CHAPTER III
It was the end of November. As far as eye could see the ground was
covered with a white shroud. A blizzard reigned in the night outdoors;
the biting wind drove the snow, piled up huge snow-drifts in an
instant, lashed the snow higher and higher, covering every object and
filling the air with a wailing. The village, the church, the nearby
woods, all vanished in the whirling snowy mist. The wind howled in the
trees of the ancient Golovliovo orchard. But inside the landlord's
manor it was warm and cozy. In the dining-room there was a samovar on
the table. Around it were Arina Petrovna, Porfiry Vladimirych, and
Yevpraksia. To one side stood a card-table with tattered cards on it.
The open door from the dining-room led on one side to the ikon room,
all flooded with light from the ikon lamps, on the other, to the
master's study, where an ikon lamp was also burning before an image.
The rooms were overheated and stuffy, the odor of olive oil and of the
charcoal burning in the samovar filled the air. Yevpraksia, seated in
front of the samovar, was engaged in rinsing the cups and drying them
with a dish towel. The samovar made spirited music, now humming aloud
with all its might, now falling into a doze, as it were, and snoring.
Clouds of steam escaped from under the cover and wrapped the tea-pot in
a mist. The three at the table were conversing.
"Well, how many times were you the 'fool' to-day?" Arina Petrovna asked
Yevpraksia.
"I shouldn't have been fool once if I hadn't given in. I wanted to
please you, you see," answered Yevpraksia.
"Fiddlesticks! I remember how pleased you were last time when I
bombarded you with threes and fives. You see, I am not Porfiry
Vladimirych. He makes it easy for you, hands only one at a time, but I,
my dear, have no reason to."
"Yes, indeed! You were playing foul!"
"Well, I say! I never do such things."
"No? Who was it I caught a little while ago? Who wanted to slip through
a seven of clubs and an eight of hearts and call them a pair? Well, I
saw it myself and I myself showed you up!" While talking Yevpraksia
rose to remove the tea-pot from the samovar and turned her back to
Arina Petrovna.
"My, what a back you have! God bless you!" Arina Petrovna exclaimed, in
involuntary admiration.
"Yes, a wonderful back," Yudushka repeated mechanically.
"My back again! Aren't you ashamed of yourself? What has my back done
to you?" Yevpraksia turned her back first to the right, then to the
left, and smiled. Her back was her joy. A few days before even the
cook Savelich, an old man, had looked at her admiringly and said:
"Well, well, what a back! Just like a hearth-plate!" She did not, be it
noticed, complain to Porfiry Vladimirych about the cook's remark.
The cups were filled with tea over and over again, and the samovar grew
silent. Meanwhile the snowstorm became fiercer and fiercer. A veritable
cataract of snow struck the windowpanes every now and then, and wild
sobs ran at intervals down the chimney flue.
"The storm seems to be in real earnest," said Arina Petrovna. "Listen
to it howling and whining."
"Oh, well, let it whine. The blizzard keeps on whining and we keep
on drinking tea. That's how it is, mother dear," replied Porfiry
Vladimirych.
"It must be a terrible thing for one to be out in the fields now."
"Yes, it may be terrible to some, but what do we care? Some feel cold
and dreary, but we are bright and cheery. We sit here and sip our tea,
with sugar, and cream, and lemon. And should we want tea with rum, we
can have it with rum."
"Yes, but suppose----"
"Just a moment, mother dear. I say, it is very bad in the open now.
There is no road or path. Everything is wiped out. And then--wolves!
But here we are warm and cozy, afraid of nothing. We just keep sitting
here, quietly and peacefully. If we want to play a little game of
cards, we play cards; if we want to have some hot tea, well, then we
have tea. We won't drink more than we want to, but we may drink to our
heart's content. And why all this? Because, mother dear, God's mercy is
with us. Were it not for Him, the King of Kings, maybe we, too, would
now be wandering in the fields, in the cold and the darkness, in a
shabby little coat, a flimsy little girdle, bast shoes."
"Oh, come now, what do you mean--bast shoes? We are gentlefolk, surely.
In any circumstances we can afford decent footwear."
"Do you know why we were born in the gentry, mother dear? All because
God's mercy was with us. Were it not for that we would now be in a hut
and it would be lighted not by a candle but by a _luchina_ and as to
tea or coffee, we wouldn't dare dream about them. I would be patching
my miserable little bast shoes, and you would be getting ready to sup
off thin cabbage soup, and Yevpraksia would be weaving tick, and on top
of it all, maybe the _desyatsky_ would come to press us and the wagon
into service."
