Nevertheless, after establishing his brother at Durnovka he set about
singing that song with more gusto than ever. Before placing Durnovka in
his brother’s hands, he had picked a quarrel with Rodka over some new
harness-straps which had been devoured by the dogs, and had discharged
him. Rodka smiled insolently by way of reply and calmly strode off to
his cottage to collect his belongings. The Bride, also, listened with
apparent composure to the dismissal. On breaking with Tikhon Ilitch
she had resumed her habit of maintaining silence and never looking
him in the eye. But half an hour later, when he had got everything
together, Rodka came, accompanied by her, to ask forgiveness. The
Bride remained standing on the threshold, pale, her eyes swollen with
weeping, and held her peace; Rodka bowed his head, fumbled with his
cap, and also made an effort to weep,--it resulted in a repulsive
grimace,--but Tikhon Ilitch sat at the table with lowering brows and
rattled the balls on his abacus, shaking his head the while. Not one of
the three could raise his eyes--especially the Bride, who felt herself
the most guilty of them all--and their entreaties were unavailing.
Tikhon Ilitch showed mercy on one point only: he did not deduct the
price of the straps from their wages.
Now he was on a firm foundation. Having got rid of Rodka and
transferred his affairs to his brother’s charge, he felt alert, at his
ease. “My brother is unreliable, a trifling fellow, apparently, but
he’ll do for the present!” And returning to Vorgol he bustled about
unweariedly through the whole month of October. Nastasya Petrovna
was ailing all the time--her feet, hands, and face were swollen and
yellow--and Tikhon Ilitch now began to meditate at times on the
possibility of her dying, and bore himself with increasing lenience
to her weakness, to her uselessness in all affairs connected with
the house and the shop. And, as though in harmony with his mood,
magnificent weather prevailed during the whole of October. But
suddenly it broke up and was followed by storms and torrents of rain;
and in Durnovka something utterly unexpected came to pass.
During October Rodka had been working on the railway line, and the
Bride had been sitting, without work, at home, enduring the reproaches
of her mother and only occasionally earning fifteen or twenty kopeks in
the garden of the manor. But her behaviour was peculiar: at home she
said never a word, but only wept, and in the garden she was shrilly
merry, shouted with laughter, sang songs with Donka the Goat, an
extremely stupid and pretty little girl who resembled an Egyptian. The
Goat was living with a petty burgher who had leased the garden, while
the Bride, who for some reason or other had struck up a friendship
with her, made bold eyes at her brother, an impudent youth, and as she
ogled him hinted in song that she was wasting away with love for some
one. Whether anything occurred between them was not known, but the
whole affair ended in a great catastrophe. When the petty burghers were
departing for the town just before the Feast of Our Lady of Kazan they
arranged an “evening party” in their watchman’s hut, invited the Goat
and the Bride, played all night on two peasant pipes, fed their guests
with crude delicacies, and gave them tea and vodka for beverages. And
at dawn, when their cart was already harnessed, they suddenly, with
roars of laughter, flung the intoxicated Bride on the ground, bound
her arms, lifted her petticoats, tied them in a knot over her head,
and began to fasten them securely there with a cord. The Goat started
to run away, and made a headlong dive in her fright into the tall, wet
steppe-grass. When she peeped out from that shelter, after the cart
with the petty burghers had rolled briskly away out of the garden, she
espied the Bride, naked to the waist, hanging from a tree. The dawn was
dreary and overcast; a fine rain was whispering through the garden.
The Goat wept in streams, and her teeth chattered as she untied the
Bride from the tree, vowing by the memory of her father and mother that
lightning might kill her, the Goat, but never should they discover in
the village what had taken place in the garden. Nevertheless, not a
week had elapsed before rumours concerning the Bride’s disgrace became
current in Durnovka.
It was impossible, of course, to verify these rumours: “As for seeing
it--why, nobody saw it. Well, and the Goat’s tongue was hung in the
middle when it came to telling absurd tales.” The Bride herself,
who had aged five years in that one week, replied to them with such
insolent vituperation that even her own mother was terrified by her
face at such moments. But the discussions provoked by the rumours did
not cease, and every one awaited with immense impatience the arrival of
Rodka and his chastisement of his wife. Much agitated--once more jarred
out of his rut--Tikhon Ilitch also awaited that impending chastisement,
having heard from his own labourers of what had occurred in the garden.
Why, that scandal might end in murder! But it ended in such a manner
that it is still a matter of doubt which would have startled the
Durnovka folks more powerfully--murder, or such a termination. On the
night before the Feast of St. Michael, Rodka, who had returned home
“to change his shirt,” and who had not laid a finger on the Bride,
died suddenly of “stomach trouble”! This became known in Vorgol late
in the evening; but Tikhon Ilitch instantly gave orders to harness his
horse, and drove at top speed, through the darkness and the rain, to
his brother. And after having gulped down, on top of his tea, a whole
bottle of fruit brandy, he made confession to him, in his burning
excitement, with passionate expressions, and eyes wildly rolling: “’Tis
my fault, brother; the sin is mine!”
Having heard him out, Kuzma held his peace for a long time, and for a
long time paced up and down the room plucking at his fingers, twisting
them, cracking their joints. At last he said: “Just think it over: is
there any nation more ferocious than ours? In town, if a petty thief
snatches from a hawker’s tray a pancake worth a farthing, the whole
population of the eating-house section pursues him, and when they catch
him they force him to eat soap. The whole town turns out for a fire, or
a fight, and how sorry they are that the fire or the fight is so soon
ended! Don’t shake your head, don’t do it: they _are_ sorry! And how
they revel in it when some one beats his wife to death, or thrashes a
small boy within an inch of his life, or jeers at him! That’s the most
amusing thing in the world.”
Tikhon Ilitch inquired: “What’s your object in saying that?”
“Just for the sake of talking!” replied Kuzma, angrily, and went on:
“Take that half-witted girl, Fesha, who wanders about Durnovka, for
example. The young fellows squander their last coppers on her--put
her down on the village common and set to work whacking her over her
cropped head, at the rate of ten whacks for a farthing! And is that
done out of ill-nature? Yes, out of ill-nature, certainly; and also
from a sort of stupidity, curse it! Well, and that’s the case with the
Bride.”
“Bear in mind,” interrupted Tikhon Ilitch hotly, “that there are always
plenty of blackguards and blockheads everywhere.”
“Exactly so. And didn’t you yourself bring that--well, what’s his name?”
“Duck-headed Motya, you mean?” asked Tikhon Ilitch.
“Yes, that’s it. Didn’t you bring him here for your own amusement?”
And Tikhon Ilitch burst out laughing: he had done that very thing.
Once, even, Motya had been sent to him by the railway in a sugar-cask.
The town was only about an arm’s length distant, and he knew the
officials--so they sent the man to him. And the inscription on the cask
ran: “With care. A complete Fool.”
“And these same fools are taught vices, for amusement!” Kuzma went
on bitterly.--“The yard-gates of poor brides are smeared with tar!
Beggars are hunted with dogs! For amusement, pigeons are knocked off
roofs with stones! Yet, as you know, ’tis a great sin to eat those same
pigeons. The Holy Spirit Himself assumes the form of a dove, you see!”