when is it? Out with it now. Tell me all about
it."
A detailed inquiry ensued, followed by a no less detailed explanation.
When had the first symptoms appeared? Had she a midwife in view? Did
Porfiry Vladimirych know of the joy in store for him? Was Yevpraksia
taking good care of herself? Was she careful not to lift anything
heavy? The findings were that it was now the fifth month since
Yevpraksia had been pregnant; that she had no midwife in view as yet;
that Porfiry Vladimirych had been informed of the matter, but had said
nothing. He had only folded his hands, mumbled something, and glanced
at the ikon, to intimate that all is from God and that He, the Heavenly
Father, provides for all occasions. Yevpraksia had been careless; she
had lifted a samovar and had then and there felt that something inside
of her snapped.
"You've got brains, I must say," said Arina Petrovna in a grieved
tone when the confession was out. "I see I'll have to look into the
matter myself. Did you ever! A woman in the fifth month and hasn't even
provided for a midwife! But why at least didn't you see Ulita about it,
you fool, you?"
"I was going to, but the master doesn't like Ulita, you know."
"Nonsense, girl, nonsense! Whether Ulita offended the master or not has
nothing at all to do with the case. He doesn't have to kiss her, does
he? No, there is no way out of it. I'll have to take this thing in hand
myself."
It was on the tip of her tongue to complain that even in her old age
she had hardships to bear, but the subject of the conversation was so
attractive that she only parted her lips with a smack and continued:
"Well, my girl, you are in for it. Take your medicine, try it and see
how it tastes. Go ahead, just try it. I myself raised three sons and
a daughter, and I buried five little ones--I ought to know. We are no
better than slaves to those nasty men!" she added, slapping herself on
the nape of her neck.
Suddenly, she stopped, struck by a new idea. "Holy saints! If it isn't
going to be in Lent! Wait, just a moment, let's figure it out."
They began to figure on their fingers, they figured once, twice, a
third time--it surely came out on a Lenten day.
"So that's how it is. That's the kind of saint he is. Just wait, I'll
tease the life out of him. A pretty mess for him! I'll tease him. My
name is mud if I won't," jested Arina Petrovna.
And truly, that very day, when all were gathered at evening tea, Arina
Petrovna began to poke fun at Yudushka.
"See what a trick our saint has played. Maybe it really is the wind
that puffed your queen up. Well, brother, you've surprised me, I must
say."
At first Yudushka answered his mother's banter with grimaces of
aversion, but seeing that Arina Petrovna spoke good-naturedly and meant
no harm, he brightened up little by little.
"You are wag, mother dear, you certainly are," he jested in his turn,
though evading the real point.
"Why call me a wag? We had better speak seriously about the matter.
It's no joke, you know. It's a 'sacrament,' that's what it is. Though
not a proper one but still----No, we've got to give it serious thought.
What do you think; is she to stay here, or will you send her to the
town?"
"I don't know, mother, I don't know a thing, darling," said Porfiry
Vladimirych evasively. "You are a wag, you certainly are."
"Well, my girl, never mind, then. We'll talk it over, just the two of
us, at leisure. We'll figure it out, and arrange things properly. These
mean men--all they need is to satisfy their lust, and we, poor devils,
we get the worst of it."
Arina Petrovna felt in her element. She spent a whole evening
discussing things with Yevpraksia and could have gone on indefinitely.
Even her cheeks began to glow and her eyes to glitter youthfully.
"You know, my dear, what it is? It's something divine, it is," she
insisted. "Because, even if it isn't in the proper way, still it's the
natural way. But you had better look out. If it comes during Lent--God
save you! I'll tease you to death, I'll make this world too hot for
you."
Ulita was also called into the council. First matters of real
importance were taken up; whether an injection was to be made or
whether the abdomen was to be massaged with quicksilver salve. Then
they turned to the favorite theme and figured on their fingers
again--it came out on a Lenten day! Yevpraksia turned as red as a peony
and did not deny it, but pleaded her subordinate position.
"What could I do?" she said. "I must do what he wants me to do. If the
master orders us to do something, we, poor devils, can't help but obey."
"Look at her playing the goody-goody. I'll bet, you yourself---" jested
Arina Petrovna.
The woman fairly revelled in the affair. Arina Petrovna recalled a
number of incidents from her past, and did not fail to narrate them.
