Arina Petrovna shook her head and decided to stay.
After dinner Porfiry Vladimirych retired, having first sent Yevpraksia
to the village priest, and Arina Petrovna also went to her room and
dozed off in her easy-chair.
Petenka thought it the most favorable time to try his luck with
grandmother, and went to her room.
"What is the matter? Have you come to play a game of fool with an old
woman?" she asked.
"No, granny, I am on business."
"Well, what is your business? Tell me."
Petenka hesitated a minute, then blurted out:
"I lost crown money at cards."
Arina Petrovna's eyes grew dim from the shock.
"Much?" she asked in a frightened voice, staring at him.
"Three thousand."
For a moment both were silent. Arina Petrovna looked around restlessly,
as if expecting somebody to come to her rescue.
"Do you know they can send you to Siberia for that?" she said at last.
"Yes, I know."
"Poor fellow!"
"Granny, I meant to borrow it from you. I'll pay good interest."
Arina Petrovna became thoroughly frightened.
"Oh no, no!" she protested. "I have only enough money for my coffin and
memorial prayers. It's my granddaughters that keep me a-going, and my
son, too. No, no, no! You'd better let me alone. Let me see--why not
ask your papa?"
"Oh, well, you can't squeeze blood out of an onion. All my hope was in
you, granny."
"Just think of what you are saying. I would gladly do it, but where am
I to get the money from? I have no money at all. But suppose you ask
father, you know, affectionately, respectfully. 'Here, father dear,
such is the case. I know I am guilty, I am young and I made a blunder.'
You know, with a smile and a laugh. Kiss his hand and fall on your
knees, and cry a bit. He likes it. Then maybe father will untie his
purse for his sonny dear."
"So you really think it's worth trying? Just a moment. See here,
granny, suppose you say to him, 'If you don't give him the money I'll
lay a curse on you!' He has always been afraid of your curse, you know."
"No, why curse? You can ask right out. Do ask him, my dear. There is no
harm if you bow before your father once too many. He will understand
your position, you know. Do it. Be sure to do it."
Petenka, his arms akimbo, walked back and forth as if deliberating.
Finally he halted and said:
"No, I won't. He is not likely to give it--it's no use. No matter what
I do, even if I smash my head in bowing--he won't do it. But you see,
if you threatened him with your curse. What am I to do, granny?"
"I don't know, really. Try and perhaps you'll soften him a bit. How
did you come to take such liberties? To lose crown money is no small
matter. Did anybody inveigle you into it?"
"It just happened. I took it and lost it at cards. Well, if you have
no money of your own, give me some of the orphans'."
"What is the matter with you? Have you lost your wits? How can I let
you have the orphans' money? No, no, I can't. Don't talk to me about
it, for Christ's sake."
"So you won't. Too bad. And I would pay good interest. Do you want five
per cent. per month? No? Well, double the principal in a year?"
"Don't you tempt me!" shouted Arina Petrovna, throwing up her hands.
"Leave me alone, for Christ's sake! It won't surprise me if father
hears us and says I urged you on! Oh, Lord! I am an old woman, I wanted
to rest a bit. I had just dozed off and then he comes with such an
offer."
"Very well, then. I am going. So it's impossible? Very good. Just like
kinsfolk. On account of three thousand rubles your grandson will go to
Siberia. Don't forget to have a Te Deum sung when I go."
Petenka left the room, closing the door with a bang. One of his flimsy
hopes was gone. What was he to do next? Only one way out was left--to
confess all to father. Who knows, perhaps, perhaps, something would----
"I'll go at once and be done with it," he said to himself. "Or no! What
can I hope for? Better tomorrow. Yes, I think tomorrow is better. I'll
tell him and leave at once." So he decided. Tomorrow would see and end
it all.
After the talk with grandmother the evening dragged on still more
slowly. Even Arina Petrovna grew silent after she had learned the real
cause of Petenka's arrival. Yudushka tried to be jocular with mother,
but perceiving she was absorbed in her own thoughts, also grew silent.
Petenka did nothing but smoke. At supper Porfiry Vladimirych asked him:
"Are you going to tell me at last why you have honored me with this
visit?"
