And amidst the hatred that was rising from every corner, the moment
drew nearer and nearer when the appearance of a tiny, crying, "servant
of God" would in one way or another bring order into the moral chaos
of the Golovliovo manor, and would increase the number of the "servants
of God" that inhabit this universe.
It was seven o'clock in the evening. Porfiry Vladimirych had had his
after-dinner nap and was in his study filling up sheets of paper with
columns of figures. He was busy with the following problem: How much
money would he now have had, if his dear mother Arina Petrovna had not
appropriated the hundred ruble note his grandfather had given him on
the day of his birth, but had placed it in the bank to the credit of
the minor Porfiry? It came out not much--only eight hundred rubles in
notes.
"It isn't a lot of money, let's say," Yudushka mused idly, "but still
it's good to know that you have it for a rainy day. Any time you need
it--you can just go and get it. You don't have to bow to anybody, or
ask favors--just take your own money, given to you by your grandfather.
Oh, mother dear! How could you have acted so rashly?"
Porfiry Vladimirych had allayed the fears that had only recently
paralyzed his capacity for thinking idle nonsense. The glimmerings of
conscience awakened by the difficult position in which Yevpraksia's
pregnancy put him, and by the sudden death of Arina Petrovna, little
by little faded away. His idle mind had done its work, and Yudushka
had finally succeeded by great effort, it is true, in drowning all
thought of the impending "disaster" in his bottomless pit of verbiage.
One could not say he had made up his mind consciously, but rather
intuitively. It was instinct in him that made him revert to his
favorite formula: "I don't know anything, I allow nothing, I forbid
everything," which he applied in every difficulty. On this occasion,
too, it put an end to the inner turbulence that had briefly agitated
him.
Now, this matter of the coming birth was of no concern to him, and
his face assumed an indifferent, impenetrable look. He almost ignored
Yevpraksia, not even calling her by name. If ever he did inquire about
her he would say, "How about that woman--still sick?" He proved to be
so strong that eyen Ulita, who had been through the school of serfdom
and had learned quite a lot about reading people's minds, realized
that to battle with a man who had no scruples and who would go to any
lengths was quite impossible.
The Golovliovo manor was plunged in darkness. Only Yudushka's study and
the side room occupied by Yevpraksia were illuminated by a glimmering
light. Stillness reigned in Yudushka's rooms, broken only by the rattle
of the beads on the counting board and the faint squeak of Yudushka's
pencil.
Suddenly, in the dead stillness he heard a distant but piercing groan.
Yudushka trembled, his lips quivered, his pencil jerked.
"One hundred and twenty rubles plus twelve rubles and ten kopeks,"
whispered Porfiry Vladimirych, endeavoring to stifle the unpleasant
sensation produced by the groan.
But the groans were now coming with increasing frequency. Finally they
got to be annoying. It became so difficult for him to work that he
left the desk. First he paced back and forth trying not to hear; but
little by little curiosity gained the upper hand. He opened the door
cautiously, put his head into the darkness of the adjacent room and
listened in an attitude of watchful expectation.
"My, I think I forgot to light the lamp before the ikon of the Holy
Virgin, the Assuager of Our Sorrows," flashed through his mind.
Suddenly he heard quick footsteps in the corridor, and he darted back
into his study, cautiously closing the door and mincing on tiptoe to
the ikon.
A moment later he was already in "proper form," so that when the door
opened wide and Ulita rushed into the room, she found him in a pose of
prayer with folded hands.
"I am afraid Yevpraksia's life is in danger," said Ulita, not
hesitating to interrupt Yudushka's prayers. But Porfiry Vladimirych did
not even turn his face; he began to move his lips faster than before,
and instead of answering waved his hand in the air as if to chase away
an annoying fly.
"What's the use of waving your hand? I say Yevpraksia is doing poorly.
She may die any moment," Ulita insisted gruffly.
This time Yudushka turned toward her, but his face was as calm and
unctuous as if he had just been in communion with the Deity, and had
cast off all earthly cares, and did not even understand what could make
people disturb him.
"Though it's sinful to chide after prayer, still as a human being I
cannot keep from complaining. How many times have I not asked you not
to disturb me when I say my prayers?" he said in a voice befitting his
worshipful mood, and permitting himself only a shake of his head as a
sign of Christian reproach. "Well, what has happened?"
