CHAPTER V
No sooner did Arina Petrovna come downstairs, than a carriage drawn by
a team of four horses made its appearance on a hill near the church.
In it, in the place of honor, was seated Porfiry Golovliov, who had
removed his hat and was crossing himself at the sight of the church.
Opposite him sat his two sons, Petenka and Volodenka. The very blood
froze in Arina Petrovna's veins as the thought flashed through her
mind, "Speak of the devil and he's sure to appear." The girls also
lost courage, and timidly clung closer to their grandmother. The house
hitherto peaceful was suddenly filled with alarm. Doors banged, people
ran about crying, "The master is coming, the master is coming!" and
all the occupants of the house rushed out on the porch. Some made the
sign of the cross, some stood in silent expectation, all apparently
conscious of the fact that the existing order in Dubrovino had been
only temporary, and that now the real management was to begin with
a real master at the head. Under the former master some of the old,
deserving serfs had enjoyed the privilege of a monthly allowance of
provisions. Many of them fed their cattle on the master's hay, had
kitchen gardens of their own, and altogether lived "freely." Everyone,
of course, was now vitally interested to know whether the new master
would permit the old order of things, or whether he would introduce a
new one, similar to that which prevailed at Golovliovo.
Yudushka drove up to the house. From the reception accorded to him he
concluded that affairs at Dubrovino were fast coming to a head. Without
a sign of haste, he descended from the carriage, waved his hand to the
servants who rushed forward to kiss it, then put his palms together,
and began to climb the steps slowly, whispering a prayer. His face
expressed a feeling of mingled grief, firmness, and resignation. As a
man he grieved; as a Christian he did not dare to complain. He prayed
to God to cure his brother, but above all he put his trust in the Lord
and bowed before His will. His sons walked side by side behind him,
Volodenka mimicking his father, clasping his hands, rolling his eyes
heavenward and mumbling his lips. Petenka revelled in his brother's
performance. Behind them, in silent procession, followed the servants.
Yudushka kissed dear mother's hand, then her lips, then her hand again
and put his arm about her waist and said, shaking his head sadly:
"And you keep on worrying. That's bad, mother dear, very bad. Instead
of that you should ask yourself: 'And what is God going to say to
this?' He will say: 'Here have I in my infinite wisdom arranged
everything for the best, and she grumbles.' Ah, mother dear, mother
dear."
Then he kissed both of his nieces, and with the same charming
familiarity in his voice, said:
"And you, too, romps, you are crying your eyes out. I won't permit it.
I command you immediately to smile. And that shall be the end of it."
And he stamped his foot at them in jesting anger.
"Just look at me," he continued. "As a brother I am torn with grief.
More than once I have shed tears. I am sorry for brother, sorry as can
be. I weep. Then I bethink myself: 'And what is God for? Is it possible
that God knows less than we what ought to be?' This thought inspires
me with courage. That is how you all should act, you, mother dear, and
you, little nieces, and--" he turned to the servants--"you all."
"Look at me, how well I bear up."
And in the same charming manner he proceeded to impersonate a man who
bears up. He straightened his body, put one foot forward, expanded his
chest, and threw back his head. The audience smiled sourly.
This performance over, Yudushka passed into the drawing-room and kissed
his mother's hand again.
"Well, so that's how things are, mother dear," he said, seating himself
on the couch. "So brother Pavel, too."
"Yes, Pavel, too," softly answered Arina Petrovna.
"Yes, yes--a little too early. Although I play the brave, in my soul
I, too, suffer and grieve for my poor brother. He hated me--hated me
bitterly. Maybe that is why God is punishing him."
"You might forget about it at such a moment. You must set old grudges
aside."
"I have forgotten it all long ago. I only mentioned it in passing.
My brother disliked me, for what reason, I know not. I tried one way
and another, directly and indirectly. I called him 'dear' and 'kind
brother,' but he drew back and that was the end of it."
"I asked you please not to bring all that up. The man is lying at the
point of death."
"Yes, mother dear, death is a great mystery. 'For ye know neither
the day nor the hour.' That's the kind of mystery it is. There he
was making plans, thinking he was exalted so high, so high as to be
beyond mortal reach. But in one instant with one blow God undid all his
dreams. Perhaps he would be glad now to cover up his sins. But they are
already recorded in the Book of Life. And whatever is written in that
book, mother dear, won't be scraped off in a hurry."
