a Feodorovna herself
made all the arrangements about the funeral. She bought the very
plainest sort of a coffin, and hired a truckman. In order to repay
herself for her expenditure, Anna Feodorovna took possession of all
the dead man's books and effects. The old man wrangled with her,
raised an uproar, snatched from her as many books as possible, stuffed
all his pockets with them, thrust them into his hat and wherever he
could, carried them about with him all the three days which preceded
the funeral, and did not even part with them when the time came to go
to the church. During all those days he was like a man stunned, who
has lost his memory, and he kept fussing about near the coffin with a
certain strange anxiety; now he adjusted the paper band upon the dead
man's brow, now he lighted and snuffed the candles. It was evident
that he could not fix his thoughts in orderly manner on anything.
Neither my mother nor Anna Feodorovna went to the funeral services in
the church. My mother was ill, but Anna Feodorovna quarreled with old
Pokrovsky just as she was all ready to start, and so stayed away. The
old man and I were the only persons present. A sort of fear came over
me during the services--like the presentiment of something which was
about to happen. I could hardly stand out the ceremony in church. At
last they put the lid on the coffin and nailed it down, placed it on
the cart and drove away. I accompanied it only to the end of the
street. The truckman drove at a trot. The old man ran after the cart,
weeping aloud; the sound of his crying was broken and shaken by his
running. The poor man lost his hat and did not stop to pick it up. His
head was wet with the rain; the sleet lashed and cut his face. The old
man did not appear to feel the bad weather, but ran weeping from one
side of the cart to the other. The skirts of his shabby old coat waved
in the wind like wings. Books protruded from every one of his pockets;
in his hands was a huge book, which he held tightly clutched. The
passers-by removed their hats and made the sign of the cross. Some
halted and stared in amazement at the poor old man. Every moment the
books kept falling out of his pockets into the mud, People stopped
him, and pointed out his losses to him; he picked them up, and set out
again in pursuit of the coffin. At the corner of the street an old
beggar woman joined herself to him to escort the coffin. At last the
cart turned the corner, and disappeared