"What could have happened? Yevpraksia is in labor and cannot give
birth. As if you haven't heard it before. Oh, you! Go and look at her
at least."
"What is there to look at? Am I a doctor? Can I give her advice, or
what? I don't know anything, I don't know any of your business. I know
there is a sick woman in the house, but why she is sick and what her
sickness is, that, I confess, I never had the curiosity to find out.
Send for the priest if the patient is in danger. That's one piece of
advice I can give you. Send for the priest, pray with him, light the
ikon lamps. And then I'll have tea with the parson."
Porfiry Vladimirych was glad that he expressed himself so well in this
most decisive moment. He looked at Ulita firmly as if he meant to say,
"Well refute me, if you can."
Even she was baffled by his equanimity. "Suppose you do come and take a
look," she repeated.
"I will not go because I have nothing to do there. If it were business,
I would go without being called. If I have to go five versts on
business, I'll go five versts, and if ten versts, I'll go ten. It may
be in wind and storm, but I'll go. For I know there is business to
attend to and I've got to go whether I want to or not."
Ulita thought she was asleep and that in her sleep she saw Satan
himself standing before her and discoursing.
"To send for the priest--that's business! A prayer--do you know what
the Scriptures say about a prayer? 'A prayer cures the afflicted.'
That's what it says. So see to it. Send for the priest, pray together,
and I, too, will pray in the meantime. You will pray there, in the ikon
room, and I will invoke God's mercy here in my study. By joint effort,
you on one side, I on the other, we may after all succeed in making our
prayers heard in Heaven."
The priest was sent for, but before he came, Yevpraksia, in agony,
delivered herself of the child. From the hurried steps and banging
doors, Porfiry Vladimirych understood that something decisive had
happened. And, indeed, in a few minutes hurried steps were heard in the
corridor, and Ulita rushed in holding a tiny creature wrapped up in
linen.
"Here! Look at it!" she exclaimed triumphantly, bringing the child
close to the face of Porfiry Vladimirych.
For a moment it looked as if Yudushka were hesitating. His body swayed
forward and a bright spark flashed in his eyes. But only for a moment.
The next instant he turned up his nose squeamishly and waved his hand.
"No, no! I am afraid. I don't like them. Go away, go away!" he began to
stammer, with infinite aversion in his face.
"Why don't you at least ask if it's a boy or a girl?" Ulita pleaded
with him.
"No, no! What for? It's none of my business. It's your affair, and I
don't know anything. I don't know anything, and I don't want to know
either. Go away, for Christ's sake, be gone!"
Again Ulita felt as though she were in a nightmare with Satan standing
in front of her. It exasperated her.
"I'll take him and put him on your sofa. Go nurse him!" That was a
threat.
But Yudushka was not the man to be moved. While Ulita was threatening,
he was already facing the ikon, with hands stretched upward. Evidently
he was imploring God to forgive all people, those who sinned knowingly,
and those who sinned unknowingly; those who sinned in word and those
who sinned in deed; and he thanked the Lord that he himself was not a
sinner or an adulterer, and that the Lord in His grace had led him in
the righteous path. Even his nose trembled with the solemnity of his
feeling. Ulita observed him for some time, blew out her lips in disgust
and left.
"God took one Volodka and gave another Volodka," flashed up in
Yudushka's mind quite irrelevantly; but he at once became aware of this
sudden play of thought and spat inwardly in annoyance.
Soon the priest came and chanted and burned incense. Yudushka heard
the drawl of the sexton as he was chanting, "Oh, Zealous Protectress!"
and gladly chimed in. Soon Ulita came running to the door again and
shouted, "He was christened Volodimir!"
Yudushka was moved by the strange coincidence of this circumstance and
his recent aberration of mind. He saw the will of God in it, and this
time he did not spit, but said to himself:
"Well, then, thank God! He took one Volodka and gave another. That's
what God can do. You lose something in one place and you think it's
gone, but God, if He wishes, rewards you for it a hundredfold."