"But does not the Lord accept the sinner's repentance?"
"That's just what I wish for him from the bottom of my heart. I
know he hated me, still I wish him forgiveness. I wish the best for
everybody--for those that hate me, those that insult me--everybody. He
was unfair to me and now God sends him an ailment--not I, but God. Does
he suffer much, mother dear?"
"Well, not very much. The doctor was here and even gave us hopes." So
lied Arina Petrovna.
"What splendid news! Don't you worry, dear mother, he'll pull through
yet. Here we are eating our hearts away and grumbling at the Creator,
and perhaps he is sitting quietly on his bed thanking the Lord for his
recovery."
The idea delighted Yudushka so immensely that he even giggled softly to
himself.
"Do you know, mother dear, that I have come to stay here a while?" he
went on, for all the world as if he were giving his mother a pleasant
surprise. "It's among good kinsmen, you know. In case something
happens--you understand, as a brother--I may console, advise, make
arrangements. You will permit me, will you not?"
"What sort of permissions can I give when I am here myself only as
a--guest?"
"Well, then, dearest, since this is Friday, just order them, if you
please, to prepare a fish meal for me. Some salt-fish, mushrooms, a
little cabbage--you know, I don't need much. And in the meantime, as a
relative, I shall drag myself up to the entresol. Perhaps I shall still
be in time to do some good, if not to his body, at least to his soul.
In his position, it seems to me, the soul is of much more consequence.
We can patch up the body, mother dear, with potions and poultices, but
the soul needs a more potent remedy."
Arina Petrovna made no objection. The thought of the inevitability
of the "end" had taken such complete hold of her, that she observed
everything and listened to everything about her dazedly. She saw
Yudushka rise from the sofa, stoop and shuffle his feet. He liked to
appear invalided at times. He had an idea it added to his dignity. She
knew the unexpected appearance of the Bloodsucker in the entresol would
greatly excite the patient, might even hasten his end. But after the
day of agitation, she was so exhausted that she felt as if in a dream.
Meanwhile Pavel Vladimirych was in an indescribable state of
excitement. Though quite alone, he was aware of an unusual stir in
the house. Every bang of a door, every hurried footstep in the hall
awakened a mysterious alarm. For a while he called with all his
might; but, soon convinced his shouts were useless, he gathered all
his strength, sat up in bed, and listened. The sound of running feet
and loud voices stopped and was followed by a dead silence. Something
unknown and fearful surrounded him. Only a few, miserly rays of light
sifted through the lowered shades and the dim light of the lamp burning
before the ikon in the corner made the dusk filling the room seem all
the darker and gloomier. Pavel fixed his gaze upon that mysterious
corner as if for the first time he found something surprising in
it. The ikon, in a gilt framework on which the rays from the lamp
fell perpendicularly, stood out of the gloom with a sort of striking
brightness, like something alive. A circle of light wavered upon the
ceiling, flaring up or dying down in proportion to the strength or
weakness of the lamplight. Strange shadows filled the room, and the
dressing-gown hanging on the wall was alive with vacillating stripes of
light and shadow. Pavel Vladimirych watched and watched, and he felt
as if right there in that corner everything were suddenly beginning
to move. Solitude, helplessness, dead silence--and shadows, a host of
shadows. The shadows seemed to be coming, coming, coming. Gripped by
an indescribable terror, he gazed into the mysterious corner, eyes and
mouth agape, uttering no cries, but simply groaning--groaning in a
stifled voice, in jerks, like the barking of a dog. He heard neither
the creak of the stairs nor the careful shuffling steps in the adjacent
room. Suddenly, beside his bed, there loomed up the detestable figure
of Yudushka, as if from that gloom which had just mysteriously hovered
before his eyes, and as if there were more, more of shadows, shadows
without end--coming, coming----
"What? Where did you come from? Who let you in?" he cried
instinctively, dropping back on his pillow helplessly. Yudushka
stood at the bedside, scrutinizing the sick man and shaking his head
sorrowfully.
"Does it hurt?" he asked, putting all the oiliness of which he was
capable into his voice.
Pavel Vladimirych was silent, but stared at him stupidly, as if making
every effort to understand him.
