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BOYHOOD: A STORY 
 

 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2016 
 
 https://archive.org/details/boyhoodstoryOOtols 
 
BOYHOOD: A STORY 
 
 BY 
 
 LEO TOLSTOY 
 
 Translated from the Russian 
 BY 
 
 CONSTANTINE POPOFF. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 The Brotherhood Publishing Co., Croydon. 
 1895. 
 

73 
 
 T5? 
 
 12 ^ 
 
 B O Y H 0 O D. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 OUR TUTOR, KARL IVANOVITCH.* 
 
 It was on August I2,f 18 — , three days after my tenth 
 birthday, on which occasion I had received many fine 
 presents, that Karl Ivanovitch awoke me at seven 
 o’clock in the morning by striking a fly just above my 
 head with a flap made of coarse brown paper stuck 
 on a stick. He did it so clumsily, that he nearly 
 knocked down the little image which hung over my 
 bed, and that the fly fell straight on my head. I 
 peeped out from under my blanket, readjusted the 
 image, which was still shaking, and threw the fly on 
 the floor, casting an angry, though rather sleepy, 
 glance at Karl Ivanovitch. The latter, however, went 
 on walking up and down the room in his gaudy ; 
 morning-gown, with a girdle of the same stuff, a red 
 knitted skull-cap on his head, and soft goat- skin 
 boots ; he kept close to the wall, every now and then 
 making a sudden dash at the flies. 
 
 * Patronymic. 
 
 f Russian style is behind English twelve days, so that 
 August 12 is August 24 in England. 
 
 I 
 
BOYHOOD. 
 
 2 
 
 ‘ Well/ thought I, ‘ I am but a child, it is true, but 
 still he ought not to disturb me. Why does he not 
 kill the flies near Voldemar’s bed ? See how many 
 there are ! No, Voldemar is older than I ; I am the 
 youngest, that is why he plagues me. He is always 
 trying to tease me,’ whispered I to myself. ‘ He saw 
 very well that he awoke and frightened me, but he 
 pretends he did not notice it . . . disgusting man ! 
 And that morning-gown, and skull-cap, and tassel — 
 how I do hate them !’ 
 
 While I was thus mentally venting my anger 
 against Karl Ivanovitch, the latter approached his 
 bed, looked at the watch which hung on the wall in a 
 little shoe, embroidered with glass-beads, suspended 
 the fly-flap he had used on a nail, and evidently being 
 in a most amiable mood, turned towards us. 
 
 ‘ Auf, Kinder, auf ! . . . s’istZeit. Die Mutter ist schon 
 im Saal !’* cried he in his hearty German voice ; then, 
 coming up to my bed, sat down at the foot of it and 
 took his snuff-box out of his pocket. I pretended to 
 be asleep. Karl Ivanovitch took a pinch of snuff, 
 wiped his nose, snapped his fingers, and then, turning 
 to me with a smile on his lips, he began to tickle my 
 heels. ‘Nu, nun, Faulenzer/f said he. 
 
 Though I could not bear to be tickled, I did not 
 jump up or answer him, but only hid my head further 
 under the pillows, kicking with all my might and 
 trying as hard as I could to refrain from laughter. 
 
 How kind he is, and how fond he is of us all ! How 
 could I feel so cross with him ! 
 
 * ‘ Up, children, up ! . . it is time. Mother is already in the 
 drawing-room.’ f ‘ Well, idler, well.’ 
 
OUR TUTOR , KARL IVANOVITCH . 
 
 3 
 
 I felt vexed with myself and with Karl Ivanovitch, 
 and was ready to laugh and cry at the same time ; I 
 was altogether in a state of nervous excitement. 
 
 ‘ Acb, lassen Sie* Karl Ivanovitch !’ cried I, with 
 tears in my eyes, looking out from under the pillows. 
 
 Karl Ivanovitch was surprised, left off tickling my 
 heels, and began to ask me nervously why I was 
 crying. Had I had a bad dream ? . . . His kind 
 German face, the interest with which he endeavoured 
 to guess the cause of my tears, made them flow faster 
 than before. I was ashamed of myself, and could not 
 understand how a moment ago I had felt as if I hated 
 Karl Ivanovitch, and could hardly bear the sight of 
 his morning-gown, his skull-cap and tassel ; now, on 
 the contrary, I felt quite friendly towards them, and 
 the tassel even seemed to me to be an evident proof 
 of his kindness. I answered that I was crying be- 
 cause I had had a bad dream — that I had dreamt that 
 mamma was dead and they were going to bury her. 
 It was all pure invention, for I had quite forgotten 
 what I had really seen in my dream, but when Karl 
 Ivanovitch, touched by the story, tried to comfort 
 me, I began to feel as if I had really had that 
 dreadful dream, and my tears flowed afresh. 
 
 When Karl Ivanovitch left me, I rose and began to 
 draw my stockings on to my little legs ; my tears 
 had ceased flowing, but the sad thoughts excited by 
 my imaginary dream did not leave me. Our ‘diadka/f 
 
 * ‘ Oh, please don’t touch me !’ 
 
 *j* A sort of upper servant, chosen from among the'serfs born 
 on the nobleman’s estate, to whom the care of very young boys 
 used to be entrusted formerly in Russia. 
 
 I — 2 
 
4 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 Nicolas, came in. He was a little dapper man with a 
 grave look and respectful demeanour ; Karl Ivanovitch 
 and he were great friends. He brought in our clothes 
 and boots ; boots for Voldemar, but I had still to 
 wear nasty shoes with little bows on them. I should 
 have been ashamed to cry before him, even if the 
 morning sun had not peeped so merrily through the 
 windows, and if Voldemar, mimicking Maria Ivan- 
 ovna, our sisters’ governess, had not laughed so mer- 
 rily and joyously, standing before the washing-stand, 
 that even grave Nicolas, who stood near him with a 
 towel over his shoulder, a piece of soap in one hand 
 and a jug of water in the other, said with a smile : 
 
 ‘ Pray leave off laughing, Voldemar Petrovitch, and 
 wash yourself.’ 
 
 I grew quite iively. 
 
 ‘Sind Sie bald fertig ?’* cried Karl Ivanovitch from 
 the schoolroom. 
 
 He spoke sternly, and his voice no longer had that 
 expression of kindness which had touched me to tears 
 a few minutes before. Karl Ivanovitch was quite 
 another man in the schoolroom ; there he was teacher. 
 I washed and dressed hastily and responded to his 
 call, brush in hand, smoothing down my wet hair. 
 
 Karl Ivanovitch, with his spectacles on his nose, 
 and a book in his hands, sat in his usual place between 
 the door and the window. To the left from the door 
 there were two shelves ; one of them belonged to us 
 children, the second was Karl Ivanovitch’s own shelf. 
 On ours there were books of all kinds, school-books 
 and others, some standing upright, others lying about. 
 
 * ‘ Will you soon be ready ?’ 
 
OUR TUTOR , KARL IVANOVITCH. 
 
 5 
 
 Only two large volumes of ‘ Histoire des Voyages/ 
 bound in red, were properly placed against the wall ; 
 then came a medley of long, thick, large and small 
 books, bindings without books, and books without 
 any binding ; we used to squeeze everything in there, 
 topsy-turvy, when we were ordered, after lesson-hours, 
 to put our library, as Karl Ivanovitch pompously 
 called the shelf, to rights. The books on his own 
 shelf \ though not so numerous as ours, were much 
 more varied. I remember three of them : an unbound 
 German treatise on the best way of manuring kitchen- 
 gardens for cabbage, one volume of the ‘ History of 
 the Seven Years’ War/ bound in parchment, burnt 
 through in one corner, and a whole course of hydro- 
 statics. Karl Ivanovitch spent the greater part of his 
 time in reading, by which he had even spoiled his 
 sight, yet he never read anything except the above- 
 mentioned works and the Northern Bee* 
 
 Amongst the things which lay on Karl Ivanovitch’s 
 shelf was one which is inseparably bound with the 
 recollection of him in my mind. It was a paste- 
 board shade on a wooden stand which could be moved 
 (raised or lowered) by means of small pegs. There 
 was a picture on the shade, representing a caricature 
 of a lady and a hairdresser. Karl Ivanovitch was 
 very skilful in the making of various similar articles, 
 and he had invented and made this shade himself 
 in order to preserve his weak eyes from the bright 
 light. 
 
 I see before me, as it were, his long figure wrapped 
 up in a cotton morning-gown, and with a red cap on 
 * A well-known Russian periodical. 
 
6 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 his head, from under which his scanty gray hair could 
 be seen. I see him still sitting near the little table, 
 on which stands the shade with the figure of the hair- 
 dresser upon it; it casts its shadow on his face; he 
 holds his book in one hand, the other rests on the arm 
 of a chair ; near him lies his watch, with a jockey 
 painted on the hour-plate, a checkered pocket-hand- 
 kerchief, his round black snuff-box, his green case for 
 his spectacles, and the snuffers on a little tray. Each 
 object stands so accurately in its proper place, that 
 the inevitable conclusion everybody must come to on 
 seeing it is, that Karl Ivanovitch’s conscience is calm 
 and his mind at rest. 
 
 Sometimes, after running about in the hail down- 
 stairs till I was tired, I used to steal up to the school- 
 room ; there sat Karl Ivanovitch alone in his arm- 
 chair, reading one of his favourite books with a 
 stately calm expression on his face. It sometimes 
 happened that I did not find him reading : then his 
 spectacles were down on his large aquiline nose ; his 
 blue half-closed eyes had a peculiar expression, and a 
 melancholy smile played on his lips. All was quite 
 still in the room, nothing was heard but his calm 
 breathing and the striking of the clock. 
 
 I used often to stand at the door without his seeing 
 me, and would say to myself: ‘Poor old man! We 
 are many; we can play and enjoy ourselves ; but he 
 is all alone, and there is nobody to be kind to him. 
 He says he is an orphan. The story of his life is a 
 sad one. I remember what he told Nicolas about it. 
 It is dreadful to be in such a position !’ 
 
 And then I would feel so sorry for him that, going 
 
OUR TUTOR , KARL IVANOVITCH. 
 
 7 
 
 up to him and taking his hand, I would say: * Lieber 
 (dear) Karl Ivanovitch !’ 
 
 He liked me to speak thus to him ; he always 
 treated me more kindly after it, and it was evident 
 that he felt touched. 
 
 The other wall was covered with maps, which had 
 all been torn to pieces and glued together again by 
 the master hand of Karl Ivanovitch. On one side of 
 the third wall, in the middle of which was a door 
 which led downstairs, hung two rulers — one all 
 hacked and cut, that was ours, the other a new one, 
 that was his own , and he used it rather for the pur- 
 pose of ‘ruling’ us than our copybooks. On the 
 other side of the wall was a blackboard, on which 
 our misdemeanours were noted down, the graver ones 
 with noughts, and the lighter ones with small crosses. 
 To the left of the blackboard was the corner in which 
 we used to kneel down when we were punished. 
 
 How well I remember that corner ! How well I 
 remember the grate before the stove, with a hole in 
 it to let the warm air into the room, and the noise it 
 usually made when it was turned ! I used to stand in 
 that corner till my knees and back ached, thinking 
 that Karl Ivanovitch had forgotten all about me. 
 
 ‘ He is very comfortable, sitting in the soft chair 
 and reading his hydrostatics,’ I would say to myself ; 
 ‘ but how do I feel ?’ 
 
 And in order to attract his attention I would begin 
 to open and close the hole, or to pick the stucco out 
 of the wall ; but when a larger piece than usual fell 
 noisily on to the floor, I must confess that terror pre- 
 dominated over every other feeling. I would then 
 
8 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 glance at Karl Ivanovitch, but he sat with his book 
 in his hand, seemingly unmindful of all else. 
 
 There was a table in the middle of the room ; it 
 was covered with a shabby oilskin cloth, from under 
 which the edges of the table all cut with penknives 
 could be seen. Round the table there were several 
 plain deal stools, brightly polished through long and 
 frequent use. The last wall was taken up by three 
 windows; they looked out upon the road, every stone, 
 every rut or wheel-track of which was familiar and 
 dear to me. On the other side of the road was 
 the lopped lime-avenue, from behind which a rush 
 paling peeped here and there ; beyond the avenue 
 lay a meadow, a barn on one side and a forest on 
 the other ; opposite, at some distance, stood the 
 small hut of the watchman. Out of the window to 
 the right, part of the terrace was seen ; our elders 
 usually sat there before dinner. Sometimes while 
 Karl Ivanovitch was busy in correcting my dictation, 
 I used to steal a look at the terrace, where my kind 
 mother’s dark hair or somebody’s back attracted 
 my attention, and whence the hum of voices and 
 laughter were indistinctly heard. At such moments 
 I usually felt very cross because I could not be there 
 too, and was but a little boy, and would long for the 
 time when I should be a grown-up man, and should 
 not have to learn and study dialogues, but should sit 
 there with those whom I loved. My vexation would 
 then change to grief, and I would give way to my 
 melancholy thoughts, and not even notice that Karl 
 Ivanovitch was angry with me for the mistakes I had 
 made. 
 
MAMMA. 
 
 9 
 
 At last Karl Ivanovitch took off his morning-gown, 
 put on his blue dress-coat, set his cravat right before 
 the looking-glass, and took us downstairs to bid our 
 mother good-morning. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 MAMMA. 
 
 My mother was in the drawing-room making tea ; 
 she held the teapot in one hand, and in the other the 
 tap of the samovar,* out of which the water flowed 
 over the brim of the teapot on to the teaboard. She 
 was looking attentively before her, and did not observe 
 either this or our entrance. 
 
 So many remembrances arise, when one endeavours 
 to recall the features of the beloved, that they grow 
 dim before us like objects seen through tears. These 
 are the tears of fancy. When I try to recall to mind 
 my mother as she was then, only her brown eyes 
 arise before me, always with the same look of love 
 and kindness in them ; the little mole on her neck, 
 a little lower than the little curls at the back of her 
 head, her embroidered white collar, her dry soft hand, 
 which caressed me so often, and which I loved to 
 kiss, but the general expression of her face escapes 
 me. 
 
 On the left-hand side of the sofa stood the old 
 English piano ; my rather dark-complexioned sister 
 Luba was sitting near it, with evident difficulty play- 
 
 * Tea-urn. 
 
IO 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 irig dementi’s exercises with her little pink fingers, 
 but just washed in cold water. She was eleven years 
 old ; she wore a short gingham dress, with white small 
 clothes trimmed with lace. As yet she could only 
 take an octavo in 'arpeggio/ Near her sat Maria 
 Ivanovna in a cap with pink ribbons, a blue caza- 
 veika ,* and with a red, ill-tempered face, which grew 
 still more so as soon as Karl Ivanovitch came in. 
 She threw him a look as black as thunder, and with- 
 out returning his bow, continued to tap the ground 
 with her foot, counting ‘ Un, deux, trois — un, deux, 
 trois,’ in a louder and more commanding tone than 
 before. 
 
 Karl Ivanovitch went straight up to my mother, 
 without paying any attention to Maria Ivanovna, and 
 with a word of greeting in German, kissed her hand. 
 She started, shook her head as if wishing to drive her 
 sad thoughts away, gave her hand to Karl Ivanovitch, 
 and kissed his wrinkled temple at the moment he 
 kissed her hand. 
 
 ‘ Ich danke, lieber (thank you, dear) Karl Ivano- 
 vitch, ’ said she ; and continued in German : ‘ Did the 
 children sleep well?’ 
 
 Karl Ivanovitch was deaf of one ear, and now, 
 thanks to the music, he heard nothing at all. He 
 bowed his head nearer to the sofa, rested with his 
 arm against the table, and standing on one foot, and 
 smiling (his smile seemed to me the pinnacle of re- 
 finement), raised his cap, and said : 
 
 ‘Will you excuse me, Natalia Nicolaevna? , 
 
 Karl Ivanovitch never took his red cap off for fear 
 * A warm jacket. 
 
MAMMA. 
 
 1 1 
 
 of catching cold, and every time he came into the 
 drawing-room asked leave to keep it on. 
 
 * Keep it on, Karl Ivanovitch. ... I asked you if 
 the children slept well,’ said mamma very loud, and 
 drawing nearer to him. 
 
 But again he heard nothing, covered his bald head 
 with his red cap, and smiled blandly. 
 
 ‘ Pray stop for one moment, Maria/ said mamma to 
 Maria Ivanovna with a smile. ‘ It is impossible to 
 hear a word that is said/ 
 
 When my mother smiled, her face grew still prettier, 
 and all looked bright around her. If during the most 
 trying moments of my life I could have caught a 
 glimpse of her smile, I should not have known what 
 grief is. It seems to me that all that is called beauty 
 lies but in the smile ; it the smile increase the charm 
 of a face, the face is pretty; if the smile do not change 
 it, the face is a plain one ; if the smile spoil it, the 
 face is ugly. 
 
 After kissing me, mamma raised my head with both 
 hands, and looking fixedly at me, said : 
 
 ‘ Thou* hast been crying to-day ?* 
 
 I gave no answer. She kissed my eyes, and asked 
 in German : 
 
 * What was the matter ?’ 
 
 When she talked amicably with us, she always used 
 that language, which she knew perfectly well. 
 
 ‘ I cried in my dream, mamma/ said I, remember- 
 ing the dream I had invented with all its details, and 
 involuntarily shuddering at the thought. 
 
 * In Russia the pronoun thou is very generally used; amongst 
 relatives and friends always. 
 
12 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 Karl Ivanovitch corroborated my words, but kept 
 silence as to the dream itself. Having talked a little 
 about the weather, a conversation in which Mimi 
 took part likewise, mamma laid six pieces of sugar 
 on the teaboard for some of the upper servants, and 
 got up and approached the embroidery-frame which 
 stood close to the window. 
 
 ‘ Well, children, now go to your father and ask him 
 to come in to me without fail before he goes to the 
 barn.’ 
 
 The music, the counting, and the formidable looks 
 began again, and we went to our father. Crossing the 
 room which had gone by the name of the butler s 
 room from the time of our grandfather, we entered 
 our father’s study. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 PAPA. 
 
 He stood near his writing-table, and pointing to some 
 envelopes, documents, and heaps of money, was talk- 
 ing excitedly, and explaining something to his steward, 
 Jacob Mihailovitch, who stood in his usual place 
 between the door and the barometer, with his arms 
 behind his back, nervously turning and twisting his 
 fingers. 
 
 The warmer my father grew, the quicker did the 
 fingers move, and on the contrary, when my father 
 grew calm the fingers grew still ; but when Jacob 
 began to speak himself, his fingers betrayed the 
 greatest agitation, and moved backwards and forwards 
 
PAPA. 
 
 13 
 
 desperately. It seemed to me that it would be 
 possible to guess the secret thoughts of Jacob by the 
 motion of his fingers; as to his face, it was always 
 calm, and expressed both submission and conscious 
 dignity — i.e., I am right, but you may do as you 
 like! 
 
 When my father saw us, he only said : 
 
 ‘ Wait a minute/ and motioned to us to shut the 
 door. ‘ What in the world is the matter with thee 
 to-day, Jacob ?’* * * § continued he, addressing the steward 
 and shrugging his shoulders (it was a habit of his). 
 ‘ This envelope, including 800 roubles, J* is . . . .’ 
 
 Jacob pulled the counters! nearer to him, marked 
 800 on them, and cast down his eyes, waiting to hear 
 what would come next. 
 
 ‘ ... for the expenses for rural economy during 
 my absence. Dost thou understand ? Thou must 
 receive 1,000 roubles rent for the mill . . . am I 
 right, or not ? Thou must receive from the exchequer 
 8,000 roubles as deposited securities ; for the hay, of 
 which, according to thine own calculation, we can 
 sell 7,000 poods § — say 45 copecks per pood — thou 
 wilt receive 3,000 ; consequently, how much money 
 wilt thou have . . . 12,000? Am I right, or not?’ 
 
 ‘ Quite right, sir/ answered Jacob. 
 
 * In speaking to stewards and to servants, their masters not 
 only used, but even now use simply their Christian names, and 
 say thou instead of you. 
 
 t About eighty pounds sterling. 
 
 X The abacus is used everywhere in Russia for counting money. 
 
 § One pood, having forty Russian pounds, is about thirty-six 
 English pounds. 
 
14 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 But I saw, by the motion of his fingers, that he was 
 about to contradict my father, when the latter inter- 
 rupted him. 
 
 ‘ Well, out of this money thou wilt send 10,000 to 
 the council, for Petrovskoje.* As to the money which 
 is now in the office/ continued my father (Jacob 
 turned off the former 12,000 and marked on the 
 counters 21,000), 4 thou wilt bring it to me, and set it 
 down as laid out, dating from to-day.’ (Jacob mixed 
 the abacus, and turned it over, perhaps showing by 
 this gesture that the 21,000 would be lost in the same 
 manner.) ‘ This envelope thou wilt hand, with money, 
 according to the address/ 
 
 I was very near the table, and glanced at the in- 
 scription. There stood the address : ‘To Karl Ivan- 
 ovitch Maiier.’ 
 
 My father must have observed me reading what I 
 had no business to read, for he laid his arm on my 
 shoulder, and slightly turned me aside from the table. 
 I did not understand whether it was a caress or a 
 reproof, but at all events I kissed his large, muscular 
 hand, which rested on my shoulder. 
 
 ‘All shall be done, sir,’ said Jacob. ‘ And what 
 orders will you give me in reference to the money 
 from the Habarovka Estate ?’ 
 
 Habarovka was a property belonging to my 
 mother. 
 
 ‘It is to be left in the office, and by no means to 
 be used without my leave.’ 
 
 Jacob was silent for some moments ; then his 
 fingers suddenly began to move with increased 
 * The name of the estate. 
 
PAPA. 
 
 15 
 
 rapidity, and changing the look of obedient dulness 
 which his face had worn while listening to his 
 master’s orders, for a sly, keen look, more natural to 
 him, moved the abacus nearer to himself, and began 
 thus : 
 
 ‘Allow me to tell you, Peter Alexandrovitch, that 
 it will be impossible to pay at the council on the ap- 
 pointed day. You are pleased to say,’ continued he 
 deliberately, ‘ that we have to receive money from our 
 securities, from the mill, and the hay?’ (On mention- 
 ing these articles he marked them on the abacus.) 
 
 ‘ But I fear we shall find ourselves mistaken in our 
 calculations/ added he after a little silence, glancing 
 thoughtfully at my father. 
 
 ‘Why?’ 
 
 ‘Will you kindly listen? in respect to the mill, the 
 miller was twice here to ask for an adjournment in 
 paying, and swears that he has no money ... he is 
 here now ; will you not speak to him yourself?’ 
 
 ‘ What does he say ?’ asked my father, shaking his 
 head to show that he had no wish to see the 
 miller. 
 