"I will tell you tomorrow," answered Petenka morosely.
CHAPTER V
Petenka rose early after a sleepless night. His harassed mind
vacillated between hope and utter despair. Perhaps he did not really
know his father, but one thing he was sure of, that there was not in
him a single feeling, a single weak spot that could be grasped at
and made use of. When face to face with his father, all he felt was
something inexplicable. He did not know how to approach him, what to
say first, and this made him very uneasy in his presence. It had been
like that since his childhood. As far back as he could remember, it
always seemed better not to attempt any forecast at all than to make a
matter depend upon his father's decision. So now, too. How was he to
begin? How was he to approach the matter? What was he to say first? And
why had he come here at all?
A feeling of disgust seized him. Nevertheless he realized he had only
a few hours left and something had to be done. Having worked himself
up into a fair state of courage, he buttoned up his coat, and walked
firmly to his father's study, whispering something to himself. Yudushka
was saying prayers. He was pious, and every day gladly devoted a few
hours to prayer, not because he loved God and hoped through prayer to
enter into communion with Him, but because he feared the devil and
hoped God would deliver him from the Evil One.
He knew many prayers and was especially versed in the technique of the
poses and gestures of worship. He knew how to move his lips, how to
roll his eyes, when it was proper to place the hands palm inward, and
when they were to be lifted up, when to be moved with feeling, and when
to stand with reverential calm and slowly make the sign of the cross.
Even his eyes and his nostrils moistened at the proper moments. But
prayer did not rejuvenate him, did not ennoble his feelings, or bring
a single ray into his dull existence. He could pray and go through all
the requisite bodily movements, and at the same time be looking out
of the window to see if someone was entering the cellar without his
permission. It was quite a distinct, particular function of life, which
was self-sufficient and could exist outside of the general scheme of
life.
When Petenka entered the study, Porfiry Vladimirych was on his knees
with his hands raised. He did not change his position, but made a
jerky movement with one of his hands to indicate that he had not yet
finished. Petenka seated himself in the dining-room, where the table
was already set for tea, and waited. The half hour that passed seemed
like eternity, especially as he was sure his father was prolonging
the wait intentionally. The studied coolness with which he had armed
himself little by little gave way to vexation. At first he sat stiff,
then began to walk to and fro, and finally fell to whistling airs. As
a result, the door of the study opened, and Yudushka's irritated voice
was heard calling:
"Whoever wants to whistle may do so in the stables."
After a while Porfiry Vladimirych came out clad all in black, in
clean linen, as if prepared for a solemn occasion. His countenance was
radiant, glowing, breathing meekness and joy, as if he had just been at
communion. He approached his son, made the sign of the cross over him,
and then kissed him.
"Good morning, friend," he said.
"Good morning."
"Did you sleep well? Was your bed made properly? Were there no little
fleas and bedbugs to bother you?"
"Thank you. I slept well."
"Well, thanks to God, if you slept well. It's only at one's parents'
home that one can sleep really well. I know it from my own experience.
No matter how comfortable I might be at St. Petersburg, I could never
sleep so well as at Golovliovo. You feel just as if you were rocked in
a cradle. So what are we going to do? Shall we have some tea first, or
do you want to say something now?"
"Let's talk it over now. I have to leave in six hours, and maybe we'll
need some time for deliberation."
"Oh, well. But, my dear, I tell you directly, I never deliberate, my
answer is always ready. If your request is a proper one, well, I never
refuse anything proper. It may be hard on me at times, and I can't
always afford it, but if it is proper, I can't refuse it. That's the
kind of man I am. But if you ask for something that isn't right, I am
sorry. Though I feel for you, I shall have to refuse. You observe, my
son, I have no underhand ways. I am exactly as you see me. Well, then,
let's go into the study. Speak and I will listen. Let's hear, let's
hear what the matter is."