Meanwhile Yudushka approached the ikon, fell to his knees, bowed three
times to the ground, arose and appeared again at the bedside.
"Well, brother, get up. May God send you grace," he said, sitting down
in an armchair, in a voice so jovial that he actually appeared to be
carrying "grace" about with him in his pocket.
At last Pavel Vladimirych realized that this was no shadow but the
Bloodsucker in flesh. He seemed to coil up of a sudden as if in a
cramp. Yudushka's eyes were bright with affection, but the invalid very
distinctly saw the "noose" lurking in those eyes ready any instant to
dart out and tighten round his neck.
"Ah, brother, brother, you've become no better than an old woman,"
Yudushka continued jocosely. "Come, brace up! Get up and run a little
race. Come on, come on, give mother the joy of seeing what a strong
fellow you are. Come on now! Up with you!"
"Get out of here, Bloodsucker!" the invalid cried in desperation.
"Ah, brother, brother! I come to you in kindness and sympathy, and
you ... what do you say in return? Oh, what a sin! And how could your
tongue say such a thing to your own brother! It's a shame, darling,
it's a shame! Wait a minute, let me arrange the pillow for you."
Yudushka got up and poked his finger into the pillow.
"Like this," he continued. "That's fine now. Lie quietly, now. You
won't need to touch it till tomorrow."
"You get out!"
"My, how cranky your illness has made you! Why, you have even become
stubborn, really. You keep chasing me, 'Get out, get out!' But how can
I go? Here, for instance, you feel thirsty and I hand you some water.
Or I see the ikon is out of order, and I set it to rights, or pour in
some oil. You just lie where you are and I'll be sitting nearby, real
quietly. So we won't even see how time flies."
"Get out, you Bloodsucker!"
"Look here, you are insulting me, but I am going to pray to the Lord
for you. I know it isn't you, it's your illness talking. You see,
brother, I am used to forgiving. I forgive everybody. Today, for
instance, as I was coming here I met a peasant, and he said something
about me. Well, the Lord be with him. He defiled his own tongue. And I,
why I not only was not angry at him, I even made the sign of the cross
over him, I did truly."
"You robbed him, didn't you?"
"Who, I? Why, no, my friend, I don't rob people; highwaymen rob, but
I--I act in accordance with the law. I caught his horse grazing in my
meadows--well, let him go to the justice of the peace. If the justice
says it's right to let your cattle graze on other people's fields,
well, then I'll give him his horse back, but if the justice says it
isn't right, I am sorry. The peasant will have to pay a fine. I act
according to the law, my friend, according to the law."
"You Judas the traitor, you left mother a pauper."
"I repeat, you may be angry, if you please, but you are wrong. If I
were not a Christian, I would even have cause to be angry at you for
what you've just said."
"Yes, you did, you did make mother a pauper."
"Now, do be quiet, please. Here, I am going to pray for you. Maybe that
will calm you down."
Though Yudushka had restrained himself successfully throughout the
conversation, the dying man's curses affected him deeply. His lips
curled queerly and turned pale. However, hypocrisy was so ingrained
in his nature that once the comedy was begun, he could not leave it
unfinished. So he knelt before the ikon and for fully fifteen minutes
murmured prayers, his hands uplifted. Thereupon he returned to the
dying man's bed with countenance calm and serene.
"You know, brother, I have come to talk serious matters over with you,"
he said, seating himself in the armchair. "Here you are insulting
me, but I am thinking of your soul. Tell me, please, when did you
communicate last?"
"Oh, Lord! What is all this? Take him away! Ulita, Agasha! Anybody
here?" moaned Pavel.
"Now, now, darling, do be quiet. I know you don't like to talk about
it. Yes, brother, you always were a bad Christian and you are still.
But it wouldn't be bad, really it wouldn't, to give some thought to
your soul. We've got to be careful with our souls, my friend, oh, how
careful! Do you know what the Church prescribes? It says, 'Ye shall
offer prayers and thanks.' And again, 'The end of a Christian's earthly
life is painless, honorable and peaceable.' That's what it is, my
friend. You really ought to send for the priest and sincerely, with
penitence. All right, I won't, I won't. But really you'd better."
Pavel Vladimirych lay livid and nearly suffocated. If he could have,
he would have dashed his head to pieces.