At last it was announced that the samovar was on the table and the
priest was waiting in the dining-room. Porfiry Vladimirych became quite
peaceful and solemn. The Golovliovo priest, Father Aleksandr, was a
polite man, and he endeavored to give his intercourse with Yudushka
a worldly tone. In the landlord's manor there were all-night vigils
every week and on the eve of every principal holiday, in addition to
the ceremonial services performed every first of the month. That meant
an income of over a hundred rubles a year. Father Aleksandr was not
unmindful of this, nor of the fact that the landmarks between the
church lands and Yudushka's lands had not yet been settled upon, and
Yudushka, on passing the church meadows, would many times exclaim, "My,
what fine meadows!" So the priest's worldly behavior toward Yudushka
was tempered by fear, which came out every time the priest visited the
manor. He would work himself up into gay spirits, though he really had
no occasion to feel happy. And when Porfiry Vladimirych gave expression
to heresies concerning the ways of Providence, the after-life, and so
forth, the priest, though not quite approving of the heresies, still
did not consider them sacrilegious and blasphemous, but ascribed them
to the temerity of spirit characteristic of the gentry.
When Yudushka entered, the priest hurriedly gave him his blessing and
just as hurriedly pulled his hand back as if afraid the Bloodsucker
would bite it. He wanted to congratulate his spiritual son on the birth
of the new little Vladimir, but uncertain how Yudushka was taking the
matter, he decided not to congratulate him.
"It's misty outdoors," the priest began. "By popular signs, in which
one may say there seems to be a great deal of superstition, such a
state of the atmosphere signifies that thawing weather is near."
"And maybe it will turn out to be a frost. We are foretelling thawing
weather and God will go ahead and send us a frost," retorted Yudushka,
with a bustling; air of gaiety, and seated himself at the table, this
time attended by the butler Prokhor.
"It is true that man in his aspirations strives to attain the
unattainable and to gain access to the inaccessible; and as a
consequence he incurs cause for penance, or even veritable grief."
"That is why we ought to refrain from guessing and foretelling and
be satisfied with what God sends us. If He sends us warm weather, we
ought to be satisfied with warm weather; if He send us frost, let us
welcome the frost. We'll order the stoves heated more than usual, and
those who travel will wrap themselves tight in fur coats, and there you
are--we're all warm."
"Quite true."
"There are many nowadays who go circling round. They don't like this
and they are dissatisfied with that, and the other thing is not after
their heart, but I don't approve. I don't make forecasts myself, and I
don't care for it in others. It is haughtiness of spirit--that's what I
call it."
"That's true, too."
"We are all pilgrims here, that's how I look at it. Well, as to having
a glass of tea, or a light bite, or something, we are allowed to do
that, for God gave us our body and limbs. Even the government would not
forbid us that. 'You can eat, if you want to,' it says, 'but hold your
tongue.'"
"Also perfectly true," exclaimed the priest, tapping the saucer with
the bottom of his empty tea-glass in exultation over the harmony
between them.
"As I understand it, God gave man reason not to explore the unknown,
but to refrain from sin. If I, for instance, feel a craving of the
flesh or a temptation of some kind, I call my reason to the rescue
and say, 'Show me, forsooth, the ways by which I may overcome this
craving,' and I am quite right, for in such cases reason can really be
of great use."
"Still, faith is superior, in a way," the priest offered in slight
correction.
"Faith is one thing and reason is another. Faith points out the
goal, and reason finds the way. It goes searching in every direction
till at last it finds something. Take, for instance, all these drugs
and plasters and healing herbs and potions--all of them have been
invented by reason. But we ought to see to it that such invention is in
accordance with faith, to our salvation and not to our ruin."
"I cannot disagree with you in this, either."
"There is a certain book, father, that I read some time ago. It says
that one must not disdain the offices of reason if the latter is
guided by faith, for a man without reason soon becomes the plaything
of passion; and I even think that the first downfall of man came about
because the devil in the shape of the serpent beclouded the human
reason."
The reverend father did not object to this either, though he refrained
from assent, since it was not yet clear to him what Yudushka had up his
sleeve.
"We often see that people not only fall into sinful thought, but even
commit crimes, all because of lack of reason. The flesh tempts, and
if there is no reason, man falls into the abyss. Man craves something
sweet, he craves gaiety and pleasure, especially when it comes through
women. How will you preserve yourself without the aid of reason? And
if, let's say, for instance, I do possess reason, I'll take some
camphor and rub it in where necessary, and put some in other parts, and
before you know, the craving is over as if it had never been there."
Yudushka became silent as if waiting to hear what the priest had to
say in response, but the priest was still uncertain what Yudushka was
driving at and therefore he only coughed and said quite irrelevantly:
"There are hens in my yard--very restless on account of the change of
season. They run and jump about, and can't find a place for themselves."