First she told of her own pregnancies, what tortures she had had to
stand from Simple Simon; how, while carrying Pavel Vladimirych, she
travelled by post to Moscow, changing horses at every stage so as not
to miss the Dubrovino auction, and as a result nearly departed to the
better world, etc., etc. All her deliveries had been remarkable for
something or other. Yudushka's was the only one that had come easy.
"I didn't feel the least bit of heaviness," she said. "I would sit and
think, 'Lord, am I really pregnant?' And when the time came I just lay
down to rest for a few minutes and I don't know how it happened--I gave
birth to him. He was the easiest son to me, the very, very easiest."
Then followed stories about domestics, how she herself "caught some of
them in the act," how others were spied upon by her trusties, Ulita
being generally the leader. Her old woman's memory faithfully guarded
these remarkably distinct recollections. In all her drab past--always
devoted to hoarding on both a petty and a large scale, the tracking of
lust-stricken domestics was the only romantic element that touched a
living chord in her.
It was as if in a dull magazine where the reader expects to find
treatises on dry fogs and Ovid's grave, he suddenly comes upon "See
the troika, gaily dashing," or some such spirited song of gaiety or
sadness. The denouement of these simple love affairs of the maids' room
was generally drastic and even cruel. The woman was married off into
a remote village, by all means to a widower with a large family, the
male culprit was degraded to the position of a cattle tender or even
pressed into military service. Arina Petrovna's recollection of the
closing chapters of such romances had faded (cultured people have a
memory indulgent of their own past), but the spying out of the amorous
intrigues passed before her eyes in all its vividness. And no wonder.
In those days there was the same absorbing interest in spying of that
sort as there is nowadays in the serial "evening story," in which the
author, instead of at once crowning the mutual longing of the hero and
the heroine, breaks off at the most pathetic place and writes, "to be
continued."
"Those girls gave me no end of trouble. Some would keep up the pretense
to the last minute, and would feign and sham in the hope of eluding me.
But no, my dear, you can't fool me. I am an old hand at it myself," she
added almost sternly, as if threatening some one.
Finally came the stories of diplomatic pregnancies, so to speak, in
which Arina Petrovna had figured not as the chastiser, but as the
accomplice and concealer.
For example, her father Piotr Ivanych, when he was an old, tottering
man of seventy, had also had a "mistress," who had also been discovered
with an "increment"; and for higher considerations it had been
necessary to conceal the "increment" from the old man. As ill luck
would have it, Arina Petrovna was then at odds with her brother Piotr
Petrovich who, also for some diplomatic reasons, had wanted to spy upon
the pregnancy and leave his father in no doubt as to his lady-love's
position.
"And what do you think? We carried the whole thing through almost in
front of father's nose. The old dear slept in his bedroom, and the two
of us, alongside of him, went on with our work, quietly, in a whisper
and on tiptoe. I myself with my own hands closed up her mouth, so she
could not scream, disposed of the linen, and then grabbed hold of her
baby--he was a fine, big fellow--and dispatched him to the foundling
asylum. When brother learned about it a week later he only gasped."
There had been another diplomatic pregnancy. Her cousin Varvara
Mikhailovna had been involved in the case. Her husband had left on a
campaign against the Turks, and she had not been sufficiently careful.
She came galloping to Golovliovo like one possessed and had shouted
"Save me, cousin!"
"Well, though we were on the outs with her at that time, I did not make
her feel it. I welcomed her in the most hospitable way, calmed her,
reassured her, pretended she had just come to us on a visit, and fixed
the matter up so that her husband did not know a thing about it till
his dying day."
Thus ran the tales of Arina Petrovna, and seldom has a narrator found
more attentive listeners. Yevpraksia swallowed every word as if the
incidents of a wonderful fairy tale were actually passing before her
eyes. As to Ulita, she as an erstwhile participant in most of it, only
made smacking sounds with the corners of her lips.
Ulita also brightened up and felt more comfortable than she had for a
long time. Hers was a restless life. Even in childhood she had burned
with servile ambitions. Sleeping and waking, she would dream about
gaining favor in her master's eyes and getting the whiphand over those
in her own station in life. But her dreams never came true. As soon
as she set foot on the rung higher up, she would be tugged back and
plunged into the inferno by an unseen, mysterious power. She possessed
in perfection the qualities of an all-round servant of the gentlefolk.