 ‘ The old story ! he has not had work enough ; the 
 small sum of money he had was spent in making the 
 dam. If we relieve him, master , I do not know what 
 we shall gain by it ! As to the securities, I think I 
 have already told you that our money is sunk there, 
 and that we shall have to wait for it a long time. 
 Lately I sent a cartload of flour with a letter about 
 that business to Ivan Afonasievitch ; the answer was: 
 “ I shall be glad to render Peter Alexandrovitch a 
 service, but the affair is not in my hands,” and it is 
 
i6 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 evident that you are not likely to get your receipt 
 earlier than in two months’ time. As to the hay 
 you were pleased to speak about, suppose we sell it 
 for 3,000/ 
 
 And having marked 3,000 on the abacus he was 
 silent one minute, looking first at the abacus, then 
 into father’s eyes, as if he meant: ‘ You see yourself 
 how little it is ! Besides, we shall lose in selling the 
 hay, as you know yourself . . . ’ 
 
 He evidently had a large fund of arguments ready, 
 and that was why my father interrupted him. 
 
 ‘ I will not change the orders I have given,’ he 
 replied ; ‘ but if a delay should really occur in the 
 receipt of the money, there is nothing to be done ; 
 thou wilt have to take the necessary sum from the 
 funds of Habarovka.’ 
 
 ‘ It shall be done, sir.’ 
 
 I observed by the expression of his face, and the 
 convulsive movement of his fingers, that this order 
 gave great pleasure to Jacob. 
 
 He was one of our serfs — a very zealous man, and 
 devoted to us ; he was like all good stewards, ex- 
 tremely careful of his master’s property, and had the 
 most ridiculous ideas about his interests. He was 
 always anxious to increase his master’s property, at 
 the expense of his mistress’s, always endeavouring to 
 prove that it was necessary to use the rent from her 
 properties for Petrovskoje (the village in which we 
 lived). At this moment he felt triumphant because 
 he had succeeded. 
 
 After saying good-morning, our father told us that 
 we had spent quite time enough uselessly in the 
 
PAPA. 
 
 1 7 
 
 country, that we were not little boys any more, and 
 that it was time for us to study seriously. 
 
 ‘ I think you know that I am going to Moscow to- 
 night, and shall take you both with me,’ said he. 
 ‘You will live at your grandmother’s, but your 
 mamma will remain here with the girls. And you 
 know that her only comfort will be to hear that you 
 learn well, and that all are satisfied with you/ 
 
 Though the preparations we had noticed during 
 the last days had made us expect something extra- 
 ordinary, we were thunderstruck by the news. Vol- 
 demar grew red, and gave our mother’s message in a 
 trembling voice. 
 
 ‘ Is this what my dream predicted ?’ thought I. 
 ‘ God grant there may be nothing worse to come/ 
 
 I felt very, very sorry to leave mother, but, at the 
 same time, the thought that we were now considered 
 as big boys filled me with joy. 
 
 ‘ If we are going to-day we shall not do any lessons 
 to-day, of course ; that will be nice !’ thought I. ‘ I 
 am sorry for Karl Ivanovitch, however. He will be 
 dismissed, of course, otherwise there would be no 
 envelope prepared for him ... I had rather learn 
 all my life and stay here, so as not to leave mother, 
 and not to wound poor Karl Ivanovitch’s feelings ; 
 he is unhappy enough without that/ 
 
 These thoughts flashed through my mind. I did 
 not stir from my place, staring at the black knots on 
 my shoes. 
 
 Having said a few words to Karl Ivanovitch about 
 the barometer, and having ordered Jacob not to feed 
 the dogs, as he wished before setting off to follow the 
 
 2 
 
iB 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 hounds once more, after dinner, my father sent us to 
 our lessons, contrary to my expectations, giving us 
 the consolation of promising to take us to see the 
 field-sports. 
 
 On the way upstairs I went for a moment on to 
 the terrace, where my father’s favourite hound, Milka, 
 was winking in the sunshine, near the door. 
 
 ‘ Dear Milka/ said I, caressing it, and kissing its 
 muzzle, ‘ we are going to-day ; good-bye ! I shall 
 never see you again.’ 
 
 I was much affected, and burst into tears. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 SCHOOL-HOURS. 
 
 Karl Ivanovitch was in a very bad humour, as 
 was evident by the way he knit his brows, and by 
 the angry gesture with which he cast his frock-coat 
 into the drawer, then put on his girdle, and marked 
 with his nail what we were to learn in the book of 
 dialogues. Voldemar learned pretty well ; as to my- 
 self, I was so excited that I could do nothing. I 
 looked senselessly at the book of dialogues for some 
 time, but I was unable to read, through the tears 
 which filled my eyes as I thought of the approaching 
 separation ; but when the time came to say the lesson 
 to Karl Ivanovitch, who was sitting all the time with 
 his eyes half shut (it was a very bad sign), when he 
 came to the place where the question is : ‘ Wo kom- 
 men Sie her?’* and the answer is : * Ich komme vom 
 * ‘ Whence do you come ?’ 
 
SCHOOL-HOURS. 
 
 19 
 
 Kaffe-haus,’* I could no more restrain my tears, and 
 my sobs prevented my answering : ‘ Haben Sie die 
 Zeitung nicht gelesen ?’t When the turn of calligraphy 
 came I made such a number of blots from the tears 
 that fell on the paper, that it was like writing with 
 water on blotting-paper. 
 
 Karl Ivanovitch became angry, ordered me to kneel 
 down, and repeated over and over again that it was all 
 obstinacy, all humbug (his favourite word), threatened 
 me with the ruler, and ordered me to beg his pardon, 
 while I could not utter a word on account of my tears ; 
 at last, feeling that he had been unjust, he went into 
 Nicolas’s room and slammed the door. 
 
 The conversation in the diadka’s room was heard 
 in the schoolroom. 
 
 ‘ Thou hast heard, I suppose, Nicolas, that the 
 children are going to Moscow ?* said Karl Ivanovitch, 
 entering the room. 
 
 ‘Yes, sir.’ 
 
 Probably Nicolas wished to rise, because Karl 
 Ivanovitch said: ‘Sit still, Nicolas, and then shut 
 the door.’ I left the corner, and stealthily approaching 
 the door, began to listen to their conversation. 
 
 ‘ However much good you may do to people, how- 
 ever attached to them you may be, you need never 
 expect any gratitude from them ; don’t you think so 
 too ?’ asked Karl Ivanovitch. 
 
 Nicolas, who was sitting near the window mending 
 some boots, nodded affirmatively. 
 
 ‘ I have lived twelve years in the house, and I can 
 
 * ‘ I come from the refreshment-room.' 
 f ‘ Have you not read the newspaper?’ 
 
 2 — 2 
 
20 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 swear, Nicolas/ continued Karl Ivanovitch, raising his 
 eyes and his snuff-box to the ceiling — ‘ I can swear 
 that I have loved them and cared more for them than 
 if they had been my own children. Do you remember, 
 Nicolas, when Voldemar was in a burning fever ? Do 
 you remember how I sat by his bedside nine nights 
 without closing my eyes all the time ? Yes S then I 
 was kind, dear Karl Ivanovitch, then I was necessary! 
 but now/ added he, smiling ironically, ‘ now the 
 children have ceased to be little boys , and it is time for 
 them to begin to study seriously. As if they do not 
 study here, Nicolas !’ 
 
 ‘ How else are they to learn ?’ answered Nicolas, 
 laying down the awl and stretching the waxed-ends 
 of the thread with both hands. 
 
 * Now I am not wanted, therefore I am to be sent 
 away. Where are their promises ? Where is their 
 gratitude ? I love and esteem Natalia Nicolaevna/ 
 said he, putting his hand to his heart, ‘ but what is 
 she here? . . . Nicolas, her will in this house is no 
 more than this !’ With these words he threw with an 
 expressive gesture a shred of the leather on to the 
 floor. ‘ I know whose doing it is, and thanks to whom 
 I am not wanted any more ; it is because I do not 
 flatter and fawn as others do. I always speak out 
 before all,’ added he proudly. ‘ God forgive them ! 
 They will not grow rich by my not being here, and 
 with the help of God I shall manage to gain my 
 living . . . shall I not, Nicolas?’ 
 
 Nicolas raised his head and glanced at Karl Ivano- 
 vitch, as if wishing to ascertain whether he really could 
 gain his living — but said nothing. 
 
SCHOOL-HOURS. 
 
 21 
 
 Karl Ivanovitch talked on in the same style for a 
 long time ; he spoke about some general, who had 
 better appreciated him, and in whose family he had 
 lived before coming to us (it grieved me to hear this) ; 
 he spoke about Saxony, about his parents, about his 
 friend the tailor, Schonheit, and so on. . . . 
 
 I sympathized with his grief, and I was very sorry 
 that my father and Karl Ivanovitch, both of whom I 
 loved almost equally, did not understand each other ; 
 I went again into the corner, and kneeling down again 
 deliberated about the way in which a friendly feeling 
 might be re-established between them. 
 
 Karl Ivanovitch, on returning to the schoolroom, 
 ordered me to rise from my knees, and to prepare 
 my copybook for dictation. When all was ready 
 he sank majestically into the armchair, and in a voice 
 which seemed to come out of some great depth, began 
 to dictate the following words : ‘Von al-len Lei-den- 
 schaf-ten die grau-sam-ste ist . . . haben Sie geschrie- 
 ben ?’* Here he stopped, slowly took a pinch of 
 snuff, and continued with renewed energy : ‘ Die 
 grausamste ist, die Un-dank-bar-keit. . . . Ein grosses 
 UVf Expecting something more to come, after I 
 had written the last word I looked at him. 
 
 ‘ Punctum/J said he, with a slight smile, and made 
 us a sign to give him our copybooks. 
 
 He read the sentence in which he had thus em- 
 bodied his thoughts many times over, with various 
 intonations, and every time with an expression of the 
 
 * ‘ Of all passions . . . have you written ?’ 
 t ‘Ingratitude is the worst. . . .’ 
 
 X ‘A full stop.’ 
 
22 
 
 BOYHOOD 
 
 highest satisfaction; afterwards he set us a task of 
 history, and sat down near the window. His face was 
 not as morose as before ; it wore the expression of a 
 man satisfied with himself for having avenged an 
 affront put upon him. 
 
 It was a quarter to one; but it seemed that Karl 
 Ivanovitch did not yet intend to let us go ; he set us 
 new tasks again and again. Our bad humour and our 
 appetites were rising. I eagerly followed with my 
 eyes all the signs which generally proved that the 
 dinner-hour was drawing near. A housemaid passed 
 with some bast-string to clean the plates, the clatter 
 of crockery was heard in the pantry, the moving of 
 tables and setting of chairs in the dining-room ; 
 Mimi, Luba, and Katenka (Katenka, the daughter 
 of Mimi, was twelve years old) were returning from 
 the garden, but Foka was not yet visible, (Foka was 
 the major-domo) ; it was he who always came to 
 announce that dinner was ready. It was only then 
 that we could leave our books and race downstairs 
 without paying any attention to Karl Ivanovitch. 
 
 Footsteps were audible on the staircase; but they 
 were not Foka’s. I knew his gait, and could always 
 recognise the creaking of his boots. The door opened, 
 and a personage I had never seen before appeared. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 T HE FANATI C. 
 
 A MAN of fifty came into the room ; his long pale 
 face was much scarred by the small-pox ; he had long 
 gray hair and a thin reddish beard. He was so tall, 
 
THE FANATIC. 
 
 23 
 
 that in order to pass through the door he was obliged 
 not only to incline his head, but to bend his whole 
 body. He was dressed in something like a caftan* 
 or under-cassock, but it was all in tatters ; he held an 
 enormous staff in his hand. On entering the room 
 he struck the floor with it with all his might ; then 
 twisting his eyebrows and opening an enormous 
 mouth, began to laugh in the most dreadful and un- 
 natural manner. He was blind of one eye, and the 
 white pupil of that eye moved incessantly, and in- 
 creased the repugnant expression of his ugly face. 
 
 4 Ah, ah ! I have caught you !’ cried he, approach- 
 ing Voldemar with short steps, and having taken hold 
 of his head, began carefully to examine his crown ; 
 then releasing him, he approached the table with a 
 very grave look, and began to blow under the cloth 
 and to cross it. ‘ Oh, ah, ah ! what a pity ! Oh, ah, 
 ay ! how sad . . . my bosom friends . . . will fly 
 away,’ said he in a tremulous voice, looking tenderly 
 at Voldemar, and drying his tears, which were really 
 falling on his sleeve. 
 
 His voice was harsh and hoarse, all his movements 
 were hasty and abrupt, his speech was senseless and 
 incoherent (he seldom used pronouns), but his accents 
 were so touching, and his ugly yellow face had some- 
 times such a truly sad expression, that while listening 
 to him it was impossible to help feeling a mixture of 
 pity, fear, and grief. 
 
 He was a sort of idiot and wanderer, and his Chris- 
 tian name was Greecha.f 
 
 * Coat worn by Russian peasants, 
 f Diminutive of Gregory. 
 
24 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 Whence did he come ? Who were his parents ? 
 What had led him to choose the life of a wanderer ? 
 I only know that from the age of fifteen he had been 
 considered an idiot, a fanatic ; that he walked bare- 
 foot summer and winter, visited various monasteries, 
 gave little holy images as presents to those he liked, 
 and always used enigmatical expressions, considered 
 by some people as predictions ; that nobody had ever 
 seen him otherwise, that he occasionally went to see 
 my grandmother ; that some spoke of him as the un- 
 happy son of rich parents, and an innocent, while 
 others considered him as nothing but a peasant and 
 an idle dog. 
 
 At last, the long-wished-for and punctual Foka 
 made his appearance, and we went downstairs. Greecha, 
 still sobbing and saying all kinds of silly things, fol- 
 lowed us, knocking against each step of the staircase 
 with his staff. Papa and mamma were walking arm- 
 in-arm, talking in low voices. Maria Ivanovna sat 
 affectedly in an armchair, symmetrically placed at 
 right angles from the sofa, and was admonishing the 
 girls, who were sitting close to her, in a stern, though 
 suppressed voice. As soon as Karl Ivanovitch entered 
 the room, she glanced at him, then quickly turned 
 away, and her face wore an expression which seemed 
 to say, * I do not notice you, Karl Ivanovitch.’ By 
 the eager looks of the girls, it was evident that they 
 longed to inform us of some very important fact, but 
 for them it would have been a breach of etiquette, 
 according to Mimi’s principles, to have risen from 
 their seats and come up to us. We were first to ap- 
 proach her and to say, ‘ Bonjour, Mimi !’ then to bo v, 
 and after that we were allowed to talk. 
 
THE FANATIC. 
 
 25 
 
 What a tiresome person Mimi was ! It was 
 impossible to talk about anything in her presence : 
 she always found everything shocking. Besides, she 
 was continually teasing us with, ‘ Parlez done Fran- 
 ^ais,’ and of course the more we were told not to do 
 so, the more we longed to talk Russian ; or, at dinner, 
 just when one had got some delicious bit on one’s 
 plate, and did not want to be disturbed in one’s en- 
 joyment of it, she would invariably say either ‘ Mangez 
 done avec du pain,’ or * Comment est-ce que vous 
 tenez votre fourchette ?’ What has she to do with us, 
 I should like to know ? Let her teach the girls ; we 
 have Karl Ivanovitch to teach us. I fully shared his 
 dislike for f others.’ 
 
 ‘ Ask mamma to take us to see the field-sports too,’ 
 said Katenka, in a whisper, seizing hold of me by my 
 jacket, just as our elders had gone on in front into the 
 dining-room. 
 
 * Very well ; we shall try.’ 
 
 Greecha had his dinner in the same room, but at a 
 separate table ; he did not raise his eyes from his 
 plate, sighed heavily every now and then, made hor- 
 rible grimaces, as if he were saying to himself: ‘ It 
 is a pity . . . she has flown away . . . the dove will 
 fly up to heaven ... oh ! there is a stone on the grave !’ 
 and so on. 
 
 Mamma had been very sad ever since the morning ; 
 the presence of Greecha, as well as his words and 
 strange behaviour, evidently increased the feeling. 
 
 ‘ I have a favour to ask of thee,’ said she to papa, 
 as she passed a plate with soup to him. 
 
 ‘ What is it ?’ 
 
26 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 ‘ Pray order thy frightful dogs to be locked up, 
 because poor Greecha was within a hair’s-breadth of 
 being bitten by them as he was going along the yard. 
 They may throw themselves upon the children in the 
 same way.’ 
 
 Greecha, hearing his name, turned towards the table, 
 and showing the tattered lappets of his coat, said, 
 chewing his food at the same time : 
 
 ‘ He wished me to be worried to death . . . God 
 did not allow it to be done. It is a sin to set dogs to 
 worry a man ; it is a heavy sin ! Do not beat him 
 for it, elder* . . . Why should you beat him ? God 
 will forgive . . . times are changed now.’ 
 
 ‘ What is he saying ?’ asked father, looking at him 
 attentively and sternly. * I do not understand him.’ 
 
 ‘ But I do,’ answered mamma. ‘ He told me that a 
 hunter purposely set the dogs at him ; so he says that 
 “he wished to worry him to death, but God did not 
 permit it to be done and he asks thee not to punish 
 the hunter for it.’ 
 
 ‘ Oh, that is it, is it ?’ said father. ‘ How does he 
 know that I want to punish the hunter ? Thou 
 knowest I am not over-fond of these people,’ con- 
 tinued he in French ; ‘ but I especially dislike this 
 
 one, and think he must be ’ 
 
 ‘ Ah ! pray do not say so, my dear,’ interrupted 
 mamma, looking as if she were frightened ; ‘ how dost 
 thou know ?’ 
 
 ‘ I think that I have had plenty of opportunities to 
 study this kind of man — so many of them come to 
 
 * That was his usual mode of addressing all men. 
 
THE FANATIC. 
 
 2 7 
 
 thee; they are all of the same stamp. It is always 
 the same story. . . / 
 
 It was evident that my mother was quite of another 
 opinion on the subject, but did not care to argue the 
 point. 
 
 * Wilt thou pass me a patty, please ?’ said she. ‘ Are 
 they nice to-day?’ 
 
 ‘ But it makes me very angry/ continued my father, 
 taking a patty in his hand, and holding it at a distance, 
 so that mamma could not reach it, ‘ very angry, in- 
 deed, when I see that clever and well-educated people 
 are imposed upon.’ 
 
 And he struck the table with his fork. 
 
 ‘ I asked thee to pass me a patty,’ repeated she, 
 stretching out her hand. 
 
 ‘ The police are quite right,’ continued father, mov- 
 ing his hand further away, ‘to put such people under 
 arrest. Their only use is to impair the nerves of those 
 whose nerves are weak enough as it is,’ added he, with 
 a smile, on seeing how disagreeable the conversation 
 was to mamma, and passed her the patty. 
 
 ‘I can only say one thing: it is very difficult to be- 
 lieve that a man who, notwithstanding his sixty years, 
 walks about barefoot both winter and summer, and 
 wears chains weighing eighty pounds under his clothes 
 without ever taking them off, and who has more than 
 once refused every proposal of a comfortable living, 
 with all his expenses paid for him — it is very difficult, 
 I say, to believe that a man does so out of idleness. 
 
 * As to his predictions,’ added she, with a sigh, after 
 a few moments’ silence, ‘ je suis payee pour y croise. 
 I think I have told thee how Kirucha foretold my 
 
28 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 deceased father, not only the day, but even the hour 
 of his death.’ 
 
 ‘ Ah ! what hast thou done ?’ said papa, smiling and 
 raising his hand to his mouth on the side where Mimi 
 was sitting (whenever he did so, I always listened to 
 him with increased attention, expecting to hear some- 
 thing funny). ‘ Why hast thou reminded me of his 
 feet ? Now I have looked at them I can eat nothing 
 more.’ 
 
 The dinner drew to an end. Lubotchka and Ka- 
 tenka kept winking, turning about on their chairs, 
 and betraying the greatest anxiety. All this winking 
 meant : * Why do you not ask papa to take us to see 
 the field-sports ?’ I nudged Voldemar with my elbow ; 
 Voldemar nudged me in the same way, and at last 
 made up his mind to speak. He began at first rather 
 shyly, and then went on resolutely and bravely to 
 explain that as we were going away that day we 
 should be glad to have the girls with us in the field, 
 that they might follow us in the ‘ linei'ka.’* After a 
 short conference between our elders the question was 
 settled in our favour, and what was still better, mamma 
 said she would go too. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 PREPARATION FOR THE ITU NT. 
 
 When the dessert was served Jacob was called, and 
 orders were given concerning the coach, the dogs and 
 * A sort of dogcart. 
 
PREPARATION FOR THE HUNT. 
 
 29 
 
 the riding-horses — all down to the least details, every 
 horse even being called by its name. Voldemar’s 
 horse was lame of one foot, so papa ordered one of 
 the hunter’s horses to be saddled for him. The 
 sentence, ‘the hunter’s horse,’ sounded disagreeably 
 on mamma’s ears ; it seemed to her that a hunter’s 
 horse must be something like a furious wild beast, 
 and that it would infallibly rush off and kill Voldemar. 
 Poor mamma continued to repeat over and over again 
 that during the whole excursion she should be tor- 
 tured by her fears, in spite of all the exhortations of 
 papa and Voldemar’s assertion that he liked nothing 
 better than to tear along at full speed. 
 
 After dinner, our elders went into the study to 
 take their coffee ; we ran into the garden to stroll 
 along the paths covered with yellow leaves, and to 
 talk. We began by talking of Voldemar’s riding the 
 huntsman's horse, then about Lubotchka, who could 
 not run as fast as Kate, then how interesting it would 
 be to look at Greecha’s chains, and so on ; but not 
 a word was said of our parting. Our talk was in- 
 terrupted by the rattling of the carriage, which drove 
 up with a ragamuffin sitting on each spring. Behind 
 the carriage came the hunters, accompanied by their 
 dogs ; behind the hunters came the coachman Ignat 
 on the horse Voldemar was to ride, and leading my 
 old horse Kleffer by the bridle. We all rushed 
 towards the hedge as the place whence all these in- 
 teresting things could best be seen, and then ran 
 shrieking and stamping upstairs to dress, longing 
 to make ourselves look as like huntsmen as possible. 
 One of the chief means to attain this end was 
 
30 
 
 BOYHOOD . 
 
 thrusting our trousers into our boots. Without 
 delay we set to work, hastening to finish it as soon 
 as possible, in order to run out to the door to enjoy 
 the sight of the dogs and horses, and to have a talk 
 with the huntsmen. 
 
 It was a sultry day. Little white clouds of the 
 most fantastic shapes had been seen on the horizon 
 from the morning ; then a slight breeze arose and 
 blew them together, so that the sun was sometimes 
 hidden by them. But though the clouds came gliding 
 over the sky, looking black and threatening, it was 
 not fated that they should come down in a thunder- 
 storm and spoil the last pleasure we were to enjoy 
 for some time to come. Towards evening they began 
 to disperse, some faded away, some disappeared be- 
 low the horizon ; others again, just above our heads, 
 changed into transparently white scales ; only one 
 large black cloud still hung over the east. Karl 
 Ivanovitch always knew the direction each cloud had 
 taken ; now he informed us that it was going towards 
 Maslowka, that there would be no rain, and that the 
 weather would be delightful. 
 