"All because neither birds nor beasts nor reptiles possess reason. What
is a bird? It has no worry, no cares--just flies about. The other day,
for instance, I looked out of the window and saw some sparrows pecking
at manure. Manure is enough for them but not for man."
"Yet in some cases even the Scriptures take birds as examples."
"In some cases, that's true. Where faith without reason can be a man's
salvation, we must do as the birds do, pray to God, compose verses."
Porfiry Vladimirych grew silent. Though talkative by nature and though
the event of the day naturally lent itself to a lengthy discussion, the
most suitable form for the remarks on the subject had evidently not yet
ripened in his mind.
"Birds need no reason," he said at last, "because they have no
temptations. Or, rather, they have temptations but they are never
called to answer for their doings. Birds lead a natural life. They
have no property to take care of, no legitimate marriages, hence no
widowhood. They are responsible neither to God nor to the authorities.
They have only one lord--the cock."
"The cock! That's true. The cock is a sort of Sultan of Turkey to them."
"But man has so arranged his life, that he has given up the liberties
granted to him by nature, and therefore he needs much reason: first, to
keep himself from falling into sin, and second, not to tempt others. Am
I right, father?"
"It is gospel truth. The Scriptures advise us to pluck out the tempting
eye."
"That is, if you understand it literally, but there may be a way of
avoiding sin not by plucking out the eyes, but by seeing to it that the
eye is not tempted. One must have more frequent recourse to prayer, and
curb the unruly flesh. Take me, for instance. I am in good health and
vigor, I dare say. Well, I have female servants. Still that does not
disturb me in the least. I know I can't get along without servants,
well then, I keep them. I keep male servants, and female servants of
every kind. A maid is needed in the household to fetch something from
the cellar, to pour the tea, bring in something to eat--well--God bless
her!--She does her work and I do mine, and so we get along very nicely
indeed."
While speaking Yudushka tried to look into the priest's eyes, and the
latter in his turn, tried to look into Yudushka's. But happily, there
was a burning candle between them, so that they could look at each
other to their hearts' content and see nothing but the flame of the
candle.
"And then again, I take it this way. If you become intimate with your
female servants, they'll begin to have their way in the house. And
you'll have squabbles and disorder and quarrels and impertinence. I
like to keep away from such things."
The priest stared so steadily that his eyes began to swim. Good
manners, he knew, demanded that in a general conversation one should
every now and then join in with at least a word. So he shook his head
and muttered:
"Tss----"
"And if, at that, one behaves as other folks do, as my dear neighbor,
Mr. Anpetov, for example, or my other neighbor, Mr. Utrobin, then you
can fall into sin before you know it. Utrobin has six offspring on his
place begot in that disgraceful way. But I don't want it. I say that if
God took away my guardian angel, it means that such was His holy will,
that He wanted me to be a widower. And if I am a widower by the grace
of God, I must observe my widowerhood honestly and not contaminate my
bed. Am I right, father?"
"It's hard, sir."
"I know it's hard, but still I observe it. Some say it's hard, and I
say the harder the better, provided God is with you! We can't all have
it sweet and easy. Some of us must bear hardships in the name of God.
If you deny yourself something _here,_ you will obtain it _there. Here_
it is called hardship and _there,_ virtue. Am I right?"
"As right as can be."
"And talking about virtues--they are not all of the same kind. Some
virtues are great, others are small. What do you think?"
"Yes, quite possible, there may be small virtues and great virtues."
"That's just what I say. If a man is careful in his behavior, if he
does not speak vile words, if he does not speak vain words, if he does
not judge others, if, in addition to all this, he does not vex anybody
or take away what is not his--that man will have a clear conscience,
and no mud can soil him. And if anyone secretly speaks ill of a man
like that, give it no heed. Spit at his insinuations--that's the long
and short of it."
"In such cases the precepts of Christianity recommend forgiveness."
"Yes, forgive also. That's what I always do. If someone speaks ill
of me, I forgive him and even pray to God for him. He is the gainer
because a prayer on his behalf goes to Heaven, and I, too, am the
gainer, for after I have prayed I forget about the whole matter."
"That's correct. Nothing lightens one's heart as much as a prayer.
Sorrow and anger, and even ailment, all run before it as does the
darkness of night before the sun."