"And how about the estate? Have you already made arrangements?"
continued Yudushka. "Yours is a fine little estate, a very fine one.
The soil is even better than at Golovliovo. And you have money, too, I
suppose. Of course, I don't know anything about your affairs. I only
know that you received a lump sum on freeing your serfs, but exactly
how much, I never cared to know. To-day, for instance, as I was coming
here, I said to myself, 'I suppose brother Pavel has money.' 'But
then,' I thought, 'if he has capital, he must have decided already how
to dispose of it.'"
The patient turned away and sighed heavily.
"You have not made any disposition? Well, so much the better, my
friend. It's even more just, according to the law. It won't be
inherited by strangers, but by your own kind. Take me, for example, I
am old, with one foot in the grave, but still I think, 'Why should I
make disposition of my property if the law will do it all for me, after
I am dead?' And it's really the right way, my friend. There will be no
quarrels, no envy, no lawsuits. It's the law."
That was unbearable. Pavel Vladimirych felt as if he were lying in a
coffin, fettered, in lethargy, unable to move a limb, and forced to
hear the Bloodsucker revile his dead body.
"Get out--for Christ's sake, get out!" he finally implored his torturer.
"All right, you just be quiet, I'll go. I know you don't like me. It's
a shame, my friend, a real shame, to dislike your own brother. You see,
I do love you. And I've always been telling my children, 'Though Pavel
Vladimirych has sinned against me, yet I love him.' So you did not
make any disposition? Well, that's fine, my friend. Sometimes, though,
one's money is stolen while one is yet alive, especially when one is
without relatives, all alone. But I'll take care of it. Eh? What? Am I
annoying you? Well, well, let it be as you wish. I'll go. Let me offer
up a prayer."
He rose, placed his palms together, and whispered a prayer hurriedly.
"Good-by, friend, don't worry. Take a good rest, and perhaps with God's
help you will get better. I will talk the matter over with mother dear.
Maybe we'll think something up. I have ordered a fish meal for myself,
some salt-fish, some mushrooms and cabbage. So you'll pardon me. What?
Am I annoying you again? Ah, brother dear! Well, well, I'm going. Above
all, don't be alarmed, don't be excited, sleep well and take a good
rest," he said, and finally made his departure.
"Bloodsucker!" The word came after him in such a piercing shriek that
even he felt as if he had been branded with a hot iron.
CHAPTER VI
While Porfiry Vladimirych was holding forth in the entresol,
grandmother Arina Petrovna had gathered the young folks around her
downstairs, and was talking to them, not without the hope of getting
something out of them.
"Well, how are you?" she asked, turned to her eldest grandson, Petenka.
"I'm pretty well, granny. Next month I'll graduate as an officer."
"Really? How many years have you been promising that? Are the
examinations so hard? Or what?"
"At the last examination, granny, he failed in his catechism. The
priest asked him, 'What is God?' and he answered, 'God is Spirit--is
Spirit--and Holy Spirit.'"
"Oh, you poor thing! How is that? Look at those little orphans. I'm
sure even they know that."
"Why, certainly. God is invisible Spirit." Anninka hurried to show off
her knowledge.
"Whom none ever beheld," Lubinka put in.
"Omniscient, most Gracious, Omnipotent, Omnipresent," Anninka continued.
"Whither can I go from Thy spirit and whither can I flee from Thy face?
Should I rise to Heaven, there wouldst Thou be, should I descend to
Hell, there wouldst Thou be."
"I wish you would have answered like that. You would have epaulets by
this time. And how about you, Volodya, what are you going to do?"
Volodya flushed and remained silent.
"Apparently, you go no further than your brother with his 'Spirit--Holy
Spirit,' Ah, children, children! You seem to be so bright and yet
somehow you can't master your studies at all. I might understand if you
had a father who spoiled you. Tell me, how does he treat you now?"
"Still the same old way, granny."
"Does he beat you? Didn't I hear he stopped thrashing you?"
"A little bit, but--the worst is, he pesters us to death."
"I must say, I don't understand. How can a father pester his children?"
"He does though, grandma, awfully. We can't go out without permission,
we can't take a thing. It couldn't be worse."
"Well, then, ask permission. Your tongue wouldn't fall out in the
effort, I imagine."