"Yes, catch the _desyatsky_ coming on a night like this!"
"Who knows, mother dear? And maybe the regiments would come! Maybe
there would be war or mutiny. The regiments must be there on the
dot. The other day, for instance, the chief of police was telling me
Napoleon III. had died. So you may be sure the French will be up to
some mischief again. Naturally, our soldiers will have to make for the
front at once, and you, friend peasant, will have to get your wagon
out, quick! Never mind cold, blizzard, and snowdrifts. You go if the
authorities tell you to, and if you know what is good for you. But we,
don't you see, will be spared a while. They won't turn us out with the
wagon."
"Yes, who dares deny it? The mercy the Lord has shown us is great."
"That's just what I say. God, mother dear, is everything. He gives
us wood to burn and food to eat. It's all His doing. We think we buy
things ourselves, and pay our own hard cash, but when you look into it
more deeply, and reckon it up, and figure it out, it's all He, it's all
God. If it be His will, we'll have nothing. Here, for instance, I would
like to have some fine little oranges, I would have some myself, would
offer one to my mother dear, would give an orange to everyone. I have
the money to buy oranges. Suppose I produce some coin and say, 'Here,
let me have some oranges,' but God says, 'Halt, man!' Then here I am,
a philosopher without cucumbers."
They laughed.
"That's all talk," said Yevpraksia. "My uncle was sexton at the Uspenye
Church in Pesochnoye. You may be sure he was as pious a man as ever
was. So I think God ought to have done something for him. But he was
caught in a snowstorm out in the fields and froze to death all the
same."
"That's just my point. If such is God's will, you will freeze to death,
and if such is not His will, you will remain alive. There are prayers
that please God and there are prayers that do not please Him. If a
prayer pleases God it will reach Him, if it does not, you may as well
not pray at all."
"I remember in 1824 I was travelling and was pregnant with Pavel. It
was in the month of December, and I was going to Moscow----"
"Just a moment, mother dear. Let me finish about the prayers. A man
prays for everything, for he needs everything. He needs some butter and
some cabbage, and some gherkins, well, in a word, he needs everything.
Sometimes he doesn't need the thing, but in his human weakness he
prays for it all the same. But God from above sees better. You pray
for butter, and he gives you cabbage or onions. You are after fair and
warm weather and he sends you rain and hail. What you have to do is to
understand it all and not complain. Last September, for example, we
prayed God for frost, so that the winter corn might not rot, but God,
you see, sent no frosts, and our winter corn rotted away."
"It certainly did rot away," remarked Arina Petrovna commiseratingly.
"The peasants' winter fields at Novinky weren't worth a straw. They'll
have to plow them all over and plant spring corn."
"That's just it. Here we are planning and philosophizing, and figuring
it one way, and trying it another way, but God in a trice reduces
all our plots and plans to dust. You, mother dear, wanted to tell us
something that happened to you in 1824?"
"What was it? I really don't remember. I suppose I wanted to tell you
again about God's mercy. I don't remember, my friend, I don't."
"Well, you'll recall it some other time, if God is willing. And while
the blizzard is whirling out there you'd better have some jam, my dear.
This is cherry jam from the Golovliovo orchard. Yevpraksia herself put
it up."
"I am already helping myself to some. I must admit cherry jam is a rare
thing with me now. Years ago I used to indulge every now and then, but
now----! Your Golovliovo cherries are fine, so large and juicy. No
matter how hard I tried to grow them at Dubrovino, they wouldn't come.
Did you add some French brandy to the jam, Yevpraksia?"
"Of course I did. Followed your directions. Another thing I meant to
ask you, how do you pickle cucumbers, do you use cardamoms?"
Arina Petrovna thought a bit, then made a gesture of perplexity.
"I don't remember, my dear. I think I used to put cardamoms in. Now I
don't. My pickling now is not much. But I used to put cardamoms in,
yes, I remember very well now. When I get home I'll look among the
recipes, maybe I'll find it. When I had my strength I used to make a
note of everything. If I liked something somewhere, I would ask how
it was made, write it on a piece of paper, and then try it at home.
I once learned a secret, such a secret that the man who knew it was
offered a thousand rubles to tell. He wouldn't do it. And I gave the
housekeeper a quarter, and she told me every bit of it."
"Yes, mother dear, in your day you certainly were a wizard."
