CHAPTER I

Not long before the catastrophe that befell Petenka, Arina Petrovna, on one of her visits to Golovliovo, noticed a change in Yevpraksia. Brought up in the practices of serfdom, where the pregnancy of a domestic was the subject of a detailed and not uninteresting investigation, and was even considered an item of income, Arina Petrovna had a keen eye for such matters. She merely looked at Yevpraksia, and the girl, without saying a word, turned away her flushed face in full cognizance of her guilt.

"Come now, come now, my lady. Look at me. Pregnant, eh?" the experienced old woman asked the young culprit. However, there was no reproach in her voice, on the contrary, it sounded jocose, almost gay, as if the old woman scented a whiff of the dear, good, old times.

Yevpraksia, bashful and complacent, kept silence, but under Arina Petrovna's inquisitive look, the red of her cheeks deepened.

"For some time I have been noticing that you walk kind of stiff, strutting about and twirling your skirts as if you were a respectable lady! But, my dear, you can't fool me with your strutting and twirling. I can see your girlish tricks five versts ahead! Is it the wind that puffed you up? Since when is it? Out with it now. Tell me all about it."

A detailed inquiry ensued, followed by a no less detailed explanation. When had the first symptoms appeared? Had she a midwife in view? Did Porfiry Vladimirych know of the joy in store for him? Was Yevpraksia taking good care of herself? Was she careful not to lift anything heavy? The findings were that it was now the fifth month since Yevpraksia had been pregnant; that she had no midwife in view as yet; that Porfiry Vladimirych had been informed of the matter, but had said nothing. He had only folded his hands, mumbled something, and glanced at the ikon, to intimate that all is from God and that He, the Heavenly Father, provides for all occasions. Yevpraksia had been careless; she had lifted a samovar and had then and there felt that something inside of her snapped.

"You've got brains, I must say," said Arina Petrovna in a grieved tone when the confession was out. "I see I'll have to look into the matter myself. Did you ever! A woman in the fifth month and hasn't even provided for a midwife! But why at least didn't you see Ulita about it, you fool, you?"

"I was going to, but the master doesn't like Ulita, you know."

"Nonsense, girl, nonsense! Whether Ulita offended the master or not has nothing at all to do with the case. He doesn't have to kiss her, does he? No, there is no way out of it. I'll have to take this thing in hand myself."

It was on the tip of her tongue to complain that even in her old age she had hardships to bear, but the subject of the conversation was so attractive that she only parted her lips with a smack and continued:

"Well, my girl, you are in for it. Take your medicine, try it and see how it tastes. Go ahead, just try it. I myself raised three sons and a daughter, and I buried five little ones--I ought to know. We are no better than slaves to those nasty men!" she added, slapping herself on the nape of her neck.

Suddenly, she stopped, struck by a new idea. "Holy saints! If it isn't going to be in Lent! Wait, just a moment, let's figure it out."

They began to figure on their fingers, they figured once, twice, a third time--it surely came out on a Lenten day.

"So that's how it is. That's the kind of saint he is. Just wait, I'll tease the life out of him. A pretty mess for him! I'll tease him. My name is mud if I won't," jested Arina Petrovna.

And truly, that very day, when all were gathered at evening tea, Arina Petrovna began to poke fun at Yudushka.

"See what a trick our saint has played. Maybe it really is the wind that puffed your queen up. Well, brother, you've surprised me, I must say."

At first Yudushka answered his mother's banter with grimaces of aversion, but seeing that Arina Petrovna spoke good-naturedly and meant no harm, he brightened up little by little.

"You are wag, mother dear, you certainly are," he jested in his turn, though evading the real point.

"Why call me a wag? We had better speak seriously about the matter. It's no joke, you know. It's a 'sacrament,' that's what it is. Though not a proper one but still----No, we've got to give it serious thought. What do you think; is she to stay here, or will you send her to the town?"

"I don't know, mother, I don't know a thing, darling," said Porfiry Vladimirych evasively. "You are a wag, you certainly are."

"Well, my girl, never mind, then. We'll talk it over, just the two of us, at leisure. We'll figure it out, and arrange things properly. These mean men--all they need is to satisfy their lust, and we, poor devils, we get the worst of it."