"Well, thank God, then. And we should always conduct ourselves so that
our life is like a candle in a lantern--seen from every side. Then
we will not be misjudged, for there will be no cause. Take us, for
example. We sat down here a while ago, have been chatting and talking
things over--who could find fault with us? And now let us go and pray
to the Lord, and then--to bed. And tomorrow we shall rise again. Isn't
that so, father?"
Yudushka rose noisily, shoving his chair aside in sign that the
conversation was at an end. The priest also rose and made ready to
raise his arm to bless, but Porfiry Vladimirych, as an indication of
special favor, caught the priest's hand and pressed it in his own.
"So he was christened Vladimir, father?" said Yudushka, shaking his
head sadly in the direction of Yevpraksia's room.
"In honor of the saintly Prince Vladimir, sir."
"Well, God be praised. She is a good and faithful servant, but as to
intelligence--well, she hasn't much of it. That's why they fall into
adultery."
CHAPTER III
The whole of the next day Porfiry Vladimirych remained in his study,
praying to God for guidance. On the third day he emerged for morning
tea, not in his dressing gown, as usual, but in full holiday attire,
the way he always dressed when he intended to transact important
business. His face was pale, but radiated inner serenity; a benign
smile played upon his lips; his eyes looked kindly and all-forgiving.
The tip of his nose was slightly red with elation.
He drank his three glasses of tea in silence, and between gulps moved
his lips, folded his hands, and looked at the ikon as if, in spite
of yesterday's vigil, he still expected speedy aid and intercession
from it. Finally he sent for Ulita, and while waiting for her, kneeled
again before the ikon, that he might once more strengthen himself by
communion with God, and also that Ulita might see plainly that what was
about to happen was not his doing, but the work of God. Ulita, however,
as soon as she glanced at Yudushka, perceived there was treachery in
the depth of his soul.
"Well, now I have prayed to God," began Porfiry Vladimirych, and in
token of obedience to His holy will, he lowered his head and spread his
arms.
"That's fine," answered Ulita, but her voice expressed such deep
comprehension that Yudushka involuntarily raised his eyes.
She stood before him in her usual pose, one hand upon her breast,
the other supporting her chin. But her face sparkled with suppressed
laughter. Yudushka shook his head in sign of Christian reproach.
"I suppose God bestowed His grace upon you," continued Ulita,
unperturbed by his gesture of warning.
"You always blaspheme," Yudushka blustered. "How many times have I
warned you with kindness, and you are the same as ever. Yours is an
evil tongue, a malicious tongue."
"It seems to me I haven't said anything. Generally when people have
prayed to God, it means that God's grace is visited upon them."
"That's just it--'it seems!' But why do you prate about all that
'seems' to you? Why don't you learn how to hold your tongue when
necessary? I am talking business and she--'it seems to me!'"
Instead of replying Ulita shifted from one foot to the other, as if to
indicate that she knew everything Porfiry Vladimirych had to tell her
by heart.
"Listen to me, you!" Yudushka began. "I prayed to the Lord all day
yesterday, and to-day too, and--look at it from whatever angle you
wish--we've got to provide for Volodka."
"Of course, you've got to provide for him. He is not a puppy, I dare
say. You can't throw him into a pond."
"Wait a while! Let me say a word. You plague. So this is what I say.
Take it any way you please, we've got to provide for Volodka. First, we
must do it out of consideration for Yevpraksia and then we've got to
make a man of him."
Porfiry Vladimirych glanced at Ulita in the hope that she might show
her willingness to have a good long chat with him, but she took the
matter plainly and even cynically.
"You mean me to take him to the foundling asylum?" she asked, looking
straight at him.
"Oh, oh," exclaimed Yudushka, "you are very quick to decide. Oh, Ulita,
Ulita! You always do things in a hurry and without due consideration.
You're always ready to say something rash. How do you know? Maybe I
don't intend to send him to the foundling asylum. Maybe I thought of
something else for Volodka."
"Well, if you did, there's nothing bad about it."
"This is what I was going to say. On the one hand I feel for Volodka,
but on the other hand, if you think the matter over and weigh it
carefully, you see it's impossible to keep him here."
"Of course, what will people say? They'll say, 'How did a little baby
boy come to the Golovliovo manor?'"
"Yes, they'll say that and other things. And besides, to stay here will
be of no benefit to him. His mother is young, and she'll spoil him.