She was venomous, evil-tongued and always ready for treachery, but
also slavishly ready to go anywhere and do anything that neutralized
her viciousness. In former days, when it was necessary to follow up an
event in the maid servants' room, or settle any dubious affair, Arina
Petrovna had gladly made use of her services, though she had never
appreciated them and had not admitted her to any office of trust.
Ulita would then make loud complaints, and sting with her tongue,
but no one paid attention to her grumblings, for she was well known
as a malevolent woman, ready to curse herself and others to eternal
damnation, but the next moment at a mere wink willing to come running
and sit up on her hind legs prepared to do her master's bidding.
And so she had been knocked about, always trying to get somewhere and
never getting there, till the abolition of serfdom put an end to her
slavish ambitions.
One event in Ulita's youth had kindled in her great hopes. Porfiry
Vladimirych, on one of his visits to Golovliovo, had become intimate
with her, and, as tradition had it, had even had a child by her. That
had brought down upon him the wrath of Arina Petrovna. It is uncertain
whether the relationship had been kept up on his subsequent visits; at
any rate, when Yudushka decided to establish himself permanently at
Golovliovo, Ulita's hopes had been shattered grievously. Immediately
after his arrival she came to him with a heap of gossip, in which
Arina Petrovna was accused of all sorts of fraud. The master listened
very affably to her gossip, but gave Ulita a cold look, evidently
failing to remember her former "good services." Offended and deceived
in her hopes, Ulita transferred herself to Dubrovino, where Pavel
Vladimirych, because of his hatred for his dear brother Porfiry
Vladimirych, received her gladly and even made her his housekeeper.
Here for a long time her condition seemed to improve. Pavel Vladimirych
would sit in the entresol and sip one glass of vodka after another,
and she would run busily from storeroom to cellar, clanging a bunch
of keys, and rattling her tongue. She had even quarrelled with Arina
Petrovna, whom the sly wench nearly drove to her grave.
But Ulita loved treachery too well to be content with the peace and
quiet that had come with her "good living." That was when Pavel
Vladimirych had become so addicted to drink that his end could readily
be foreseen. Porfiry Vladimirych was alive to Ulita's priceless value
at this juncture, and he snapped his fingers again and summoned her.
He ordered her never for a moment to leave his prey, not to contradict
Pavel in anything, not even in his hatred of his brother Porfiry, and
by all means to eliminate the interference of Arina Petrovna. This
had been one of those domestic crimes which Yudushka had a gift of
perpetrating without previous deliberation, spontaneously, and as a
matter of course. Needless to say, Ulita carried out his orders most
faithfully. Pavel Vladimirych never ceased to hate his brother, and the
more he hated him, the more he drank his vodka, and the less capable
he became of heeding the remarks and advice of Arina Petrovna as to
"making provisions." Every moment of the dying man, every word uttered
were at once reported to Golovliovo, so that Yudushka, equipped with a
full knowledge of the facts, could determine the exact moment he should
have to leave his ambush and step in as master of the situation that
he had created. And so he had! He had come to Dubrovino at the very
moment that he could get the estate for the asking. Porfiry Vladimirych
had rewarded Ulita's services by making her a gift of cloth for a
woolen dress, but he never admitted her close to him.
Again Ulita had been plunged from the heights of grandeur into the
depths of inferno. It seemed to be her last fall. No one would snap his
fingers again and summon her for service. As a sign of special favor
and in consideration of her "nursing dear brother in his last days,"
she had been allotted a nook in the house where all the deserving old
servants, who had remained after the abolition of serfdom, had found
shelter. Here Ulita had become completely cowed, and when Porfiry
Vladimirych made his choice of Yevpraksia, she not only had not shown
any obstinacy, but had even been first to come to do homage to the
master's love and had kissed her shoulder.
And now, when she had given herself up as forgotten and abandoned,
she struck luck once more in Yevpraksia's pregnancy. It was suddenly
recalled that somewhere in the servants' room there was a handy person.
Somebody snapped her fingers and summoned Ulita. True, it was not the
master who had snapped his fingers. But that he offered no obstacles
was in itself sufficient grace. Ulita celebrated her entry into the
Golovliovo manor by taking the samovar from Yevpraksia's hands.