"Well, I don't know if I was a wizard, but I can thank the Lord, I
didn't squander my fortune. I kept adding to it. Even now I taste of my
righteous labors. It was I who planted the cherry trees in Golovliovo."
"Thanks for it, mother dear, many thanks. Eternal thanks from me and my
descendants. That's what I say."
Yudushka rose, went to mother dear and kissed her hand.
"And thanks to you, too, that you take your mother's welfare to heart.
Yes, your provisions are fine, very fine."
"Well, how do my provisions compare? You used to have
provisions--perfectly stunning! My, what cellars! And not an empty
spot!"
"Yes, I used to have provisions, I may as well be frank about it. Mine
was a well-stocked house. And as to the many cellars I had, well, the
household was much larger, ten times as many mouths as you have to-day.
Take the domestics alone. Everyone had to be fed and provided for.
Gherkins for one, cider for another, little by little, bit by bit, and
it mounts up."
"Yes, those were good times. Plenty of everything. Grain and fruit, all
in abundance."
"We used to save more manure, that is why."
"No, mother dear, that is not the reason. It was God's blessing, that's
what it was. I remember father once brought an apple from the orchard,
and it surprised everybody, it was too big to be put on a plate."
"Well, I don't remember that. I know generally that apples used to be
fine, but that they were the size of a plate, that I don't remember.
I do remember though, that we caught a carp in the Dubrovino pond
weighing twenty pounds, yes, I remember that."
"Carps and fruit--everything was large then. I remember the watermelons
the gardener Ivan used to get. They were as big as this!"
Yudushka stretched out his arms in a circle, pretending he could not
embrace the imaginary watermelon.
"Yes, those were watermelons. Watermelons, my friend, are according
to the year. One year you get lots of them and they are good. Another
year they are poor and few. And some years you don't get any at
all. Well, it depends upon the lucky ground, too. On the estate of
Grigory Aleksandrovich, for example, nothing came up, no fruit and no
berries--nothing. Only melons. Nothing but melons used to come up."
"Then he had God's blessing for melons."
"Why, yes, certainly. You can't get along without God's mercy. You
can't run away from it either."
Arina Petrovna finished her second cup and cast glances at the card
table. Yevpraksia, too, was burning with impatience to have a hand
at cards. But the plans were thwarted by Arina Petrovna herself. She
suddenly recollected something.
"I have a bit of news for you," she declared. "I received a letter from
the orphans yesterday."
"And you kept it to yourself all this time, and only just thought of
it? I suppose they are hard up. Do they ask for money?"
"No, they do not. Here, read it. You'll like it."
Arina Petrovna produced a letter from her pocket and gave it to
Yudushka, who read aloud:
/#
"Please, grandma, don't send us any more turkeys or hens. Don't
send us money, either, but invest the money. We are not at
Moscow but at Kharkov. We've gone on the stage, and in summer
we are going to travel to the fairs. I, Anninka, made my debut
in _Pericola,_ and Lubinka in _Pansies_. I was called out
several times, especially after the scene where Pericola comes
out and sings 'I am ready, ready, read-d-d-y!' Lubinka made a
hit, too. The director put me on a salary of one hundred rubles
a month and a benefit performance at Kharkov; and Lubinka, at
seventy-five a month and a benefit the coming summer, at a
fair. Besides, we get gifts from army officers and lawyers.
The lawyers sometimes, though, give you counterfeit money,
and you have to be careful. And you, dear granny, can have
Pogorelka all to yourself, we will never come there again, we
don't understand how people can live there. We had the first
snow here yesterday, and we had troika rides with the lawyers.
One looks like Plevako--my! just stunning! He put a glass of
champagne on his head and danced a trepak. It's jolly, beats
anything I've seen! The other one isn't so handsome, he looks a
little like Yazikov from St. Petersburg. Just think, after he
read "The Collection of the Best Russian Songs and Romances,"
his imagination became unstrung and he got so weak that he
fainted in the court-room. And so we spend almost every day in
the company of army officers and lawyers. We go on rides and
dine and sup in the best restaurants, and pay nothing. And you,
granny dear, don't be stingy and use up everything growing in
Pogorelka, corn, chickens, mushrooms. We shall be very glad to
send some money. Good-by. Our gentlemen have just arrived. They
have come to take us driving again. Darling! Divine! Farewell!
/$
ANNINKA.
And I, too--LUBINKA."