I am old, and though I have nothing to do with the matter, still, in
consideration of his mother's faithful service, I would also be easy
with him. You can't help it, you know, the little fellow will have to
be flogged for doing mischief, but how can you? It's this and that, and
a woman's tears, and screams, and all. Am I right?"
"Yes, quite right. It is annoying."
"What I want is, that all should be well in our house. I want to
see Volodka become a real man in time, a servant of God and a good
subject of the Czar. If God wants him to be a peasant, I should like
him to know how to plow, mow, chop wood--a little of everything. And
if it will be his lot to be of a more exalted station, I want him to
know some trade, some profession. Children from the foundling asylum
sometimes rise to be teachers."
"From the foundling asylum? They are made generals at once, I suppose."
"Well, I wouldn't say generals, but still--maybe Volodka will live to
be a famous man. And as to the manner they are brought up in there,
it's excellent. I know all about it myself. Clean beds, healthy
wet-nurses, white linen clothes, nipples, bottles, diapers, in a word,
everything."
"Yes, it couldn't be better--for illegitimates!"
"And if he is placed in the country as a fosterchild, well, that will
be just as good. He will get used to toil from his young days. Toil,
you know, is as good as prayer. We, you see, pray in the regular way.
We stand before the ikon, make the sign of the cross, and if our prayer
pleases God, He rewards us for it. But the peasant--he toils. Sometimes
he would be glad to pray in the proper way, but he hasn't the time
for it. But God sees his labors and rewards him for his toil just as
He rewards us for our prayers. We can't all live in palaces and go to
balls and dances. Some of us must live in smoky hovels and take care
of Mother Earth and nurse her. And as to where happiness lies, there
are two guesses to it. Some live in palaces and in luxury, and yet shed
tears; others live behind clay walls on bread and cider, yet feel as if
they were in paradise. Am I right?"
"Nothing better if you feel as if you were in paradise."
"So, my dear, that's what we will do. Take that little rascal Volodka,
wrap him up warm and cosy and go to Moscow at once with him. I'll
order a roofed cart for you and a pair of good horses. The road is
smooth, straight, fair, no puddles, no pitfalls. You'll roll along
merrily. But see to it that everything is done in the best fashion, in
Golovliovo fashion, just the way I like things to be done. The nipple
should be clean, and the bottle, clothes, and sheets, and blankets, and
diapers--take enough of everything. And if they won't give it all to
you, come and tell me. When you get to Moscow, stop at an inn. Ask for
enough to eat and a samovar and tea and all that. Oh, Volodka, dear!
What trouble you are to me! It breaks my heart to part with you, but it
can't be helped, my child. When you grow up, you'll see that it was for
your own good, and you'll thank me for it."
Yudushka raised his hands slightly and moved his lips in sign of inner
prayer. But that did not prevent him from glancing sideways at Ulita
and noticing the sarcastic quivering of her face.
"Well, what--did you want to say something?"
"No, nothing. Of course, you know--he'll thank his benefactors--if he
finds them."
"Oh, you wicked thing! You think we'll place him there without a proper
card? Why, of course, you'll take out a card, from which document we'll
be able to find him. They'll bring him up and teach him sense, and then
we'll come with the card and say, 'Here, now, let's have our fellow,
our Volodka.' With the card we'll get him from the bottom of the sea.
Am I right?"
Ulita made no reply. The caustic quivering of her face showed more
distinctly than before and it exasperated Porfiry Vladimirych.
"You are a mean thing," he said. "The devil dwells in you. Fi, fi!
Well, enough. To-morrow, before the sun is up, you'll take Volodka and
quickly, so that Yevpraksia does not hear you, and set out for Moscow.
You know where the Foundling Asylum is?"
"I've carried them," Ulita answered laconically, as if hinting at
something in the past.
"Well, if you are used to it--all the better for you. You must know all
the ins and outs of the place. Be sure to place him there and bow low
before the authorities--like this." Yudushka rose and bowed, touching
the floor with his hands.
"Beg of them to make him comfortable. And be sure to get the card,
don't forget! The card will help us find him anywhere. I'll allow you
two twenty-five ruble bills for expenses. I know how it is--you'll
have to give some here and put a couple of rubles there. Ah, ah, how
sinful man is! We are all human beings, nothing but human beings! We
all like sweets and dainties. Why, even our Volodka! Look at him--he is
no bigger than my finger nail--and see the money I've already spent on
him."
