The festival was not gay at Pokrovskoé. Notwithstanding the fact that
the day was beautiful, the people did not go out to enjoy themselves:
the girls did not collect to sing songs: the factory-boys who came out
from the city did not play the harmonica or on the _balaláïka;_[21]
they did not jest with the girls. All sat around in the _corners;_ and
if they talked, they talked quietly, as though some ill-disposed person
were there, and might overhear them.
All day nothing happened. But in the evening, as it grew dusk, the
dogs began to howl: and, as though signifying some misfortune, a wind
sprang up and howled in the chimneys; and such fear fell upon all the
inhabitants of the _dvor,_ that those who had candles lighted them
before, it was necessary; those who were alone in any _corner_ went to
ask their neighbors to give them a night's lodging where there were
more people; and whoever had to go to the stables did not go, and did
not hesitate to leave the cattle without fodder that night. And the
holy water, which every one keeps in a vial, was all that night in
constant requisition. Many were sure that they heard, during the night,
some one walking up and down with a heavy tread over the loft; and the
blacksmith saw how a serpent flew straight to the loft.
None of the family staid in Polikéï's _corner._ The children and
the crazy woman had been carried to other quarters. The dead little
baby lay there, however. And there were two old grandmothers and a
pilgrim-woman[22] who diligently read the psalter, not for the sake of
the child so much as for the solace of all this unhappiness. This was
the mistress's desire. These old grandmothers and the pilgrim-woman
themselves heard, while one portion of the psalter was read, how the
beam above creaked, and some one groaned. When they read the words,
"Let God rise up," the sounds ceased.
The joiner's wife asked in one of her cronies; and that night they did
not sleep, but drank up enough tea to last her a week. They also heard
how the beam creaked, and something sounded like the falling of heavy
bags. The muzhíks on guard imparted some courage to the domestics,
otherwise they would all have perished with fear. The muzhíks lay in
the entry on the hay, and afterwards they also became convinced that
they heard marvels in the loft; although that same night they calmly
talked about the _n_ecruits, munched their bread, combed their hair,
and, most of all, filled the entry with that odor peculiar to the
muzhíks, so that the joiner's wife, passing by them, spat, and scolded
them for foul peasants.
However it was, the suicide all the time was hanging in the loft; and
it seemed as if the evil spirit himself that night overshadowed the
premises with his monstrous pinions, showing his power, and coming
nearer to all these people than ever before. At least, all of them had
that impression.
I don't know whether they were right. I am inclined to think that they
were entirely wrong. I think that if some man, that terrible night,
had had courage enough to take a candle or a lantern, and blessing
himself, or even not blessing himself, with the sign of the cross,
had gone to the loft, slowly driving before him, by the flame of the
candle, the terror of the night, and lighting up the beams, the sand,
the cobweb-garlanded chimney, and the forgotten washing of the joiner's
wife,--had gone straight up to Ilyitch, and if, not giving way to the
feeling of fear, he had lifted the lantern to the level of his face,
then he would have seen the familiar, emaciated body, with the legs
touching the floor (the rope had stretched), lifelessly falling to one
side, the unbuttoned shirt, under the opening of which his baptismal
cross could not be seen, and with the head bent over on the breast,
and the good-natured face, with the sightless eyes wide open, and the
sweet, guilty smile, and a stern calmness, and silence over all.
Truly the joiner's wife, huddling up in the corner of her bed, with
dishevelled hair and frightened eyes, telling how she heard what seemed
like bags falling, was a far more terrible and fear-inspiring object
than Ilyitch, though he had taken off his cross and laid it on a bench.
_Above--_that is, at the great house--there was the same fear that
reigned in the _wing._ In the lady's room there was an odor of _eau
de cologne_ and medicine. Duniasha was melting beeswax, and making a
cerate. Why a cerate especialty, is more than I can tell; but I know
that a beeswax plaster was always made when the mistress was ill. And
now she was so disturbed that she was really ill. Duniasha's aunt had
come to spend the night with her, so as to keep her courage up. Four of
them were sitting in the girls' sitting-room,--among them the little
maid,--and were quietly conversing.
"Who is going after the oil?" asked Duniasha.
"I wouldn't go, not for any thing, Avdót'ya Mikolávna," said the second
girl in atone of determination.
"Come now, go with Aksiutka."
"I will run alone. I ain't afraid of nothing," said Aksiutka, "but
she's afraid of every thing."
"Well, then, go ahead, dear; borrow it of the old granny Anna, and
don't spill it," said Duniasha.
Aksiutka lifted her skirt with one hand, and though on account of this
she could not swing both arms, she swung one twice as violently across
the line of her direction, and flew off. It was terrible to her; and
she felt that if she should see or hear any thing whatsoever, even
though it were her own mother, she should fall with fright. She flew,
with her eyes shut, over the well-known path.
[Footnote 21: A sort of primitive guitar, with long neck, and short
three-cornered sounding-board, strung with two or three strings, and
thrummed with the fingers.]
[Footnote 22: stránnitsa.]