Not more than ten years had passed since the death of Simple Simon,
but the condition of the various members of the Golovliov family had
so completely changed that not a trace remained of those artificial
ties which had given the family the air of an impregnable stronghold.
This stronghold, erected by the tireless hands of Arina Petrovna, had
crumbled away, but so imperceptibly that she herself was ignorant of
how it had happened, was even involved in the destruction, the leading
spirit in which, of course, had been Porfiry the Bloodsucker.
From an irresponsible, hot-tempered ruler over the Golovliovo estate,
Arina Petrovna had descended into a mere hanger-on in the home of
her younger son, a useless hanger-on, with no voice in the household
management. Her head was bowed, her back bent, the fire in her eyes had
died out, her gait was languid, the vivacity of her movements was gone.
She had taken to knitting to occupy her idleness, but her mind was
always wandering somewhere away from her needles, and the knitting was
a failure. She would knit for a few moments, then her hands would drop
of themselves, her head would fall on the back of her chair, and she
would begin to go over bygones in her mind, until she got drowsy and
dropped off into a senile slumber. Or else she would get up and begin
to pace the rooms, always searching for something; always looking into
corners, like a good housewife hunting for her keys, which she usually
carries about with her and has now misplaced somehow.
The first blow to her authority was not so much the abolition of
serfdom as the preparations preceding it. At first, there were simply
rumors, then came the meetings of landowners and addresses, next
followed provincial committees, and revising commissions. All these
things exhausted and confused her. Arina Petrovna's imagination,
active enough without additional stimuli, conceived numerous absurd
situations. "How am I going to call Agashka?" she'd think. "Perhaps
I'll have to tack a 'Miss' before her name." Or she would see herself
walking about in the empty rooms while the servants were taking it
easy in their quarters and were gorging themselves with all kinds of
food; and when they got tired of gorging she saw them throwing the
remnants under the table. Then she would find herself surprising Yulka
and Feshka in the cellar, devouring everything in sight, like beasts,
and she would itch to reprimand them, but would have to check herself
with the thought, "How dare one say anything to them, now that they are
free? Why one can't even appeal to the court against them!"
However insignificant such trifles may be, a whole fantastic world is
built up of them, which holds you tight and completely paralyzes your
activity. Arina Petrovna somehow suddenly let the reins of government
slip out of her grasp, and for a space of two years did nothing from
morning until night except complain.
"One or the other," she was fond of saying, "gains all or loses all.
But these meetings and addresses and commissions, they're nothing but
trouble."
At that time, just when the committees were in full swing, Vladimir
Mikhailych died. On his deathbed he repudiated Barkov and his
teachings, and died appeased and reconciled to the world. His last
words were:
"I thank my God that He did not suffer me to come into His presence on
an equal footing with the serfs."
These words made a deep impression on his wife's receptive soul, so
that both his death and her fantastic notions about the future laid a
coloring of gloom and despair on the atmosphere of the house. It seemed
as if both the old manor and its inhabitants were getting ready for
death.
From a few complaints that found their way into the letters of Arina
Petrovna, Porfiry Vladimirych's amazingly keen perceptions sensed the
confusion that possessed her mind. Not that Arina Petrovna actually
sermonized and moralized in her letters, but above all, she trusted
in God's help, "which in these faithless times does not abandon even
slaves, far less those who because of their means were the surest prop
and ornament of the church." Yudushka instinctively understood that if
mother dear began to put her hope in God, then there was some flaw in
the fabric of her existence. And he took advantage of the flaw with his
peculiar, subtle skill.
Almost at the very end of the preliminaries to the emancipation, he
visited Golovliovo quite unexpectedly and found Arina Petrovna sunk
into despondency, almost to a point of prostration.
"Well, what news? What do they say in St. Petersburg?" was her first
question, after mutual greetings had been exchanged.
Porfiry cast down his eyes and sat speechless.
"No, you must consider my circumstances," continued Arina Petrovna,
gathering from her son's silence that good news was not to be expected.
"Right now in the maids' room I have about thirty of these creatures.
What shall I do with them? If they remain in my care, what am I going
to feed them on? At present I have a little cabbage, a little potatoes,
some bread, enough of everything; and we manage somehow to make both
ends meet. If the potatoes give out, I order cabbage to be cooked; if
there is no cabbage, cucumbers have to do. But now, if I have to run to
market for everything and pay for everything, and buy and serve, how am
I ever to provide for such a crowd?"