Bending sidewise a bit, with the weight of it, she walked smartly into
the dining-room, where Porfiry Vladimirych was already seated. The
master said not a word. He even smiled, she thought, when upon another
occasion, as she was bringing in the samovar, she shouted from a
distance, "Step to one side, master, or I'll scald you."
When Ulita answered the summons to the family council she made wry
faces at first and refused to be seated. But when Arina Petrovna
shouted at her in a kindly way, "Sit down,--will you? What's the use of
your tricks? God made us all equal--be seated." Ulita sat down and kept
silence a while. Very shortly, however, her tongue unloosened.
She, too, had her reminiscences. Her memory was stuffed with filth
from the days of her serfdom. Beside the carrying out of delicate
commissions like dogging the amorous doings of the maids' room, Ulita
had also held the office of leech and apothecary in the Golovliovo
manor. It was she who made all the injections, and applied the
cupping-glasses and mustard plasters. She had given even the old
master, Vladimir Mikhailych and Arina Petrovna injections, and the
young master, too--every one of them. She retained the most grateful
memories, and now there was a boundless field for all her reminiscences.
A new mysterious life animated the Golovliovo manor. Arina Petrovna
would come over from Pogorelka every now and then to pay her "good son"
a visit and supervise preparations that as yet were given no name.
After the evening, the three women would go into Yevpraksia's room,
would eat some homemade jam, play fool, and, till late into the night,
would revel in reminiscences that would often make the heroine of the
occasion blush. The least incident, the smallest trifle, served as
a pretext for endless narrations. Yevpraksia brought some raspberry
jam, and Arina Petrovna began a story that when she was carrying her
daughter Sonya she could not stand even the smell of raspberries.
"No sooner did a raspberry come into the house than I began to yell
at the top of my voice, 'Out, out with that damned thing!' After my
confinement it was all right again; I liked raspberries again."
Yevpraksia brought some caviar--and Arina Petrovna had an incident to
recall in connection with caviar, too.
"A really wonderful thing happened to me in connection with caviar. It
was a month or two after I was married and suddenly I was seized with
such a strong desire for caviar that I simply had to have it at any
cost. I would sneak into the cellar and eat as much as I could. And
once I said to my husband, 'Vladimir Mikhailych, why is it that I eat
caviar all the time?' He smiled at me, you know, and said, 'My dear,
it is because you are pregnant.' And surely enough, just nine months
afterward I gave birth to Simple Simon."
But Porfiry Vladimirych continued to be noncommittal, never once
admitting that he had anything to do with Yevpraksia's condition. Quite
naturally this attitude of his embarrassed the women and dampened their
effusions in his presence, so that he came to be completely abandoned.
They chased him without ceremony from Yevpraksia's room when he came in
the evening to rest up and have a chat.
"Be gone, you fine fellow!" Arina Petrovna said gaily. "You did your
part. Now it's none of your business any more, it's the women's
business. It's our turn now."
Yudushka took himself off in all meekness. Though not neglecting to
reproach his mother dear for being unkind to him, he rejoiced inwardly
that she was taking so much interest in the embarrassing affair, and
that he was left alone. If not for his mother's participation, God
knows what he would have had to undergo in order to hush up the nasty
affair, the very thought of which made him spit out in disgust. Now,
thanks to the experience of Arina Petrovna and the skill of Ulita,
he hoped the "trouble" would pass without gaining publicity, and he
himself, perhaps, would learn of the results after all was over.
CHAPTER II
Porfiry Vladimirych's hopes were not realized. First occurred the
catastrophe with Petenka, then Arina Petrovna's death. And there was no
possibility in sight of his extricating himself by means of some ugly
machinations. He could not dismiss Yevpraksia for dissolute conduct,
because Arina Petrovna had carried the affair too far and made it too
widely known. Nor was Ulita so very reliable. Dexterous woman though
she was, yet if he put his trust in her, he might have to deal with
the coroner. For the first time in his life Yudushka seriously and
sincerely regretted his loneliness; for the first time he realized
vaguely that the people around him were not mere pawns to be played
with.
"Why didn't she wait a while to die?" Yudushka reproached his mother
dear. "She should have fixed it all up quietly and with good sense,
and then--as she pleased! If it's time to die--you can't help it. I am
sorry for the old woman. But if God wills it so, all our tears, and the
doctors, and the cures, and all of us are naught before the power of
God. The old woman lived long enough. She had her day--was herself a
mistress all her life, and left her children a gentry estate. She lived
to old age--well that's enough."
