Chapter XIX

The small manor-house to which Lavretsky had come and in which two years before Glafira Petrovna had breathed her last, had been built in the preceding century of solid pine-wood; it looked ancient, but it was still strong enough to stand another fifty years or more.  Lavretsky made the tour of all the rooms, and to the great discomfiture of the aged languid flies, settled under the lintels and covered with white dust, he ordered the windows to be opened everywhere; they had not been opened ever since the death of Glafira Petrovna.  Everything in the house had remained as it was; the thin-legged white miniature couches in the drawing-room, covered with glossy grey stuff, threadbare and rickety, vividly suggested the days of Catherine; in the drawing-room, too, stood the mistress’s favourite arm-chair, with high straight back, against which she never leaned even in her old age.  On the principal wall hung a very old portrait of Fedor’s great-grandfather, Andrey Lavretsky; the! dark yellow face was scarcely distinguishable from the warped and blackened background; the small cruel eyes looked grimly out from beneath the eyelids, which dropped as if they were swollen; his black unpowdered hair rose bristling above his heavy indented brow.  In the corner of the portrait hung a wreath of dusty immortelles.  “Glafira Petrovna herself was pleased to make it,” Anton announced.  In the bedroom stood a narrow bedstead, under a canopy of old-fashioned and very good striped material; a heap of faded cushions and a thin quilted counterpane lay on the bed, and at the head hung a picture of the Presentation in the Temple of the Holy Mother of God; it was the very picture which the old maid, dying alone and forgotten by every one, had for the last time pressed to her chilling lips.  A little toilet table of inlaid wood, with brass fittings and a warped looking-glass in a tarnished frame stood in the window.  Next to the bedroom was the little ikon room with bare walls and a heavy case of holy images in the corner; on the! floor lay a threadbare rug spotted with wax; Glafira Petrovna used to pray bowing to the ground upon it.  Anton went away with Lavretsky’s groom to unlock the stable and coach-house; to replace him appeared an old woman of about the same age, with a handkerchief tied round to her very eyebrows; her head shook, and her eyes were dim, but they expressed zeal, the habit of years of submissive service, and at the same time a kind of respectful commiseration.  She kissed Lavretsky’s hand and stood still in the doorway awaiting his orders.  He positively could not recollect her name and did not even remember whether he had ever seen her.  Her name, it appeared, was Apraxya; forty years before, Glafira Petrovna had put her out of the master’s house and ordered that she should be a poultry woman.  She said little, however; she seemed to have lost her senses from old age, and could only gaze at him