"Impossible. You just begin to talk to him, then he doesn't let go of
you. 'Don't hurry and wait a while. Gently, gently, take it easy.'
Really, granny, his talk is too tiresome for words."
"Granny, he listens to us on the sly behind our doors. Just the other
day Piotr caught him in the act."
"Oh, you rogues! Well, what did he say?"
"Nothing. I said to him, 'It won't do, daddy, for you to eavesdrop at
our doors. Some day you may get your nose squashed. And all he said
was, 'Well, well, it's nothing, it's nothing. I, my child, am like a
thief in the night, as it says in the Bible.'"
"The other day, granny, he picked up an apple in the orchard, and put
it away in a cupboard. I ate it up. So he hunted and hunted for it, and
cross-examined everybody."
"What do you mean? Has he become a miser?"
"No, he's not exactly stingy, but--how shall I put it? He is just
swamped head over heels in little things. He hides slips of paper, and
he hunts for wind-fallen fruit."
"Every morning he says mass in his study, and later he gives each of us
a little piece of holy wafer, stale as stale can be."
"But once we played a trick on him. We discovered where he keeps the
wafers, made a cut in the bottom of them, took out the pulp, and stuck
butter in."
"Well, I must say you are regular cut-throats."
"My, just imagine his surprise, next day. Wafers with butter!"
"I suppose you got it good and hard afterwards."
"No, not a bit. But he kept spitting all day and muttering to himself,
'The rascals!' Of course we made believe he didn't mean us."
"Let me tell you, granny, he is afraid of you."
"Of me! I'm not a scarecrow to frighten him."
"I'm sure he's scared of you. He thinks you'll put a curse on him. He's
desperately afraid of curses."
Arina Petrovna became lost in thought. At first the idea passed through
her mind: "What if I really should put a curse on him--just take and
curse him?" But the thought was instantly replaced by a more pressing
question, "What is Yudushka doing now? What tricks is he playing
upstairs? He must be up to one of his usual tricks." Finally a happy
idea struck her.
"Volodya," she said, "you, dear heart, are light on your feet. Why
shouldn't you go softly and listen to what's going on up there?"
"Gladly, granny."
Volodya tiptoed toward the doors and disappeared through them.
"What made you come over to us to-day?" Arina Petrovna continued with
her questioning.
"We meant to come a long time ago, grandma, but today Ulita sent a
messenger to say the doctor had been here and uncle was going to die,
if not to-day, then surely to-morrow."
"Tell me, is there any talk among you about the heritage?"
"We keep talking about it the whole day, granny. Papa tells us how
it used to be before grandpa's time. He even remembers Goriushkino,
granny. 'See now,' he says, 'if Auntie Varvara Mikhailovna had no
children, then Goriushkino would be ours. And God knows,' he says, 'who
the children's father is. But let us not judge others. We see a mote in
the eye of our neighbor, but fail to notice a beam in our own. That's
how the world goes, brother.'"
"Nonsense, nonsense. Auntie was married, was she not? Even if there had
been anything before that, the marriage made it all straight."
"That's true, grandma, and each time we go past Goriushkino, he brings
up the same old tale: 'Grandma Natalya Vladimirovna,' he says, 'brought
Goriushkino as a dowry. By all rights it should have stayed in the
family. But your deceased grandfather gave it to sister as a dot. And
what wonderful watermelons,' he says, 'used to grow at Goriushkino!
Twenty pounds each. That's the kind of watermelons that grew there!'"
"Twenty pounds, bosh! I never heard of such melons. Well, and what are
his intentions about Dubrovino?"
"In the same line, granny. Watermelons and muskmelons and other
trifles. But of late he has constantly been asking us, 'What do you
think, children, has uncle Pavel much money?' He has had it all figured
out for a long time, grandma: the amount of redemption loan, and when
the property was mortgaged, and how much debt is paid off. We even saw
the paper on which he made the calculations; and guess what, granny, we
stole it. We nearly drove him crazy with that slip of paper. He'd put
it in a drawer, and we'd match the key and stick it into a holy wafer.
Once he went to take a bath, when lo and behold! he saw the paper lying
on the bath shelf."
"You've a gay life up there."
Volodenka returned and became the center of general attention.
"I couldn't hear a thing," he announced in a whisper, "the only thing I
heard was father mouthing words like 'painless, untarnished, peaceful,'
and uncle shouting, 'Get out of here, you Bloodsucker!'"