 Foka, notwithstanding his declining years, ran 
 nimbly and quickly downstairs, roared out : ‘ Let the 
 carriage drive up !’ and stood with his legs far apart 
 close to the door, just between the place where the 
 two-seated droshky was to be driven up by the coach- 
 man and the threshold, like a man who did not need 
 to be reminded of his duties. The ladies appeared, 
 and after a little arguing as to the place each was to 
 occupy, and the way one was to hold on by another 
 (though it seemed to me quite unnecessary to hold 
 
PREPARATION FOR THE HUNT. 
 
 3i 
 
 on by anybody), they took their seats, opened their 
 umbrellas, and drove off. Just as the coach started, 
 mamma, pointing to a horse, asked the coachman in 
 a trembling tone : 
 
 * Is this horse for Voldemar Petrovitch ?’ 
 
 And when the coachman answered affirmatively, 
 she waved her hand and turned her head aside. In 
 a state of the greatest excitement I got on to my 
 horse and rode along, looking between its ears, and 
 making various evolutions up and down the yard. 
 
 ‘ Take care ; pray do not ride over the dogs/ said 
 one of the huntsmen to me. 
 
 ‘ Never fear ; it is not the first time that I ride/ 
 answered I haughtily. 
 
 Voldemar mounted the huntsman’s horse not with- 
 out a shudder, and, in spite of the firmness of his 
 character, asked the coachman several times, while 
 patting his neck : 
 
 ‘ Is he quiet ?’ 
 
 He looked very nice on horseback, just like a 
 grown-up man. His thighs looked so well on the 
 saddle that I quite envied him, especially as I could 
 see by my shadow that I did not look half as hand- 
 some. 
 
 My father’s step was heard on the stairs ; the head 
 huntsman called up the hounds, the huntsmen with 
 the greyhounds called up theirs, and all prepared to 
 set off. The groom led the horse to the door ; my 
 father’s hounds, which had till that moment lain 
 in very picturesque attitudes near the house, rushed 
 towards him. Behind him ran Milka in a collar 
 adorned with glass-beads. It always used to greet 
 
.32 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 each pack of hounds, playing with some, smelling 
 others ; growling at some, or licking others. 
 
 Papa mounted his horse, and we rode off. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE HUNT. 
 
 The whipper-in, by name Turka, on a hook-nosed, 
 bluish-looking horse, and with a shaggy hat on his 
 head, an enormous bugle behind his shoulders, and a 
 knife at his girdle, rode in front. Judging by the 
 gloomy face and fierce looks of the man, one might 
 have thought that he was going to a mortal combat 
 rather than to a hunt. Near the hind-legs of his 
 horse ran the harriers all close together like a speckled 
 ball. It was sad to see the miserable fate which awaited 
 the one that happened to lag behind. It had to use 
 all its strength to pull back its companion, and w'hen 
 once it had done so, one of the whippers-in, who rode 
 behind, cracked his whip over it, exclaiming : ‘ All 
 together !’ On leaving the gate, papa ordered the 
 huntsmen and us to ride along the road, and turned 
 into the field sown with rye. 
 
 The harvest was at its height. The large, bright, 
 glittering field was bordered on one side by a high 
 dark forest, which at that time seemed to me to be 
 a distant mysterious point, behind which the world 
 ended or only some desert countries existed. The 
 whole field was covered with sheaves of corn and 
 people. Here and there in the high and thick rye 
 
THE HUNT. 
 
 33 
 
 the bent back of a woman might be seen amidst the 
 swinging ears of corn, as she took them between her 
 fingers, or some other woman bending over her baby 
 in its cradle placed in the shade, or sheaves standing 
 amidst the stubble studded with cornflowers ; on the 
 other side you saw peasants dressed in shirts standing 
 on carts and loading them with sheaves of corn, raising 
 clouds of dust on the dry scorched field. The over- 
 seer (reeve) in boots and an ‘ armiak ’* thrown over 
 his shoulders, with a rod in his hand, perceiving papa 
 when he was yet at some distance, took off his felt 
 hat, and wiping his red-haired head and beard with a 
 towel, bawled at the country-women. The chestnut 
 horse on which my father rode paced lightly and 
 nimbly along, every now and then bending his head, 
 stretching the bridle, and with his thick tail driving 
 away the gnats and flies which clung ravenously 
 round him. Two greyhounds, with their tails bent 
 like sickles, paced gracefully over the stubble close to 
 the horse ; Milka ran in front, and, turning its head, 
 seemed to be waiting for something. The hum of 
 voices, the stamping of horses and noise of carts, the 
 joyous whistling of the quails, the humming of insects 
 which whirled in masses through the air, the smell of 
 wormwood, straw, and horses’ sweat ; the thousand 
 different colours and shades cast by the burning sun 
 on the light yellow stubble, the dark forest in the 
 distance, the whitish purple clouds and white cobwebs 
 stretched along the stubble, have all been seen, heard, 
 or felt by me. 
 
 When we came to the Kalinovo forest we found the 
 * A peasant’s overcoat. 
 
 3 
 
34 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 carriage already there, and to our surprise we found 
 a one-horse cart there besides, in which sat the butler. 
 A ‘ samovar ’ peeped from under the straw ; a tub 
 with ices and several other attractive bundles and 
 boxes were seen. There could be no doubt of it — we 
 were to take tea, ices and fruit in the open air. We 
 shouted for joy at the sight of the cart, for it had 
 always been our greatest pleasure to take tea in the 
 forest on the grass, or in general in some place where 
 nobody had ever done so. 
 
 Turka approached the wood, stopped, and listened 
 attentively to papas detailed instructions as to the 
 way they were to draw up and where they were to go 
 (although he never acted up to the instructions he 
 received and did as he chose), unleashed the dogs, 
 mounted his horse, rode off whistling, and soon dis- 
 appeared in the young birch-wood. The hounds 
 showed their delight by wagging their tails ; they 
 shook themselves and then began following the track, 
 still wagging their tails and trotting off in various 
 directions. 
 
 ‘ Hast thou a handkerchief ?’ asked my father. 
 
 I took it out of my pocket and showed it to him. 
 
 ‘ Well, tie it round this gray dog’s neck 3 
 
 ‘ Girand ?’ asked I, with the look of a connoisseur. 
 
 * Yes, and run along the road. When thou reachest 
 the meadow stop there, and mind — thou art not to 
 come back without a hare to me. . . .’ 
 
 I tied my handkerchief round the shaggy neck of 
 Girand, and ran as fast as I could to the appointed 
 place. My father laughed and called out after me : 
 
 ‘ Make haste, otherwise thou wilt be too late.’ 
 
THE HUNT. 
 
 35 
 
 Girand stopped every moment, raising his ears and 
 listening to the hunters’ hallooing. It was in vain 
 that I used all my strength to move him from the 
 spot ; he did not move till I began to cry ‘ Tally ho ! 
 hallo !’ Then Girand began to run so fast that I 
 could hardly hold him back, and fell more than once 
 before I reached the appointed place. Having 
 chosen a shady and smooth spot near the root of a 
 high oak, I lay down on the grass, made Girand lie 
 down near me, and began to wait. My imagination, 
 as is always the case in similar instances, far exceeded 
 the reality itself. I fancied I was already hunting 
 down the third hare when the first hound was heard 
 in the forest. The voice of Turka resounded louder 
 and more animatedly in the air; the hound bayed 
 shrilly over and over again ; a second voice, a deep- 
 toned one, joined the first, then a third, a fourth. . . . 
 These voices were alternately silent or interrupting 
 each other. The sounds got louder and louder by 
 degrees, and at last they joined into one sonorous 
 and continuous baying. The whole wood seemed 
 full of sound, and the hounds were in all their glory. 
 
 My heart sank within me. Fixing my eyes upon 
 the outskirts of the forest, and smiling without any 
 ostensible reason, I was in a profuse perspiration, and 
 although the drops rolled down my chin, and tickled 
 me by so doing, I did not dry them. It seemed to 
 me that this must be the decisive moment. This 
 state of intense expectation was too unnatural to last 
 long. The hounds broke into loud baying near 
 the outskirts of the wood, then gradually went farther 
 and farther ; no hare was to be seen. I began to 
 
 3—2 
 
36 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 look about me. It was the same with Girand ; he 
 first tried to escape, uttering fierce howls, then, 
 crouching down near me and placing his head on my 
 knees, lay quite still for some time. 
 
 Near the bare roots of the oak, under the branches 
 of which I was sitting, I observed some ants, which 
 swarmed over the gray dry ground amidst the dry 
 oak leaves and acorns, or the dry patches of the 
 yellow-green moss. They hurried on, one after the 
 other, along the tracks traced out by themselves ; 
 some of them heavily laden, others without any 
 burden at all. I took a switch into my hand and 
 barricaded the road. It was curious to see how some, 
 scorning all danger, crept under it, while others 
 climbed over it : and others again, especially those 
 which bore heavy burdens, seemed quite puzzled, and 
 did not know what to do. They stopped, then tried 
 to find a circuit, turned back or crept along the 
 switch to my hand, as if intending to crawl to the 
 sleeve of my jacket. My attention was called from 
 these interesting observations by a butterfly with 
 yellow wings, which whirled temptingly before my 
 eyes. As soon as I noticed it it flew two or three 
 steps farther off from me, hovered over an almost 
 withered white flower, and finally settled down upon 
 it. I did not know whether it was enjoying the 
 warmth of the sun, or drawing the sap from the 
 grass, but it seemed very happy. Every now and 
 then it flapped its little wings, and pressed close to 
 the flower. At last it grew quite still. I laid my 
 head upon both my arms and looked at it with 
 interest. 
 
THE HUNT. 
 
 37 
 
 Suddenly Girand bayed, and sprang forwards so 
 impetuously that I nearly fell. I looked back. Just 
 on the outskirts of the forest I saw a hare bounding 
 past, one ear down and the other raised. The blood 
 rose to my head, and, forgetting everything else, I 
 uttered a long cry, let the dog go, and ran after it. 
 But no sooner had I done so than I began to repent. 
 The hare stopped a moment, then bounded forward, 
 and I saw it no more. 
 
 How ashamed I felt, when after the hounds, which 
 had all followed the track of the hare, appeared Turka 
 from behind the bushes ! He saw the mistake I had 
 made (which consisted in my not having waited), 
 and glancing scornfully at me, only said : ‘Oh, 
 
 master !’ But how much did these words express ! 
 It would have been better for me if he had hung me 
 on to the saddle as he did the hare. 
 
 I stood a long time on the same spot in the 
 greatest despair, without calling back my dog ; and 
 smiting my leg, I could not help saying over and over 
 again : ‘ Oh dear ! What have I done ?’ 
 
 I heard the hunters pursue the hare farther ; I heard 
 the noise of the hunt resound in another part of the 
 wood, knew that the hare was taken, and heard 
 Turka sound his large bugle to call the dogs together, 
 but I did not stir from my place . . . 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 OUR GAMES. 
 
 The hunt was over. A carpet was spread out in the 
 shade of the young birch-trees ; all the company sat 
 
38 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 there in a circle. The butler, Gavrilo, trampling the 
 sappy green grass under his feet, was wiping the 
 plates and taking plums and peaches, rolled up in 
 leaves, out of a box. The sun glistened through the 
 green branches of the young birches, and cast its 
 bright light on the embroidered carpet, on my legs, 
 and even upon the bald hot head of Gavrilo. A 
 light breeze playing amidst the leaves, and over my 
 hair and my hot face, effectually cooled me. 
 
 When we had had our share of ices and fruit, it 
 was of no use to sit on the carpet any longer, and 
 in spite of the slanting rays of the hot sun we rose 
 and went to play. 
 
 ‘Well, but what game shall we play at?’ said 
 Lubotchka, winking and jumping about on the grass. 
 ‘ Let us play at Robinson.’ 
 
 ‘ No, it is very tiresome/ answered Voldemar, 
 throwing himself lazily on to the ground and chewing 
 leaves. ‘ You always choose Robinson ! If you 
 absolutely wish to find something to do, let us build 
 an arbour.’ 
 
 Voldemar was evidently giving himself airs. He 
 was most likely very proud of having ridden the 
 huntsman’s horse, and only pretended to be very 
 tired ; or perhaps it was that even at that age he 
 had too much good sense and too little imagination 
 to find pleasure in playing at ‘ Robinson.’ The game 
 consisted in representing some passages out of the 
 ‘ Robinson Suisse ’ which we had read a short time 
 ago. 
 
 ‘ Please do . . . Why do you not wish to give us 
 pleasure?’ insisted the girls. ‘You maybe Charles 
 
OUR GAMES. 
 
 39 
 
 or Ernest, or their father, whatever you like,’ con- 
 tinued Katenka, trying to raise him by the sleeve of 
 his jacket. 
 
 ‘ Indeed I do not feel inclined to play — it is tire- 
 some !’ answered Voldemar, stretching himself, and at 
 the same time smiling in a very self-satisfied manner. 
 
 ‘ It would have been better to stay at home, then, 
 if nobody wishes to play,’ said Lubotchka through her 
 tears. 
 
 She was a dreadful cry-baby. 
 
 ‘ Well, come along, then ; only pray leave off 
 crying. I cannot bear to see it.’ 
 
 But Voldemar's condescension gave us very little 
 pleasure ; on the contrary, his lazy, weary look 
 spoiled the whole charm of the play. When we sat 
 down on the ground, and fancying ourselves going 
 along the river, and fishing, began to row with all our 
 might, Voldemar remained sitting with his arms 
 crossed, without taking part in the play, and in 
 a posture which had nothing of a fisherman's in it. 
 I made the observation to him, but he answered that 
 we might move our arms ever so much, we should 
 neither gain nor lose anything by it, and would still 
 remain on the same spot. Unwillingly I agreed with 
 him. When, fancying myself a sportsman, I went 
 towards the forest shouldering a stick, Voldemar lay 
 down on his back, and throwing his arms over his 
 head, told me to fancy that he was going too. All 
 this naturally resulted in cooling our interest in the 
 play ; and what was still worse, we could not help 
 feeling that Voldemar was quite right. 
 
 I know very well that it is quite impossible to fire 
 
40 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 a stick at a bird ; that it is only play. When once 
 we begin to reason in such a way, it will be impossible 
 likewise to drive on chairs ; yet I know that Voldemar 
 has not yet forgotten how, during the long winter 
 evenings, we used to cover a chair with our handker- 
 chiefs and fancy it a barouche ; one of us was coach- 
 man, the other footman ; the girls usually occupied 
 the middle ; then four chairs were four-in-hand, and 
 we were going on a journey. And what delightful 
 adventures took place during the journey ! arid how 
 merrily and quickly the winter evenings passed ! . . . 
 If we reason, no game will be possible. And once 
 there are no games, what shall we have left ? 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 CALF-LOVE. 
 
 Lubotchka, pretending to be gathering some kind 
 of American fruit, picked a leaf from the tree on 
 which there was an enormous worm, and then, evi- 
 dently frightened at the sight of it, she threw it on to 
 the ground, and, raising her arms, sprang aside as if 
 she expected something to rush upon her. The play 
 ceased, and we all pressed our heads together and 
 stooped over the curiosity. 
 
 I examined it over the shoulder of Katenka, who 
 was endeavouring to get it on a leaf which she put in 
 its way. 
 
 I have noticed that many girls have the habit of 
 twitching their shoulders in order to rearrange their 
 
CALF-LOVE. 
 
 4i 
 
 dresses, which, being open about the neck, are apt to 
 slip off their shoulders. I remember even now how 
 angry Mi mi always was when the girls thus twitched 
 their shoulders, and said every time : ‘ C’est un geste 
 de femme de chambre.’ 
 
 While stooping over the worm, Katenka made the 
 very movement, and at the same time the breeze 
 raised the kerchief on her white neck. Her shoulder 
 was only two inches from my lips. I did not look at 
 the worm any longer, but imprinted a burning kiss 
 on Katenka’s shoulder. She did not turn, but I 
 noticed that not only her neck but even her ears 
 grew red. Voldemar said disdainfully, without 
 raising his head : 
 
 ‘ How very tender !’ 
 
 But my eyes were full of tears. 
 
 I did not lose sight of Katenka any more. I had 
 long been used to her pretty fresh face, and had 
 always been fond of it ; but now I began to observe 
 it more attentively, and loved it more. When we 
 approached the elders, papa told us to our great joy 
 that, by our mother’s desire, our departure was put 
 off till the following morning. 
 
 We returned home together. Voldemar and I, 
 wishing to surpass each other in horsemanship, bravely 
 cantered near the coach. My shadow on the ground 
 looked longer now, and so I supposed that I was 
 quite a fine horseman, but my feeling of self-conceit 
 was soon dispersed by the following circumstance : 
 Wishing entirely to charm all those who were sitting 
 in the coach, I remained a little behind, and then, 
 with the help of both whip and legs, I put my horse 
 
42 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 to a gallop, and, in what I considered a natural but 
 graceful attitude, I intended to dart past them like a 
 whirlwind on the side where Katenka sat. I only 
 hesitated as to whether it would be better to rush 
 past in absolute silence, or to call out. But my nasty 
 horse, coming up to those that drew the coach, stopped 
 so suddenly, in spite of all my efforts, that I bounded 
 from the saddle on to the horse’s neck, and was on 
 the point of falling. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 WHAT SORT OF MAN MY FATHER WAS. 
 
 My father was a man of the past century, and had 
 that slight tinge of chivalry, enterprise, self-possession, 
 gallantry and debauchery which had been the dis- 
 tinguishing trait of the young men of that century. 
 He looked with scorn at the present generation ; the 
 reason lay as much in his innate pride as in a secret 
 spite that now he could not enjoy either the same good 
 luck or have the same influence as he had formerly. 
 The chief passions of his life were cards and women. 
 In the course of his life he had won millions at cards, 
 and had fallen in love with an endless number of 
 women of all classes. 
 
 A well-shaped and noble stature, a rather strange 
 gait, a habit of shrugging his shoulders, small eyes 
 which always looked as if he were smiling, a large 
 aquiline nose, irregular lips which closed rather un- 
 gracefully but pleasantly at the same time, a defect 
 of pronunciation — i.e., a sort of lisping — and a bald 
 
WHAT SORT OF MAN MY FATHER WAS. 43 
 
 head — such was the appearance of my father as I 
 remember him — an appearance which did not in any 
 way prevent his being considered a man a bonnes 
 fortunes by all, and especially by those whom he wished 
 to please. 
 
 He knew how to have the upper hand over every- 
 body. Though he had never belonged to the highest 
 circles of society, he had always kept the best com- 
 pany, and had invariably been esteemed by all. He 
 knew the exact degree of pride and self-confidence 
 which, without wounding anybody’s feelings, would 
 raise him in the opinion of the world. He was 
 eccentric ; sometimes he made that eccentricity pass 
 muster instead of good-breeding and wealth. There 
 was nothing in the world that could excite a feeling 
 of surprise in him ; however brilliant his position 
 might be, he seemed to be born to it. It was impos- 
 sible not to envy him the way he managed to conceal 
 from others and to banish from his own mind all that 
 was gloomy, trivial, or disagreeable in life. He was 
 a connoisseur in all the things which conduce to 
 comfort and pleasure, and knew how to make the 
 most of them. His hobby was the fashionable con- 
 nections which he had formed, partly through his 
 marriage with my mother, and partly through friends 
 of his youth, against whom he bore a grudge at the 
 bottom of his heart, because they had risen in rank 
 whilst he was still but a retired lieutenant of the 
 Guards. Like all ex-military men, he did not under- 
 stand how to dress according to the fashion, but 
 instead of that his dress was always elegant, though 
 rather eccentric. His clothes were always broad and 
 
44 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 light ; his linen was very fine, with an open collar 
 and ruffs . . . indeed, everything he put on suited 
 his noble stature, his strong constitution, his bald 
 forehead, and his calm and self-confident manners. 
 He was sensible and even lachrymose. It sometimes 
 happened that when reading aloud, if he came to 
 some pathetic passage, his voice would become 
 tremulous, his eyes would fill with tears, and he 
 would angrily throw the book aside. He liked 
 music, often sang romances written by his friend 
 
 A , some gipsy songs, and a few opera tunes 
 
 to the accompaniment of the piano ; but he did not 
 care for classical music, and therefore, without paying 
 any attention to public opinion, he frankly said that 
 Beethoven’s sonatas made him sleepy, and that he 
 knew nothing better than ‘ Do not wake me, young 
 girl,’ as sung by Miss Semenova, and * There is not 
 one,’ as executed by the gipsy woman Tatiana. His 
 disposition was one of those which require spectators 
 in order to do a good deed, and he only valued or 
 esteemed what was valued or esteemed by others. It 
 is very difficult to say if he had any moral convic- 
 tions. His life was so full of all kinds of impulses, 
 that he had no time to think about them, and besides, 
 he had been so happy in his life that he did not feel 
 it necessary to do so. 
 
 As he grew old he attained a greater degree of 
 firmness in his convictions and rules of conduct, 
 though they were always subservient to the practical 
 side of life. The ways of life which led either to his 
 happiness or his pleasure were alone approved of by 
 him, and he considered each man bound to follow 
 
HOW WE PASSED OUR TIME. 
 
 45 
 
 them. He spoke eloquently, and this capacity, it 
 seems to me, increased the laxity of his principles ; 
 he could represent the same action by turns either in 
 the light of a delightful frolic or a mean, vile deed. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 HOW WE PASSED OUR TIME IN THE LIBRARY AND 
 DRAWING-ROOM. 
 
 It was growing dark already when we came home. 
 Mamma sat down to the piano, and we children 
 brought paper, pencils, paints, and after settling our- 
 selves at the round table, began to draw. I had only 
 blue paints ; but notwithstanding that, I resolved to 
 draw a hunt. It took me but a few moments to paint 
 a blue boy on a blue horse and several blue hounds ; 
 but I did not exactly know if I might make the hare 
 blue, too, and I ran into the library to consult my 
 father. He was reading, and answered my question, 
 ‘ Are there any blue hares ?’ without raising his head. 
 ‘ Yes, yes, my boy ; there are.’ 
 
 On returning to the round table I painted a blue 
 hare ; then the idea occurred to me to change the 
 hare into a blue bush. I did not quite like it, so I 
 changed it into a tree, then into a stack, then into a 
 cloud ; at last I had dirtied the whole paper with blue 
 so awfully that I grew quite cross, tore it to pieces, and 
 went to slumber in an easy-chair. 
 
 In the meantime mamma was playing the ‘ Second 
 Piano-Concert ’ of Field, who had been her teacher. I 
 
46 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 was sleepy, and light bright clear pictures of the past 
 arose in my fancy ; but when she began to play 
 Beethoven’s ‘ Sonate Pathetique,’ melancholy, painful, 
 and even gloomy recollections crowded into my mind. 
 As these two pieces were very often played by mamma, 
 I can remember perfectly well the feeling they excited 
 in me. This feeling was like a remembrance : but a 
 remembrance of what ? It almost seemed as if I re- 
 membered what had never existed. 
 