Arina Petrovna felt in her element. She spent a whole evening discussing things with Yevpraksia and could have gone on indefinitely. Even her cheeks began to glow and her eyes to glitter youthfully.

"You know, my dear, what it is? It's something divine, it is," she insisted. "Because, even if it isn't in the proper way, still it's the natural way. But you had better look out. If it comes during Lent--God save you! I'll tease you to death, I'll make this world too hot for you."

Ulita was also called into the council. First matters of real importance were taken up; whether an injection was to be made or whether the abdomen was to be massaged with quicksilver salve. Then they turned to the favorite theme and figured on their fingers again--it came out on a Lenten day! Yevpraksia turned as red as a peony and did not deny it, but pleaded her subordinate position.

"What could I do?" she said. "I must do what he wants me to do. If the master orders us to do something, we, poor devils, can't help but obey."

"Look at her playing the goody-goody. I'll bet, you yourself---" jested Arina Petrovna.

The woman fairly revelled in the affair. Arina Petrovna recalled a number of incidents from her past, and did not fail to narrate them. First she told of her own pregnancies, what tortures she had had to stand from Simple Simon; how, while carrying Pavel Vladimirych, she travelled by post to Moscow, changing horses at every stage so as not to miss the Dubrovino auction, and as a result nearly departed to the better world, etc., etc. All her deliveries had been remarkable for something or other. Yudushka's was the only one that had come easy.

"I didn't feel the least bit of heaviness," she said. "I would sit and think, 'Lord, am I really pregnant?' And when the time came I just lay down to rest for a few minutes and I don't know how it happened--I gave birth to him. He was the easiest son to me, the very, very easiest."

Then followed stories about domestics, how she herself "caught some of them in the act," how others were spied upon by her trusties, Ulita being generally the leader. Her old woman's memory faithfully guarded these remarkably distinct recollections. In all her drab past--always devoted to hoarding on both a petty and a large scale, the tracking of lust-stricken domestics was the only romantic element that touched a living chord in her.

It was as if in a dull magazine where the reader expects to find treatises on dry fogs and Ovid's grave, he suddenly comes upon "See the troika, gaily dashing," or some such spirited song of gaiety or sadness. The dénouement of these simple love affairs of the maids' room was generally drastic and even cruel. The woman was married off into a remote village, by all means to a widower with a large family, the male culprit was degraded to the position of a cattle tender or even pressed into military service. Arina Petrovna's recollection of the closing chapters of such romances had faded (cultured people have a memory indulgent of their own past), but the spying out of the amorous intrigues passed before her eyes in all its vividness. And no wonder. In those days there was the same absorbing interest in spying of that sort as there is nowadays in the serial "evening story," in which the author, instead of at once crowning the mutual longing of the hero and the heroine, breaks off at the most pathetic place and writes, "to be continued."

"Those girls gave me no end of trouble. Some would keep up the pretense to the last minute, and would feign and sham in the hope of eluding me. But no, my dear, you can't fool me. I am an old hand at it myself," she added almost sternly, as if threatening some one.

Finally came the stories of diplomatic pregnancies, so to speak, in which Arina Petrovna had figured not as the chastiser, but as the accomplice and concealer.

For example, her father Piotr Ivanych, when he was an old, tottering man of seventy, had also had a "mistress," who had also been discovered with an "increment"; and for higher considerations it had been necessary to conceal the "increment" from the old man. As ill luck would have it, Arina Petrovna was then at odds with her brother Piotr Petrovich who, also for some diplomatic reasons, had wanted to spy upon the pregnancy and leave his father in no doubt as to his lady-love's position.

"And what do you think? We carried the whole thing through almost in front of father's nose. The old dear slept in his bedroom, and the two of us, alongside of him, went on with our work, quietly, in a whisper and on tiptoe. I myself with my own hands closed up her mouth, so she could not scream, disposed of the linen, and then grabbed hold of her baby--he was a fine, big fellow--and dispatched him to the foundling asylum. When brother learned about it a week later he only gasped."

There had been another diplomatic pregnancy. Her cousin Varvara Mikhailovna had been involved in the case. Her husband had left on a campaign against the Turks, and she had not been sufficiently careful. She came galloping to Golovliovo like one possessed and had shouted "Save me, cousin!"