"Didn't you hear anything about the will?"
"I think there was something said about it, but I couldn't make it out.
Father shut the door entirely too tight, granny. Only a buzzing came
through. And then suddenly uncle yelled, 'Get--get out!' Well then I
took to my heels and here I am."
"If only the orphans were given----" anxiously thought Arina Petrovna.
"If father gets his hands on it, granny, he'll not give a thing to
anyone," Petenka assured her. "And I have a feeling he's even going to
deprive us of the inheritance."
"Still, he can't take it to the grave with him, can he?"
"No, but he'll think up some scheme. It wasn't for nothing that he had
a talk with the priest not long ago. 'How does the idea of building
a tower of Babel strike you, Father?' he asked. 'Would one need much
money?'"
"Well, he just said that perhaps out of curiosity."
"No, granny, he has some plan in mind. If it isn't for a tower of
Babel, he'll donate the money to the St. Athos monastery; but he'll
make sure we don't get any."
"Will father get a big estate when uncle dies?" asked Volodya,
curiously.
"Well, God alone knows which of them will die first."
"Father is sure he'll outlive uncle. The other day, just as soon as
we reached the boundary of the Dubrovino estate, he took off his cap,
crossed himself, and said, 'Thank God we'll be riding again on our own
land!"'
"He's made arrangements for everything already, granny. He noticed the
woods. 'There,' he says, 'if there were a good landlord, that would be
a ripping fine forest.' Then he looked at the meadows. 'What a meadow!
Just look! Look at all those hay stacks!'"
"Yes, indeed, both the woods and the meadows, everything will be yours,
my darlings," sighed Arina Petrovna. "Goodness! Wasn't that a squeak on
the stairs?"
"Hush, granny, hush! That's he--'like a thief in the night,' listening
behind the doors."
There was a silence, but it proved to be a false alarm. Arina Petrovna
sighed and muttered to herself, "Ah, children, children!"
The boys stared at the orphans, fairly swallowing them with their gaze,
while the little orphans sat in silent envy.
"Did you see Mademoiselle Lotar, cousin?" Petenka started a
conversation.
Anninka and Lubinka exchanged glances as if they had been asked a
question in history or geography.
"In _Fair Helen_ she plays the part of Helen on the stage."
"Oh, yes--Helen--Paris--'Beautiful and young; he set the hearts of the
goddesses aflame--' I know, I know it," cried Lubinka joyfully.
"Exactly. And how she sings 'Cas-ca-ader, ca-as-cader.' It's great."
"The doctor who was just here keeps humming '_Head over heels._'"
"That is Lyadova's song. Wasn't she splendid, cousin? When she died,
nearly two thousand persons followed the hearse. People thought there
would be a revolution."
"Is it about theatres you're chattering?" broke in Arina Petrovna.
"Well, their destiny lies far from theatres, my boys. It leads rather
to the convent."
"Granny, you've set your mind on burying us in a convent," complained
Anninka.
"Come, cousin, let's go to St. Petersburg instead of to a convent.
We'll show you everything to be seen there."
"Their minds should not be occupied with thoughts of pleasure, but
rather with thoughts of God," continued Arina Petrovna sententiously.
"We will teach you everything under the sun. In St. Petersburg there
are lots of girls like you. They walk about swinging their skirts."
"Stop bothering them, for Christ's sake, you teachers," Arina Petrovna
interjected. "Nice things you can teach them."
"I'm going to take them to Khotkov, after Uncle Pavel's death, and
we'll settle down comfortably there."
"So you're still at your blabbing," a voice at the door suddenly broke
in.
Engrossed in conversation nobody had heard Yudushka steal up "like a
thief in the night." He was all in tears, his head was bowed, his face
pale, his hands crossed on his breast, his lips mumbling in prayer.
For a few moments his eyes sought the ikons, then found them and for a
brief while he prayed.
"He's very ill. Ah, how ill he is!" he finally exclaimed, embracing his
mother dear.
"Is he?"
"Very, very ill, dear heart. And do you recollect what a strong fellow
he was?"
"Well, he was never exactly strong. I can't remember that, somehow."