On entering the study, Porfiry left the door ajar and instead of
seating himself and asking his son to be seated, he began pacing the
room, as if instinctively feeling that the matter was delicate and it
would be easier to discuss it while walking. The expression of one's
face may be more easily concealed, and if the conversation takes a
disagreeable turn it may be more readily cut off, and the door half
ajar makes it possible to appeal to witnesses; for mother dear and
Yevpraksia were sure to come into the dining-room before long to have
tea.
"Papa," blurted out Petenka, "I lost some crown money at cards."
Yudushka said nothing, but his lips quivered, and he immediately fell
to muttering, as was his habit.
"I lost three thousand," explained Petenka, "and if I don't return
the money the day after tomorrow, there may be very disagreeable
consequences for me."
"Well, refund the money," said Porfiry Vladimirych affably.
Father and son made a few turns around the room in silence. Petenka
wished to make further explanations, but felt a lump rising in his
throat.
"Yes, but where am I to get the money from?" he said at last.
"My dear friend, I don't know your resources. Pay it back from the
resources you figured on when you gambled crown money away."
"You know very well that in such cases people forget about their
resources."
"I don't know a thing, my friend. I never played cards, except with
mother, when I play fool to amuse the old woman. And please don't drag
me into this dirty business, and let's go and have tea. We'll have tea
and sit around, maybe we'll talk about something, but, for the Lord's
sake, not about that."
Yudushka started to make for the door and into the dining-room, but
Petenka stopped him.
"Look here," he said, "I have to get out of this predicament somehow."
Yudushka grinned and stared at Petenka.
"Yes, my dear, you have to," he agreed.
"Then help me."
"Ah, that's a different matter. You have to get out of the difficulty
somehow, to be sure, but how to get out of it--well, that's none of my
business."
"But why don't you want to help me?"
"First, because I have no money to cover up your dastardly deeds, and
secondly because the entire matter does not concern me in the least.
You knew how to get in, then know how to get out. The cat likes fish,
then let her wet her feet. You see, my boy, that's just what I said at
the start, that if your request is a proper one----"
"I know. You've got a lot of words on the tip of your tongue."
"Wait, save your impudent remarks, and let me say what I wish to say.
That they are not mere words I'll prove to you in a minute. So, as I
said a while ago, if your request is a proper, a sensible one, all
right, my boy. I am always ready to satisfy you. But if you come to
me with an unreasonable request, I am very sorry, I have no money for
stuff and nonsense. No sir, never. And you won't get any--you may as
well be sure of it. And don't dare tell me I use mere words. My words
are mighty near deeds."
"But think what will become of me."
"Whatever pleases God, that will happen," answered Yudushka, slightly
lifting up his arms and looking sideways at the ikon.
Father and son again made a few turns across the room. Yudushka paced
reluctantly, as if in complaint that his son was holding him in
captivity. Petenka, his arms akimbo, followed him, biting his moustache
and smiling nervously.
"I am your last son," he said. "Don't forget that."
"My boy, God bereft Job of everything, and Job did not complain, but
only said: 'God hath given and God hath taken away--may thy will be
done, oh, Lord!' So, my boy."
"In the Bible it was God that took, and here you take away from
yourself. Volodya----"
"Oh, well, you are talking nonsense."
"No, it isn't nonsense, it's the truth. Everybody knows that
Volodya----"
"No, no, no! I don't want to listen to your preposterous remarks.
Enough! You've said everything necessary. I have given you my answer.
And now let's go and have tea. We'll chat a while, then we'll have a
bite, then a drink before you go--and then God speed you! You see how
good the Lord is to you? The weather has abated and the road become
smoother. Little by little, bit by bit, one, two, and you'll hardly
notice when you get to the station."
"Now, listen, I implore you. If you have a drop of feeling----"
"No, no, no! Don't let us talk about it. Let's go into the dining-room.
I dare say mother dear must be dull without her tea. It isn't proper to
keep the dear old woman waiting."
Yudushka made a sharp turn and almost ran to the door.
"You may go or not, it's all the same to me, but I am not going to drop
this conversation," Petenka shouted after him. "It will be worse if we
begin talking in the presence of witnesses."
Yudushka came back and planted himself squarely before his son.
"What do you want of me, you scoundrel? Speak up!"
