Anninka soon introduced an atmosphere of Bohemian life into Yudushka's nest. She rose late and would roam about the house until dinner-time, undressed, uncombed, with an aching head, and coughing in such agony that each time it would send a shudder through Porfiry Vladimirych in his study and quite frighten him. Her room was always untidy, the bedding in disorder, and her clothes lying about on the chairs and floor. At first she saw her uncle only at dinner and evening tea. The master of Golovliovo came out of his room all dressed in black, spoke little, and ate with his old-time exasperating slowness. He was apparently observing her. After dinner came the early December twilight. Anninka loved to watch the glimmer of the gray winter day gradually die out and the fields grow dim; she loved to see the shadows flood the rooms until finally the whole house was plunged in impenetrable darkness. In the darkness she always felt at ease and hardly ever lit the candles. The only one she allowed to burn was at one end of the sitting-room. It was of cheap palm wax, and sputtered and dripped, its feeble flame formed a tiny circle of light. For some time the house would be astir with the usual after-dinner noises. Plates would rattle in the hands of the dish-washers, and drawers open and close with a clatter; but soon the sound of receding steps would be heard and a dead silence begin to reign. Porfiry Vladimirych would take his after-dinner nap and Yevpraksia bury herself in the bedding in her room. Prokhor would go into the servants' room, and Anninka would remain entirely alone.
She would pace from room to room, humming, trying to tire herself out, but chiefly endeavoring to drive her thoughts away. In walking toward the sitting-room she would fix her eyes upon the circle of light about the candle, and walking away from it, she would try to single out some point in the darkness and keep her eyes fixed on it. But in spite of her efforts reminiscences surged up in her mind irresistibly. She saw the dressing-room with its cheap wall paper, the inevitable pier-glass and the equally inevitable bouquet from Lieutenant Pankov II; the stage with the stage-properties, sooty, slippery from the damp; the hall with its pieces of furniture picked up at random and its boxes upholstered in threadbare purple plush,—the hall which, seen from the stage, looked trim and even splendid, but in reality was dark and miserable. And finally—officers, officers, officers without end. Then she saw the hotel with the vile-smelling corridor, dimly lit by the smoky kerosene lamp; the room she would dart into in order to change her dress for further triumphs, the room with the bed in disorder from the morning; the wash-stand full of dirty water, the bed-sheet lying on the floor, her cast-off underwear forgotten on a chair. Next she saw herself in the general dining-room, filled with kitchen odors, the tables set for supper, with its tobacco smoke, noise, crowds, drinking, debauchery. And again officers, officers, officers without end.
Such were her memories of the time she had once called the years of her successes, triumphs, prosperity.
These reminiscences were followed by others, the prominent part in which was played by the inn, filled with a foul stench, with walls on which the vapor froze in the winter time, insecure flooring, and board partitions, the glossy bellies of bed-bugs showing in the crevices. Nights of drinking and brawls, travelling squires hastily taking greenbacks out of their meager pocket-books, merchants encouraging the "actresses" almost with a whip in hand. And in the morning—headaches, nausea, and utter dejection. At last—Golovliovo.
Golovliovo was death itself, relentless, hollow-wombed death, constantly lying in wait for new victims. Two uncles had died there, two cousins had received mortal wounds. And Lubinka! Although Lubinka, to be sure, had died somewhere in Kretchetov because of her "own affairs," yet the origin of her wounds went back to her life at Golovliovo. All the deaths, all the poisonings, all the pestilence, came from there. There the orphans had been fed on rotten cured meats, there they heard the first words of hatred and contempt for human dignity. Not the slightest childish misdeed had passed without punishment. Nothing could be hidden from the stony-hearted, eccentric old woman, not an extra bite of bread, not a broken clay doll, not a torn rag, not a worn shoe. Each breach of law and order was instantly punished either with a reproach or a slap. And then, when they had been permitted to dispose of themselves, when they had understood that they might run away from the disgusting place, they ran—there! And nobody kept them from running away, nor could they have been kept from running away, because they could imagine nothing worse or more repulsive than Golovliovo.
Ah, if all that could only be forgotten, if one could create a different existence in one's dreams, a magic world that would supplant both the past and the present! But alas, the reality Anninka had lived through had so powerful a hold, that the clutch of it suppressed the feeble efforts of her imagination. In vain did fancy endeavor to imagine angels with silvery wings. From behind those angels peeped inexorably the legions of Kukishevs, Lyulkins, Zabvennys, Popkovs. Lord! Was all lost? Even the ability to deceive and beguile herself? Had that been lost forever in the night revels, in wine, and in debauchery? Yet that past had to be killed somehow, so as not to poison her blood and rend her heart. It had to be crushed, utterly annihilated.
How strange and ruthless was that which had happened! It was impossible even to conceive of some future, of some door by which to escape from the situation, of anything at all that might occur to change things. Nothing could occur. And what was even more unbearable was the fact that to all intents and purposes she was already dead, with the outward signs of life yet present. She should have ended it then, along with Lubinka. Somehow she had remained alive. How was it that the mass of shame which had come upon her then from all sides had not crushed her? And what an insignificant worm she must have been to have crept out from underneath that heap of heavy stones piled up on top of her!
She groaned in agony, and ran about the sitting-room, trying to kill the burning memories. Before her eyes swam familiar images, the Duchess of Herolstein shaking a pelisse, Clairette Angot in her wedding gown with a slit in front up to her waist-line, Fair Helen with slits in front, behind and at the sides. Nothing but obscenity and nakedness. That was what her life had consisted of. Could all that possibly have occurred?
About seven o'clock the house came to life again. The sounds of the preparations for tea were heard, and at last came the voice of Porfiry Vladimirych. Uncle and niece sat down at the tea table and exchanged remarks about the day just ended; but the daily happenings were scanty and so the conversation was brief. Having taken tea and kissed Anninka on the forehead, Yudushka crept back into his den, while Anninka went into Yevpraksia's room to play cards.
At eleven o'clock the debauchery began. Having ascertained that Porfiry Vladimirych was fast asleep, Yevpraksia set the table with various country corned meats and a bottle of vodka. Now came meaningless and obscene songs, strumming on the guitar, and Anninka drinking between the songs and the shameless talk. At first she drank after Kukishev's manner, coolly, with a "Lord bless us" to each glass, but then she gradually sank into gloom and began to moan and curse. Yevpraksia looked at her and pitied her: