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burnt hay, oats unfit for seed, damp and blackened firewood. Marfa Petrovna, for her part, also made offerings more valuable for her zeal than for any other reason. She sent to the monastery rose water and peppermint water, ant alcohol an old folk remedy made from ants crushed in alcohol, dried raspberries (the monks, not knowing what to do with them, infused them with spirits), and several jars of mushrooms in vinegar, arranged so artfully that from whichever side you looked, you saw only white mushrooms, yet no matter how you scooped with a spoon, you would always pull out either a birch mushroom or a butter mushroom. The monks sometimes visited the pious house of the shelter-seeking landlord and always found a warm welcome from Marfa Petrovna, who both loved them and, in some way, feared them.
Almost no other guests ever appeared at the Stolygin house. Besides the two of them, Marfa Petrovna’s uncle lived with them, along with his wife. While traveling from Petersburg St. Petersburg, Lev Stepanovich had invited his wife’s uncle—not the main one, but just an uncle—an old man who had been concussed in the head during the Turkish campaign, as a result of which he had lost his memory, his wits, and his sight. The real uncle, not knowing where to put him, hinted at it to Lev Stepanovich, who, although he was already retired at the time, still did not dare to contradict a person of status. The blind old man was married to a Moldavian woman, in whose house a wounded man had been lying; she was no longer in her first youth, and despite a large Roman nose and enormous eagle eyes, she was distinguished by a great humility of spirit. Stolygin used her for receiving cotton, linen, nuts, cleaning berries, drying herbs, and pickling mushrooms. Marfa Petrovna, in providing for her relatives, was convinced that by doing so she would atone for all her sins and, perhaps, make her prayer for the granting of children effective. The interaction that had developed between the hosts and the guests was simple and patriarchal. Marfa Petrovna called the old man "uncle," but she did not call his wife "aunt"; instead, she used the informal "thou" the familiar form of address in Russian, indicating lower status and, in some instances, allowed her to kiss her hand. Lev Stepanovich addressed both of them with "thou" and treated them as one should treat people entirely dependent on us: with cold contempt and with the insulting expression of his own superiority. He treated them like furniture or a thing—not very necessary, but one to which he had grown accustomed.
The morning the blind man usually spent in his room in the wing, where he smoked dried cherry leaves mixed with Hungarian roots. At one o'clock, the servant girl assigned to him would dress him in a long blue frock coat, tie a white necktie, and lead him to the dining room. Here he would wait, sitting in the corner, for the solemn exit of Lev Stepanovich. Woe to the old man if he were late; then, it was not only he who suffered, but also Tanka
who served as his guide, and the Moldavian woman.