"I want you to pay the money that I lost."
"Never!"
"Is that your last word?"
"You see," exclaimed Yudushka solemnly, pointing at the ikon that hung
in the corner, "You see that? It is grandfather's benediction. So, in
the presence of that image I say, Never!"
And with a firm step he left the study.
"Murderer!" was hurled after him.
CHAPTER VI
Arina Petrovna was already at the table, and Yevpraksia was busy
arranging the tea things. The old woman was silent and thoughtful, and
looked as if she were ashamed of Petenka. In the customary way Yudushka
kissed her hand, and she made the sign of the cross over him. Then came
the usual questions, whether everybody felt well, and had had a good
night's rest, followed by the customary monosyllabic answers. Petenka's
asking Arina Petrovna for money and awakening the memory of the "curse"
had put her into a state of peculiar uneasiness. She was pursued by the
thought, "What if I threaten him with my curse?" When she had heard
that explanations in the study had begun, she had turned to Yevpraksia
with the request:
"Suppose, my dear, you go to the door quietly and listen to what they
say."
Yevpraksia went to eavesdrop, but was so stupid she could understand
nothing.
"Oh, they're just having a chat," she explained upon her return.
Then Arina Petrovna could not hold out any longer and went to the
dining-room, where the samovar had already been brought in. But the
interview was nearing its end, and all she noted was that Petenka's
voice was loud and angry, and Porfiry Vladimirych's replies were given
in a nagging voice.
"He's nagging him, that just it, nagging!" ran in her head. "I remember
he used to nag that way, and how is it I did not understand him then?"
At last, father and son appeared in the dining-room. Petenka's face
was red and he was breathing heavily. His eyes were staring widely,
his hair was disheveled, his forehead was covered with beads of
perspiration. Yudushka, on the contrary, entered pale and cross.
He wanted to appear indifferent but, in spite of all his efforts,
his lower lip trembled. He could hardly utter the customary morning
greetings to his mother dear.
All took their places at the table. Petenka seated himself at some
distance, leaned against the back of his chair, crossed his legs,
lighted a cigarette, and looked at his father ironically.
"You see, mother, the storm has abated," Yudushka began. "Yesterday
there was such an uproar, but God only had to will it, and here we have
a nice, bright, quiet day. Am I right, mother dear?"
"I don't know. I haven't been out to-day."
"By the way, we are going to see our dear guest off," continued
Yudushka. "I rose early this morning, looked out of the window--it
was still and quiet outdoors, as if God's angel had flown by and in a
moment allayed the riot with his wings."
But no one answered Yudushka's kindly words. Yevpraksia sipped her tea
from the saucer, blowing and puffing. Arina Petrovna looked into her
cup and was silent. Petenka, swaying in his chair, continued to eye
his father with an ironical, defiant air, as if he had to exert great
efforts to keep from bursting out laughing.
"Even if Petenka does not ride fast, he will reach the railway station
toward night," Porfiry Vladimirych resumed. "Our horses are not
overworked. They will feed for a couple of hours at Muravyevo, and they
will get him to the place in a jiffy. Ah, Petka, you are a bad boy!
Suppose you stay with us a while longer--really. We would enjoy your
company, and you would improve greatly in a week."
But Petenka continued to sway in his chair and eye his father.
"Why do you stare at me?" Yudushka flared up at last. "Do you see
pictures on me?"
"I'm just looking at you waiting for what's coming next."
"No use waiting, my son. It will be as I said. I will not change my
mind."
A minute of silence followed, after which a whisper could be distinctly
heard.
"Yudushka!"
Porfiry Vladimirych undoubtedly heard it, he even turned pale, but he
pretended the exclamation did not concern him.
"Ah, my dear little children," he said. "I should like to caress and
fondle you, but it seems it can't be done--ill luck! You run away from
your parents, you've got bosom friends who are dearer to you than
father and mother. Well, it can't be helped. One ponders a bit over it,
then resigns oneself. You are young folk, and youth, of course, prefers
the company of youth to that of an old grouch. So, I resign myself and
don't complain. I only pray to Our Father in Heaven, 'Do Thy will, oh
Lord!'"