"Ah no, mother dear, don't say that. He was, always. I remember
perfectly when he left the cadets corps how well shaped he was, broad
shouldered, glowing with health. Yes, yes, mother dear, that's how
it is. We're all in God's hands. To-day we're strong, in the best of
health, we want to enjoy life to have a good meal, and tomorrow....
He shrugged his shoulders and assumed deep emotion.
"Did he say anything at least?"
"Very little, dearest. The only thing he said was, 'Good-by, brother.'
And yet, mother dear, he can feel. He feels that he is in a bad way."
"Well, no wonder he feels he is in a bad way when he can hardly catch
his breath."
"No, mother dear, that's not what I mean. I have in mind the inner
vision which is given to the righteous and which allows them to foresee
their death."
"Yes, yes! Didn't he say anything about his will?"
"No, mother. He wanted to say something about it, but I stopped him.
'No,' I said, 'don't talk about that! Whatever you leave me, brother,
out of the kindness of your heart, I shall be satisfied. And even if
you leave me nothing, I'll have mass said for you at my own expense.'
And yet, mother dear, how he wants to live! How he longs for life!"
"Of course, who doesn't want to live?"
"No, mother. Take myself, for example. If it pleased the Lord God to
call me to Himself, I'm ready on the spot."
"All well and good if you go to Heaven, but what if Satan gets you
between his fangs?"
In this vein the talk continued till supper, during supper, and
after supper. Arina Petrovna was very restless. While Yudushka was
expatiating on various subjects, the thought entered her mind at
shorter and shorter intervals, "What if I should really curse him?" But
Yudushka had not the slightest suspicion of the storm raging in his
mother's heart. He had an air of serenity, and continued slowly and
gently to torture his "mother dear" with his endless twaddle.
"I'll curse him! I'll curse him! Curse him!" Arina Petrovna repeated
inwardly, with greater and greater determination.
CHAPTER VII
An odor of incense pervaded the rooms, the sing-song of funeral chants
was heard in the house, the doors were thrown open, those wishing to
pay their last respects to the deceased came and went. While Pavel
Vladimirych lived, nobody had paid any attention to him; at his death
everybody mourned. People recalled that he "had never hurt a single
person," that "he had never uttered a cross word to anyone," nor
thrown anyone a look of ill-will--all qualities that had appeared
purely negative, but now assumed a positive character. Many seemed
to repent that at times they had taken advantage of the dead man's
simplicity--but after all, who knew that the simple soul was destined
to so speedy an end? One peasant brought Yudushka three silver rubles
and said: "Here's a little debt I owe Pavel Vladimirych. No writing
passed between us. Here, take it."
Yudushka took the money, praised the peasant, and said he would donate
the three silver rubles for oil to burn forever before an ikon in the
church.
"You, my dear friend, will see the flame, and everybody will see it,
and the soul of my deceased brother will rejoice. Maybe he will obtain
something for you in Heaven. You won't be expecting anything--and
suddenly the Lord will send you luck."
Very probably the high estimate of the deceased's virtues was largely
based on a comparison between him and his brother. People did not like
Yudushka. Not that they couldn't get the better of him, but that he
was entirely too much of a nuisance with his scrape-penny ways. Very
few could bring themselves to lease land from him. They were afraid of
his passion for litigation. He dragged any number of people to court,
wasted their time, and won nothing, because his pettifogging habits
were so well known in the district that almost without listening to the
case the courts dismissed his claims.
Since meanness, or, to be more exact, a kind of moral hardness,
especially when under the mask of hypocrisy, always inspires a sort of
superstitious fear, Yudushka's neighbors bowed waist low as they passed
by the Bloodsucker, standing all in black beside the coffin with palms
crossed and eyes raised upward.
As long as the deceased lay in the house, the family walked about on
tip-toe, stole glances into the dining-room, where the coffin stood
on the table, wagged their heads, and talked in whispers. Yudushka
pretended to be overcome by the disaster, and shuffled painfully along
the corridor, paid a visit to the "dear deceased," affected deep
emotional stress, arranged the pall on the coffin, and whispered to the
commissioner of police, who was taking the inventory and affixing the
seal. Petenka and Volodenka busied themselves about the coffin, placing
and lighting the candles, handing over the censer, and so forth.
