CHAPTER IV

There are families that are weighed down by an inevitable fate. They are frequent among that portion of the nobility which once lived idle, useless, and uninfluential, under the wing of serfdom in all parts of Russia and is now passing its last days helpless and unprotected in dilapidated manor-houses. In the life of these wretched families both success and failure come unexpectedly and as if by sheer accident.

Sometimes it happens that a shower of good luck, as it were, suddenly comes streaming down on such a family. The ruined cornet and his wife, peacefully fading away in an out-of-the-way village, will suddenly be blessed with a brood of young people, strong, clean, alert, pushing, adaptable to the new conditions of life--the boys as well as the girls--in a word, "knowing ones." The boys pass examinations with flying colors and even establish connections and procure patrons while still at school. In the nick of time they exhibit their modesty (_"j'aime cette modestie"_ their superiors say about them), and in the nick of time they show that they can be independent (_"j'aime cette indépendance!"_) They quickly scent the direction from which the wind blows, but they never burn their bridges, so that retreat is free and easy. These successful makers of our modern history begin with obsequious cringing, and almost invariably end with perfidy. As to the girls, they, too, in their line, contribute to the regeneration of the family, that is, they all marry successfully and then exhibit so much tact in the art of dressing that they experience no difficulty in gaining prominent places in so-called society.

From this combination of circumstances, success fairly pours down upon the impoverished family. The first successful members who struggle through courageously, bring up another clean generation, which is still better off because the main paths have not only been broken but also well trodden. Other generations succeed until at last a family comes that has no preliminary struggles and deems it has an inborn right to lifelong rejoicing.

Lately, on account of a modern demand for so-called "new men" resulting from the gradual degeneration of the old men, there have been frequent instances of successful families. Even in earlier days a comet would now and then make its appearance on the horizon, but it was a rare occurrence, the reason being that, first, there were no cracks in the wall surrounding that blissful region over the gateway to which is inscribed: "Here pies are eaten daily," and, secondly, because in order to penetrate into that region, one had to have genuine ability. But now quite a number of cracks have appeared and the matter of penetration is considerably simplified, since great merits are no longer demanded of the newcomer, but only "newness" and nothing else.

Besides these lucky families there is a great multitude of families upon whose members the household gods bestow nothing but misfortune and despair. Like a baleful blight, vice and ill-luck beset them and devour their substance. The malignant influences attack the whole stock, eating their way into the very heart and laying waste generation after generation. There is born a race of weaklings, drunkards, petty rakes, idlers and shiftless ne'er-do-wells. As time goes on the race degenerates more and more, until finally there appear miserable weaklings, like Yudushka's two sons, who perish at the first onslaught of life.

Such a sinister fate pursued the Golovliovo family. For several generations, their history was marked by three characteristics, idleness, utter uselessness, and habitual hard drinking, the last coming as the sorry crown to a chaotic life. The Golovliovo family would have run to seed completely but for the fact that Arina Petrovna flashed like a casual meteor through this drunken confusion. By her personal energy alone this woman brought the family to an unprecedented height of prosperity. Nevertheless her labors were in vain. Not only did she not transmit any of her qualities to her children, but she herself died ensnared by idleness, empty talk and mental vacuity.

Until now Porfiry Vladimirych had held out against the temptation of drink. It may be that he had been frightened off by the fate of his brothers and had consciously abstained from drink, or that he had been satisfied by the intoxication of his frenzied day dreams. But it was not for nothing that he had the reputation of a drunkard among his neighbors. At times he himself felt something was lacking in his existence. Idle musings gave him much, but not all. They did not supply that sharp, stupefying sensation which would completely do away with his sense of reality and plunge him headlong into the void forever.

And now the long-wished-for opportunity presented itself. Ever since Anninka's arrival, Yudushka had been aware of a vague noise at night coming from the other end of the house. For a long time he had puzzled his head over the significance of the mysterious sounds. At last he discovered what they were.

Anninka expected a reprimand the next day. None came. Porfiry Vladimirych spent the morning locked up in his study as usual, but when he appeared at the midday meal, he poured out two wineglasses of vodka instead of only one for himself, and pointed to one with a sheepish smile. Anninka accepted the silent invitation.

"So you say Lubinka is dead?" said Yudushka when the dinner was well under way, as if recalling something.