"Murderer!" Petenka whispered, but this time so distinctly that Arina
Petrovna looked at him in fright. Something passed before her eyes. It
looked like the shadow of Simple Simon.
"Whom do you mean?" asked Yudushka, trembling with excitement.
"Oh, just an acquaintance of mine."
"I see. Well, you'd better make that clear. Lord knows what's in your
head. Maybe it is one of us that you style so."
Everybody became silent. The glasses of tea remained untouched.
Yudushka leaned against the back of his chair, swaying nervously.
Petenka, seeing that all hope was gone, had a sensation of deadly
anguish, under the influence of which he was ready to go to any
lengths. But father and son looked at each other with an indescribable
smile. Hardened though Porfiry Vladimirych was, the minute was nearing
when he would be unable to control himself.
"You'd better go, while the going's good," he burst out, finally. "You
better had."
"I'm going."
"Then why wait? I see you're trying to pick a quarrel, and I don't
want to quarrel with anybody. We live here quietly and in good order,
without disputes. Your old grandmother is here. You ought to have
regard for her at least. Well, tell us why you came here?"
"I told you why."
"If it's only for that, you are wasting your efforts. Go at once, my
son. Hey, who's there? Have the horses ready for the young master. And
some fried chicken, and caviar, and other things, eggs, I suppose. Wrap
them up well in paper. You'll take a bite at the station, my son, while
they feed the horses. Godspeed!"
"No, I am not going yet. I'm going to church first to have a memorial
service performed for the murdered servant of God, Vladimir."
"That is, for the suicide."
"No, for the murdered."
Father and son stared at each other. It looked as if in a moment both
would jump up. But Yudushka made a superhuman effort and, turning his
chair, faced the table again.
"Wonderful!" he said in a strained voice. "Wonderful!"
"Yes, for the murdered!" Petenka persisted brutally.
"Who murdered him?" Yudushka asked with curiosity, still hoping,
apparently, that his son would come to his senses.
But Petenka, unperturbed, whipped out:
"You!"
"I?"
Porfiry Vladimirych was astounded. It was a few moments before he came
to himself. He rose hastily from his seat, faced the ikon and began to
pray.
"You, you, you!" Petenka repeated.
"Well, now! Thank God, I feel better after praying," said Yudushka,
seating himself at table again. "Just a minute, though. I, as your
father, should not take you up on your talk, but we'll pursue the
matter this time. Then you mean to say that I killed Volodenka?"
"Yes, you did."
"And I beg leave to differ. I consider he shot himself. At that time
I was at Golovliovo and in St. Petersburg. So what could I have to do
with it? How could I kill him when he was seven hundred versts away?"
"As if you don't understand!"
"I don't understand, by the Lord, I don't!"
"And who left Volodya without a penny? Who discontinued his allowances?
Who?"
"Stuff and nonsense! Why did he marry against his father's will?"
"But you gave him your permission."
"Who? I? What are you talking about? I never did anything of the kind.
Nev-v-v-er!"
"Oh, of course, you acted as you always do. Everyone of your words has
ten meanings. Go, guess the right one."
"I never gave my permission. He wrote to me, 'Papa, I want to marry
Lida,' you understand, 'I want to,' not 'I beg your permission.' Well,
I answered him, 'If you want to marry, you can marry. I cannot stand in
your way.' That's all there was to it."
"That's all there was to it," Petenka said jeeringly. "And wasn't that
giving your permission?"
"That's exactly what it wasn't. What did I say? I said, 'I cannot stand
in your way.' That's all. But whether I give my permission or not, is
a different question. He did not ask my permission, he simply wrote,
'Papa, I want to marry Lida.' Well, and as to permission he kept mum.
You want to marry. Well, my friend, may God be with you, marry Lida or
Fida, I cannot stand in your way!"
"But you could leave him without a crust of bread. So why didn't you
write this way, 'I do not approve of your intention, and therefore,
though I will not hinder you, I warn you that you can not longer rely
on financial aid from me.' That, at least, would have been clear."
