But in fulfilling the wish of his "mother dear" he did not omit to hint casually to the people around him that God had ordained that every man bear his cross, and that He did so not without divine purpose, for he who bears not his cross wanders from the righteous path and becomes corrupted.
To his mother he wrote:
"I am sending you some gherkins, mother dear, as many as my resources allow. As to the turkeys, I am sorry to inform you that besides those left for breeding, there remain only turkey-cocks, which in view of their size and the limited needs of your table are quite useless to you.
And will it not be your pleasure to let me welcome you to Golovliovo and share my paltry viands with you? Then we can have one of those idlers (idlers, indeed, for my cook Matvey caponizes them most skilfully) roasted, and you and I, my dearest friend, shall feast on him to our heart's content."
From that day Arina Petrovna became a frequent guest at Golovliovo.
Assisted by Yudushka she tasted of turkeys and ducks; she slept her fill both by night and by day, and after dinner she eased her heart with copious small talk, in which Yudushka was proficient by nature, she proficient because of old age.
Her visits were not discontinued even when it reached her ears that Yudushka, weary of solitude, had taken in a damsel named Yevpraksia, from among the clergy, as his housekeeper.
On the contrary, she made off right for Golovliovo and before alighting from the carriage called to Yudushka with childish impatience:
"Well, well, you old sinner, let's see your queen, let's see your queen."
That entire day she spent most pleasurably, because Yevpraksia herself waited upon her at table and made her bed after dinner, and because in the evening she played fool with Yudushka and his queen.
Yudushka himself was pleased with this denouement, and in token of filial gratitude ordered a pound of caviar, among other things, to be put into Arina Petrovna's carriage as she was about to depart. That was the highest token of esteem, for caviar is not a home product; one has to buy it.
The courtesy so touched the old woman that she could refrain no longer and said:
"Well, I do thank you for this.
And God, too, will love you, because you cherish and sustain your mother in her old age.
Now, when I get back to Pogorelka, I shall not be bored any more.
I always did like caviar. Well, thanks to you, I'll have a dainty morsel now."
_____ CHAPTER II
Five years had passed since Arina Petrovna took up her abode at Pogorelka.
Yudushka struck root in Golovliovo and would not budge.
He became considerably older, faded and tarnished greatly, but was more of a knave, liar and babbler than ever, for now his "mother dear" was nearly always with him, and for the sake of dainties, she became a ready and indispensable listener to his empty talk.
One must not think of Yudushka as a hypocrite in the sense of Tartuffe, for instance, or some modern French bourgeois, mellifluous and fond of expatiating on "the foundations of society."
No, he was a hypocrite of the purely Russian breed, simply a man devoid of moral standards and ignorant of any except the most elementary truths.
His ignorance was profound. He was mendacious, had a passion for litigation and empty talk, and was afraid of the devil, too—all negative traits that are not the material for the making of a genuine hypocrite.
In France hypocrisy is a result of education; it constitutes, so to say, a part of "good manners," and always has a distinct political or social coloring.
There are hypocrites of religion, hypocrites of "the foundations of society," of property, of family, of politics. And lately there have come up even hypocrites of "law and order."
Though this sort of hypocrisy cannot be termed conviction, still it is a banner around which those people rally who find it profitable to play the hypocrite in that way and no other.
They sham consciously, that is they know they are hypocrites, and they also know that others know.
According to the notions of a French bourgeois, the universe is nothing but a large stage on which is played an endless drama with one hypocrite taking his cue from the other.
Hypocrisy is an invitation to decency, decorum, outward elegance and politeness.
And what is most important, hypocrisy is a restraint, not for those, of course, who play the hypocrite, hovering in the rarified atmosphere of the social heights, but for those who swarm at the bottom of the social caldron.
Hypocrisy keeps society from the debauchery of passion and makes passion the privilege of a very limited minority.
When licentiousness keeps within the limits of a small, well-organized corporation, it is not only harmless, but even supports and nourishes the traditions of elegance.
The exquisite would perish if there were not a certain number of cabinets particuliers, in which licentiousness is cultivated in the moments that are free from the worship of official hypocrisy.
But licentiousness becomes really dangerous as soon as it is accessible to all and is combined with the general extension of the right to make demands and insist upon the legitimacy and naturalness of such demands.
New social stratifications form, which endeavor to crowd out the old ones, or, at least, limit them considerably.
The demand for cabinets particuliers grows to such an extent that the question arises: Would it not be simpler in the future to get along without them?
It is against these unwelcome questions and formulations of demands that the ruling classes of French society guard the systematic hypocrisy that begins by being an accident of manners and ends by becoming a compulsory law.
The modern French theatre is based on this reverence for hypocrisy.
The first four acts of a popular French play are realistic, depicting the decay and disintegration of all standards of marital fidelity. But the fifth act always ends up with some sentimental ringing phrase eulogizing the sweet atmosphere of the fireside and the supreme triumph of virtue over vice. Which is the truth? Which is the sham? Both and neither. In the first four acts the audience sees itself mirrored in the realistic portrayal on the stage, but the fifth act is an equally faithful portrayal of the audience's conception of ideal virtue and pure matrimonial life. So, if French hypocrisy is a superstructure upon the body of public immorality, it is so completely a part of the entire fabric of morality that it keeps the edifice from toppling over.
We Russians have no system of social bringing up.
We are not mustered or drilled to become champions of "social principles" or other principles, but simply left to grow wild, like nettles by the fence.
That is why there are few hypocrites among us, but many liars, empty-headed bigots, and babblers.
We have no need of playing the hypocrite for the sake of social principles, for we know of no such thing as social principles.
We exist in perfect liberty, that is, we vegetate, lie, chatter quite naturally, without regard for principle.
Whether we ought to rejoice over it or regret it, I cannot say.
I think, though, that if hypocrisy breeds resentment and fear, useless lying causes boredom and repugnance.
The best thing, therefore, is to ignore the question of the advantages of conscious over unconscious hypocrisy, and vice versa, and have nothing to do with either hypocrites or liars.
Yudushka was more of a chatterbox, liar and rascal than hypocrite.
On shutting himself up on his country estate, he at once felt at perfect liberty. In no other environment could his propensities find so vast a field for operation.
At Golovliovo he encountered neither direct resistance nor even indirect restraints that would make him think: "I should like to do something mean, but what will people say?"