Porfiry gazed into the eyes of his "mother dear" and smiled bitterly as
a sign of sympathy.
"And then, if the government is going to turn them loose, give them
absolute leeway--well, then, I don't know, I don't know, I don't know
what it will come to."
Porfiry smiled as if there were something very funny in "what it was
coming to."
"Don't you laugh. It is a serious matter, so serious that if only the
Lord grants them a little more reason, only then--Here's my case, for
instance. I am by no means an old rag, am I? I must have my bread and
butter, too, mustn't I? How am I to go about getting it? Think of the
bringing-up we received. The only thing we know is how to dance and
sing and receive guests. Then how am I going to get along without those
wretches, I'd like to know. I can't serve meals or cook. I can't do a
thing."
"God is merciful, mother dear."
"He used to be, but not now. When we were good, the Almighty was
merciful to us; when we became wicked, well, we mustn't complain. I'm
beginning to think that the best thing for me is to throw everything to
the dogs. Really, I'll build myself a little hut right next to father's
grave, and that's where I'll spend the rest of my days."
Porfiry Vladimirych pricked up his ears. His mouth began to water.
"And who will manage the estates?" he questioned, carefully throwing
his bait, as it were.
"Why, you boys will have to manage them yourselves. Thank God, I have
provided plenty. I ought not carry the whole burden alone."
Arina Petrovna suddenly stopped and raised her head. Her eyes fell
on Yudushka's simpering, drivelling, oily face, all suffused with a
carnivorous inner glow.
"You seem to be getting ready to bury me," remarked Arina Petrovna
drily. "Isn't it a bit too early, darling? Look out, don't make a
mistake."
Thus the matter ended in nothing definite. But there are discussions
which, once begun, never really come to an end. A few hours later Arina
Petrovna renewed the conversation.
"I'll leave for the Trinity Monastery," she dreamed aloud. "I'll divide
up the estate, buy a little cottage on the grounds and settle there."
But Porfiry Vladimirych, taught by past experience, remained silent
this time.
"Last year, while your deceased father was still alive," continued
Arina Petrovna, "I was sitting alone in my bedroom and suddenly I
thought I heard someone whispering in my ear: 'Go to the Trinity
Monastery. Go to the Trinity.' Three times, mind you. I turned
about--there was nobody in the room. Well, then, I thought that must
have been a sign for me. 'Well,' I said, 'if God is pleased with my
faith, I am ready.' No sooner had I said that than suddenly the room
was filled with such a wonderful fragrance. Of course I immediately
ordered my things packed and by evening I was on my way."
Tears rose in Arina Petrovna's eyes. Yudushka took advantage of this to
kiss his mother's hand, and even made free to put his arm around her
waist.
"Now you are a good girl," he said. "Ah, how good it is, darling, when
one lives in peace with God. You come to God with a prayer, and the
Lord meets you with help. That's how it is, mother dear."
"Wait a minute, I haven't finished. Next day, in the evening I arrived
at the monastery and went straight to the saint's chapel. Evening
service was being held, the choir was singing, candles were burning,
fragrance was wafted from the censers. I simply did not know where I
was--on earth or in Heaven. I went from the service to Father Yon,
and I said to him: 'Well, your Reverence, it was mighty good today at
church.' 'No wonder, madam,' he said, 'Father Avvakum had a vision
today at the evening service. He had just raised his arms to begin
praying when he beheld a light in the cupola and a dove looking down at
him.' Well, from that time, I came to the conclusion, sooner or later
my last days will be spent at Trinity Monastery."
"And who will take care of us? Who will have your children's welfare at
heart? Ah, mamma, mamma!"
"Well, you're not babies any longer, and you'll be able to look after
yourselves. As for me, I'll go to the monastery with Annushka's orphans
and live under the saint's wing. Perhaps the desire will awaken in
one of the girls to serve God. Well, then, the convent is right at
hand. I'll buy myself a little house, plant a little garden, potatoes,
cabbage--there'll be enough of everything for me."
Such idle talk continued for several days, Arina Petrovna making the
boldest plans, withdrawing them and remaking them, and then finally
carrying the matter so far that she could not withdraw again. Within
half a year after Yudushka's visit this was the situation: Arina
Petrovna not at the monastery, nor in a little house built near her
husband's grave. Instead of that she had divided the estate, leaving
only the capital for herself. Porfiry Vladimirych received the better
part and Pavel Vladimirych the worse part.