"No, I shall never permit myself to do such things, to make threats
against a grown son--never! I have a rule never to be in anybody's way.
If you want to marry--marry! Well, and as to consequences--I am sorry.
It was your business to foresee them yourself. That's why God gave you
reason. And as to me, brother, I don't like to thrust myself into other
people's affairs. I not only keep from meddling myself, but I don't
invite others to meddle in my affairs, I don't invite it, I don't, I
don't, I even forbid it! Do you hear me, you wicked, disrespectful son,
I f-o-r-b-i-d it!"
"You may forbid it, if you like, but you can't muzzle everybody."
"If at least he had repented! And if at least he had realized that he
offended his father! Well, you committed a folly--say you are sorry.
Ask forgiveness! 'Forgive me, dear papa, for the mortification I caused
you.' But he wouldn't!"
"But he did write to you. He made it clear to you that he had nothing
to live on, that he could not endure it any longer."
"That's not the kind of thing to write to a father. From a father one
asks pardon, that's all."
"He did so. He was so tortured that he begged forgiveness, too. He did
everything, he did."
"And even if he did, he was wrong. You ask forgiveness once, you see
your father does not forgive you, you ask again!"
"Oh, you!"
At this Petenka suddenly ceased swaying his chair, turned about, faced
the table and rested both elbows on it.
"And here I, too----" he whispered.
His face gradually became disfigured.
"And here I too----" he repeated, and burst into hysterical sobbing.
"Whose fault----"
But Yudushka had no chance to finish his sermon. At that moment
something quite unexpected took place. During their skirmish the man
had almost forgotten about Arina Petrovna. But she had not remained
an indifferent spectator. On the contrary, you could tell at a glance
that something quite unusual was taking place within her, and that
the moment perhaps had arrived when the ruthless vision of her entire
life appeared before her spiritual eye in a glaring light. Her face
livened up, her eyes widened and glittered, her lips moved as if they
were struggling to utter some word and could not. Suddenly, just at the
moment when Petenka's bitter weeping resounded in the dining-room she
rose heavily from her arm-chair, stretched her arms forward, and a loud
wail broke out from her breast.
"My cu-r-r-se upon you!"
BOOK IV
THE GOOD LITTLE NIECE
CHAPTER I
Yudushka did not give the money to Petenka, though, kind father that
he was, he gave orders just before the moment of departure for some
chicken, veal and pie to be placed in the carriage. Then he went out
on the porch in the chilling wind to see his son off, and inquired
whether Petenka was seated comfortably and whether he had wrapped his
feet up well. Re-entering the house, he stood at the window in the
dining-room a long time making the sign of the cross and sending his
blessings after the vehicle that was carrying Petenka away. In a word,
he performed the farewell ceremony fittingly, as becomes good kinsfolk.
"Oh, Petka, Petka," he said, "you are a bad, bad son. Look at the
mischief you have done. My, my, my! And what could have been better
than to live on quietly and peacefully, nicely and easily with father
and old granny? But no! Crash! Bang! I am my own master, I've got a
head on my shoulders, too! Well, there's your head! My, what trouble!"
Not a muscle quivered in his wooden face, not a note in his voice
sounded like an appeal to a prodigal son. But, then, there was nobody
to hear his words, for Arina Petrovna was the only one beside himself
in the room, and as a result of the shock she had just gone through
she seemed to have lost all vitality, and sat near the samovar, her
mouth open, looking straight ahead, without hearing anything, without a
single thought in her mind.
Then life flowed on as usual, full of idle bustle and babbling.
Contrary to Petenka's expectations, Porfiry Vladimirych took the
maternal curse quite coolly and did not recede a hair's breadth from
the decision that had come from his head full-formed, as it were.
It is true he turned slightly pale and rushed toward his mother with a
cry:
"Mother, dear! Darling! Lord be with you! Be calm, dear! God is
merciful. All will be well."
But his words were expressive of alarm for her rather than for himself.
Her act had been so unexpected that Yudushka even forgot to pretend
to be frightened. Only last night his mother had been affectionate,
had jested, and played fool with Yevpraksia. Evidently, then, it
had all happened in a moment of sudden anger, and there was nothing
premeditated, nothing real about it all.