$/
#/
Yudushka spat in disgust and returned the letter. For a while Arina
Petrovna was pensive and silent.
"Mother dear, you haven't answered them yet?"
"No, not yet. I just got the letter yesterday. I came here on purpose
to show it to you, but between this and that I almost forgot all about
it."
"Don't answer it. It's best not to."
"How can I? I must account to them. Pogorelka is theirs, you know."
Yudushka also became pensive. A sinister plan flashed through his mind.
"And I keep wondering how they will preserve themselves in that
foul den," Arina Petrovna continued. "You know how it is in these
things--once you stumble, you can't get your maiden honor back! Go hunt
for it!"
"Much they need it!" Yudushka snarled back.
"Still, you know. Honor is a girl's best treasure, one may say. Who
will marry a girl without it?"
"Nowadays, mother dear, unmarried people live like married ones.
Nowadays they laugh at the precepts of religion. They get married
without benefit of clergy, like heathens. They call it civil marriage."
Yudushka suddenly recollected that he, too, was living in sinful
relationship with a daughter of the clergy.
"Of course, sometimes you can't help it," he hastened to add. "If a
man, let us say, is in full vigor and a widower--in an emergency the
law itself is often modified."
"Yes, of course. When hard pressed a snipe sings like a nightingale.
Even saints sin when sorely tried, let alone us mortals."
"Yes, that's just it. Do you know what I would do if I were you?"
"Yes, tell me, please tell me."
"I would insist that they make Pogorelka over to you in full legal
fashion."
Arina Petrovna looked at him in fright.
"Well, I have a deed giving me the full powers and rights of a manager."
"Manager is not enough. You ought to get a deed that would entitle you
to sell and mortgage it, in a word, to dispose of the property as you
see fit."
Arina Petrovna lowered her eyes and remained silent.
"Of course, it is a matter that requires deliberation. Think it over,
mother dear," Yudushka insisted.
But Arina Petrovna said nothing. Though age had considerably dulled
her powers of judgment, she was somehow uneasy about Yudushka's
insinuations. She was afraid of Yudushka, and loath to part with the
warmth, spaciousness, and abundance that reigned at Golovliovo, but
at the same time she felt that Yudushka had something up his sleeve
when he spoke of the Pogorelka deed, and was casting a new snare.
The situation grew so embarrassing that she began to scold herself
inwardly for having shown him the letter. Happily Yevpraksia came to
the rescue.
"Well, are we going to play cards or not?" she asked.
"Yes, come on, come on!" Arina Petrovna hurried them and jumped up
quickly. On her way to the card table a new thought dawned upon her.
"Do you know what day it is?" she turned to Porfiry Vladimirych.
"The twenty-third of November," Yudushka replied, somewhat nonplussed.
"Yes, the twenty-third. Do you remember what happened on the
twenty-third of November? You have forgotten about the requiem, haven't
you?"
Porfiry Vladimirych turned pale and made the sign of the cross.
"Oh, Lord! Did you ever!" he exclaimed. "Really? Is that so? Just a
moment. Let's look at the calendar."
In a few minutes he had brought the calendar and taken out a sheet of
paper inserted in it, on which was written.
"November 23. The death of my dear son Vladimir."
"Rest in peace, beloved dust, till the joyous morn. And pray the
Lord for your father, who will never fail to have memorial services
performed on this day."
"There, now!" said Porfiry Vladimirych. "Ah, Volodya! You are not a
good son. You are a wicked son. You haven't prayed for your papa in
Heaven, it seems, and so he has lost his memory. What are we going to
do about it, mother dear?"
"It is not so terrible, after all. You can have the requiem service
tomorrow. A requiem and a mass--we'll have both of them sung. It is
all my fault, I am old and have lost my memory. I came on purpose to
remind you, but on my way it slipped my mind."
"Ah, what a sin! It is a good thing the ikon lamps are burning. It is
as if it had dawned on me from above. To-day is not a holiday, but the
lamps have been left burning ever since the day of Presentation. The
other day Yevpraksia came over to me and asked: 'Do you think I ought
to put out the side ikon lamps?' And I, as if a voice were speaking to
me from within, thought a while and said: 'Don't touch them. Let them
burn.' And now I see what it all meant."
"Well, it is good at least the lamps have been burning. It is some
relief to the soul. Where will you sit? Will you be my partner, or will
you join your queen?"
"But, mother dear, I don't know if it's proper."