"Well, though we were on the outs with her at that time, I did not make her feel it. I welcomed her in the most hospitable way, calmed her, reassured her, pretended she had just come to us on a visit, and fixed the matter up so that her husband did not know a thing about it till his dying day."

Thus ran the tales of Arina Petrovna, and seldom has a narrator found more attentive listeners. Yevpraksia swallowed every word as if the incidents of a wonderful fairy tale were actually passing before her eyes. As to Ulita, she as an erstwhile participant in most of it, only made smacking sounds with the corners of her lips.

Ulita also brightened up and felt more comfortable than she had for a long time. Hers was a restless life. Even in childhood she had burned with servile ambitions. Sleeping and waking, she would dream about gaining favor in her master's eyes and getting the whiphand over those in her own station in life. But her dreams never came true. As soon as she set foot on the rung higher up, she would be tugged back and plunged into the inferno by an unseen, mysterious power. She possessed in perfection the qualities of an all-round servant of the gentlefolk. She was venomous, evil-tongued and always ready for treachery, but also slavishly ready to go anywhere and do anything that neutralized her viciousness. In former days, when it was necessary to follow up an event in the maid servants' room, or settle any dubious affair, Arina Petrovna had gladly made use of her services, though she had never appreciated them and had not admitted her to any office of trust. Ulita would then make loud complaints, and sting with her tongue, but no one paid attention to her grumblings, for she was well known as a malevolent woman, ready to curse herself and others to eternal damnation, but the next moment at a mere wink willing to come running and sit up on her hind legs prepared to do her master's bidding.

And so she had been knocked about, always trying to get somewhere and never getting there, till the abolition of serfdom put an end to her slavish ambitions.

One event in Ulita's youth had kindled in her great hopes. Porfiry Vladimirych, on one of his visits to Golovliovo, had become intimate with her, and, as tradition had it, had even had a child by her. That had brought down upon him the wrath of Arina Petrovna. It is uncertain whether the relationship had been kept up on his subsequent visits; at any rate, when Yudushka decided to establish himself permanently at Golovliovo, Ulita's hopes had been shattered grievously. Immediately after his arrival she came to him with a heap of gossip, in which Arina Petrovna was accused of all sorts of fraud. The master listened very affably to her gossip, but gave Ulita a cold look, evidently failing to remember her former "good services." Offended and deceived in her hopes, Ulita transferred herself to Dubrovino, where Pavel Vladimirych, because of his hatred for his dear brother Porfiry Vladimirych, received her gladly and even made her his housekeeper. Here for a long time her condition seemed to improve. Pavel Vladimirych would sit in the entresol and sip one glass of vodka after another, and she would run busily from storeroom to cellar, clanging a bunch of keys, and rattling her tongue. She had even quarrelled with Arina Petrovna, whom the sly wench nearly drove to her grave.

But Ulita loved treachery too well to be content with the peace and quiet that had come with her "good living." That was when Pavel Vladimirych had become so addicted to drink that his end could readily be foreseen. Porfiry Vladimirych was alive to Ulita's priceless value at this juncture, and he snapped his fingers again and summoned her. He ordered her never for a moment to leave his prey, not to contradict Pavel in anything, not even in his hatred of his brother Porfiry, and by all means to eliminate the interference of Arina Petrovna. This had been one of those domestic crimes which Yudushka had a gift of perpetrating without previous deliberation, spontaneously, and as a matter of course. Needless to say, Ulita carried out his orders most faithfully. Pavel Vladimirych never ceased to hate his brother, and the more he hated him, the more he drank his vodka, and the less capable he became of heeding the remarks and advice of Arina Petrovna as to "making provisions." Every moment of the dying man, every word uttered were at once reported to Golovliovo, so that Yudushka, equipped with a full knowledge of the facts, could determine the exact moment he should have to leave his ambush and step in as master of the situation that he had created. And so he had! He had come to Dubrovino at the very moment that he could get the estate for the asking. Porfiry Vladimirych had rewarded Ulita's services by making her a gift of cloth for a woolen dress, but he never admitted her close to him.