Yudushka crossed himself and bowed low before Ulita, silently begging
her to take good care of the little rascal.
Thus, in the simplest way, was the future of the little illegitimate
arranged for.
The next morning, while the young mother was tossing about in delirium,
Porfiry Vladimirych was standing at the window in the dining-room,
moving his lips and making the sign of the cross on the window pane.
A cart, roofed over with mats, was leaving the front yard. It was
carrying Volodka away.
It climbed up the hill, drove by the church, turned to the left and
vanished in the village. Yudushka made another sign of the cross and
sighed:
"The other day the priest was speaking about thawing weather," he
said to himself, "but God sent us a frost instead. And a fine frost,
at that. So it always is with us. We dream, we build castles in the
air, we philosophize proudly and think we'll excel God Himself in
His wisdom, but God in a trice turns our haughtiness of spirit into
nothingness."
BOOK VI
THE DESERTED MANOR-HOUSE
CHAPTER I
Yudushka's agony commenced when the resources of loquaciousness,
in which he had so freely indulged, began to give out. A void had
formed around him. Some had died, others had deserted him. Even
Anninka preferred the miserable future of a nomadic actress to the
flesh-pots of Golovliovo. Yevpraksia alone remained. But Yevpraksia's
conversational gifts were limited, and, more than that, Yevpraksia was
now a changed person. It was the difference that had occurred in her
which convinced Yudushka that his halcyon days were gone forever.
Till then Yevpraksia had been so helpless that Porfiry Vladimirych
could tyrannize over her without the slightest risk, and her mental
development was so backward and her character so flabby that she had
not even felt the oppression. During Yudushka's harangues she would
look into his eyes apathetically, and think of something else. But now
suddenly she grasped something important, and the first consequence of
awakened understanding was repugnance, sudden and half-conscious, but
vicious and insuperable.
Anninka's stay had evidently not been without results for Yevpraksia.
The casual conversations with the young actress had quite upset her.
Previously she would never have dreamed of wondering why Porfiry
Vladimirych, as soon as he met a man, instantly started to weave around
him an oppressive net of words, sinister in their emptiness. Now she
perceived it was not talking that Yudushka did, but tyrannizing, and
it would be well worth the while to pull him up short and make him
feel the time had come for him, too, to go easy. So, from now on, she
listened to his endless flow of words and soon realized that the one
purpose of Yudushka's talk was to worry, annoy, nag.
"The mistress herself said she didn't know why he talked so much,"
Yevpraksia reasoned. "No, it's his meanness working in him. He knows
who is unprotected and at his mercy. And so he turns and twists them
anyway he wants to."
But that was only secondary. The main effect of Anninka's visit was
that it stirred up the instincts of youth in Yevpraksia, which had
hitherto smouldered in her undeveloped mind and now suddenly flared up
in a blaze. Many things became clear to her--for instance, why Anninka
had refused to remain at Golovliovo and why she had said flatly, "It's
horrible here!" She had acted that way because she was young and wanted
to enjoy life. Yevpraksia, too, was young, indeed she was! It only
seemed that her youth was crushed under a load of fat, in reality it
manifested itself quite boldly. It called and lured her; its flame
now died down, now flared up. She had thought Yudushka would do for
her, but now she perceived her mistake. "The old, rotten stump, how he
got round me!" ran through her mind. "Wouldn't it be fine now to live
with a real lover, young and handsome? He would hug me and kiss me and
whisper caressing words in my ear. The old scarecrow, how did he ever
tempt me? The Pogorelka lady must have a lover, I'm sure. That's why
she gathered up her skirts and sailed away so rapidly. And I must sit
here, in a jail, chained to that old man."
Of course, some time passed before Yevpraksia mutinied openly; but once
on the road of revolt she did not halt. A storm was brewing within
her, and her hatred grew each minute. Yudushka, for his part, remained
in ignorance of her state of mind. Yevpraksia began with general
complaints, such as "he has spoiled my life." Then came comparisons.
"In Mazulina," she reflected, "Pelageyushka lives with her master as a
housekeeper. She never does a stroke of work, and wears silk dresses.
She sits in a cosy little room doing bead embroidery. How I hate you
now, you old fright; How I hate you, I hate you!" she wound up with a
cry.
In addition to this, the main cause of irritation, there was another
one, one that was valuable because it could serve as a good occasion
for the declaration of war against Yudushka. It was her confinement and
the disappearance of her son Volodya.