"Yes, it is. Sit down. God will forgive you. It wasn't done on purpose,
with evil intentions. It was just because you forgot. It may happen
even to saints. To-morrow, you see, we'll rise with the sun, and stand
throughout the mass and have the requiem sung--all as it should be.
His soul will rejoice that good people remembered him, and we will be
at peace because we did our duty. That's the way to do, my friend. No
use worrying. I'll always say, in the first place, worry will not bring
back your son, and, in the second place, it is a sin before God."
Yudushka yielded to the persuasiveness of these words, and kissed his
mother's hands.
"Ah, mother, mother, you have a golden soul, really! If not for you
what would I do now? It would be the end of me, that's all. I just
wouldn't know what to do and would go under."
Porfiry Vladimirych gave orders for to-morrow's ceremony, and all sat
down to play. They played one hand out, then another. Arina Petrovna
became heated and denounced Yudushka because he had been handing
Yevpraksia only one card at a time. In the intervals between the deals,
Yudushka abandoned himself to reminiscences of his dead son.
"And how kind he was," he said. "He wouldn't take a thing without
permission. If he needed paper, 'May I have some paper, papa?' 'Yes,
you may, my friend,' Or, 'Won't you be so kind, father dear, as to
order carps for breakfast?' 'If you wish it, my friend.' Ah, Volodya,
my son, you were a good lad in every way, but it was not good of you to
leave your father."
A few more hands were played, and Yudushka again gave vent to his
reminiscences.
"And, pray, what in the world happened to him? I really can't
understand it. He lived quietly and nicely, was a joy to me--it
couldn't have been better. And all of a sudden--bang! What a sin, what
a sin! Just think of it, mother dear, what a deed! His very life, the
gift of the Heavenly Father. Why? What for? What did he lack? Was it
money? I think I never held back his allowance. Even my enemies will
not dare say that about me. Well, and if his allowance was not enough,
I couldn't help it. Your father's money wasn't stolen money. If you
haven't enough money, well, learn to restrain yourself. You can't
always be eating cookies, you must sometimes be content with simpler
fare. Yes, you must. Your father, for example, expected some money the
other day, and then the manager comes and says, 'The Torpenlovskoye
peasants won't pay their rent.' Well, I couldn't help it, I wrote a
complaint to the Justice of the Peace. Ah, Volodya, Volodya! No, you
were not a good boy. You deserted your poor father. Left him an orphan."
The livelier the game the more copious and sentimental Yudushka's
reminiscences.
"And how bright he was! I remember once, he was laid up with the
measles. He was no more than seven years old. My late Sasha came over
to him, and he says, 'Mother, mother, is it true that only angels have
wings?' 'Well,' she said, 'yes, only angels.' 'Why?' he asked. 'Did
father have wings when he came here a while ago?'"
Yudushka remained the fool with as many as eight cards on his hands,
among them the ace, king and queen of trumps. Peals of laughter rose,
Yudushka was displeased, but he affably joined in the merriment. In the
midst of the general excitement, Arina Petrovna suddenly grew silent
and listened attentively.
"Stop, be quiet. Somebody is coming," she said.
Yudushka and Yevpraksia listened, but heard no sound.
"I tell you, somebody is coming. Listen, listen! Someone is coming and
he is not far off."
They listened again, and surely there was a faint tinkling in the
distance, which the wind brought nearer one moment and carried away the
next. Five minutes later the bells were distinctly heard. The sound of
them was followed by voices in the court-yard.
"The young master, Piotr Porfirych, has arrived," came from the
antechamber.
Yudushka rose, and remained standing, dumfounded and pale as death.
CHAPTER IV
Petenka walked in looking flabby and dispirited, kissed his father's
hand, observed the same ceremony with his grandmother, then bowed
to Yevpraksia, and sat down. He was about twenty-five, rather
good-looking, in an army officer's travelling uniform. That was all one
could say about him. Even Yudushka knew scarcely more. The relations
of father and son were not of the kind one could call strained. There
simply were no relations, you might say. Yudushka knew Petenka to be a
man who in the eyes of the law was his son and to whom he had to send a
certain allowance determined by Yudushka himself, in consideration of
which he was entitled to homage and obedience. Petenka, on the other
hand, knew that he had a father who could make things unpleasant for
him at any time he wished. He made trips to Golovliovo quite willingly,
especially since he had become a commissioned officer, not because he
greatly enjoyed his father's company, but simply because every man who
is not clearly conscious of his aim in life instinctively gravitates
to his native place. But now, apparently, he had come because he had
been obliged to come, and consequently manifested not a single sign
of the joyous perplexity with which every prodigal son of the gentry
celebrates his arrival home. Petenka was not talkative.