Again Ulita had been plunged from the heights of grandeur into the depths of inferno. It seemed to be her last fall. No one would snap his fingers again and summon her for service. As a sign of special favor and in consideration of her "nursing dear brother in his last days," she had been allotted a nook in the house where all the deserving old servants, who had remained after the abolition of serfdom, had found shelter. Here Ulita had become completely cowed, and when Porfiry Vladimirych made his choice of Yevpraksia, she not only had not shown any obstinacy, but had even been first to come to do homage to the master's love and had kissed her shoulder.

And now, when she had given herself up as forgotten and abandoned, she struck luck once more in Yevpraksia's pregnancy. It was suddenly recalled that somewhere in the servants' room there was a handy person. Somebody snapped her fingers and summoned Ulita. True, it was not the master who had snapped his fingers. But that he offered no obstacles was in itself sufficient grace. Ulita celebrated her entry into the Golovliovo manor by taking the samovar from Yevpraksia's hands. Bending sidewise a bit, with the weight of it, she walked smartly into the dining-room, where Porfiry Vladimirych was already seated. The master said not a word. He even smiled, she thought, when upon another occasion, as she was bringing in the samovar, she shouted from a distance, "Step to one side, master, or I'll scald you."

When Ulita answered the summons to the family council she made wry faces at first and refused to be seated. But when Arina Petrovna shouted at her in a kindly way, "Sit down,--will you? What's the use of your tricks? God made us all equal--be seated." Ulita sat down and kept silence a while. Very shortly, however, her tongue unloosened.

She, too, had her reminiscences. Her memory was stuffed with filth from the days of her serfdom. Beside the carrying out of delicate commissions like dogging the amorous doings of the maids' room, Ulita had also held the office of leech and apothecary in the Golovliovo manor. It was she who made all the injections, and applied the cupping-glasses and mustard plasters. She had given even the old master, Vladimir Mikhailych and Arina Petrovna injections, and the young master, too--every one of them. She retained the most grateful memories, and now there was a boundless field for all her reminiscences.

A new mysterious life animated the Golovliovo manor. Arina Petrovna would come over from Pogorelka every now and then to pay her "good son" a visit and supervise preparations that as yet were given no name. After the evening, the three women would go into Yevpraksia's room, would eat some homemade jam, play fool, and, till late into the night, would revel in reminiscences that would often make the heroine of the occasion blush. The least incident, the smallest trifle, served as a pretext for endless narrations. Yevpraksia brought some raspberry jam, and Arina Petrovna began a story that when she was carrying her daughter Sonya she could not stand even the smell of raspberries.

"No sooner did a raspberry come into the house than I began to yell at the top of my voice, 'Out, out with that damned thing!' After my confinement it was all right again; I liked raspberries again."

Yevpraksia brought some caviar--and Arina Petrovna had an incident to recall in connection with caviar, too.

"A really wonderful thing happened to me in connection with caviar. It was a month or two after I was married and suddenly I was seized with such a strong desire for caviar that I simply had to have it at any cost. I would sneak into the cellar and eat as much as I could. And once I said to my husband, 'Vladimir Mikhailych, why is it that I eat caviar all the time?' He smiled at me, you know, and said, 'My dear, it is because you are pregnant.' And surely enough, just nine months afterward I gave birth to Simple Simon."

But Porfiry Vladimirych continued to be noncommittal, never once admitting that he had anything to do with Yevpraksia's condition. Quite naturally this attitude of his embarrassed the women and dampened their effusions in his presence, so that he came to be completely abandoned. They chased him without ceremony from Yevpraksia's room when he came in the evening to rest up and have a chat.

"Be gone, you fine fellow!" Arina Petrovna said gaily. "You did your part. Now it's none of your business any more, it's the women's business. It's our turn now."

Yudushka took himself off in all meekness. Though not neglecting to reproach his mother dear for being unkind to him, he rejoiced inwardly that she was taking so much interest in the embarrassing affair, and that he was left alone. If not for his mother's participation, God knows what he would have had to undergo in order to hush up the nasty affair, the very thought of which made him spit out in disgust. Now, thanks to the experience of Arina Petrovna and the skill of Ulita, he hoped the "trouble" would pass without gaining publicity, and he himself, perhaps, would learn of the results after all was over.