Indeed, he had been very much afraid of his mother's curse but he
had pictured it quite differently. In his idle mind he had built
an elaborate staging for the occasion, ikons, burning candles, his
mother standing in the center of the room, terrible, with a darkened
face as she hurled the curse. Then, thunder, candles going out, the
veil tearing asunder, darkness covering the earth, and above, amidst
the clouds the wrathful countenance of Jehovah illumined by a flash
of lightning. But nothing of the sort had happened, so his mother
had simply done something rash and silly. And she had had no reason
to curse him in earnest, because of late there had been no cause
for quarreling. Many changes had occurred since Yudushka expressed
his doubt as to whether a certain coach belonged to his mother dear
(Yudushka admitted to _himself_ that _then_ he had been wrong and
deserved damnation). Arina Petrovna had become more submissive, and
Porfiry Vladimirych had but one thought in his head: how to placate his
mother dear.
"The old woman is doing poorly, my, how poorly! At times she even
raves," he consoled himself. "The darling sits down to play fool and
before you know it, she dozes off."
In justice to Yudushka it must be admitted that his mother's
decrepitude gave him some alarm. Even he was not quite ready for her
death, had not made any plans, had had no time to make estimates--how
much capital mother had when she left Dubrovino, what that capital
might bring in annually, how much of the interest she had spent, and
how much she had added to the principal. In a word, he had not gone
through an infinity of useless trifles, without which he always felt as
if he were caught unawares.
"The old woman is hale and hearty," he would muse at times. "Still she
won't spend it all--impossible. When she shared us out, she had a neat
sum. Maybe she transferred some to the orphans. Oh, the old woman is
rich. Yes, she is."
But these musings were not so very serious, and vanished without
leaving an impress on his mind. The mass of daily trivialities was
already great, and there was as yet no urgent need to augment them by
the addition of new trivialities. Porfiry Vladimirych kept putting the
matter off, and did not realize it was time to begin until after the
damnation scene.
The catastrophe came sooner than he expected. On the second day after
Petenka's departure Arina Petrovna left for Pogorelka, and never again
visited Golovliovo. She spent a month in total solitude, keeping to her
room and scarcely exchanging a word with her servants. From force of
habit she rose early in the morning, sat down at her desk, and began
to play patience, but hardly ever brought the game to an end, and sat
in frozen rigidity--with her glazed eyes fixed on the window. What she
thought about or whether she thought at all, even the keenest judge of
the deep-lying mysteries of the human soul could not have divined. She
seemed to be trying to recollect something, perhaps how she came to be
within those walls, and could not. Alarmed by her mistress's silence,
Afimyushka would appear in the room, arrange the pillows lining her
easy-chair, and try to open a conversation on this or that, but
received only impatient monosyllabic replies.
Once or twice Porfiry Vladimirych came to Pogorelka, invited mother
dear to Golovliovo, tried to kindle her imagination with the prospect
of mushrooms, German carp, and the other allurements of Golovliovo, but
his overtures evoked nothing but an enigmatic smile.
One morning she tried to leave her bed as usual, but could not, though
she felt no particular pain, and complained of nothing. She took it,
apparently, as a matter of course, without any sign of alarm. The very
day before she had been sitting at the table and even walked, though
with difficulty, and now she was in bed "feeling indisposed." It was
even more comfortable. But Afimyushka became thoroughly frightened
and without the mistress's knowledge sent a messenger to Porfiry
Vladimirych.
Yudushka came early the next morning. Arina Petrovna was considerably
worse. He put the servants through a cross-examination as to what
mother had eaten and whether she had not overeaten. But Arina Petrovna
had eaten almost nothing for a whole month, and had refused all food
the previous day. Yudushka expressed his grief, waved his hands, and
like a good son, warmed himself at the oven in the maids' room so that
he would not bring the cold into the patient's room. At the same time
he began to give orders and make arrangements. He had an extraordinary
keenness for scenting death. He made inquiries as to whether the priest
was home and arranged that in case of emergency he should be sent for
at once. He informed himself where mother's chest with her papers was,
whether it was locked, and having satisfied himself concerning the
state of things, he called in the cook and ordered dinner for himself.