Anninka and Lubinka cried and through their tears helped the chanters
sing the mass for the dead in thin little voices. The woman servants,
dressed in black calico, wiped their noses red from weeping on their
aprons.
Immediately after the death of Pavel Vladimirych, Arina Petrovna
went up to her room and locked herself in. She was not disposed
to weep, for she realized that she had to decide upon a course of
action immediately. To remain at Dubrovino was out of the question.
Consequently, she had only one choice, to go to Pogorelka, the orphans'
estate, the "bone" that she had once thrown to her disrespectful
daughter, Anna Vladimirovna. Arriving at this decision, she felt
relieved, as though Yudushka had suddenly and forever lost all power
over her. Calmly she counted her five per cent. Government bonds. They
totalled fifteen thousand rubles of her own, and as much belonging
to the orphans, which she had saved up for them. And she went on
composedly to calculate how much money she would have to spend to put
the Pogorelka manor-house in order. Then she immediately sent for the
bailiff of Pogorelka, gave the necessary orders about hiring carpenters
and sending a horse and cart to Dubrovino for her and the orphans'
belongings, ordered the coach to be made ready (the coach was her own,
and she had evidence that it was her very own), and began to pack.
She felt neither hatred nor goodwill toward Yudushka. It suddenly
became disgusting to her to have any dealings with him. She even ate
unwillingly and little, because from that day she had to eat not
Pavel's but Yudushka's food. Several times Porfiry Vladimirych peeped
into her room to have a chat with his "mother dear." He understood the
meaning of her packing clearly, but pretended to notice nothing. Arina
Petrovna refused to see him.
"Go, my friend, go," she said. "I have no time."
In three days, Arina Petrovna had everything in readiness for
departure. They heard mass, performed the funeral service, and buried
Pavel Vladimirych. At the funeral everything happened just as Arina
Petrovna had imagined on the morning when Yudushka came to Dubrovino.
In the very way she had foreseen Yudushka cried out, "Farewell,
brother!" when they lowered the coffin into the grave, and turned to
Ulita and said hastily: "Don't forget--don't forget to take the kutya,
and put it in the dining-room on a clean table cloth. We will honor
brother's memory in the house, too."
Three churchmen, the Father Provost and a deacon, were invited to the
dinner served, as is the custom, immediately on the return from the
funeral ceremony. A special table was laid in the entrance hall for
the sextons. Arina Petrovna and the orphans entered clad in travelling
clothes, but Yudushka pretended even then not to understand. He went
over to the table, requested the Father Provost to bless the food and
drink, poured a glassful of vodka for himself and the churchmen, put
on an air of deep emotion and said, "Everlasting memory to the late
deceased! Ah, brother, brother, you have forsaken us! Who of us more
than you was fit to live a happy life? How sad, brother, how sad!"
Then he crossed himself, and emptied the glass. He crossed himself
again and swallowed a piece of caviar, crossed himself again and took a
taste of dried sturgeon.
"Eat, Father," he urged the Provost. "All this is my late brother's
stock. How the deceased loved good fare! Not only that he ate well
himself, but he even liked treating others better. Ah, brother,
brother, you have forsaken us! How wrong it was of you, brother, how
very wrong!"
He was so carried away by his incessant chatter that he even forgot
about his dear mother. But suddenly she came to his mind as he scooped
up a spoonful of mushrooms and was about to send it down his mouth.
"Mother, dearest, darling!" he exclaimed. "I, the fool, am here,
gorging myself. What a sin! Mother dear, help yourself. Some mushrooms.
These are Dubrovino mushrooms. The famous ones."
But Arina Petrovna did not stir. She only shook her head in silence.
She seemed listening to something with intense curiosity, a new light
seemed to fill her eyes, as if the comedy to which she had long since
become accustomed and in which she had always taken active part,
suddenly presented itself to her in a changed light.
The dinner commenced with a brief, pathetic discussion. Yudushka
insisted that Arina Petrovna should take the hostess's place at the
head of the table. Arina Petrovna refused.
"No, you are the host here, so sit where you please," she said drily.
"You are the hostess. You, mother dear, are the hostess everywhere,
both at Golovliovo and Dubrovino, everywhere," said Yudushka, trying to
convince her.
"Do stop and sit down. Wherever it will be the Lord's will to place me
as a mistress, I will sit where I choose. Here you are master--so you take the seat." |
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