And as usual his idle mind, not used to dwell on a matter presenting
practical obstacles, skipped to the easier topic that gave occasion to
endless, unhampered verbiage.
"And to think how she died! Why, her death was worthy of a saint," he
lied to himself, not knowing, though, whether he lied or spoke the
truth. "Without ailment, without trouble--just so. She heaved a sigh,
and before we knew it, she was no more. Oh, mother dear! And her smile,
and the glow of her cheeks! Her hands placed together as if she wanted
to confer a blessing. She shut her eyes and--good-by!"
But in the very heat of his sentimental babblings, something would
suddenly prick him. That filthy business again. Fi, fi! "And really why
didn't she wait a while! It was only a matter of a month or so, and
now, look what she did!"
For some time he attempted to pretend ignorance, and answered Ulita's
inquiries just as he had answered his mother's, "I don't know, I don't
know anything."
But Ulita, an impudent woman, who had suddenly become conscious of her
power, could not be dismissed like that.
"Do _I_ know? Have I brought this business on?" she cut him short. And
then he realized that from that moment on the happy combination of the
role of adulterer with the role of the unconcerned observer of the
consequences of his adultery had become quite impossible.
Nearer and nearer came the disaster, inevitable, tangible. It pursued
him relentlessly and--what was worst of all--it paralyzed his idle
mind. He exerted all possible efforts to rid himself of the thought of
the approaching calamity, to drown it in a torrent of idle words, but
he succeeded only in part. He tried to hide behind the infallibility
of the law of Providence and, as was his custom, turned it into a ball
of thread which he could wind and unwind without end. There was the
parable of the hair falling from a man's head, and the legend of the
house built on sand; but just at the moment when his idle thoughts were
about to roll down into a kind of mysterious abyss, when the endless
winding of the ball seemed quite assured, a single word suddenly
jumped out from the ambush and broke the thread. Alas! That one word
was "adultery" and designated an act of which Yudushka did not wish to
confess himself guilty even to himself.
When all his efforts to forget the disaster or to do away with it
proved futile, when he realized at last that he was caught, his soul
became filled with anguish. He walked back and forth in the room,
thinking of nothing, and he felt that something inside of him trembled
and ached. It was a check that his idle mind felt for the first time.
Up to now, wherever his idle and empty imagination carried him, it
always found boundless space, space that gave room to all possible
kinds of combinations. Even the deaths of Volodka and Petka, even the
death of Arina Petrovna had not baffled his flow of idle thoughts and
words. Those were common, well recognized situations, met by well
recognized, well established forms--requiems, funeral dinners, and
the like. All this he had done in strict accordance with the custom
and thus vindicated himself, so to speak, before the laws of man and
Providence. But adultery--what was that? Why, that meant an arraignment
of his entire life, the showing up of its inner sham. Though he had
formerly been known as a pettifogger, even as a Bloodsucker, gossip
had had so little legal background that he could safely retort, "Prove
it!"
And now, all of a sudden--adulterer! A known, convicted adulterer. He
had not even resorted to "measures," so great had been his confidence
in Arina Petrovna; he had not even worked up a story to cover the
thing. And on a Lenten day at that. The shame of it!
In these inner talks with himself, in spite of their confusion, there
was something like an awakening of conscience. But the question was
whether Yudushka would continue along that path or whether his idle
mind would even in this grave matter perform its usual function
of finding a loophole through which he could crawl out and emerge
unscathed.
While Yudushka was thus smarting under his own mental vacuity,
Yevpraksia was undergoing an unexpected inner change. Evidently the
anticipation of motherhood untied the mental fetters that had hitherto
held her bound. Up to that time she had been indifferent to everything
and regarded Porfiry Vladimirych as a "master" in relation to whom she
was a mere subordinate. Now, for the first time, she grasped a definite
idea. It began to dawn on her that here was a state of affairs where
she was the most important figure, and where she could not be driven
about with impunity. As a consequence, even her face, usually blank and
stolid, became lighted up and intelligent.