"Yes, uncle, she is dead."

"Well, God rest her soul! To grumble is a sin, but to honor her memory is quite fitting. Shall we?"

"Yes, uncle, let's honor her memory."

They emptied one more glass, and then Yudushka grew silent. He was evidently still unaccustomed to the society of human beings. When the meal was over, Anninka, performing a family rite, kissed uncle's cheek, and in response he patted her on her cheek and said:

"So that's the kind you are."

The evening of the same day, at tea, which lasted longer this time than usual, Porfiry Vladimirych looked at his niece for a while with a quizzical smile, and finally said:

"Shall we have some corned meats served?"

"Well, if you wish."

"Yes. It's better you should do it in uncle's sight than on the sly. At least, uncle will----"

Yudushka did not finish the sentence. Perhaps he had wanted to say that uncle would keep her from drinking, but something prevented him from saying it.

From that time on cold cuts were served in the dining-room every evening. The outer window shutters were closed, the servants retired, and uncle and niece remained all alone. In the beginning Yudushka did not keep pace with Anninka, but with a little practice he came up to her. They sat slowly sipping their vodka and talking. The conversation, at first dull and indifferent, became more and more animated as their heads grew hotter, and invariably passed into a chaotic quarrel, at the bottom of which were always reminiscences about the victims of Golovliovo.

Anninka started the quarrels. She dug up the family archives with ruthless persistence and delighted in teasing Yudushka by arguing that he along with Arina Petrovna had been the chief cause of the Golovliovo tragedies. Every word breathed such cynicism and such burning hatred that it was difficult to understand how so much vitality could still exist in that worn-out, shattered body. Anninka's attacks galled Yudushka immensely, but he defended himself feebly, angrily sputtering ejaculations of discomfiture. At times, when Anninka went too far in her insolence, he shouted and cursed.

Such scenes repeated themselves day in, day out, without change. Every detail of the pitiful family chronicle was speedily exhausted, but it still held the minds of the two riveted. Every episode of the past lacerated some wound in their hearts, and they felt a bitter delight in constantly evoking, scrutinizing and exaggerating painful memories. Neither the past nor the present contained any moral mainstay on which Anninka could lean. Nothing but sordid stinginess on one side, and mental vacuity on the other. Her youthful heart had thirsted for warmth and love, but had received a stone instead of bread, blows instead of instruction. By the irony of fate, the cruel school in which she had been taught implanted in her not an austere attitude toward life, but a passionate yearning to partake of its sweet poisons. Youth had wrought the miracle of oblivion, it kept her heart from hardening and the germs of hatred from developing. Youth had made her drunk with the thirst for life. That was why a turbulent, furtive debauchery had held her in its sway for several years, and had pushed Golovliovo into the background. Now, when the end was drawing close, her heart began to ache. Now for the first time did Anninka grasp the significance of her past and begin to hate it truly.

The drinking lasted far into the night, and had it not been for the drunken confusion of both thoughts and words, it might have resulted in something frightful. But if alcohol opened the well-springs of pain in these shattered hearts, it also appeased them. The further the night advanced, the more incoherent became their talk and the more impotent their hatred. Toward the end of the debauch, the aching disappeared and their surroundings vanished from their eyes, supplanted by a shining void. They faltered, their eyes closed, they grew muscle-bound. Uncle and niece would then rise from their places and retire to their rooms with tottering steps.

Of course, these night adventures could not remain a secret. Before long the notion of crime became associated with them in the minds of the servants. Life abandoned the vast Golovliovo manor-house. Nothing stirred even in the morning. Uncle and niece rose late and till the midday meal Anninka's racking cough, accompanied by curses, rang from one end of the house to the other. Yudushka listened to the harrowing sounds in terror and a vague presentiment of his own impending doom stirred in him.

It seemed that all the Golovliovo victims were now creeping from out of the nooks and crannies of the deserted house. Gray apparitions stirred everywhere. Here was old Vladimir Mikhailovich, in his white nightcap, making wry faces and citing Barkov; here was Simple Simon and Pavel the Sneak; here were Lubinka and the last offshoots of the Golovliovo stock, Volodya and Petka. All were drunk, lustful, weary and bleeding. And over all these ghosts there brooded a living phantom, Porfiry Vladimirych Golovliov, the last representative of the decadent family.