At the time of the child's removal Yevpraksia had been rather
indifferent. Porfiry Vladimirych had curtly announced that the baby
had been entrusted to reliable people, and he presented her with a new
shawl by way of solace. Then life resumed its course, and Yevpraksia
plunged into the mire of household affairs with greater industry than
before, as if to atone for her unsuccessful motherhood. But whether the
mother feeling continued to smoulder in her, or whether it was merely a
whim, at any rate, the memory of Volodka came back to her, and at the
precise moment when Yevpraksia felt the breath of freedom and it began
to dawn upon her that there existed another life different from that
at Golovliovo. The occasion was too good not to be taken advantage of.
"To think of what the scoundrel has done!" she reflected, trying
consciously to work herself into a rage. "He has robbed me of my own
child. Just as one drowns a pup in the pond."
Little by little the thought filled her mind completely. She came to
believe that she had always longed for her child passionately. Her
hatred of Porfiry Vladimirych fed on this new and rapidly growing
obsession.
"At least, I should have had something to amuse me now. Volodya,
Volodyushka! My dear little son! Where are you now? He must have
shipped you to some wretched peasant woman. God curse them, the damned
gentry. They bring children in the world and then throw them like pups
into a ditch, and no one takes them to account. It would have been
better for me to cut my throat than to allow that shameless old brute
to outrage me."
Her hatred was now ripe. She felt a desire to vex and pester him and
spoil life for him. War began, the most unbearable of wars, squabbles
and provocations, and petty pricking. It was the only form of warfare
that could have subdued Porfiry Vladimirych.
CHAPTER II
One morning when Porfiry Vladimirych was sitting at tea, he was
unpleasantly surprised. He was discharging masses of verbal pus, while
Yevpraksia, with a saucer of tea in her hand and a piece of sugar
between her teeth, was listening in silence, snorting from time to
time. Warm, fresh-baked bread had been served, and he had just begun
to develop a theory of his own to the effect that there are two kinds
of bread, visible bread which we eat and thereby sustain our bodies,
and the invisible, spiritual bread of which we partake for the good
of our soul. Suddenly Yevpraksia broke in upon his discourse most
unceremoniously.
"People say Palageyushka lives so well at Mazulino," she began, turning
her entire body round to the window and swinging her crossed feet with
impudent nonchalance.
Yudushka was somewhat startled by the unexpected remark, but attributed
no peculiar importance to it.
"In case we don't eat visible bread for a long time," he went on, "we
feel bodily hunger; and if we don't partake of the spiritual bread for
some length of time----"
"I say, Palageyushka certainly lives well at Mazulino," Yevpraksia
interrupted again.
Porfiry Vladimirych, somewhat startled, looked at her in amazement, but
refrained from scolding, evidently smelling a rat.
"If Palageyushka has a fine life, let her," he replied meekly.
"Her master," Yevpraksia kept on provokingly, "makes it nice and easy
for her, he does not compel her to work, and dresses her in silk."
Yudushka's amazement grew. Yevpraksia's words were so preposterous that
he was taken completely by surprise.
"A different dress every day, one to-day, one to-morrow, and another
for holidays. She drives to church in a four-horse carriage. She goes
first, and the master follows. When the priest sees her carriage, he
has the bells rung. Then she sits in her own room. If her master wishes
to spend some time with her, she receives him in her room. And her maid
entertains her, or she does bead embroidery."
"Well, what of it?" asked Porfiry Vladimirych, at last coming to his
senses.
"I was just telling what a pleasant life Palageyushka leads."
"And you, is your life worse? My, my, aren't you insatiable!"
Had Yevpraksia left his remark unanswered, Porfiry Vladimirych would
have belched forth a torrent of empty words to drown her foolish hints.
He would have resumed his twaddle. But apparently Yevpraksia had no
intention of holding her tongue.
"I can't say that," she snapped back. "My life is not a sad one. Thank
goodness I don't wear tick. Last year you bought me two calico dresses
and paid five rubles for each. How generous!"
"And how about the woolen dress? And for whom was a shawl bought
lately? My, my!"
Instead of answering, Yevpraksia placed her elbows on the table and
flashed on Yudushka a side glance brimming over with such deep contempt
that, unaccustomed to such looks, he was overcome with something like dread. |
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