"I need but little," he said. "Have you got a chicken? Well, prepare
some chicken soup. If you have some cured beef, get a bit of cured beef
ready. Then something fried, and I'll have enough."
Arina Petrovna lay prostrate on her back with her mouth open, breathing
heavily. Her eyes were staring wide. One hand projected from under the
quilt of hare's fur and hung stiff. She was evidently alive to the
commotion incident upon her son's arrival, and perhaps his orders even
reached her ears. The lowered window-shades put the room in twilight.
The wicks were flickering their last at the bottom of the ikon lamps
and sputtered audibly at contact with the water. The air was close
and fetid, unbearably suffocating from the overheated stoves, the
sickening smell of the ikon lamps, and the breath of illness. Porfiry
Vladimirych, in his felt boots, glided to his mother's bed like a
snake. His tall, lean figure wrapped in twilight swayed uncannily.
Arina Petrovna with a look half of surprise and half of fright followed
his movements and huddled under her quilt.
"It is I, mother dear," he said. "What's the matter with you? You are
all out of gear today. My, my, my! No wonder I could not sleep all
night. Something seemed to urge me on. 'Let's go and see,' I thought,
'how our Pogorelka friends are getting along.' I got up in the morning,
hitched a couple of horses to the pony cart, and here I am!"
Porfiry Vladimirych tittered affably, but Arina Petrovna did not
answer, and drew herself together in a closer coil under her quilt.
"Well, God is merciful, mother dear," continued Yudushka. "The main
thing is to stand up for yourself. Don't put any stock in the ailment.
Get up and take a walk through the room, like a sound, hale person. You
see, just like this."
Porfiry Vladimirych rose from his seat and demonstrated how sound, hale
persons walk.
"Oh, just a moment. I'll raise the window-shade and take a good look
at you. Oh, but you are first rate, my darling. Just pluck up some
courage, say your prayers, doll up, get into your Sunday best, and
you'll be ready for a dance. There, I have brought you some jolly good
holy water, just taste some."
Porfiry Vladimirych took a flask out of his pocket, found a wine glass
on the table, filled it and gave it to the patient. Arina Petrovna made
an effort to lift her head, but in vain.
"I wish the orphans were here," she moaned.
"Well, much need you have of the orphans here. Oh, mother, mother! How
is it all of a sudden you--really! Just a little bad turn, and at
once you are ready to give up the ship. We'll attend to it all. We'll
send a special messenger to the orphans and we'll do everything else
in due time. Now, what's the hurry, really? We are going to live yet,
yes indeed we are. And we'll have a fine time of it, too. Wait till
summer is here, we'll both of us go to the woods to pick mushrooms,
and raspberries, and nice juicy black currants. Or else, we'll go
to Dubrovino to catch German carps. We'll bring out the horse and
carriage, get into it, and one, two, three--there we go. Nicely and
easily."
"I wish the orphans were here," repeated Arina Petrovna in anguish.
"We'll bring the orphans, too. Give us time. We'll call them together,
all of them. We'll all be here and sit by you. You will be the
brood-hen and we'll be your chicks. We'll have it all, if you behave.
Now you are a naughty girl, because you went and took sick. That's
the kind of mischief you're up to. My, my! Instead of being good and
serving as an example for others, look what you're doing. That's bad,
my dear, very bad."
But no matter how hard Porfiry Vladimirych tried to cheer up his mother
dear with banter, her strength waned from hour to hour. A messenger was
dispatched to town to fetch a doctor, and since the patient persisted
in moaning and calling the orphans, Yudushka in his own hand wrote
a letter to Anninka and Lubinka in which he compared his and their
conduct, called himself a Christian and them ungrateful. At night the
doctor arrived, but it was too late. Arina Petrovna's fate was sealed.
At about four o'clock in the morning the death agony set in and at six
Porfiry Vladimirych was kneeling at his mother's bed wailing:
"Mother dear! My friend! Give me your blessing!" |
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