All his father's ejaculations of pleasant surprise were met with
silence, or a forced smile, and when Yudushka asked, "Why did it occur
to you all of a sudden?" he answered even crossly, "It just occurred to
me and here I am."
"Well, thank you, thank you for remembering your father. I am glad you
came. I suppose you thought of grandmother, too?"
"Yes, I thought of grandmother, too."
"Hold on! Maybe you recollected that today is the Anniversary of your
brother Volodenka's death?"
"Yes, I thought of that, too."
Thus the conversation went for about half an hour, so that it was
impossible to tell whether Petenka were answering or dodging the
questions. So, in spite of Yudushka's tolerance of his children's
indifference to him, he could not refrain from remarking:
"Well, my child, you are not affectionate. One could hardly call you an
affectionate son!"
Had Petenka kept silence this time also, had he taken his father's
remark meekly, or better still, had he kissed his father's hand and
said, "Excuse me, father dear, you know I am tired from the journey,"
things would have passed off pleasantly. But Petenka behaved like an
ungrateful child.
"Yes, that's what I am," he answered gruffly. "Let me alone, please."
Then Porfiry Vladimirych felt so hurt, so wounded that he could not
keep quiet any longer.
"To think of the pains I have taken for your sake!" he said, with
bitterness. "Even here I never stop thinking how to improve this and
that, so that you may be comfortable and cozy, and suffer no lack, and
have no worry. And all of you fight shy of me."
"Who is 'all of you'?"
"Well, you. And the deceased, too, may his soul rest in peace, he was
just the same."
"Well, I am grateful to you."
"I don't see your gratitude--neither gratitude nor affection--nothing."
"I'm not affectionate--that's all. But you speak in the plural all the
time. One of us is dead already."
"Yes, he is dead. God punished him. God punishes disobedient children.
Still, I remember him. He was unruly, but I remember him. Tomorrow, you
see, we shall have the memorial services performed. He offended me,
but I, notwithstanding, remember my duty. Lord! The sort of thing that
goes on these days! Here a son comes to his father and snarls at the
very first word. Is that how we acted in our days? I remember we used
to come to Golovliovo, and when we were thirty versts away, we began
to shiver in our boots. Well, here is mother dear, a live witness, she
will tell you. And nowadays. I don't understand it. I don't understand
it."
"I don't either. I came quietly, greeted you, kissed your hand and
now I sit here and don't bother you. I drink tea, and if you give me
supper, I'll have my supper. Why did you raise all this fuss?"
Arina Petrovna sat in her chair listening attentively. She seemed to
be hearing the same old familiar tale that had begun long, long ago,
time out of mind. Aware that such a meeting of father and son foreboded
no good, she considered it her duty to intervene and put in a word of
reconciliation:
"Well, well, you turkey-cocks!" she said, trying to give the situation
a humorous turn. "Just met and already quarreling. Look at them jumping
at each other, look at them! Feathers will soon be flying. My, my, how
naughty! Why don't you fellows sit down quietly and properly and have
a friendly chat, and let your old mother enjoy it, too? Petenka, you
give in. My child, you must always give in to your father, because he
is your father. Even if at times father gives you bitter medicine, take
it without complaint, with obedience, with respect, because you are his
son. Who knows, maybe the bitter medicine will turn sweet--so it will
be to your good. And you, Porfiry Vladimirych, come down from your high
perch. He is your son, young, delicate. He has made seventy-five versts
over hollows and snow-drifts, he is tired, and chilled, and sleepy. We
are through with the tea now, suppose you order supper and then let's
all go to bed. So, my friend. We'll all go to our nooks and offer up
a prayer, and maybe our temper will pass away. And then we'll rise
early in the morning and pray for Volodya's soul. We'll have a memorial
service performed, and then we'll go home and have a talk. Both of you
will be rested and you'll state your affairs in a clear, orderly way.
Petenka, you will tell us about St. Petersburg and you, Porfiry, about
your country life. And now, let's have supper and to bed!"
The exhortation had its effect not because it was convincing but
because Yudushka himself saw he had gone too far and it would be best
to end the day peacefully. He rose from his seat, kissed his mother's
hand, thanked her for the "lesson," and ordered supper.
