But suddenly she came to his mind as he scooped up a spoonful of mushrooms and was about to send it down his mouth.
"Mother, dearest, darling!" he exclaimed. "I, the fool, am here, gorging myself. What a sin!
Mother dear, help yourself. Some mushrooms.
These are Dubrovino mushrooms. The famous ones."
But Arina Petrovna did not stir. She only shook her head in silence.
She seemed listening to something with intense curiosity, a new light seemed to fill her eyes, as if the comedy to which she had long since become accustomed and in which she had always taken active part, suddenly presented itself to her in a changed light.
The dinner commenced with a brief, pathetic discussion.
Yudushka insisted that Arina Petrovna should take the hostess's place at the head of the table. Arina Petrovna refused.
"No, you are the host here, so sit where you please," she said drily.
"You are the hostess. You, mother dear, are the hostess everywhere, both at Golovliovo and Dubrovino, everywhere," said Yudushka, trying to convince her.
"Do stop and sit down.
Wherever it will be the Lord's will to place me as a mistress, I will sit where I choose. Here you are master—so you take the seat."
"Then this is what we'll do," said Yudushka, much moved. "We'll leave the cover at the host's seat untouched, as if our brother were with us, an invisible companion. He shall be host, and we shall all be his guests."
That is how they arranged it.
While the soup was being served, Yudushka chose a proper subject and started a conversation with the priests, addressing most of his remarks, however, to the Father Provost.
"There are many people nowadays who do not believe in the immortality of the soul, but I do," he said.
"Well, they must be desperadoes," answered the Father Provost.
"Not, not that they are desperadoes, but there is is a science about the soul not being immortal.
It says that man exists all by himself. He lives and then suddenly—dies."
"There are too many sciences nowadays—if only there were less of them.
People believe in sciences and don't believe in God.
Take the peasants—even the peasants want to become learned."
"Yes, Father, you are right.
They do long to become learned.
Take my Naglovo peasants. They have nothing to eat, and still the other day they passed a resolution—they want to open up a school. The scholars!"
"Nowadays there is a science for everything under the sun.
One science for rain, another science for fine weather, and so on.
Formerly it was a very simple matter. People would come and sing a Te Deum—and the Lord would grant them their prayer.
If they needed fine weather, God would grant fine weather; if they needed rain, the Lord had enough of it to go round.
God has enough of everything.
But since people have begun to live according to science, everything has changed, everything happens out of season.
You sow—there is drought; you mow—there is rain."
"You speak the truth, Father, the gospel truth.
Formerly people used to pray more to God, and the earth was more plentiful.
The harvests were not like now. They were four times, five times, richer. The earth produced in abundance.
Doesn't mother remember?
Don't you remember, mother dear?" asked Yudushka, turning to Arina Petrovna with the intention of drawing her into the discussion.
"I never heard anything like that in our parts. Maybe you're speaking of the land of Canaan. It is said that was really the case there," drily responded Arina Petrovna.
"Yes, yes, yes," said Yudushka, as if he had not heard his mother's remark, "they don't believe in God, they don't believe in the immortality of the soul, but they want to eat all the same."
"That's just it—all they want is to eat and drink," repeated the Father Provost, rolling up the sleeves of his cassock to reach a piece of the funeral pie and put it on his plate.
Everybody attacked the soup. For a while nothing was heard but the clink of the spoons on the plates and the puffing of the priests as they blew upon the hot liquid.
"Now as for the Roman Catholics," continued Yudushka, stopping to eat, "although they do not deny the immortality of the soul, yet they claim the soul does not land straight in hell or in heaven, but stays for a while in a sort of middle place."
"That, too, is preposterous."
"To tell you the truth, Father," said Porfiry Vladimirych, deep in thought, "if we take the point of view of——"
"There is no use discussing nonsense.
How goes the song of our Holy Church?
It says, 'In a grassy place, in a cool place, in which there is neither sighing nor sorrow.' So of what use is it to talk of a 'middle' place?"
Yudushka did not fully agree and wanted to make some sort of objection, but Arina Petrovna, growing annoyed at the conversation, stopped him.
"Well, eat, eat, you theologian. I guess your soup is cold by now," she said, and to change the topic she turned to the Father Provost. "Have you gathered in the rye yet, Father?"
"Yes, madam. This time the rye is good, but the spring wheat doesn't promise well.