 Just opposite the place where I sat was the door 
 which led into the library, and I saw Jacob as well as 
 some long-bearded men in ‘ caftans ’ enter it. The 
 door was immediately closed behind them. ‘ Well,’ 
 thought I, ‘business has begun.’ It seemed to me 
 that there could be nothing in the whole world more 
 important than the business which was transacted in 
 that library. I was confirmed in the idea by the fact 
 that all approached the door of the library on tiptoe, 
 and talked in whispers ; thence my father’s loud voice 
 was often heard, and I always felt attracted by the 
 smell of his cigar, though I hardly knew the reason 
 why. While dozing in the easy-chair I was surprised 
 to hear a well-known creaking of boots in the butler’s 
 room. Karl Ivanovitch approached the room on tip- 
 toe, and knocked gently at the door. He had a 
 gloomy, resolute expression on his face, and carried 
 several notes in his hand. He was admitted, and the 
 door closed again. 
 
 ‘ I am afraid some misfortune will happen,’ thought 
 I. ‘ Karl Ivanovitch is out of temper ; he is desperate * 
 . . . and I again fell into a doze. 
 
 No disaster happened, however ; in an hour the 
 
HOW WE PASSED OUR TIME. 
 
 47 
 
 same creaking of boots awoke me. Karl Ivanovitch, 
 drying his eyes — which, as I saw, were full of tears— 
 with his pocket-handkerchief, came out of the library 
 and went upstairs, muttering something to himself. 
 Immediately afterwards my father entered the draw- 
 ing-room. 
 
 * Dost thou know what I have just decided upon ?’ 
 asked he gaily, putting his arm on mamma’s shoulder. 
 
 ‘ What, my dear ?’ 
 
 * I intend to take Karl Ivanovitch with the children. 
 We will find room for him in the britchka* They 
 are accustomed to him, and he seems to me to be 
 devoted to them ; seven hundred roubles a year are 
 not much, et puis au fond c'est un tres bon diable 
 
 I could not understand why my father was abusing 
 Karl Ivanovitch. 
 
 ‘ I am very glad for the children and for him,’ 
 answered mamma; ‘ he is a good old man.’ 
 
 ‘ If thou hadst seen how deeply he was moved 
 when I told him that he might keep the five hundred 
 roubles as a present . . . but the account he brought 
 me was great fun. It was worth looking at/ added he, 
 smiling, and handing her a bit of paper in Karl 
 Ivanovitch’s handwriting. ‘ Is not it ridiculous ?* 
 
 The contents of the note were as follows : 
 
 ‘ Two fish-hooks for the children, 70 copecks. 
 
 ‘ Coloured paper, gilt border, glue, and a model 
 for making boxes, presents made them, 6 roubles, 
 55 copecks. 
 
 ‘ A book and a bow, as presents for the children, 
 8 roubles, 16 copecks. 
 
 * A half-covered vehicle. 
 
48 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 ‘ Trousers for Nicolas, 7 roubles. 
 
 ‘ A gold watch promised me by Peter Alexandro- 
 vitch, to be brought by him from Moscow in the year 
 18 — , 170 roubles. 
 
 ‘ Thus an amount of 159 roubles, 79 copecks to be 
 paid to Karl Mauer, besides his salary.’ 
 
 Examining Karl Ivanovitch’s note, in which he 
 requested to be paid not only for the money spent by 
 him for presents, but even for the present promised 
 to himself, everyone might consider him an unfeeling, 
 interested egotist, and yet everybody would be wrong. 
 
 On entering the library with some notes in his 
 hand, and with a speech ready prepared in his mind, 
 he intended eloquently to place before my father’s 
 eyes all the ill-usage borne by him at our house ; but 
 when he began to speak in the same touching manner 
 and the same tender intonations in his voice as he 
 generally used when dictating to us, he himself fell 
 under the influence of his own eloquence, and the 
 effect was that when he came to the words, ‘ Sad as 
 it must be for me to leave the children,’ he lost the 
 thread of his discourse, his voice became tremulous, 
 and he was forced to take his checkered handkerchief 
 out of his pocket. 
 
 ‘Yes, Peter Alexandrovitch,’ continued he in a 
 tearful voice (these words were an addition to the 
 speech he had prepared), ‘ I am so accustomed to the 
 children that I do not know what I shall do without 
 them. Let me stay without any salary,’ added he, 
 drying his tears with one hand, while handing the bill 
 to my father with the other. 
 
 Knowing Karl Ivanovitch’s kindness of heart, I can 
 
HOW WE PASSED OUR TIME. 
 
 49 
 
 confidently affirm that he was sincere in what he 
 said ; but the way in which the bill could be made to 
 agree with his words still remains a mystery for me. 
 
 ‘ You are sorry, and I should be still more sorry to 
 part with you,’ answered my father, tapping him on 
 the shoulder; ‘I have changed my mind.’ 
 
 Greecha entered the room shortly before supper. 
 From the very moment he entered our house, he did 
 not cease sighing and weeping, and that, in the 
 opinion of those who believed in his ability to foretell 
 the future, was a sure sign that some disaster was to 
 overwhelm our family. At last he took his leave of 
 us for the night, saying that he intended to depart 
 the next morning. I winked at Voldemar, and left 
 the room. 
 
 ‘ What is the matter ?’ 
 
 ‘ If thou wouldst like to see Greecha’s chains we 
 must go upstairs ; Greecha will sleep in the second 
 room, and we shall be able to see all from the lumber- 
 room.’ 
 
 ‘Well, wait here ; I will call the girls/ 
 
 The girls soon came, and we went upstairs. After 
 quarrelling some time about who was to be the first 
 to enter the dark lumber-room, we took our places, 
 and began to wait. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 GREECHA. 
 
 We all felt rather nervous in the dark ; we pressed 
 close to each other without uttering a single word. 
 Greecha entered the room with his noiseless step 
 
 4 
 
50 
 
 BOYHOOD . 
 
 almost immediately after us. He held his staff in 
 one hand, a tallow-candle in a copper candlestick in 
 the other. We sat breathless. 
 
 ‘Our Lord Jesus Christ! Our Lady, most holy 
 Virgin ! Glory be to God the Father, God the Son, 
 and God the Holy Ghost . . . repeated he over and 
 over again, with different intonations in his voice, and 
 the abbreviations natural to those who repeat the 
 same sentences closely one after the other. 
 
 With a prayer on his lips he placed his staff in 
 a corner, and began to undress himself. After having 
 ungirdled his old black belt, he took off his ragged 
 nankeen ‘ sipoon,’* and folding it carefully up, hung it 
 on the back of a chair. His countenance did not 
 wear its usual expression of haste or stupidity any 
 longer ; on the contrary, he was calm, melancholy, and 
 even stately. His manners were slow and pensive. 
 
 When he had nothing but his underclothes on he 
 slowly sat down on the bed, made the sign of the 
 cross on all sides, and with an effort (as was evident 
 by his knitting his brows) set his chains to rights 
 under the shirt. After having sat quite still for some 
 time, and having carefully examined his ragged 
 linen, he roused himself, and saying a prayer, lifted 
 the candle to a level with the image-stand, where 
 there were several images, and crossing himself, 
 turned the candle with the flame upside down. It 
 went out crackling. 
 
 The full moon shone straight into the windows, 
 which looked out into the forest. The long and 
 white figure of the fanatic was lighted by the pale 
 * A kind of peasant coat. 
 
GRICHA. 
 
 5i 
 
 silvery rays of the moon on one side, while the 
 other was enshrouded in darkness ; and together with 
 the shadows cast by the window-frames on the floor 
 and the wall, reached the ceiling. The watchman’s 
 rattle was heard in the yard. 
 
 Crossing his enormous hands over his breast, bow- 
 ing his head, and continually sighing deeply, Greecha 
 stood before the images in silence, then knelt down 
 with difficulty and began to pray. 
 
 At first he repeated well-known prayers in a low 
 voice only, emphasizing a few words, then repeated 
 them again louder, and with greater animation. He 
 began to use his own words, endeavouring with 
 evident effort to express himself in the Slavonic 
 language. His words were incoherent, but touching. 
 He prayed for all his benefactors (he called all those 
 who gave him shelter ‘ benefactors ’), amongst others 
 for my mother and us. He prayed for himself, asked 
 God to pardon him his heavy sins, and repeated : 
 ‘O God, forgive my enemies!’ He rose with a 
 groan, and repeating the same words over and over 
 again, prostrated himself several times in spite of the 
 weight of the chains, which knocked against the floor 
 every time with a dry, sharp sound. 
 
 Voldemar pinched my foot hard, but I did not 
 even turn round, only rubbed the sore spot with my 
 hand, and, full of childish wonder, pity, and reverence, 
 continued to follow all Greecha’s motions with my 
 eyes, and to listen to every word he said. 
 
 Instead of the fun and laughter I had expected 
 when I went into the lumber-room, I trembled, and 
 my heart throbbed. 
 
52 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 Greecha remained a long time in this state of 
 religious ecstasy and extempore prayer. He repeated 
 over and over again, either ‘ God have mercy upon us * 
 each time with greater force of expression, or, ‘ God 
 forgive me , teach me how to live . . . teach me how to 
 live , 0 Lord P These last words at times seemed to 
 be said as if he expected now at the very moment to 
 hear the answer. At times again, only mournful 
 lamentations were heard . . . Then he rose, folded 
 his hands together on his breast, and was silent. 
 
 I noiselessly thrust my head in at the door, without 
 daring to breathe. Greecha was motionless ; heavy 
 sighs rent his breast ; a tear stood in his dim squint- 
 ing eye. 
 
 ‘ Thy will be done !’ suddenly exclaimed he with an 
 expression which cannot be rendered, and falling 
 with his forehead against the floor, burst into sobs 
 like a child. 
 
 Years have gone by since that time. Many a 
 remembrance of the past has lost its importance and 
 has become but a confused fancy for me ; even the 
 wanderer, Greecha, has long ended his last pilgrimage ; 
 but the impression produced upon me by him, and 
 the feeling aroused in me, will never die out of my 
 memory. 
 
 Oh, Greecha ! thou great Christian ! Thy belief was 
 so deep that thou couldst feel the nearness of God ; 
 thy love was so great that the words flowed from thy 
 mouth freely ; thou didst not control them by thy 
 reason . . . And how greatly didst thou glorify His 
 greatness when, unable to find any words, thou didst 
 fall on to the ground with tears ! 
 
GREECHA. 
 
 53 
 
 The emotion with which I listened to Greecha could 
 not last long, in the first place, because my curiosity 
 was satisfied ; in the second, because I had a cramp in 
 my foot from sitting still so long, and I longed to 
 take part in the whispering and romping which were 
 heard in the dark lumber-room behind me. Some- 
 body touched my hand, and asked in a whisper : 
 * Whose hand is it V It was quite dark, but by the 
 touch and the voice which whispered in my ear, I 
 knew it to be Katenka. 
 
 Quite unconsciously I grasped her arm, with its 
 short sleeve, and pressed my lips to it. Katenka 
 must have been surprised, and drew away her arm ; 
 in doing so she struck against a broken chair which 
 was in the room. Greecha raised his head, looked 
 round, and saying a prayer, began to make the sign of 
 the cross over all the corners of the room. We left 
 our lurking-place noisily, but talking in whispers. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 NATALIA SAVISHNA. 
 
 It was in the middle of the last century that 
 Natashka * a merry, plump, and red-cheeked girl, 
 rambled barefoot all day long about the village of 
 Kabarovka. Thanks to the faithful services of her 
 father, a clarinet-player, Savva by name, she was, at 
 his request, appointed by my grandmother to be 
 numbered amongst my grandmother’s maid-servants. 
 The maid-servant Natashka was distinguished by 
 * Diminutive for Nathalie. 
 
54 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 the mildness of her temper and her zeal. When my 
 mother was born, and a nurse was wanted, the duty 
 was entrusted to Natashka. In this new sphere she 
 again won both praise and rewards for her activity, 
 trustworthiness and attachment to her young mistress. 
 But the powdered hair, the stockings and buckles of 
 the handy young butler Foka, whose duties led to fre- 
 quent intercourse between him and Natalia, captivated 
 her simple but loving heart. She even made up her 
 mind at last to go to my grandfather herself, and beg 
 him to give her leave to marry Foka. My grand- 
 father took it for ingratitude, grew angry, and 
 punished poor Natalia by exiling her into one of 
 his steppe villages as cow-keeper. In six months’ 
 time, however, as nobody could be found able to fill 
 the place of Natalia, she was recalled to her former 
 duties. On returning from her banishment she 
 appeared before my grandfather, looking like a 
 cinder-wench, fell at his feet, and touchingly begged 
 to be reinstated in his good graces, and that her 
 former folly should be forgiven, swearing that it 
 should never return. And she was true to her word. 
 
 From that time Natashka began to be called Natalia 
 Savishna,* began to wear caps, and lavished the whole 
 stock of love which she possessed upon her young 
 mistress. 
 
 When a governess took her place she was made 
 housekeeper, and the linen and provisions were 
 entrusted to her. She fulfilled her new duties with 
 the same zeal and love. She only lived for her 
 master’s property ; everywhere saw expense, dilapida- 
 * A more respectful denomination. 
 
NATALIA SAVISHNA. 
 
 55 
 
 tion, and theft, and endeavoured with all her might 
 to resist them. 
 
 On the day mamma was married she called Natalia 
 Savishna to her, and wishing to reward Natalia's 
 twenty years' service and attachment to the family, 
 she spoke in the most flattering terms of her gratitude 
 and love to her, handed Natalia Savishna a stamped 
 paper by which she became free,* and added that she 
 was to receive a pension of 300 roubles yearly, whether 
 she continued in her service or not. Natalia Savishna 
 listened in silence, then, taking the document into her 
 hands, looked at it with a very cross face, muttered 
 some inaudible words, and ran away, slamming the 
 door. Mamma could not understand the motive of 
 such strange conduct, and, a few minutes after, entered 
 Natalia Savishna’s room. She was sitting on her 
 trunk, with very red eyes, turning and twisting her 
 handkerchief between her fingers, and looking fixedly 
 at the torn document, which lay scattered in bits on 
 the floor before her. 
 
 ‘What is the matter with you, my dear Natalia 
 Savishna ?’ asked mamma, taking her hand. 
 
 ‘ Nothing,’ answered she. ‘ It seems you hate me, 
 since you want to drive me away from the house. . . . 
 Well, I will go.’ 
 
 She drew her hand away, and with difficulty restrain- 
 ing her tears, wished to leave the room. Mamma 
 stopped, embraced her, and they both burst into tears. 
 
 Ever since I can remember myself, I remember 
 Natalia Savishna, and her love and kindness ; but it 
 is only now that I have learnt their full value ; at that 
 * Not a serf. 
 
56 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 time it never came into my head to think what a rare 
 and truly good creature this old woman was. Not 
 only did she never speak about herself, but she never 
 even seemed to have a thought about herself : her 
 whole life was a life of love and self-denial. I was so 
 accustomed to her disinterested and fond love for us, 
 that I could not imagine it otherwise, and never felt 
 thankful to her, and never asked myself, ‘ Is she 
 happy ? Is she contented with her lot?’ 
 
 I often used to run away from my lesson, under 
 some pretext or other ; and, sitting down in her little 
 room, began to build castles in the air, aloud, without 
 minding her. She was always busy, either knitting 
 stockings, or ransacking the boxes which took up 
 nearly the whole of her room, or counting the linen, 
 and listening to all the nonsense I talked about the 
 time when I should be a general, and marry a great 
 beauty, buy a reddish horse, build myself a crystal 
 house, and write to all Karl Ivanovitch’s relations to 
 come from Saxony to live at my house, and so on ; 
 and she would say: ‘Yes, my dear, yes.’ Generally, 
 just as I was going back, she would open the blue 
 box on the lid of which, inside, some pictures were 
 pasted. I seem to see them before me now — the 
 figure of a hussar in colours, a picture taken off a 
 pomatum-pot, and a drawing of Voldemar’s. She 
 would take some perfuming paper out, light it, and 
 waving it about, would observe : 
 
 ‘ This perfume is from Otchakof. When your late 
 grandfather — God rest his soul ! — went to war against 
 the Turks, he brought it from there. It is the last 
 bit,’ she would add, with a sigh. 
 
NATALIA SAVISHNA. 
 
 5 7 
 
 All sorts of things were to be found in the boxes 
 that filled her room. If anybody wanted anything, 
 we would say, * We must ask Natalia Savishna,’ and, 
 indeed, after ransacking a little she found the thing 
 that was wanting, and handing it to us, would say : 
 ‘ It is well I put it by.’ And there were thousands 
 of things in the trunk which nobody in the house 
 except her knew of or cared about. 
 
 Once I grew angry with her. It happened thus. 
 As I was pouring myself out a glass of ‘ kvass ’* at 
 dinner, I let the decanter fall, and spilt the beverage 
 on the tablecloth. 
 
 ‘ Call in Natalia Savishna ; let her see what her pet 
 has done !’ said mamma. 
 
 Natalia Savishna came in, and seeing the mess I 
 had made, shook her head ; then mamma whispered 
 something to her, and she left the room, shaking 
 her finger at me. 
 
 After dinner, feeling very merry, and jumping 
 about, I ran into the hall, when, lo and behold ! from 
 behind the door darted Natalia Savishna with the 
 tablecloth in her hand, caught me, and in spite of my 
 desperate resistance began to rub my face with the 
 wet part of the cloth, repeating : ‘ Thou shalt not 
 dirty the tablecloth another time !’ I was so offended 
 that I burst into tears of rage. 
 
 ‘ How !’ said I to myself, walking up and down the 
 room half choked with sobs; ‘Natalia Savishna, or 
 rather Natalia, simply says thou to me, and even 
 strikes my face with the damp tablecloth as if I were 
 a servant-boy. It is too bad !’ 
 
 * A sort of cider. 
 
58 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 As soon as Natalia Savishna saw that I was 
 sobbing, she ran away, leaving me to walk up and 
 down, deliberating how to be revenged upon the in- 
 solent Natalia for the insult she had offered me. 
 
 In a few minutes Natalia Savishna came back, 
 approached me timidly, and tried to pacify me. 
 
 ‘ Do not cry, my darling, do not cry . . . Forgive 
 me ; I am a fool ... it was all my fault . . . Pray 
 forgive me, my darling . . . there is something for you.’ 
 She drew from under her shawl a red paper packet 
 in which were two sweetmeats and one dried fig, and 
 gave it to me with her trembling hand. I was unable 
 to look the kind old woman in the face. I turned 
 aside, took her present, and my tears flowed afresh ; 
 but it was not from anger any longer, but from love 
 and shame. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 OUR PARTING. 
 
 The day after the events described by me in the 
 preceding chapter, about twelve o’clock in the morn- 
 ing, the barouche and the half-open carriage stood 
 before the door. Nicolas was dressed for travelling — 
 i.e. y his trousers were stuck into his boots, and his old 
 coat was girded on in the most solid manner with a 
 sash. He was standing in the vehicle putting our 
 overcoats and pillows under the seats ; and when it 
 seemed to him that it was too high, he seated him- 
 self on the pillows and jumped upon them, in order 
 to press them down. 
 
OUR PARTING. 
 
 59 
 
 ‘ For mercy’s sake, Nicolas Dmitrievitch, will you 
 let me place my masters casket in your barouche ?’ 
 said my father’s valet, quite out of breath, and leaning 
 out of the open carriage ; ‘ it is very small. . . / 
 
 ‘You ought to have told me before Mihei Ivano- 
 vitch,’ answered Nicolas quickly and looking vexed, 
 then threw a parcel to the bottom of the vehicle with 
 all his strength. ‘ By God, I am quite perplexed as it 
 is, and you are come teasing about your caskets/ 
 added he, taking his cap off and wiping the large 
 drops of perspiration off his sunburnt forehead. 
 
 Servants in coats, caftans, smock-frocks, without 
 their caps ; women in coarse gowns and striped shawls, 
 with babies in their arms, and barefooted children 
 assembled near the entrance, looking at the carriages 
 and talking to each other. One of our coachmen, a 
 bent old man in a winter hat and ‘ armiak,’* held the 
 draught-bar of the barouche in his hand, handling it 
 and thoughtfully examining the underframe ; the 
 other, a stately young fellow, in a white smock-frock 
 with red fustian gussets, in a black felt cap, which he 
 moved either towards his right ear or towards the 
 left while scratching his fair curly hair, then laid his 
 armiak on the coach-box, threw the reins there too, 
 and lashing right and left with his plaited whip, looked 
 either at his boots or at the coachmen who were 
 greasing the vehicle. One of them was holding the 
 lever ; the second was stooping over the wheel care- 
 fully greasing the axle, and, as if not to let any grease 
 be lost on the stick, he even greased the outward sides 
 of the wheel with it. The over-worked and various- 
 * A peasant’s overcoat. 
 
6o 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 coloured post-horses stood near the gate, driving away 
 the flies by waving their tails. Some of them, setting 
 their shaggy and swollen feet firm, closed their eyes and 
 dozed ; others, tired of standing still, rubbed against 
 each other or plucked the leaves and stems of the 
 hard dark-coloured fern which grew near the entrance. 
 Several retrievers, breathing heavily, were lying in the 
 sunshine ; others were walking about in the shade 
 under the barouche and vehicle, licking the fat upon 
 the axles. The air seemed impregnated with a dusty 
 mist ; the horizon was of a grayish-purple hue ; not a 
 cloud was to be seen. A violent east wind raised 
 clouds of dust along the road and fields, bent the tops 
 of the tall lindens and birch-trees in the garden, and 
 carried away the faded yellow leaves. I was sitting 
 near the window, impatiently awaiting the end of all 
 these preparations. 
 
 When all were assembled in the drawing-room near 
 the round table, in order to pass some last moments 
 together, it did not occur to me that a very sad 
 moment awaited us. The most trivial thoughts filled 
 my mind. I asked myself : Which coachman would 
 drive the carriage, and which was to go with the 
 barouche ? Who was to go with father, and who was 
 to go with Karl Ivanovitch ? and why they wished to 
 wrap me up in a scarf and a wadded overcoat ? As 
 if I were so delicate ! I shall not be frozen, I suppose ? 
 I wish it were over, and we were in the carriages and 
 on our way. 
 
 ‘ To whom am I to give the list of the children’s 
 linen ?’ asked Natalia Savishna, entering the room with 
 red eyes and a note in her hand, addressing mamma. 
 
OUR PARTING. 
 
 61 
 
 ‘ Give it to Nicolas, and then come and say good- 
 bye to the children/ 
 
 The old woman wished to say something, but 
 suddenly stopped, covered her face with her handker- 
 chief, and, waving her hand, left the room. My heart 
 felt rather heavier when I saw that motion ; but my 
 impatience to set off was more intense than any other 
 feeling, and I continued to listen quite indifferently to 
 the conversation between my father and mother. 
 They talked about things which evidently did not 
 interest either of them ; about what was to be bought 
 for home ; what was to be said to Princess Sophie, 
 and to Madame Julie ; was it likely that the roads 
 were good. 
 
 Foka entered, and, stopping on the threshold, 
 announced ‘ The horses are ready,’ precisely in the way 
 he used to say, ‘ Dinner is read) 7 .’ I noticed that 
 mamma shuddered and grew pale when she heard the 
 words, as if she had not expected to hear them. 
 
 Foka was ordered to shut all the doors in the room.* 
 I thought it very funny, as if we were all hiding from 
 somebody. 
 
 When all were seated Foka also sat down on the 
 end of the chair, and at the same time the door 
 creaked, and all looked round. Natalia Savishna 
 hastily entered the room, and, without raising her eyes, 
 sat down near the door on one chair with Foka. The 
 picture is as fresh in my memory as if it were still 
 before my eyes ; the bald head of Foka with his 
 
 * It is the custom in Russia for all those who are setting off 
 on a journey to sit down in perfect silence for a few moments 
 before their departure, with a mental prayer for safety. 
 
62 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 wrinkled immovable face, and beside him the bent 
 kind-looking figure in a cap, from under which peeped 
 her gray hair. They press close to each other on the 
 chair, and both feel awkward. 
 
 I continued to feel indifference and impatience. The 
 ten seconds during which we sat with closed doors 
 seemed an hour to me. At last all rose, each made 
 the sign of the cross, and began to say adieu. My 
 father embraced mamma, and kissed her several 
 times. 
 
 ‘ Do not cry, dear V said papa. ‘ We are not 
 leaving you for ever.’ 
 
 ‘ It is very sad, all the same !’ answered mamma, in 
 a voice tremulous with tears. 
 
 When I heard that voice, saw her trembling lips 
 and her eyes full of tears, I forgot all, and felt so sad, 
 so miserable and so terrified, that I would much 
 rather have run away than said good-bye to her. I 
 understood only then that, while embracing my father, 
 she was bidding us farewell too. 
 
 She kissed and blessed Voldemar so many times, 
 that, thinking she would now turn to me, I ran towards 
 her, but in vain ; she continued to bless him, pressing 
 him again and again to her heart. At last I threw my 
 arms round her and wept bitterly, remembering 
 nothing but my sorrow. 
 
 As we went to take our seats in the carriages, the 
 tiresome bond-servants all came to the door to bid us 
 farewell. The phrase ‘ May I kiss your hand ?’ the 
 sonorous kisses imprinted on our shoulders, and the 
 smell of tallow from their heads, excited in me a 
 feeling of disgust. Under the influence of this feeling 
 
OUR PARTING. 
 
 63 
 
 I kissed Natalia Savishna’s cap very coldly, when she 
 tearfully said good-bye to me. 
 
 It is strange that not only the countenances of all 
 the bond-servants now stand before my eyes, but I 
 can even picture each of them to myself with the 
 minutest details ; but mother’s face, as she looked at 
 that moment, has escaped my memory entirely ; the 
 reason lay, perhaps, in my having failed, during the 
 whole time, to summon up courage enough to glance 
 at her. It seemed to me that if I did so, her grief 
 and mine would have burst all bounds. 
 
 I rushed into the barouche the first, and took my 
 place at the back. As the upper part was raised I 
 could see nothing, but some instinct revealed to me 
 that mamma was still there. 
 
 ‘ Should I look at her once more or not ? . . . 
 Well, for the last time !’ 
 
 My inward struggle was over, and I leaned out of 
 the barouche in the direction of the entrance, and at 
 the same moment mamma, prompted by the same 
 idea, approached the carriage from the opposite side, 
 and called me by my name. Hearing her voice 
 behind my back, I turned towards her, and so quickly 
 that we knocked our heads against each other. She 
 smiled sadly, and gave me a last long kiss. 
 
 It was only when we were some yards from my 
 mother that I dared to glance at her. The blue necker- 
 chief which covered her head waved in the wind ; she 
 was slowly going up the stairs, her head bent, and 
 covering her face with her hands. Foka was helping 
 her along. 
 
 Papa sat by my side in silence ; as to me, I was 
 
6 4 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 half choked with tears, and something oppressed my 
 throat to such a degree that I could hardly breathe . . . 
 On reaching the highway we saw a white handker- 
 chief which somebody was waving from the balcony. 
 I waved mine, and that calmed me a little. I still 
 wept, it is true ; but the thought that my tears proved 
 a feeling heart was a source of satisfaction and even 
 of consolation. 
 
 After we had gone about a mile, I seated myself 
 more comfortably and began to stare fixedly at the 
 object nearest to me — the horse which ran on the 
 side nearer to me ... I looked at the piebald 
 steed shaking its tail, and catching one leg against 
 the other. I saw the plaited whip of the coachman 
 cut its back, and its legs begin to move at once ; then 
 I looked at the harness shaking on its neck, while the 
 rings on the harness did the same, and looked on 
 until the harness itself was covered with foam. I then 
 began to look around : at the ripe waving rye in the 
 fields ; at the dark fallow where a peasant with a 
 plough and a horse with a foal beside it might be 
 seen ; at the milestones ; even at the coach-box in 
 order to know which of the two coachmen was going 
 with us ; and ere my tears were dry my thoughts 
 were far from my mother, whom I was perhaps leaving 
 for ever. But soon some trifle would recall her again 
 and again to my mind. I remembered the mush- 
 room found by me in the birch-tree avenue on the 
 eve of our departure ; how Lubotchka and Katenka 
 both wanted to gather it, and had quarrelled about 
 it ; then I remembered how bitterly they wept when 
 we parted. 
 
MY CHILDHOOD— A RETROSPECT. 
 
 65 
 
 How sorry I was to have left them ! How I re- 
 gretted Natalia Savishna, the birch-alley, and poor 
 old Foka — even ill-tempered Mimi ! I missed them 
 all, and poor dear mamma ; and my eyes were again 
 full of tears, but not for long. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 MY CHILDHOOD— A RETROSPECT. 
 
 WHAT a truly happy time childhood is! It is a 
 happiness which, once gone, can never return to us. 
 Is it possible not to cherish every remembrance of it ? 
 The remembrance of my childhood refreshes and 
 elevates my thoughts, and is the spring of all my 
 best joys. 
 
 Often, after having run about till I was tired, I 
 used to come to the tea-table and sit on my high 
 chair ; it is time to go to bed, I have drunk my cup 
 of milk and sugar long ago, I am so sleepy that I can 
 hardly keep my eyes open, but still I do not stir from 
 my place ; I sit listening to the talk around me. How 
 can I help listening ? Mother is talking, and the 
 sound of her voice is so sweet, so kind. The sound 
 of her voice alone speaks to my heart. I look at her 
 face with my drowsy eyes, and all at once she seems 
 to have become smaller, her face is not larger than a 
 button ; but I still see it as clearly as ever before me. 
 I see her look at me and smile. I like to see her so 
 small. I close my eyes more and more, and now she 
 is still less ; but I move, and the charm is broken. I 
 
 5 
 
66 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 screw up my eyes, I change my position, trying in 
 some way or other to renew it, but in vain. 
 
 I get up, climb up with my feet on to the chair, and 
 lie down comfortably. 
 
 ‘ Thou wilt fall asleep again, Nicolinka/ observes 
 mamma. ‘ It would be better for thee to go upstairs.’ 
 
 ‘ I do not want to go to bed, mamma/ I answer. 
 
 Sweet misty dreams again fill my mind, and the 
 sound sleep of childhood soon closes my eyes. A 
 moment more, and I am fast asleep, till someone 
 comes to rouse me. In my sleep, I feel the touch of 
 a kind hand ; I recognise it, and still half asleep, seize 
 it and press it close to my lips. 
 
 All have left the room ; only one candle lights up 
 the drawing-room. Mamma has said that she will 
 awake me herself ; it is she who is sitting on the arm- 
 chair on which I am sleeping, her dear kind hand 
 smoothes my hair, and at the same time the sweet 
 and well-known voice sounds in my ear : 
 
 ‘ Get up, my darling ; it is time to go to bed.’ 
 
 There are no careless lookers-on to restrain her ; she 
 does not fear to pour out all her tenderness and love 
 upon me. I do not stir, but kiss her hand passionately. 
 
 ‘ Get up quick, my child.’ 
 
 She puts her other arm round my neck, and her 
 fingers move rapidly, tickling me. It is quite still, 
 half dark in the room ; my nerves are excited by the 
 tickling, and by being roused from sleep. Mamma 
 sits close to me ; she touches me ; I feel her fragrant 
 breath upon me, and hear her voice. It makes me 
 start up, throw my arms round her neck, and press- 
 ing my head against her bosom, whisper breathlessly : 
 
MY CHILDHOOD— A RETROSPECT. 
 
 6 7 
 
 ‘ Oh, mother, dear mother, how I love thee !’ 
 
 She smiles her sad, lovely smile, and putting both 
 hands upon my head, kisses my forehead and lays it 
 on her knees. 
 
 ‘ Thou lovest me very much, dost thou not V And 
 after a momentary silence she continues : 4 Mind, thou 
 must always love me ; never forget me. When 
 mother is no more, thou wilt not forget her ? Wilt 
 thou always remember her, Nicolinka ?’ 
 
 And she kisses me with renewed tenderness. 
 
 * Cease, pray ! Do not speak about that, dearest 
 mother !’ I exclaim, kissing her knees, and tears of 
 love and ecstasy stream down my cheeks. 
 
 After that, on coming upstairs into my room and 
 standing in my little wadded dressing-gown before 
 the holy image, how earnestly did I repeat the words : 
 ‘ God bless my father and mother !’ On repeating 
 the prayer which my childish lips had first learned 
 to lisp from my dear mother’s lips, my love for her 
 and my love for God were strangely mingled into one 
 feeling. 
 
 My prayer over, I wrap myself up in my little 
 blanket, and my heart feels so easy, so light, and so 
 comfortable. One dream follows another, but what 
 are they ? They are intangible, but full of pure love 
 and hope in a bright future. And then I think of 
 Karl Ivanovitch and his sad fate. He is the only 
 unfortunate man I know, and I feel so full of pity for 
 him that I love him, and tears fill my eyes as I say 
 to myself : f God grant him happiness ! Enable me 
 to help him, and to make his sorrows easier to bean 
 I am ready to make any sacrifice for his sake.’ 
 
 5—2 
 
68 
 
 BOYHOOD . 
 
 Then taking my pet toys, a china rabbit and a dog, 
 and putting them into a corner of my bed under my 
 pillow, I rejoice to see how comfortably they lie 
 there. Again a prayer rises to my lips for the 
 happiness of all, or perhaps that the weather may 
 be fine the next day that we may go out for a walk ; 
 then turning on to the other side, my thoughts and 
 dreams become confused, and I fall peacefully and 
 quietly asleep, my face yet wet with tears. 
 
 Will the freshness, carelessness, love, and faith of 
 childhood ever return to us? What better time of 
 life can there be than that when the two highest 
 virtues — an innocent light-heartedness and an infinite 
 need of love — are the only impulses in life ? 
 
 Where are those ardent prayers ? where is that best 
 of all gifts, the pure tears of emotion ? A guardian 
 angel came down from heaven, and with a smile wiped 
 away those tears and charmed the innocent fancy of 
 the child with sweet dreams. 
 
 Is it possible that life has laid such a heavy burden 
 upon my heart all these tears and ecstasies are gone 
 from me for ever ? Is it possible that nothing but 
 remembrance is left me ? 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 MY VERSES. 
 
 It was about a month after our arrival in Moscow 
 that I was sitting upstairs in my grandmother’s house 
 at a large round table, and was writing. Opposite to 
 
MY VERSES. 
 
 69 
 
 me sat our drawing-master, at the same table, correct- 
 ing the head of a Turk in a turban drawn in black 
 pencil. Volodja stood with his neck stretched out 
 behind the teacher, and looked at the painting over 
 his shoulder. This head was Volodja’s first work of 
 the kind, and was that very day to be offered by him 
 to grandmother as a names-day present. 
 
 ‘ Will you not make the shade darker here ?’ said 
 Volodja to the teacher, standing on tiptoe and pointing 
 to the Turk’s neck. 
 
 ‘ No ; it is not necessary/ answered the drawing- 
 master, putting the pencils and drawing-pen into the 
 case. ‘Now it is all right, and you must not touch it 
 any more. Well, and you, Nicolinka,’ added he, rising 
 and continuing to look askance at the Turk, ‘let the 
 cat out of the bag at last. What will you offer your 
 grandmother to-day ? A head drawn by you would 
 be the best thing. Good-bye, gentlemen/ added he, 
 taking up his hat, and a ticket for the number of 
 lessons being given him, he departed. 
 
 At that moment I thought likewise that it would 
 have been better to have prepared her a drawing than 
 the present I was then working at. When we were 
 told that our grandmother’s names-day was drawing 
 near, and that it was necessary for each of us to pre- 
 pare her a present for that day, the idea of writing a 
 poem on the occasion occurred to me, and I had soon 
 found out two lines which rhymed very well, and I 
 thought it would not be difficult to find the rest. I 
 do not remember how it was that such a strange idea 
 for a child came into my mind, but I do remember 
 that I was delighted with it, and that I answered all 
 
7 o 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 the questions addressed to me on the subject by say- 
 ing I would certainly make a present to my grand- 
 mother, but that I would not tell anybody what it 
 was to be. 
 
 Contrary to my expectations, however, I found that 
 except the two first lines I had thought of at the very 
 first, I could not write anything more in spite of all 
 my endeavours to do so. I began to read the poems 
 which were in our school-books, but neither Dnistrieff 
 nor Derjavin could help me ; on the contrary, they 
 but convinced me of my own inability. As I knew 
 that Karl Ivanovitch was fond of copying various 
 poems, I stealthily ransacked his papers, and amongst 
 several pieces of German poetry I found a Russian 
 one, which must have been the production of his own 
 pen : 
 
 To Mrs. L , Petrovsky, June 3, 1828. 
 
 Remember when near, 
 
 Remember when far, 
 
 Remember me. 
 
 Henceforth and for ever 
 Remember me, 
 
 How truly I love. 
 
 Karl Marver. 
 
 These verses, written on thin letter-paper in nice 
 rounded handwriting, attracted me by the touching 
 feelings with which they were imbued. I immedi- 
 ately learnt them by heart, and resolved to model my 
 own verses upon them. Then matters began to go 
 on much more easily. On the day of grandmother’s 
 names-day, my twelve verses of congratulation were 
 ready, and sitting at the table in our study, I was 
 copying them out on vellum paper. 
 
MY VERSES. 
 
 7i 
 
 Two sheets of paper were already spoiled . . . not 
 because I wanted to change anything in my verses, 
 they appeared to me to be perfect ; but from the 
 third line the ends of the lines began to run upwards 
 more and more, so that even at a distance all could 
 see that it was crookedly written, and good for nothing. 
 
 The third sheet was as crooked as the two first ; 
 but I made up my mind not to copy it any more. In 
 my verses I congratulated my grandmother, wished 
 her many happy returns of the day, and closed with 
 the following words : 
 
 We will try to be a comfort to you, 
 
 And we love you as we did our own mother. 
 
 The verses seemed to me very pretty, but the last 
 line offended my ear somehow. 
 
 ‘ And we love you as we did our own mother,’ re- 
 peated I over and over again. What rhyme could I 
 use instead of mother ? bother ? . . . feather ? . . . 
 Well, never mind. My verses are better than Karl 
 Ivanovitch’s, at all events. 
 
 And I wrote the last line. Afterwards, when I was 
 alone in my bedroom, I read them aloud, with feeling 
 and gesticulation. My verses were quite without 
 rhythm or measure, but I paid no attention to that. 
 The last line, however, struck me much more dis- 
 agreeably than before. I sat down on my bed and 
 fell into deep thought. . . . 
 
 Why did I write : as our own mother ? She is not 
 here ; would it not have been better not to mention 
 her ? It is true that I love my grandmother, I respect 
 her ; but yet it is not the same thing . . . Why did I 
 
72 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 put that ? why did I write a lie ? Supposing it be 
 poetry, all the same it ought not to be. 
 
 At that moment the tailor came in and brought us 
 our new jackets. 
 
 4 Well, so be it ? said I impatiently, and angrily 
 putting my verses under the pillow, I ran to try on 
 the Moscow suit of clothes. 
 
 They fitted perfectly : the brown jackets with 
 bronze buttons were made to fit closely, not like 
 those we had worn in the country, where the clothes 
 were always made wider for fear we should outgrow 
 them ; the dark-coloured trousers, likewise made 
 tight, set off my muscles to advantage, and concealed 
 my boots. 
 
 ‘ At last I have trousers with straps too, real straps !’ 
 exclaimed I, examining my legs on all sides, and 
 feeling ready to leap out of my skin for joy. Although 
 the clothes were very tight, and I felt very uncomfort- 
 able in them, I carefully concealed the fact, and said 
 that I was, on the contrary, very comfortable in the 
 clothes, and if there was a defect to be found in them, 
 it was that they were a little too wide. After this I 
 stood for a very long time before the looking-glass 
 brushing my plentifully pomatumed hair ; but how- 
 ever hard I tried I could not smooth down the 
 forelock on the top of my head ; as soon as I ceased 
 brushing it down, it would rise again and stick out on 
 all sides, giving me a most ridiculous look. 
 
 Karl Ivanovitch was dressing himself in another 
 room, and his blue dress-coat and white linen were 
 carried through the study. I heard the voice of 
 grandmother’s maid-servant outside the door, which 
 
MY VERSES. 
 
 73 
 
 led downstairs. I went to ask what she wanted. A 
 stiffly-starched shirt-front lay on her arm ; she told 
 me that it was for Karl Ivanovitch, and that she had 
 not slept all night in order to have it ready for him. 
 I undertook to hand it to him, and asked her : ‘ Is my 
 grandmother up ?’ 
 
 ‘To be sure ! She has already had her coffee, and 
 the priest is there now. What a fine young gentle- 
 man you are !’ added she, gazing with a smile at my 
 new clothes. 
 
 Her remark made me blush. I turned round on 
 one leg, snapped my fingers, and jumped in order to 
 show her that she did not yet know what a very fine 
 young man I was. 
 
 When I brought the shirt-front to Karl Ivanovitch, 
 it was too late : he had put on another, and stooping 
 before a little looking-glass which stood on the table, 
 was holding the magnificent knot of his cravat in his 
 hand, and trying if his smoothly shaved chin could be 
 easily moved backwards and forwards behind it. 
 After having seen that our clothes were all right, and 
 having asked Nicolas to do the same for him, he 
 took us to our grandmother. It makes me laugh 
 now, when I remember how strongly our three heads 
 smelt of pomatum, as we came downstairs. 
 
 Karl Ivanovitch had a box in his hand, made by 
 himself ; Volodja had the drawing, and I had the 
 verses. Each had the congratulations with which he 
 was to present his gift, ready at the tip of his tongue. 
 Just as Karl Ivanovitch opened the drawing-room 
 door, the priest had arrayed himself, and the first 
 words of the Te Deum were heard. 
 
74 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 My grandmother was already in the room, quite 
 bent and resting her arms on the back of a chair, she 
 stood near the wall, praying fervently. Papa stood 
 near her. He turned his head towards us and smiled 
 on observing how we hastily hid our presents behind 
 our backs, and endeavouring to remain unnoticed, 
 stopped close to the door by which we had entered. 
 The whole effect of the surprise we had reckoned 
 upon was lost. 
 
 At the end of the Te Deum , when all approached 
 in order to kiss the cross, I suddenly felt myself 
 under the heavy influence of an unconquerable, 
 stupefying fit of bashfulness, and feeling that I should 
 never have the courage to offer my gift, I hid myself 
 behind Karl Ivanovitch, who, in the choicest words, 
 congratulated grandmother, passed the box he had 
 made from his right hand to his left, then delivered 
 it to the queen of the day, and made way for Volodja. 
 Grandmother looked delighted with the box with 
 gilt edges, and thanked him with a smile. She 
 evidently did not know, however, where to put the 
 box, and perhaps for that very reason gave it to papa 
 in order that he should look at it and see how skil- 
 fully it was made. 
 
 After having gratified his curiosity papa handed it 
 to the priest, who seemed to find it very pretty ; he 
 shook his head, looking with curiosity first at the 
 box, then at the man who had made such a beautiful 
 thing. Volodja presented his Turk, and also got the 
 most flattering praise from all. My turn came. 
 Grandmother turned her face with an encouraging 
 smile towards me. 
 
MY VERSES. 
 
 75 
 
 Those who have experienced what it is to be 
 bashful, know that the feeling increases in direct 
 reference to time, and that decision decreases in the 
 inverse one, i.e., the more this state of mind continues, 
 the more irresistible it becomes and the less decided 
 one becomes. 
 
 The last drop of boldness and decision left me 
 when Karl Ivanovitch and Volodja were handing 
 their gifts, and my bashfulness reached its climax. 
 I felt the blood rush from my heart to my head. I 
 turned from pale to red, and large drops of perspira- 
 tion stood on my forehead and my nose. My ears 
 burned ; I felt my whole body shivering and per- 
 spiring. I stood first on one leg, then on the other, 
 but did not move. 
 
 ‘Well, Nicolinka, show us what you have. Is it a 
 box or a drawing ?’ asked papa. 
 
 There was nothing to be done. With a trembling 
 hand I presented the fatal roll ; my voice refused to 
 obey me, and I stood before my grandmother in 
 silence. I was quite bewildered by the thought that 
 instead of the drawing she expected, my good-for- 
 nothing verses would be read aloud, and the words, 
 ‘ as our own mother/ too, which would clearly prove 
 that I had never loved her and had forgotten her. 
 How shall I describe my sufferings when grandmother 
 began to read my poem aloud, and when, unable to 
 decipher it, she stopped in the middle of a line in 
 order to glance at papa with a smile, which seemed 
 full of raillery, or when she did not pronounce a word 
 as I wished it to be pronounced, or when, without 
 finishing the poem on account of the weakness of her 
 
76 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 sight, she handed it to papa, asking him to read it 
 over again from beginning to end. It seemed to me 
 that she did so, because she was tired of reading such 
 bad verses and so unevenly written, and with the 
 intention likewise of letting papa himself read the 
 last line, which so clearly proved my want of feeling. 
 I expected him to rap me on the nose with the verses, 
 and to say: ‘You bad boy, you are not to forget 
 your mamma. . . / 
 
 But nothing of the kind happened ; on the contrary, 
 when all was read, my grandmother said,- ‘ Charmant,’ 
 and kissed my forehead. 
 
 The box, the drawing, and the verses were put, 
 together with two lawn handkerchiefs and the snuff- 
 box with mamma’s portrait, on the table of the easy 
 armchair in which my grandmother usually sat. 
 
 ‘ The Princess Barbara Iliinitchna/ announced one 
 of the two enormous footmen. 
 
 My grandmother was looking pensively at the 
 portrait set in the tortoise snuff-box, and did not 
 answer. 
 
 ‘ Are you at home, your excellency ?’ repeated the 
 footman. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE PRINCESS KORNAKOFF. 
 
 ‘At home/ answered grandmother, seating herself 
 more comfortably in the armchair. 
 
 The princess was about forty-five, short in stature, 
 a weak-looking, dry, bilious woman with disagreeable 
 
THE PRINCESS KORNAKOFF. 
 
 77 
 
 gray-green eyes, whose look entirely belied the un- 
 naturally amiable expression which sat on her lips. 
 Fair carroty hair was seen from under her velvet 
 bonnet, trimmed with an ostrich feather. Her eye- 
 brows and eyelashes seemed to be still fairer and still 
 more carroty, thanks to her sickly complexion. But 
 notwithstanding all that, her unconstrained manners, 
 her very small hands and the peculiar dryness of all 
 her features, gave her a stamp of nobility and energy. 
 
 The princess was a great talker, and by her talka- 
 tiveness belonged to the category of people who 
 usually speak just as if somebody were contradicting 
 them, even when not a word was said. She would 
 either raise or lower her voice by turns, then suddenly 
 begin to speak eagerly, glancing at all present, even if 
 they took no part in the conversation, as if she hoped 
 to invigorate herself by doing so. 
 
 In spite of the fact that the princess had kissed 
 grandmother’s hand and continually called her ma 
 bonne tante , I observed that grandmother was dis- 
 pleased with her ; she raised her eyebrows in a way 
 peculiar to her while listening to her story about the 
 reason why Prince Michael had been unable to come 
 himself to congratulate grandmother, although he 
 had longed to do so ; and in answer to the French 
 speech of the princess, she said in Russian in a drawl- 
 ing tone : 
 
 ‘ I am very thankful to you, my dear, for your 
 amiable politeness — pray do not say anything about 
 Prince Michael’s not having come ... he is always 
 busy ; and besides, what pleasure can it give him to 
 sit with an infirm old woman ?’ And without giving 
 
78 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 the princess time to refute her words, she continued : 
 * How are your children, my dear ?’ 
 
 ‘ Thank God, ma tante, they are growing, learning, 
 and frolicking . . . especially Stephen, my eldest boy ; 
 he is growing such a scapegrace that it is quite im- 
 possible to manage him ; but he is clever — un gargon 
 qui fromet.* Imagine, mon cousin/ she continued, 
 addressing herself especially to my father, because 
 my grandmother, who cared very little about the 
 princess’s children, and wished to boast of her grand- 
 sons, had taken my verses out of the box and was 
 beginning to unfold the paper — ‘imagine, mon cousin, 
 what he did the other day . . 
 
 And the princess, bending her head towards papa, 
 began to tell him some story in a very animated way. 
 When she had finished the story — I did not hear 
 what it was about — she laughed, and, looking in- 
 quiringly into papa’s face, said : 
 
 ‘ What a naughty boy he is, mon cousin, is not 
 he ? He deserved to be whipped ; but the trick was 
 so clever and amusing that I pardoned him, mon 
 cousin.’ 
 
 And the princess, fixing her eyes on my grand- 
 mother, sat quite silent, with a smile on her lips. 
 
 ‘ Do you beat your children, my dear ?’ asked grand- 
 mother, raising her eyebrows significantly and laying 
 great stress on the word beat. 
 
 ‘ Ah ! ma bonne tante,’ answered the princess sweetly, 
 and glancing at papa, ‘ I know what your opinion is 
 upon the subject ; but allow me to disagree with you. 
 I have thought about it deeply ; I have read many 
 * A fellow who promises much. 
 
THE PRINCESS KORNAKOFF. 
 
 79 
 
 books on the subject, have consulted many persons, 
 and my experience has made me come to the con- 
 clusion that it is necessary to govern children by 
 fear. To make a child manageable it is necessary 
 that he should fear you, is it not, mon cousin ? and 
 what, je vous demande un peu,* do children fear more 
 than the rod ?’ 
 
 And with these words she threw an inquiring 
 glance at us. I confess that I felt rather uncomfort- 
 able at the moment. 
 
 ‘ You may say what you like, but a boy is a baby 
 till his twelfth or even his seventeenth year ; it is 
 different with a girl, of course/ 
 
 ‘ How lucky it is that I am not her son,’ thought I. 
 
 ‘ Yes, it is all very fine, my dear,’ said grandmother, 
 folding up my verses and putting them under the box 
 again, as if, after all, she did not consider the princess 
 worthy to hear such a fine thing ; * it is all very fine, 
 but tell me, pray, what delicacy can you expect to 
 find in your children after that ?’ And considering 
 the argument unanswerable, grandmother added, in 
 order to put an end to the conversation : ‘ Well, each 
 can abide by his own way of thinking.’ 
 
 The princess was silent, and only smiled conde- 
 scendingly, as if she could excuse such strange pre- 
 judices in a person whom she esteemed so highly. 
 
 ‘ Oh ! pray introduce me to your young gentlemen,’ 
 said she, looking at us and smiling pleasantly. 
 
 We rose and stared into the princess’s face without 
 knowing what we were to do in order to make her 
 acquaintance. 
 
 * ‘ I ask you. : 
 
8o 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 * Kiss the princess’s hand,’ said papa. 
 
 ‘ I ask you to love your old aunt/ said she, kissing 
 Volodja’s head. ‘ I am but a distant relation of 
 yours, but I consider friendly relations more than 
 relationship,’ added she, especially addressing grand- 
 mother ; but grandmother continued to be displeased, 
 and answered : 
 
 ‘ Eh, my dear, does anybody think anything of such 
 a relationship as ours, nowadays ?’ 
 
 ‘ This one will be a young man of the world/ said 
 papa, pointing to Volodja ; ‘ and this one is a poet/ 
 added he, as I kissed the small dry hand of the 
 princess, at the same time clearly picturing to myself 
 the very same hand holding a rod, under the rod a 
 bench, etc., etc. 
 
 ‘ Which one ?’ asked the princess, still holding my 
 hand. 
 
 ‘ This little one with his hair sticking up,’ answered 
 papa, smiling gaily. 
 
 ‘ What has he to do with my hair . . . are there 
 no other topics of conversation ?’ thought I, and went 
 to a distant corner. 
 
 I had a very strange idea about beauty — I even 
 thought Karl Ivanovitch one of the handsomest men 
 in the world ; but I knew very well that I was ugly, 
 and that was just why every allusion to my face 
 wounded my feelings. 
 
 I remember very well, that one day, at dinner — I 
 was then about six years old — the conversation turned 
 upon my looks, and mamma tried to find something 
 nice in my face ; she said that I looked clever, and 
 had a pleasant smile ; but yielding at last to my 
 
THE PRINCESS KORNAKOFF. 
 
 81 
 
 father’s arguments, and to the evidence of her own 
 eyes, she was obliged to confess that I was ugly ; and 
 afterwards, when I approached her to thank her for 
 dinner, she tapped my cheek, and said : 
 
 ‘ Remember, Nicolinka, that nobody will love thee 
 for thy face ; therefore thou must endeavour to be a 
 good and clever boy.’ 
 
 These words persuaded me not only that I was not 
 handsome, but made me resolve to be a clever and 
 good boy, by all means. 
 
 I was often under the influence of despair. I 
 fancied that there could be no happiness in the world 
 for a man with such a large nose, such thick lips and 
 small gray eyes as I had ; I prayed for some miracle 
 that would transform me into a handsome man, and 
 was ready to sacrifice all I had then, and all I was to 
 possess in the future, in order to have a handsome 
 face. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 PRINCE IVAN IVAN O VITCH. 
 
 As soon as the princess had listened to my verses 
 and loaded the author with praise, grandmother 
 softened, began to speak French to her, ceased to say 
 ‘ you ’ to her, or to call her ‘ my dear,’ and asked her 
 to come with all her children to spend the evening at 
 her house ; the princess consented, and after staying 
 a little longer, she went away. 
 
 So many visitors came that day, that carriages did 
 not cease to stop in the yard before our house during 
 the whole morning. 
 
 6 
 
BOYHOOD. 
 
 &2 
 
 1 Bonjour, cheie cousine,’ said one of the guests, 
 entering the room and kissing grandmother’s hand. 
 
 He was a tall man of seventy, in a military uniform, 
 with large epaulets, and from under his collar hung a 
 large white cross ; he had calm features, and an open 
 frank look. The freedom and simplicity of his 
 manners struck me. Though but half a circle of his 
 hair was left on his head, and the position of his 
 upper lip clearly proved that many teeth were want- 
 ing, his face was remarkably handsome. 
 
 Towards the end of the last century Prince Ivan 
 Ivanovitch, while yet a young man, had a brilliant 
 career, thanks to his noble disposition, his good looks, 
 his remarkable courage, his illustrious and powerful 
 connections, and especially, perhaps, thanks to his 
 having been born under a lucky star. He did not 
 leave the military service, and it soon happened that 
 his ambitions were so fully gratified that he had 
 nothing left to wish for. From his early youth he 
 had displayed such tact, that it seemed as if he were 
 already prepared to fill the exalted post afterwards 
 granted him by fate ; thus, though in the course of his 
 brilliant and somewhat vain life he did not fail to 
 meet with failures, disappointments, and afflictions, 
 like other men, his calm disposition, his elevated 
 mind, his moral and religious principles had never 
 once failed him, and he had gained the esteem of all, 
 less by his brilliant position than by his conscientious 
 and firm disposition. He was not very witty, but 
 thanks to the position he held, which enabled him to 
 observe with indifference all the vanities of this life, 
 he had a noble mind. He was kind and sensible, but 
 
PRINCE IVAN IVANO VITCH. 
 
 83 
 
 cold and somewhat arrogant in his manners. This 
 sprang from the fact that being placed in a position 
 in which he could be very useful to others, he 
 endeavoured by his coldness to protect himself from 
 the continual requests and entreaties of those who 
 only wished to profit by his influence. His coldness 
 was softened, however, by the condescending politeness 
 of a well-bred man of the world. He was a well- 
 educated and well-read man ; but his education had 
 stopped at that which he had acquired in his youth, 
 at the end of the last century. He had read all that 
 was written in the eighteenth' century in France, and 
 was considered worthy of being read, either in philo- 
 sophy or in the writings of eloquent men ; he knew 
 well all the best works of French literature, and liked 
 to quote Racine, Corneille, Boileau, Moliere, Mon- 
 taigne, Fenelon ; he knew mythology remarkably 
 well, and had studied the ancient masterpieces of 
 epic poetry in a French translation ; he had sufficient 
 knowledge of history, taken by him from Segur ; but 
 he had no idea either of mathematics, or of physics, 
 or contemporary literature. He knew perfectly well 
 how to make commonplace remarks on Goethe, 
 Schiller, or Byron, whose works he had never read. 
 Notwithstanding this French classical education, 
 specimens of which are now very rarely found, his 
 conversation was simple, and that very simplicity 
 concealed his ignorance, and at the same time showed 
 his good breeding and tolerance. He was a foe to 
 eccentricity of every kind, saying that it was but 
 a trick common to vulgar people. Society was 
 absolutely necessary for him wherever he was. Both 
 
 6—2 
 
8 4 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 in Moscow and abroad, his way of living was the same, 
 and on certain days he entertained the whole town at 
 his home. Pie was so highly considered in the town, 
 that his note of invitation could serve as a passport 
 for entrance into any drawing-room, that many young 
 and pretty ladies turned their red-coloured cheeks for 
 him to kiss them, which he did with a sort of parental 
 feeling, and that many, who seemed both rich and 
 gentlemanly, were delighted when they were admitted 
 to the prince’s parties. 
 
 There were very few left for the prince of those 
 who, like our grandmother, were of the same circle, 
 the same education, the same outlook upon things, 
 and the same age as he was, therefore he particularly 
 valued his old friendship with her, and always showed 
 the greatest esteem for her. 
 
 I could not help admiring the prince : the respect 
 paid him by all around him, his large epaulets, the 
 joy expressed by my grandmother on seeing him, the 
 fact that he was the only one who did not seem to 
 fear her, and addressed her quite freely, and even had 
 the boldness to call her ma cousine , filled me with a 
 respect equal to that I felt for my grandmother. 
 When my verses were shown him he called me up to 
 him, and said : ‘ Who knows, ma cousine, he will 
 perhaps be a second Derjavin.’ 
 
 With these words he pinched my cheek so hard, 
 that if I had not guessed that it was meant as a joke, 
 I should have screamed with pain. 
 
 The visitors were gone, my father and Volodja had 
 left the room ; the prince, my grandmother and I 
 were alone in the drawing-room. 
 
PRINCE IVAN IV ANOVITCH. 
 
 85 
 
 ‘ How is it our dear Natalia Nicolaevna has not 
 come to see you to-day ?’ asked Prince Ivan Ivano- 
 vitch, after a few minutes’ silence. 
 
 ‘ Ah ! mon cher,’ answered grandmother, lowering 
 her voice, and laying her hand on the sleeve of his 
 uniform ; ‘ she would certainly have come if she were 
 free to act as she pleases. She writes to me that 
 Pierre proposed to her to come, but that she refused 
 because the income had been less this year, and she 
 adds : “ Besides, there is no necessity for all of us to 
 come to Moscow at present. Lubotchka is too young ; 
 as to the boys, they will live at your house, and 
 I shall be much easier about them than if they were 
 to live with me.” That is all very fine/ continued 
 grandmother in a tone which showed clearly that she 
 did not find it very fine at all; 4 it is high time to 
 send the boys here that they may learn something 
 and get accustomed to life. What sort of education 
 could they get in the country ? . . . the eldest will be 
 thirteen soon, the other eleven. Did you observe, 
 mon cousin, they are just like savages? . . . they 
 have no idea how to come into a room ?’ 
 
 ‘ I cannot understand, however,’ answered the 
 prince, ‘ why there are always the same complaints of 
 their affairs being in disorder. Their father has a 
 large fortune. As to Natalia’s Habarovka, where 
 we used to perform at private theatricals together, I 
 know it well; it is a splendid estate, and it must 
 always bring in a good income.’ 
 
 ‘ I will tell you, as you are an intimatej friend,’ 
 interrupted grandmother, with a look of sadness on 
 her face. ‘ It seems to me that these are but excuses ; 
 
86 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 our friend wants to live here alone; he wants to 
 lounge about all day at the club, and go to dinner- 
 parties and other places, and his wife does not suspect 
 it. You know what an angel she is — she believes him. 
 He has persuaded her that it is time to take the 
 children to Moscow, that she had better remain with 
 the foolish governess in the country. She would 
 believe him if he were to tell her that it was necessary 
 to whip her children as the Princess Barbara Iliinitchna 
 whips hers. And it seems to me that she would 
 consent, too/ said grandmother, turning in her arm- 
 chair, with a look of great contempt. ‘Yes, my 
 friend/ continued grandmother, after a few minutes’ 
 silence, taking one of her two handkerchiefs into her 
 hand to dry the tears which flowed down her cheeks, 
 
 ‘ I often think he can neither appreciate nor under- 
 stand her, and that notwithstanding her kindness, her 
 love for him, and her endeavours to conceal her grief, 
 she cannot be happy with him ; remember my words, 
 
 if he do not ’ My grandmother covered her face 
 
 with her handkerchief. 
 
 ‘ Eh, ma bonne amie,’ answered the prince in a 
 reproachful tone, ‘ I see you are as unreasonable as 
 you were before ; you are always distressing yourself 
 and crying about some imaginary sorrow. Fie, for 
 shame ! I have known him very long, and I do 
 know him to be an attentive, kind, and excellent 
 husband ; and, what is a very important point, he is a 
 real gentleman, un parfait honnete homme.’ 
 
 Having involuntarily overheard a conversation 
 which I ought not to have heard, I left the room on 
 tiptoe in the greatest excitement. 
 
THE IVINS. 
 
 8 7 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE IVINS. 
 
 ‘Volodja ! Volodja ! the Ivins are coming!’ cried I, 
 having seen through the window three boys in blue 
 winter-coats with sea-otter collars, who, with their 
 foppish young tutor, were crossing the road towards 
 our house. 
 
 The Ivins were relations of ours, and were almost 
 of the same age ; soon after we came to Moscow we 
 made acquaintance with them, and even became inti- 
 mate friends. 
 
 The second son, Serge Ivin, was a swarthy boy, 
 with curly hair, a snub-nose, very fresh red lips, which 
 rarely closed over his white and rather prominent 
 upper teeth, fine dark-blue ‘eyes, and a peculiarly 
 energetic expression. He never smiled, but always 
 either looked very serious or laughed outright a loud 
 and very catching laugh. His unusual beauty struck 
 me from the very first moment of our greeting. I 
 felt strongly attracted towards him. To see him 
 was enough to make me feel quite happy; and at 
 that time all my soul was in that one wish. If it 
 happened that I did not see him for three or four 
 days, I began to feel dull, and ready to shed tears ; 
 all my dreams by day or night were about him. On 
 going to bed I longed to dream of him ; on closing 
 my eyes I saw him before me, and cherished the 
 vision as my best happiness. I would not speak to 
 anybody of the feeling, I felt it too precious to be 
 
88 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 talked about. Perhaps he was tired of finding me 
 staring at him with my restless eyes, or he simply 
 felt no sympathy for me, but he evidently preferred 
 to play and talk with Volodja ; but I was satisfied, 
 and wanted nothing, required nothing of him, and 
 was ready to sacrifice all for his sake. Besides the 
 passionate attraction inspired by him, his presence 
 roused another feeling in the depths of my soul — the 
 fear of distressing, offending, or displeasing him. It 
 was, perhaps, because his face had a haughty expres- 
 sion, or because, disliking my own personal appear- 
 ance, I valued beauty too highly in others ; or, as is 
 more probable, because fear invariably accompanies 
 love, and I felt fear and love for him in an equal 
 degree. At first when Sereja began to talk to me I 
 felt so bewildered by the unexpected happiness, that 
 I turned first red, then pale, and could not answer 
 him. Pie had a bad habit, when he was sunk in 
 thought, of staring fixedly at some object, winking 
 with his eyes, twitching his nose and his eyebrows. 
 All agreed that the habit was an ugly one, but I con- 
 sidered it so nice that I involuntarily got into the 
 habit of doing so too. A few days after our first 
 acquaintance grandmother asked me if my eyes ached, 
 that I was winking like an owl. Not one word of 
 love was ever uttered between us ; but he knew his 
 power over me, and unconsciously, but tyrannically, 
 used it in our childish games. As for me, I was too 
 afraid of him to be able to speak plainly, although I 
 wished very much to show him all that lay hidden in 
 my heart. I feigned indifference towards him, and 
 yet submitted to him without a murmur. Sometimes 
 
THE IVINS. 89 
 
 his influence over me seemed to oppress me, but I 
 could not cast it off. 
 
 It grieves me to remember this fresh and pure 
 feeling of disinterested and infinite love, which died 
 without a word of it having been breathed, and with- 
 out having called forth any feeling in return. 
 
 Why was it that when I was a child I tried hard to 
 be like a grown-up man, and as soon as I ceased to be 
 a child I often longed to be like one ? How often did 
 it happen that in my relations with Sereja the desire 
 not to be like a child stopped me from betraying my 
 feelings, and made me hypocritical ! Not only did I 
 never dare kiss him, as I often longed to do, or 
 take his hand, or tell him that I was very glad to see 
 him, but I never even dared call him by his diminutive 
 name ‘ Sereja,’ but always ‘ Sergius.’ Every expres- 
 sion of feeling was looked upon as babyishness, and 
 he who did express any was still looked upon as 
 a child. Without having passed through the bitter 
 trials which make grown people become cautious and 
 cold in their relations towards others, we deprived 
 ourselves of these pure enjoyments of kindly childish 
 attachment on account of our strange desire to imitate 
 grown-up people. 
 
 It was in the entrance-hall that I met the Ivins, 
 welcomed them, and hastened to my grandmother. 
 I announced their arrival to her with as much delight 
 as if the news were sufficient to make her perfectly 
 happy. Still staring at Sereja I went after him into 
 the drawing-room, following his least motion with my 
 eyes. When grandmother said that he had grown, 
 and looked at him with her piercing eyes, I felt both 
 
‘90 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 fear and hope, just as an artist might feel, waiting for 
 a decision upon his work from some esteemed judge. 
 
 The young Ivins’ tutor, Herr Frost, went, with my 
 grandmother’s leave, into our garden, sat down on a 
 green bench, crossed his legs picturesquely, putting 
 his cane with a bronze head between them, and, with 
 the look of a man who is very well pleased with him- 
 self, lighted his cigar. 
 
 Herr Frost was a German, but quite a different 
 sort of man from our kind Karl Ivanovitch. In the 
 first place, he knew the Russian language very well, 
 and spoke it quite correctly. He knew French, too, 
 but had a very bad pronunciation, and generally 
 enjoyed, particularly amongst ladies, the reputation of 
 a very learned man. In the second place, he had 
 reddish whiskers, a large ruby pin stuck in a black 
 satin scarf, the ends of which were passed through 
 his braces, his trousers were checked sky-blue. In 
 the third place, he was young and good-looking, had a 
 self-satisfied look, and very fine muscular legs. It 
 was evident that he was particularly proud of the 
 latter, and considered them as irresistible for every 
 person of the female sex ; perhaps that was the 
 reason why he endeavoured to exhibit them as much 
 as possible, and, whether standing or sitting, always 
 moved the calves of his legs. His was the type of a 
 young German born in Russia, who was desirous to 
 look fine, and to be considered a dandy. 
 
 We were very merry in the garden. Our game at 
 ‘ robbers ’ went on as well as possible ; but one circum- 
 stance had almost put a stop to it. Sereja was a 
 robber ; while pursuing the travellers he stumbled, 
 
THE IVINS. 
 
 9i 
 
 and with all his might struck his knee against a tree 
 so violently, that I thought he would be dashed to 
 pieces. Though I was the ‘ gendarme * of the play, 
 and my duty, therefore, was to catch him, I ap- 
 proached him, and began to ask him with great 
 interest if he were hurt. Sereja grew angry, clenched 
 his fists, stamped his foot, and cried out in a tone 
 which clearly proved that he was badly hurt. 
 
 ‘ Well, what of that? in that case we cannot play at 
 any game. Well, why do you not catch me ?’ re- 
 peated he over and over again, glancing askance at 
 Volodja and the elder Ivin, who, representing the 
 travellers, were running and jumping along the road, 
 and suddenly uttering a piercing scream, and bursting 
 out laughing, he pursued them. 
 
 I cannot tell how greatly his heroism struck and 
 delighted me ; notwithstanding the dreadful pain 
 which he evidently suffered, he did not allow the 
 game to flag even for a moment. 
 
 Not long after that, Iliinka Grap joined us, and we 
 went upstairs to play till dinner-time : Sereja again 
 delighted me by his astonishing courage, and his 
 strength of mind impressed me greatly. 
 
 Iliinka Grap was the son of a poor foreigner, who 
 had formerly lived at my grandfather’s house, was in- 
 debted to him for some kind office or other, and now 
 considered it his bounden duty to send his son very 
 often to our house. If he thought that our acquaint- 
 ance would give his son honour and pleasure, he 
 was greatly mistaken, because we were not only on 
 bad terms with Iliinka, but we only noticed him when 
 we wanted to sneer at him. Iliinka Grap was a boy 
 
92 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 of thirteen, very thin and very tall, with a bird’s face, 
 and with a good-natured, submissive look. He was 
 very poorly dressed, but his head was always so 
 abundantly greased with pomatum that we asserted 
 that on a sunshiny day the pomatum thawed on 
 Grap’s head and streamed down his jacket. When I 
 now think of him I remember him to have been a 
 very obliging, peaceable, and kind-hearted boy ; but 
 then he seemed such a vile being to me, that I found 
 it perfectly useless to pity him, or even to think about 
 him. 
 
 When our game at robbers was over, we went 
 upstairs and began to shout and to boast of each 
 other’s feats of gymnastics. Iliinka looked at us with 
 a shy, wondering smile, and when we proposed to him 
 to try in his turn, he refused, saying that he was not 
 strong enough. Sereja looked very nice ; he had 
 taken his jacket off, his face was burning, his eyes 
 bright; he laughed continually, or invented new games, 
 jumped over three chairs put abreast, rolled like a 
 wheel across the whole room, stood on his head 
 on Tatischefif’s dictionaries, placed by him like a 
 pedestal in the middle of the room, and made 
 such funny tricks with his feet, that we could not 
 help laughing. After the last trick he became very 
 sedate ; then winking at us, he suddenly approached 
 Iliinka, and with a serious look said to him : 
 
 ‘ Please try this ; I assure you it is not difficult.’ 
 
 Grap, observing that the general attention was 
 turned towards him, grew red, and in a voice that 
 was almost inaudible, said that he could not. 
 
 ‘ Well, but why will he not show us some trick 
 
THE IVINS. 
 
 93 
 
 too? He is just like a girl ... he must absolutely 
 stand on his head.’ 
 
 And Sereja took his hand. 
 
 4 Of course ! of course !’ we all cried out, crowding 
 round Iliinka, who was evidently frightened, and had 
 grown quite pale ; then taking his hand we dragged 
 him towards the place where all the dictionaries were 
 lying. 
 
 ‘Let me free; I will do it myself! You will tear 
 my jacket to pieces !’ cried the unhappy victim. 
 But his cries of despair only excited us still more ; 
 we burst into a roar of laughter ; the green jacket 
 cracked along all the seams. 
 
 Volodja and the eldest Ivin pushed his head down 
 and placed it on the dictionaries ; I and Sereja 
 seized the poor little boy by his thin legs, while he 
 was kicking with all his might. We twisted his 
 trousers up to his knees, and with a loud scream 
 raised his legs high up in the air, while Ivin the 
 younger tried to balance the whole body 
 
 It came to pass that after our noisy laughter we 
 suddenly grew quite silent, and it became so still in 
 the room, that only the heavy breathing of the un- 
 happy Grap was heard. I was not quite sure at that 
 moment whether it was all indeed very laughable and 
 funny. 
 
 ‘ There, now you are a brave fellow !’ said Sereja, 
 smacking his hand. 
 
 Iliinka was silent, and endeavouring to get free he 
 moved his legs right and left. In one of these hope- 
 less exertions he struck Sereja's eye so forcibly with 
 his heel, that Sereja at once set his legs free, put his 
 
94 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 hand to his eye, whence tears were streaming from 
 the blow, and pushed Iliinka with all his strength. 
 Iliinka, no longer upheld by any of us, fell heavily on 
 to the ground, and could hardly speak on account of 
 his sobbing. 
 
 ‘ Why do you persecute me so ?’ 
 
 ‘ The miserable appearance of poor Iliinka, with his 
 face drowned in tears, his dishevelled hair, twisted up 
 trousers, from which his unclean boots peeped, 
 struck us ; we all stood still and laughed con- 
 strainedly. 
 
 It was Sereja who recovered the first. 
 
 ‘ Quite a woman — a cry-baby,’ said he, touching 
 him lightly with his foot ; ‘ it is quite impossible to 
 joke with him . . . Well, that will do ; stand up.’ 
 
 ‘ I tell you that you are a nasty boy,’ said Iliinka 
 crossly, and turning aside, began to sob aloud. 
 
 ‘ Ah, well ! it is not enough that you have struck 
 me with the heel of your boot, you want to abuse me 
 now,’ cried Sereja, seizing a dictionary in his hands 
 and hurling it at the head of the unhappy boy, who 
 did not think of defending himself, but only hid his 
 face in his hands. 
 
 ‘ There’s for you ! . . . Let us leave him alone ; he 
 cannot take a joke ... let us go downstairs/ said 
 Sereja, with a forced smile. 
 
 I looked with great interest at the poor little fellow, 
 who, lying on the floor and hiding his face in the 
 dictionaries, was weeping so bitterly, that it seemed 
 to me that a little more and he would have died of 
 the convulsions which shook his whole body. 
 
 ‘ Oh, Sergius !’ asked I, ‘ why did you do that ?’ 
 
THE IVINS. 
 
 95 
 
 ‘ A nice question ! . . . I did not cry when I 
 smashed my leg to-day almost to the bone/ 
 
 4 Ye s, that is true/ thought I. ‘ lliinka is but a 
 cry-baby, while Sereja is a brave boy . . . how brave 
 he is !* 
 
 I did not consider that the poor boy had not cried 
 so much from physical pain as from the idea that 
 five boys, whom he may have liked, had insisted on 
 hating and persecuting him. 
 
 I really cannot explain my cruel behaviour to 
 myself. How was it that I did not approach him, 
 did not defend and comfort him ? Where was the 
 compassionate feeling which had formerly made me 
 sob at the sight of a young raven thrown out of its 
 nest, or of a little dog which was to be thrown over a 
 hedge, or of a hen caught by the cook in order to be 
 roasted for dinner ? 
 
 Is it possible that all those good feelings were 
 choked in me by my love for Sereja, and by my 
 wish to appear before his eyes as brave as he was 
 himself? Both my love for him and my desire to 
 seem a brave fellow must not have been worth much ! 
 They have left the only dark blots that lie on the 
 pages of my childhood. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE ARRIVAL OF VISITORS. 
 
 JUDGING by the great bustle noticeable in the butlers 
 room, the bright lights, which gave a new and 
 festive appearance to all the things so familiar to me 
 
96 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 in the drawing-room and saloon, and especially by 
 the fact that Prince Ivan Ivanovitch had sent his 
 musical band to our house, it was evident that there 
 was to be a large party that evening. 
 
 At the rattling of each carriage which passed before 
 our house, I ran up to the window, put the palms of 
 my hands to my temples, and to the glass-pane, and 
 looked with restless curiosity into the street. Through 
 the darkness which at first hid all objects from my 
 sight, I at last began to distinguish the well-known 
 shop opposite, with a lantern near it, and a large house 
 with two brightly-lighted windows on the ground- 
 floor on one side ; in the middle of the street I saw a 
 vanka * with two men driving in it, then an empty 
 open carriage returning home at a foot-pace ; but now 
 a coach approached our door, and feeling quite sure 
 that the Ivins had come, for they had promised to 
 come early, I ran to meet them in the antechamber. 
 Instead of the Ivins, two ladies appeared behind a 
 servant in livery, who was opening the door : one was 
 tall, in a blue cloak with a sable collar ; the other 
 much shorter, and wrapped up in a green shawl, out 
 of which peeped her little feet in fur boots. Without 
 paying any attention to me, although I thought it my 
 duty to make them a bow, the short lady silently 
 approached the tall one and stopped before her. The 
 latter unwound the shawl in which her whole head 
 was hidden, unbuttoned her mantle, and when the 
 livery servant had taken charge of all these things, 
 and had taken off her fur boots, the carefully wrapped- 
 up person turned out to be a pretty girl of about 
 * A cab. 
 
THE ARRIVAL OF VISITORS. 
 
 97 
 
 twelve, in a short open dress of book-muslin, in white 
 pantaloons, and little black shoes. She had a black 
 velvet ribbon on her snow-white neck ; her head was 
 covered with dark curls, which suited her pretty face 
 and her uncovered shoulders so well that nobody, 
 not even Karl Ivanovitch himself, would have believed 
 that the reason they curled so well was that they had 
 lain from early morning in curl-papers made out of 
 the Moscow News , and that they had been crisped by 
 hot irons. She seemed to have been born with such 
 curly hair. 
 
 The most striking feature in her was the extra- 
 ordinary size of her eyes, which were always half 
 closed, and contrasted prettily with her very small 
 mouth. Her lips were closed, and her eyes looked so 
 serious that the whole expression of her face was one 
 of those on which no one ever expects to see a smile, 
 and which, for that very reason, makes the smile still 
 more attractive when it does come. 
 
 I endeavoured to slip into the saloon without being 
 seen, and began to walk up and down, pretending to 
 be in deep thought, and quite to ignore the arrival of 
 our guests. When they reached the middle of the 
 saloon I pretended to start, bowed, and told them 
 that my grandmother was in the drawing-room. Mrs. 
 Valahoff, whose face I particularly admired on account 
 of its being so very like that of her daughter 
 Sonitchka, nodded pleasantly. 
 
 It seemed that my grandmother was very glad to 
 see Sonitchka ; she asked her to come nearer, set one 
 of her locks, which hung on her forehead, to rights, 
 and looking fixedly at her, said : ‘ Quelle charmante 
 
 7 
 
98 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 enfant!’ Sonitchka smiled, blushed, and looked so 
 pretty that I blushed too, as I looked at her. 
 
 ‘ I hope you will not be dull here, my dear,’ said 
 grandmother, raising Sonitchka’s pretty face by 
 putting her hand under her chin. ‘ Pray enjoy your- 
 self, and dance as much as possible. So we have one 
 lady and two gentlemen to dance already,’ added she, 
 addressing Mrs. Valahoff, and touching me with her 
 hand. 
 
 Her mentioning us thus together was so pleasant 
 that I grew red again. 
 
 Feeling that my shyness was increasing, and hear- 
 ing the sound of carriage wheels, I considered it 
 necessary to leave them. In the antechamber I 
 found Princess Kornakoff with her son and several 
 daughters. The girls were all very like each other, 
 and being all as ugly as the princess herself, did not 
 attract anybody’s attention. Taking their mantles 
 and boas off, and shrilly talking all together, they 
 were bustling about and laughing at something, 
 perhaps at their being so numerous. Stephen 
 was a boy of fifteen, tall, muscular, with a lean 
 face, sunken eyes with dark shades under them, 
 and with arms and legs enormous for his age. 
 He was clumsy, his voice had an unpleasant and 
 harsh tone, but he seemed to be very well satisfied, 
 with himself ; and according to my opinion he was 
 just such a boy as one would expect to see, when 
 one knew that he was whipped whenever he was 
 naughty. 
 
 We stood looking at each other in silence for some 
 time; then, drawing nearer, we seemed about to kiss 
 
THE ARRIVAL OF VISITORS. 
 
 99 
 
 one another, but looking once more into each other’s 
 eyes, we changed our minds, without knowing why. 
 When the dresses of all his sisters had rustled past, I 
 asked him, in order to begin a conversation, if they 
 had not been very crowded in the coach. 
 
 ‘ I do not know,’ answered he negligently. ‘ I 
 never drive in a coach, because it makes me feel sick ; 
 my mother knows it. When we go anywhere in the 
 evening I always take my seat on the coach-box ; it 
 is much jollier : you can see everything. Philip some- 
 times lets me drive, and even gives the whip into my 
 hands. So you know the passers-by catch it some- 
 times . . .’ added he, with an expressive gesture ; 
 ‘ what fun that is !’ 
 
 ‘ Your excellency, Philip begs to know where you 
 were pleased to put the whip,’ said the servant, 
 entering the antechamber. 
 
 ‘Where I put it? I gave it to him.’ 
 
 ‘ He says you did not.’ 
 
 ‘ Well, then, I hung it up on the lantern.’ 
 
 ‘ Philip says there is no whip on the lantern ; you 
 had better say that you have lost it, and Philip will 
 have to pay for it out of his own money,’ continued 
 the angry servant, getting more and more excited. 
 
 The lackey seemed a respectable and morose 
 man ; he evidently sided with Philip, and was deter- 
 mined to get to the bottom of the affair. With an 
 involuntary feeling of delicacy I walked aside as if I 
 had not heard anything ; but the lackeys who were 
 present acted otherwise : they drew near and looked 
 approvingly at the old servant. 
 
 ‘ Well, if I have lost it, what of that ?’ said Stephen, 
 
 7—2 
 
IOO 
 
 BOYHOOD . 
 
 evading farther explanations ; ‘ I will pay what the 
 whip costs. What fun !’ added he, approaching and 
 dragging me into the drawing-room. 
 
 ‘ Stop, please, master ! how will you pay ? I know 
 the way you pay : it is now the eighth month that 
 you promised to pay fourpence to Maria Vassilievna, 
 and I have been waiting two years for you to pay me 
 what you owe me ; as to Peter . . .’ 
 
 i Silence !’ cried the young prince, turning pale 
 with rage ; ‘ I will tell.’ 
 
 ‘ I’ll tell! I’ll tell!’ repeated the lackey. 'You 
 are quite wrong, your excellency !’ added he in a very 
 expressive tone, as we entered the saloon, and he 
 carried the mantles towards the clothes-pin. 
 
 ‘ That’s right,’ said an approving voice in the 
 antechamber. 
 
 My grandmother had a way of expressing her 
 opinion of people only by substituting with a peculiar 
 intonation in her voice the pronoun ‘ thou ’ for the 
 pronoun ‘ you * ; she used ‘ you ’ and ‘ thou ’ quite 
 contrary to the usual way of doing so, and the words 
 acquired a very different meaning when they fell from 
 her lips. When the young prince approached her 
 she said a few words to him, saying ‘ you ’ to him, 
 and looking at him with such disdain that had I been 
 in his place I should have been quite confused. But 
 Stephen was not, it appeared, the same kind of boy 
 as I was. He not only paid no attention to the way 
 grandmother treated him, but even hardly noticed 
 grandmother herself; he bowed to the whole com- 
 pany, not very gracefully, it is true, but looking quite 
 at his ease. Sonitchka took up all my attention : I 
 
THE ARRIVAL OF VISITORS. 
 
 IOI 
 
 remember that when Volodja, Stephen and I were 
 talking in any part of the room, whence I could see 
 Sonitchka, and she could see us and hear our con- 
 versation, I talked with pleasure ; when I happened 
 to say anything I thought funny or manly, I said it 
 louder, turning my head towards the drawing-room ; 
 but when we came to any place whence it was 
 impossible for those in the drawing-room either to 
 observe or to hear us, I became silent, and did not 
 take any pleasure in the conversation. 
 
 By degrees, the drawing-room and the saloon 
 became quite full. Amongst the guests, as it often 
 happens at a children’s ball, there were some quite 
 grown-up people, who did not wish to lose a chance 
 of enjoying themselves, and danced, too, under the 
 pretext of pleasing the mistress of the house. 
 
 When the Ivins, came, instead of the joy I usually 
 felt at meeting with Sereja, I was strangely vexed at 
 the idea that he would see Sonitchka, and she would 
 see him. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 BEFORE THE MAZURKA. 
 
 ‘ I SEE you are going to dance,’ said Sereja, leaving 
 the drawing-room and getting a new pair of fine 
 leather gloves out of his pocket. ‘ I must put my 
 gloves on.’ 
 
 ‘ Oh dear ! we have no gloves/ thought I ; ‘ I must 
 go upstairs and try to find some.’ 
 
 But although I turned all the chests of drawers 
 
102 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 topsy-turvy, I found only the green mittens we had 
 worn when travelling, and one leather glove, which 
 was of no use. In the first place, it was very old and 
 dreadfully dirty ; in the second, it was too large for 
 me ; but the chief obstacle was that the middle finger 
 was missing, having been most likely cut off long ago 
 by Karl Ivanovitch when he had a sore finger. 
 However, I put this fragment of glove on my hand 
 and stared at that part of my middle finger which 
 always bore traces of ink. 
 
 ‘ If Natalia Savishna were here, she would doubtless 
 have found a pair of gloves. It is quite impossible to 
 go down without gloves, because if they ask me the 
 reason why I do not dance, what am I to say ? To 
 remain here is impossible, too, because they will 
 wonder where I am. What shall I do ?’ said I to 
 myself, swinging my arms backwards and forwards. 
 
 ‘What art thou doing here?’ asked Volodja, run- 
 ning into the room. ‘ Go down quick, and invite a 
 lady to dance . . . the ball is beginning/ 
 
 ‘Volodja/ answered I, in a voice which showed that 
 I was almost in despair, holding up my hand with 
 two fingers stuck into a dirty glove — ‘Volodja, you 
 have quite forgotten/ 
 
 ‘What is the matter?’ said he impatiently. ‘Ah! 
 thou meanest gloves,’ added he carelessly, ‘ that is 
 true, we have none ; we must ask grandmother . . . 
 what she thinks about it ;’ and without hesitation he 
 ran downstairs. 
 
 His coolness about a matter which seemed to me 
 so very important made me feel calmer too, and I 
 hastened to the drawing-room, having quite forgotten 
 
BEFORE THE MAZURKA. 
 
 103 
 
 all about the disfigured glove, which was still on my 
 left hand. 
 
 Cautiously approaching the armchair where grand- 
 mother sat, and lightly touching her mantle, I 
 whispered : 
 
 ‘ Dear grandmother, what are we to do ? we have 
 no gloves!’ 
 
 ‘ I beg pardon, my dear?’ 
 
 ‘ We have no gloves/ repeated I, drawing nearer to 
 her, and putting both hands on the arm of her 
 chair. 
 
 ‘ And how dost thou call this ?’ said she, seizing my 
 left hand. f Voyez, ma chere,’ continued she, address- 
 ing Mrs. Valahoff, ‘ voyez comme ce jeune homme 
 s’est fait elegant pour danser avec votre filled* 
 
 Grandmother held my hand firmly in hers, and 
 glanced seriously and inquiringly at all present, till 
 the curiosity of the whole company was satisfied, and 
 the laugh had become general. 
 
 I should have been very sorry if Sereja had seen 
 me at the moment, when with a wry face I tried to 
 draw my hand away ; but before Sonitchka, who 
 laughed so heartily that her eyes were full of tears, 
 and her curly hair fell over her pretty blushiing face, I 
 did not feel ashamed in the least. I saw that her 
 laughter was too hearty and natural to be sarcastic ; 
 on the contrary, the fact that we were laughing 
 together thus, facing one another, seemed to draw us 
 nearer to each other. Although the glove episode 
 might have had a bad termination for me, it turned 
 
 * ‘ Look how fine this young gentleman has made himself, in 
 order to dance with your daughter.’ 
 
104 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 out to be a very good thing for me, for it put me 
 at my ease with the circle in the drawing-room — 
 the circle which had always seemed so awful to me — 
 and I did not feel shy at all when I entered the 
 saloon. 
 
 The sufferings of the bashful come from their not 
 being sure of the opinion which others may have of 
 them ; as soon as the opinion is clearly expressed, be 
 it bad or good, the suffering ends. 
 
 How gracefully Sonitchka Valahoff was dancing a 
 French quadrille with the awkward young prince, my 
 vis-a-vis ! How sweetly she smiled, when in dancing 
 the chaine she gave me her pretty hand ! How 
 delightfully her dark curly hair waved over her head ! 
 how prettily she made the jete-ensemble with her 
 little feet ! In the fifth figure, when my partner left 
 me to pass to the other side, and when I, keeping 
 time to the music, was just going to begin the solo, 
 Sonitchka gravely closed her lips and moved her 
 head aside, looking in another direction. She need 
 not have feared for me. I did the chasse en avant , 
 chasse en arriere et glissade very boldly, and at the 
 moment I approached her playfully showed her my 
 hand in the glove with two fingers sticking out. She 
 burst out laughing and tripped still more gracefully 
 along the inlaid floor. I remember, too, how, while 
 we were dancing the round, and I held her hand in 
 mine, she inclined her head, and scratched her nose 
 with her gloved hand, without taking it out of mine. 
 All these pictures are still fresh before my eyes, and I 
 can even fancy I still hear the tune of the quadrille 
 entitled ‘ The Girl of the Danube.’ 
 
BEFORE THE MAZURKA. 
 
 105 
 
 The second quadrille began, and I danced it with 
 Sonitchka. Having taken a seat by her side, I felt 
 extremely awkward, and positively did not know what 
 to say to her. When my silence became too long, I 
 began to fear that she might consider me a fool, and 
 resolved, come what might, to disabuse her on that 
 point. ‘ Vous etes une habitante de Moscou ?’ I asked, 
 and after receiving a reply in the affirmative, con- 
 tinued: ‘ Et moi je n’ai encore jamais frequente la 
 capitale,’ reckoning particularly upon the effect which 
 was to be produced by the word f frequente.’ I felt 
 that I had begun the conversation very brilliantly, 
 and had shown my knowledge of the French language ; 
 but I felt, too, that I was unable to continue the con- 
 versation in the same style. I observed that our turn 
 to dance was not to come soon, and the silence began 
 anew ; I looked anxiously at her, wishing to know 
 what impression I had made upon her, and waiting 
 for her to help me. ‘ Where did you find such a funny 
 glove ?’ asked she suddenly ; and this question made 
 me feel quite happy again, and put me at my ease. I 
 explained that the glove belonged to Karl Ivanovitch, 
 and talked rather ironically about Karl Ivanovitch 
 himself, telling her how funny he looked when he 
 took his red cap off, about the accident which had 
 happened to him when he fell from his horse straight 
 into a pool ; that he had a green coat on then, and so 
 on. The time during the quadrille passed imper- 
 ceptibly. It was all very pleasant ; but why had I 
 turned Karl Ivanovitch into ridicule ? Would I have 
 fallen in Sonitchka’s good opinion if I had talked of 
 him with the love and esteem which I felt for him ?’ 
 
io6 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 When the quadrille was over, Sonitchka said 
 ‘Merci’ to me in such a pretty manner, just as if I 
 had really done something worthy of her thanks. I 
 was in ecstasies ; I could not keep silence for joy, and 
 hardly recognised myself. Whence did my boldness, 
 confidence, and even audacity, come, all at once ? 
 ‘Nothing can confuse me now,’ thought I, walking 
 carelessly up and down the saloon ; ‘ I am ready for 
 anything.’ 
 