The death of Arina Petrovna had been the first fact in her
semi-conscious life that produced a sobering effect upon her. No
matter how peculiar the attitude of the old mistress to Yevpraksia's
prospective motherhood was, still there were glimpses of sympathy
in it and nothing of the disgusting evasiveness of Yudushka. So
Yevpraksia had begun to see a protector in Arina Petrovna, as if
expecting that some kind of attack was being planned against her. The
forebodings of that attack were all the more persistent since they were
not illuminated by consciousness, but merely filled the whole of her
being with vague anxiety. Her mind was not vigorous enough to tell her
definitely the point from which the attack would come and the form it
would take; but her instincts had already been so aroused that the very
sight of Yudushka filled her with an inexplicable fear. "Yes, that's
where it will come from," reverberated in the inner chambers of her
soul--from that coffin filled with dead dust, from that coffin she had
so long been tending like a hireling, from that coffin which by some
miracle had become the father and lord of _her_ child! The feeling
this thought awakened in her was akin to hatred and would inevitably
have passed into hatred had it not been diverted by the sympathy and
interest of Arina Petrovna, who, by constant chatter, never gave
Yevpraksia a chance to think.
But Arina Petrovna retired to Pogorelka, and then vanished entirely.
The feeling of anxiety and uneasiness in Yevpraksia became still more
intense.
The stillness in which the Golovliovo manor became engulfed was broken
only by a rustle announcing that Yudushka was stealing through the
corridors, listening at the doors. Or sometimes, some one of the
servants would come running from the yard and bang the door of the
maids' room. But then stillness would again creep in from all sides. It
was a dead stillness that filled Yevpraksia's being with superstitions
and anguish. And since she was nearing her time, she had not even the
sleepy feeling to look forward to that came in the evening after a day
of household chores.
She tried once or twice to be affectionate with Porfiry Vladimirych and
engage his kindly sympathies. Her attempts only resulted in brief but
mean scenes that reacted painfully even on her crude sensibilities.
All that was left to her was to sit with her arms folded and think,
that is, be alarmed. And as to the causes for alarm, they multiplied
daily. The death of Arina Petrovna had untied Yudushka's hands and
introduced into the Golovliovo manor a new element of tale-bearing,
which thereafter became the one thing in which Yudushka's soul reveled.
Ulita was aware that Porfiry Vladimirych was afraid and that with his
idle, empty, perfidious character fear bordered on hatred. Besides, she
knew very well that he was incapable not only of attachment but even of
simple pity, and he kept Yevpraksia only because, thanks to her, his
daily life flowed on in an undeviating rut. Equipped with these simple
data, Ulita was in a position to nurse the feeling of hatred that arose
in Yudushka whenever he was reminded of the coming "disaster."
Soon Yevpraksia became entangled in a web of gossip. Ulita every now
and then "reported" to the master. In one instance she complained about
the wasteful disposal of house provisions.
"I am afraid, master, your stuff is spent a bit too fast. I went to the
cellar a while ago to get cured beef. I remembered a new tub had been
begun not long ago, and--would you believe it? I look into the tub and
find only two or three slices at the bottom."
"Is it possible?" said Porfiry Vladimirych, staring at her.
"If I had not seen it myself, I shouldn't have believed it, either.
It's surprising what heaps of stuff are used up! Butter, barley,
pickles--everything. Other folk feed their servants on gruel and
goose-fat, but our servants must have it with butter, and sweet butter
at that."
"Is that so?" exclaimed Porfiry Vladimirych, almost frightened.
At another time she entered casually and "reported" about the master's
linen.
"Master, I think you ought to stop Yevpraksia, really. Of course, she
is a girl, inexperienced, but still, take the linen for instance. She
wasted piles of it on bed sheets and swaddling clothes, and it's all
fine linen, you know."
Porfiry Vladimirych merely cast a fiery glance, but the whole of his
empty being was thrown into convulsions by her "report."
"Of course, she cares for her infant," continued Ulita, in a
mellifluous voice. "She thinks Lord knows what, a prince is going to
be born. And I think that he, I mean the infant, could well sleep on
fustian bedding--with such a mother."
At times she simply teased Yudushka.
"Do you know, master, what I was going to ask you?" she began. "What
are you going to do about the infant? Are you going to make him your
son, or will you, like other folk, put him in the foundling asylum."
At this Porfiry Vladimirych flashed such a fierce glance at her that
she was instantly silenced. |
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