In December of the same year, Porfiry Vladimirych received the following letter from his mother:
"Yesterday morning God visited us with a new ordeal. My son and your brother, Stepan, breathed his last. The very evening before he had been quite well and even took his supper, but in the morning he was found dead in bed. Such is the brevity of this earthly life! And what is most grievous to a mother's heart is that he left this world of vanity for the realm of the unknown without the last communion.
"May this be a warning to us all. He who sets at naught the ties of kinship must always await such an end. Failures in this life, untimely death, and everlasting torments in the life to come, all these evils spring from the one source. For, however learned and exalted we may be, if we do not honor our parents, our learning and eminence will be turned into nothingness. Such are the precepts which every one inhabiting this world must commit to his mind. Besides, slaves should revere their masters.
"Notwithstanding this, all honors were duly given to him who had departed into life eternal, as becomes my son. The pall was ordered from Moscow, and the burial ceremonies were solemnly presided over by the Father archimandrite. And according to the Christian custom, I am having memorial services performed daily. I mourn the loss of my son, but I do not complain, nor do I advise you, my children, to do so. For who knows? We may be mourning and complaining here while his soul may be rejoicing in Heaven."
[BOOK II]
AS BECOMES GOOD KINSFOLK
CHAPTER I
A hot midday in July; the Dubrovino manor-house all deserted. Workers and idlers alike resting in the shade. Under the canopy of a huge willow-tree in the front yard the dogs, too, were lying stretched out, and you could hear the sound of their jaws when they drowsily snapped at the flies. Even the trees drooped motionless, as if exhausted. All the windows in the manor-house and the servants' quarters were flung wide open. The heat seemed to surge in sweltering waves and the soil covered with short, singed grass was ablaze. The atmosphere was a blinding haze touched into gold, so that one could scarcely distinguish things in the distance. The manor-house, once painted gray and now faded into white, the small flower garden in front of the house, the birch grove, separated from the farm by the road, the pond, the village and the corn field, which touched the outskirts of the village, all were immersed in the dazzling torrent. The fragrance of blossoming linden trees mingled with the noxious emanations of the cattle shed. There was not a breath of air, not a sound. Only from the kitchen there came the grating of knives being sharpened, which foretold the inevitable hash and beef cutlets for dinner.