The meal was eaten in morose silence. Then they left the dining-room
and went to their rooms. Little by little the house became still. The
dead quiet crept from room to room and finally reached the study
of the Golovliovo master. Having finished the required number of
genuflexions before the ikons, Yudushka, too, went to bed.
Porfiry Vladimirych lay in bed, but was unable to shut his eyes. He
felt his son's arrival portended something unusual, and various absurd
sermons already rose in his mind. Yudushka's harangues had the merit of
being good for all occasions and did not consist of a connected chain
of thoughts, but came to him in the shape of fragmentary aphorisms.
Whenever confronted by an extraordinary situation, such a flood of
aphorisms overwhelmed him that even sleep could not drive them from his
consciousness.
He could not fall asleep. He was a prey to his absurd sermonizings,
though, as a matter of fact, he was not much perturbed by Petenka's
mysterious arrival. He was prepared for no matter what happened. He
knew nothing would catch him napping and nothing would make him recede
in the slightest from the web of empty, musty aphorisms in which he
was entangled. For him there existed neither sorrow nor joy, neither
hatred, nor love. To him the entire world was a vast coffin which
served him as a pretext for endless prattling.
What greater grief could there be for a father than for his son to
commit suicide? But even with respect to Volodya's suicide he remained
true to himself. It had been a very sad story, which had lasted two
years. For two years Volodya had held out, at first showing a pride
and determination not to ask his father's aid. Then he weakened, began
to implore, to expostulate, to threaten. In reply he always received
a ready aphorism, the stone given to the hungry man. It is doubtful
whether Yudushka realized that he had handed his son a stone and not
bread. At any rate a stone was all he had to give, and so he gave it.
When Volodya shot himself he had a requiem service performed, entered
the day of his death in the calendar, and promised himself to have
memorial services performed on the 23rd of November of every year.
Sometimes a dull voice muttered in his ears that the solution of a
family quarrel by suicide is rather a questionable method, to say the
least; and even then he brought into play a train of aphorisms, such as
"God punishes disobedient children," "God is against the proud," and
was at peace again.
And now! There was no doubt that something sinister had happened to
Petenka. But whatever had happened, he, Porfiry Vladimirych, must be
above those chance happenings. "You knew how to get in, then know how
to get out." "If the cat wants the fish, let her wet her feet." Just
so. That is what he would say to his son the next day, no matter what
Petenka told him. And suppose Petenka, like Volodya, were also to
refuse to take a stone instead of bread? What if he, too----Yudushka
drove the thought from him. It was a diabolical suggestion. He tossed
about and tried in vain to fall asleep. Whenever sleep seemed about
to come, there flashed across his mind maxims such as "I should like
to reach the sky but my arms are too short," or "You can't stretch
more than the length of your bed," or "Speed is good for nothing but
catching fleas."
Twaddle surrounded him on all sides, crawled upon him, crept over him,
embraced him. Under this load of nonsensicality, with which he hoped to
regale his soul tomorrow, he could not fall asleep.
Nor could Petenka find sleep, though the journey had tired him
exceedingly. He had an affair that could not be settled anywhere
except at Golovliovo, but it was a situation of such a nature that
he did not know how to meet it. Petenka, indeed, realized full well
that his case was hopeless and his trip to Golovliovo would only add
to the difficulties of his situation. But the primitive instinct of
self-preservation in man overcomes all reason and urges him on to try
everything to the very last straw. That's why he had come. But instead
of hardening himself so as to be prepared for whatever might come, he
had almost from the first word got into a quarrel with his father. What
would be the outcome of this trip? Would a miracle happen? Would stone
turn into bread? Would it not have been simpler to put the revolver to
his temple and say, "Gentlemen, I am unworthy of wearing your uniform.
I have embezzled crown money and I pronounce a just, though severe
sentence upon myself"? Bang! And all is over. The deceased Lieutenant
Golovliov is hereby struck off the list of officers. Yes, how radical
that would be and--how beautiful! The comrades would say, "You were
unfortunate, you went too far, still you were an honorable man."
But instead of acting that way at once, he had brought the affair to
a point where it became a matter of common knowledge; and then he
had been given leave of absence for a fixed time on condition that
within that time he would refund the embezzled sum. If not--out of the
regiment! The disgraceful end of his early career! So he had come to
Golovliovo, though he knew full well that he would be given a stone
instead of bread.
But perhaps a miracle would come to change things. Miracles sometimes
happen. Perhaps the present Golovliovo would vanish and a new
Golovliovo would arise, in which he might----And perhaps grandmother
would--hadn't she money? Maybe, if he told her he was in great trouble,
she might give him some. Who could tell? "Here," she might say, "hurry,
so that you get back before the time is up."
And he rode fast, fast--hurried the driver, just made the train and got
to the regiment two hours before the respite was over. "Good for you,
Golovliov," his comrades would say, "your hand, honorable young man!
Let's forget the matter." And he not only remained in the regiment, but
was even promoted to staff-captain, then captain, after that adjutant
of the regiment (he had been bursar, already) and, finally, on the
anniversary day of the regiment----Ah, if only the night would pass
quickly! Tomorrow--well, let happen what may tomorrow. But what he
would have to listen to! Gods, what would he not be told! Tomorrow--but
why tomorrow? He had a whole day yet. He asked for two days just
because he wanted to have enough time to move "him." A likely chance! A
fine prospect of persuading and touching him! No use----
Here his thoughts became confused and sank, one after the other, into
the mist of sleep. In a few minutes the Golovliovo manor was steeped in
heavy slumber.
The next day the whole household was up early in the morning. Everybody
went to church except Petenka, who pleaded fatigue. They listened to
the mass and the requiem and returned home. Petenka, as usual, came
up to kiss his father's hand, but Yudushka extended it sidewise, and
everyone noticed that he did not even make the sign of the cross over
his son. Tea was served, then _kutya._ Yudushka was dismal, scraped
the floor with his feet, avoided conversation, sighed, folded his
hands incessantly as if for inner prayer, and never once looked at his
son. Petenka, for his part, bristled up and smoked one cigarette after
another. The strained situation of yesterday, so far from relaxing,
became still more acute. It made Arina Petrovna very uneasy, and she
decided to find out from Yevpraksia if anything had happened.
"Has anything happened," she asked, "that makes them look daggers at
each other like that?"
"How do I know? I don't interfere in their private affairs," the girl
snapped back.
"Maybe it's on account of you. Perhaps my grandson is running after you
too?"
"Why should he run after me? A little while ago he tried to catch hold
of me in the corridor, and Porfiry Vladimirych saw him."
"Oh. So that's what it is."
In fact, in spite of his critical situation, Petenka had not lost
a bit of his levity. His eyes riveted themselves on Yevpraksia's
powerful back and he determined to let her know about it. That was
the real reason he had not gone to church, hoping Yevpraksia, as the
housekeeper, would stay home. So, when the house had turned silent,
he had thrown his cloak over his shoulders and hidden himself in the
corridor. A minute or two passed, the door of the maids' room banged,
and Yevpraksia appeared at the other end of the corridor, carrying a
tray with a butter-cake to be served with the tea. Petenka struck her
between the shoulder-blades and said, "A wonderful back you've got!"
and that instant the dining-room door opened and his father appeared.
"You, scoundrel! If you came here to behave in a nasty way, I'll throw
you down the stairs!" Yudushka hissed venomously.
Naturally, Petenka vanished in a moment. He could not fail to realize
that the incident of the morning was scarcely likely to improve his
case. So he decided to be silent and postpone the explanation until the
morrow. Nevertheless he did nothing to allay his father's irritation;
on the contrary, he behaved in a foolish, unguarded manner, smoking
cigarettes incessantly, heedless of his father's energetically fanning
away the clouds of smoke that filled the room; and every now and
then making sheep's eyes at Yevpraksia, who smiled queerly under the
influence of his glances. Yudushka noticed that, too.
The day dragged on slowly. Arina Petrovna tried to play fool with
Yevpraksia, but nothing came of it. No one felt like playing or
talking; they could not even think of small talk, though everyone had
stores of this merchandise. At last dinner time came. But dinner passed
in silence also. After dinner Arina Petrovna made preparations for
returning to Pogorelka. But this intention of his "mother dear" alarmed
Yudushka.
"God bless you, darling!" he exclaimed. "Do you mean to say you'll
leave me here alone with this--this wicked son? No, no, don't think of
it. I won't allow it."
"But what is the matter? Has anything happened between the two of you?
Why don't you tell me?" she asked.
"No, nothing has happened--as yet, but you'll see. No, please don't
go! Be present at----There is something behind his coming here in such
a hurry. So, if anything happens--you be the witness." |
|
댓글 없음:
댓글 쓰기