 Sereja asked me to be his vis-a-vis. ‘Very well,’ 
 said I. ‘ I have not got a partner yet, but I will find 
 one/ Having glanced round the saloon in a very 
 decided manner, I observed that all the young ladies 
 were engaged except one, who was standing near the 
 drawing-room door. A tall young man was approach- 
 ing her, as I concluded, in order to invite her to 
 dance ; he was close to her and I was at the opposite 
 end of the saloon. In the twinkling of an eye, sliding 
 gracefully along the floor, I crossed the whole space 
 which separated us, and, having made a bow, I asked 
 her in a firm tone to dance a quadrille with me. 
 The tall young lady smiled patronizingly, gave me 
 her hand, and thus the young gentleman was left 
 without a partner. 
 
 I had such a high opinion of myself that I paid no 
 attention to the young gentleman’s anger, but after- 
 wards heard that he asked who the dishevelled boy 
 was who had come rushing past and had taken his 
 partner away from him before his face. 
 
THE MAZURKA. 
 
 107 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 THE MAZURKA. 
 
 The young man whom I had thus deprived of a 
 partner danced the mazurka in the first pair. He 
 rose from his seat, holding the lady’s hand, and instead 
 of making a ‘ pas de Basques,’ as we had been taught 
 to do by Mimi, simply ran forwards, and on reaching 
 the corner he stopped, with his legs far apart, stamped 
 with his heel, and then ran on again. 
 
 As I had no partner for the mazurka I sat behind 
 my grandmother's large armchair, looking on. 
 
 ‘ What is he doing ?’ said I to myself. ‘ It is just the 
 contrary of what Mimi taught us. She assured us 
 that people danced the mazurka standing on tiptoe, 
 that they danced it lightly and described a round 
 with their legs ; but now I find that they dance it 
 very differently. There are the Ivins, Stephen and 
 others dancing ; none of them made the “ pas de 
 Basques even Volodja imitates their new way of 
 dancing. It does not look bad at all ! . . . And what 
 a darling Sonitchka is ! Now she begins. . . .’ I felt 
 very merry indeed. 
 
 The mazurka was drawing to a close ; several old 
 ladies and gentlemen were approaching grandmother 
 to take their leave and depart ; the lackeys were 
 passing backwards and forwards amongst the dancers, 
 carefully carrying dishes into the back rooms ; grand- 
 mother was evidently tired, and she was talking lazily 
 and very slowly ; the musicians began for the thirtieth 
 time to play the same tune. The tall young lady 
 
io8 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 with whom I had danced observed me, and, smiling 
 treacherously, came up to me with Sonitchka and 
 one of the numerous young princesses, wishing, per- 
 haps, by so doing to please my grandmother. 
 
 * What do you choose — a rose or nettles ?’ asked 
 she. 
 
 ‘You are here ! Go, my dear boy, go,’ said grand- 
 mother, turning round in her armchair. 
 
 At that moment my most earnest desire was to 
 hide my head under grandmother’s armchair rather 
 than move from behind it ; but how could I refuse ? 
 I got up, said ‘ The rose,’ and glanced timidly at 
 Sonitchka. I had hardly recovered from my con- 
 fusion when somebody’s hand in a white glove lay in 
 mine, and the princess set off, without having any 
 suspicion that I absolutely did not know what I was 
 to do with my legs. 
 
 I felt that the ‘ pas de Basques ’ would be misplaced, 
 unsuitable ; but the familiar sounds of the mazurka, 
 affecting my ear, communicated a certain direction to 
 my acoustic nerves, which in their turn caused my 
 feet to move ; and so my legs became involuntarily, 
 and, to the surprise of all the spectators, to dance 
 the fatal light ‘ pas ’ on tiptoe. While we were 
 going straight forward all went on pretty well, but 
 on turning I observed that if I did not take care 
 I should be greatly in advance. To avoid such a 
 disagreeable thing I stopped, intending to make the 
 same sudden turn that the young man who danced 
 in the first pair had done. But at that moment, as 
 I was ready to bound forwards, the princess, turn- 
 ing quickly round, looked at my legs with an expres- 
 
THE MAZURKA. 
 
 109 
 
 sion of curiosity and astonishment. The glance stupe- 
 fied me. I got so confused that instead of dancing, 
 
 I stamped my feet on the floor in the strangest manner 
 without moving an inch further, and without keeping 
 time to the music in the least, and at last stopped 
 short. All stared at me ; some with surprise, others 
 with curiosity ; some again seemed to pity me ; my 
 grandmother alone looked on very coolly. 
 
 ‘ II ne fallait pas danser, si vous ne savez pas !’ said 
 papa’s voice angrily in my ear, and, pushing me aside, 
 he placed my partner’s hand in his, and took a turn 
 with her according to the old fashion, amidst murmurs 
 of applause from the spectators, and led her to her 
 place. The mazurka then ended at once. 
 
 My Lord ! why dost Thou punish me so awfully ? 
 ***** 
 
 Everybody despises me, and will ever despise me 
 . . . the paths of friendship, love, honour . . . are all 
 closed before me ... all is lost ! Why did Volodja 
 make me signs which all could see, and which were 
 of no use to me ? Why did this disgusting princess 
 look at my legs ? Why did Sonitchka . . . she is a 
 darling still — but why did she smile at the time? 
 Why did papa get red in the face and seize me by 
 my arm ? Is it possible that even he was ashamed of 
 me ? Oh, it was dreadful ! Were mamma here, she 
 would not have blushed for her Nicolinka . . . and 
 my fancy carried me away towards the beloved figure. 
 I recollected the meadow before the house, the high 
 lime-trees of our garden, the clear pond, above which 
 the larks might be seen flying about ; the blue sky, 
 with white transparent clouds here and there ; the 
 
no 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 fragrant stacks of new-mown hay ; and many other 
 calmly radiant remembrances arose in my troubled 
 mind. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 AFTER THE MAZURKA. 
 
 The young man who had danced in the first pair 
 took his place for supper at the children’s table, and 
 during the whole time paid particular attention to me, 
 a thing which would of course have gratified my 
 self-love, if I had been capable of thinking at all after 
 the misfortune which had happened to me. But it 
 seemed the young man wished to make me feel merry 
 again ; he jested with me, called me a brave boy, and 
 whenever none of our elders were looking at us, he 
 filled my glass with different kinds of wine one after 
 another, and forced me to drink. Towards the end of 
 supper, when the major-domo poured me a quarter of 
 a glass of champagne out of a bottle, which was 
 wrapped up in a napkin, the young man insisted on 
 his filling my glass, and forced me to empty it at a 
 draught, after which I felt a pleasant warmth pass 
 through my whole body, with a particularly kindly 
 feeling towards my lively protector, and I burst out 
 into a merry laugh. 
 
 Suddenly the tune of ‘ The Grossfater ’* reached our 
 ears from the saloon, and all hastily left the table. 
 My friendship with the young man was immediately 
 over; he joined the grown-up people, but I dared not 
 
 * A very popular dance in Russia, generally the last dance at 
 a ball. 
 
AFTER THE MAZURKA. 
 
 in 
 
 follow him. Approaching Mrs. Valahoff, I began to 
 listen with curiosity to the conversation between her 
 and her daughter. 
 
 ‘ Only half an hour more,’ asked Sonitchka in a 
 tone of entreaty. 
 
 ‘ Impossible, my love !’ 
 
 ‘ Well, for my sake, pray do/ said she caressingly. 
 
 ‘ Can you enjoy yourself, knowing that I shall fall 
 ill to-morrow ?’ said Mrs. Valahoff, while her smile 
 belied her words. 
 
 ‘Ah! leave is given! Yes? We remain?’ said 
 Sonitchka, jumping up joyously. 
 
 ‘ What am I to do ? Go and dance . . . here is a 
 partner for you/ said her mother, pointing to me. 
 
 Sonitchka gave me her hand, and we ran into the 
 saloon. 
 
 Both the wine which I had drunk, and the presence 
 of the merry Sonitchka, made me quite forget my 
 unlucky mischance during the mazurka. My legs 
 played the most amusing tricks : either I trotted 
 along slowly, imitating a horse, or pranced proudly 
 along, or stamped like a sheep provoked by a dog ; 
 and I did it laughing heartily all the time, and pay- 
 ing no attention to the impression I was producing 
 on the bystanders. Sonitchka did not cease laugh* 
 ing the whole time : she laughed when we turned 
 round and round holding each other’s hands ; she 
 laughed, looking at some old gentleman who, stepping 
 measuredly along the floor, passed over the handker- 
 chief as if it were a difficult thing for him to do ; and 
 she laughed still more heartily when, in order to 
 prove my agility, I jumped almost up to the ceding. 
 
1 12 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 On passing grandmothers study, I glanced at 
 myself in the glass : my face was covered with per- 
 spiration, my bushy hair stuck up more than ever ; 
 but the general expression of my face was so merry, 
 kind, and healthy, that I liked my own looks. 
 
 c If I always looked as I do now,’ thought I, ‘ people 
 might find me nice-looking.’ 
 
 But when I again turned to the pretty face of my 
 partner, I saw there, instead of the expression of 
 merriment, health, and recklessness which I had 
 admired in my own face, so much of exquisite, delicate 
 beauty, that I felt vexed with myself ; I understood 
 how stupid I was to hope to attract the attention of 
 such a beautiful creature. 
 
 I could not hope to be loved in return — I did not 
 even dream of it ; my heart was full of happiness with- 
 out that. I did not understand that the love which 
 filled my heart with delight could require any greater 
 happiness than that, or could long for anything, ex- 
 cept that the feeling should never cease. I felt per- 
 fectly happy. My heart fluttered like a bird, the 
 blood rushed incessantly to it, and I felt ready to 
 shed tears of joy. 
 
 When we were passing through the corridor, where 
 under the staircase there was a dark store-room, I 
 glanced into it, and thought what perfect happiness I 
 should enjoy, if I could lead my whole life with her in 
 that dark room, without anybody guessing that we 
 were there. 
 
 ‘ Is not it pleasant to-night ?’ I asked her in a low 
 and trembling voice, and hastened forward, fright- 
 ened, not so much at what I had said, as at what I had 
 intended to say. 
 
AFTER THE MAZURKA. 
 
 II 3 
 
 ‘Yes . . . indeed !’ answered she, turning her pretty 
 head towards me with such a frank, kind look on her 
 face that I ceased to fear. 
 
 ‘ Especially after the supper. . . . But if you only 
 knew how I regret’ (I wished to say how very unhappy 
 I was, but I dared not use that phrase) ‘ that you are 
 soon going to leave us, and we shall meet no more !’ 
 
 ‘ Why shall we not see each other any more ? 
 asked she, looking fixedly at the tips of her shoes, and 
 passing her finger over the transparent screen, before 
 which we were passing at the moment. ‘ I take a 
 drive every Tuesday and Friday with mamma along 
 the Tverskoi.* Do you never go out for a walk ?’ 
 
 ‘ In any case, next Tuesday we will ask leave to 
 take a walk ; and if they do not let me go, I will run 
 away alone, even without my hat. I know the way.’ 
 
 ‘ Do you know,’ said Sonitchka suddenly, ‘ in speak- 
 ing with some boys who come to us, I always say thou 
 instead of you ; let us also say thou to each other. 
 Dost thou agree ?’ added she, shaking her little head, 
 and looking up into my face. 
 
 At that moment we were entering the saloon, where 
 the second and most lively part of the ‘ Grossfater ’ 
 was beginning. 
 
 ‘ I agree with . . . you,’ said I, when I thought the 
 music and the noise would deaden my last word. 
 
 ‘ I agree with thee> and not with you} said Sonitchka, 
 correcting me, with a smile. 
 
 The ‘Grossfater’ was over at last, and I had not 
 yet managed to say a single sentence with ‘ thou,’ 
 although I had not ceased thinking of many in which 
 * A fashionable street in Moscow. 
 
 8 
 
BOYHOOD . 
 
 114 
 
 the pronoun ‘thou’ might very often have been used. 
 My courage failed me. ‘ Dost thou agree ?’ ‘ I agree 
 
 with thee/ sounded in my ears, and made me feel 
 like one intoxicated. I had neither seen anything nor 
 anybody except Sonitchka. I saw the locks of her 
 hair pushed back from her face, and put behind her 
 ears, thus displaying the parts of her forehead and 
 temples which I had not seen before ; I saw her 
 wrapped up in the green shawl so closely, that only 
 the end of her nose was visible ; I saw that if she had 
 not made a small opening for her little mouth with 
 her rosy fingers, she would have been stifled ; I saw, 
 too, as she followed her mother downstairs, she turned 
 her head towards us, nodded, and disappeared. 
 
 Volodja, Ivin, the young prince, and I had all fallen 
 in love with Sonitcha, and, standing on the staircase, 
 followed her with our eyes. I do not know to whom 
 she had nodded in particular, but at that moment I 
 felt quite convinced that it was to me alone. 
 
 When the Ivins were taking leave of us, I spoke 
 quite unconstrainedly with Sereja, and even shook 
 hands with him very coldly. If he understood that 
 from that day he had lost both my love and his power 
 over me, he must have regretted it, although he 
 endeavoured to look quite indifferent. 
 
 For the first time in my life I was unfaithful to my 
 love, and for the first time experienced the sweetness 
 of that feeling. I felt extremely happy to have ex- 
 changed my worn-out feeling of habitual devotion for 
 a vivid love, full of mystery and uncertainty. Besides, 
 to cease loving one, and at the same time to fall in 
 love with another, means to begin to love twice as 
 deeply as before. 
 
IN BED. 
 
 ii5 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 IN BED. 
 
 ‘ HOW could I have loved Sereja so passionately and 
 so long ?* deliberated I, lying in my bed. ‘ No ! he 
 never understood me ; he was unable to appreciate my 
 love, and was never worthy of it . . . But Sonitchka ! 
 What a darling she is ! How sweetly she smiled 
 when she said : “ Dost thou agree ?” “It is thy turn 
 to begin . . . ” !’ 
 
 I jumped up in my bed, vividly picturing her pretty 
 face, covered my head with the blanket, tucked it 
 round me on all sides, and when I saw that I was 
 well wrapped up, I lay down, feeling nice and warm, 
 and gave myself up to sweet fancies and remem- 
 brances. Staring fixedly at the lining of my blanket, 
 I saw her as distinctly before me as I had done an 
 hour before. I talked to her in my thoughts, and 
 although the conversation had no sense at all, it gave 
 me inexpressible delight, because the pronouns thou , 
 to thee , with thee , thine, were constantly used. 
 
 I fancied it all so vividly that I could not sleep 
 from the delightful emotion, and I longed to share the 
 abundance of my happiness with somebody. 
 
 ‘ My darling!’ said I, almost aloud, turning round 
 in my bed. ‘Art thou asleep, Volodja?’ 
 
 ‘Not yet,’ answered he in a sleepy voice. ‘What 
 dost thou want ?’ 
 
 ‘I am in love, Volodja! — absolutely in love with 
 Sonitchka.’ 
 
 ‘ Well, what of that ?’ replied he, stretching himself. 
 
 8—2 
 
BOYHOOD. 
 
 1 16 
 
 ‘Ah, Volodja ! thou canst not think what I feel. 
 
 . . . Just now, as I lay rolled up in my blanket, I saw 
 her so vividly before me — even talked with her ! Is 
 it not strange ? And dost thou know when I lie 
 thinking about her, I do not know how it is, but I 
 feel sad and ready to weep.’ 
 
 Volodja moved about in his bed without answering. 
 ‘ I only long for one thing,’ continued I ; ‘it is to 
 be always with her, to see her continually ; I want 
 nothing else. Art thou in love, Volodja ? Do con- 
 fess ; tell me the truth.’ 
 
 It was a very strange idea, but I wanted all to be in 
 love with Sonitchka, and all to talk of it. 
 
 ‘What is that to thee?’ said Volodja, turning his 
 face towards me ; ‘perhaps I am.’ 
 
 ‘ Thou dost not want to sleep ; thou art only pre- 
 tending,’ cried I, having noticed by the brightness of 
 his eyes that he was very far from being sleepy, and 
 threw my blanket aside. ‘ What a darling she is ! 
 Dost thou not think so ? . . . Such a darling, that were 
 she only to say to me, Nicolinka, jump out of the 
 window, or rush into the fire, I swear I would do so 
 at once with pleasure ! Oh, what a darling she is !’ I 
 exclaimed, picturing her vividly before my eyes, and 
 wishing to enjoy it to the full. I turned quickly to 
 the other side of the bed, and buried my head under 
 the pillow. ‘I can hardly restrain my tears, Volodja.’ 
 ‘ What a fool !’ answered he, smiling ; and then, 
 after a moment’s silence, he continued : ‘ As for me, I 
 would act very differently. I think that if it were 
 possible, I should long at first to sit close to her and 
 talk. . . 
 
IN BED. 
 
 1 1 7 
 
 f Ah, Volodja; thou art in love with her too/ in- 
 terrupted I. 
 
 ‘ And then . . .’ continued Volodja, smiling ten- 
 derly — ‘then I would kiss her beautiful fingers, her 
 eyes, her lips, her pretty nose, her feet — in one word, 
 I would kiss her all over. . . 
 
 ‘ Nonsense !’ cried I from under the pillow. 
 
 ‘ Thou dost not understand anything about it,’ said 
 Volodja contemptuously.. 
 
 ‘Yes, I do, but thou dost not; and thou talkest 
 great nonsense/ answered I tearfully. 
 
 ‘ There is nothing to weep about. Thou art quite 
 a girl !’ 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 THE LETTER. 
 
 On April 1 6, almost six months after the day 
 described above, my father came up to our room, 
 where we were studying our lessons, and told us that 
 we were going to the country that very night. My 
 heart throbbed at the news, and my thoughts imme- 
 diately turned to my mother. 
 
 The cause of our hasty departure was the following 
 letter : 
 
 ‘ Petrovskoje, 
 
 ‘April 12, ro p.m. 
 
 ‘ I have just received thy kind letter of April 3, 
 and, according to my usual habit, I answer it imme- 
 diately. Theodor brought it from town yesterday, 
 but as he came very late, he only handed it to Mimi 
 this morning. Mimi, under the pretext that I was 
 
n8 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 unwell and nervous, did not give it to me the whole 
 day. It is true that I was a little feverish, and must 
 tell thee frankly that for the last four days I have not 
 been well, and have not risen from my bed. 
 
 ‘ Pray do not be anxious about me, my dear ; I now 
 feel pretty well again, and, with Ivan Vasilievitch’s 
 leave, hope to get up to-morrow morning. 
 
 * It was on Friday last that I went out for a drive 
 with the children ; but not far from the spot where 
 the highroad begins, near the little bridge, which I 
 always felt nervous about crossing, the horses stuck 
 in the mire. The weather was beautiful, and it 
 occurred to me to walk a little way, while our carriage 
 was being drawn out. On reaching the chapel I felt 
 very tired and sat down to rest ; but more than half 
 an hour passed before the people could get the carriage- 
 wheels out of the mire, and I felt rather cold, especi- 
 ally in my feet, for I had very thin shoes on, and my 
 feet were wet. After dinner I felt cold and feverish, 
 but continued to go about as usual, and after the even- 
 ing tea I sat down to play duets with Lubotchka (thou 
 wilt be surprised at the progress she has made). But 
 fancy my surprise when I found myself unable to 
 beat time ! I began again and again, but with the 
 same result : my head felt dizzy, and I had a strange 
 noise in my ears. I counted one, two, three, and went 
 on to eight, fifteen ; but it was most curious, that I 
 knew I was all wrong, and yet could not help it. At 
 last Mimi came up and forced me to go to bed. 
 Thus, my love, thou hast the minutest particulars of 
 my illness, and how it was all my own fault. The 
 next day I was in a high fever ; our kind old Ivan 
 
THE LETTER. 
 
 119 
 
 Vasilievitch came. He has been staying at our house 
 ever since, and promises to set me up very soon. 
 What an amiable old fellow he is ! When I was in a 
 burning fever, and quite delirious, he sat up, without 
 closing his eyes all night, near my bed ; and now, 
 while I am writing, he is with the children in the 
 sitting-room, and from my bedroom I hear him telling 
 them German stories, and their loud bursts of 
 laughter. 
 
 ‘ La belle Flamande, as thou callest her, has now 
 been staying at our house for more than a week, 
 because her mother has gone away on a visit, and, by 
 her close attention to me, has given proof of the 
 sincerest attachment. She tells me all the secrets of 
 her heart. Thanks to her pretty face, her kind heart, 
 and her youth, she would be in all respects a delight- 
 ful girl, if she were only in good hands ; but the 
 society in which she lives, according to her own 
 account, will certainly ruin her. The idea very often 
 occurs to me, that, if I had fewer children, it would be 
 doing a good action to take her into our family. 
 
 ‘ Lubotchka wished to write to thee herself, but has 
 just torn up the third sheet of paper, saying : “ I know 
 how satirical papa is. If there be the most trifling 
 mistake, he will show it to everybody.” Katenka is 
 as pretty as ever, and Mimi as kind and as tiresome. 
 
 ‘ Now I must talk to thee about business. Thou 
 writest that our affairs do not go on well this winter, 
 and that thou art obliged to take the income from the 
 Kabarovka Estate. It seems strange to me that thou 
 shouldst ask me for my consent. Is not all that is 
 mine, thine as well ? 
 
120 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 ‘ Thou art so kind, my dear husband, that, fearing to 
 grieve me, thou concealest the real state of our affairs ; 
 I suspect that thou hast lately lost a large sum at 
 cards, but I swear to thee it does not grieve me in the 
 least ; therefore, if there is any possibility of putting 
 our affairs in order, please do not think about me, and 
 do not torment thyself uselessly. I have long learnt 
 never to reckon, not only upon the money which thou 
 mayst win, but, forgive me for saying so, even upon 
 thine own fortune, for the children. I do not rejoice 
 when thou winnest, neither do I grieve over thy 
 losses ; the only point which vexes me is, that thy 
 passion for cards robs me of part of thy tender love, and 
 forces me to tell thee such a bitter truth as I do now 
 — God knows how painful it is for me to do so ! I do 
 not cease to pray for one thing only, that He should 
 keep us . . . not from poverty (what is poverty ?) 
 but from the dreadful position in which the interests 
 of the children, which I shall have to defend, will clash 
 with ours. So far God has heard my prayers — thou 
 hast not transgressed the point which might lead us 
 either to sacrifice our whole fortune, which is but our 
 children’s, or — I shudder at the thought — to that 
 dreadful suffering hovering over our heads like the 
 sword of Damocles. Yes, it is a heavy cross sent to 
 us both. 
 
 ‘ In reference to the children, you again return in 
 your letter to our former discussions : you ask me to 
 let them be sent to a school. You know my preju- 
 dices against such an education. . . . 
 
 ‘ I do not know if thou wilt agree with me or not, 
 but in all cases I entreat thee, for my sake, to promise 
 
THE LETTER. 
 
 I 2 1 
 
 me faithfully that, till the end of my days, and even 
 after my death, if it be God’s will to part us, thou 
 wilt never put that project of thine into execution. 
 
 ‘ Thou tellest me that thou must go to St Peters- 
 burg on business. Christ’s blessing go with thee, my 
 love ; go, and come back as soon as possible. We all 
 feel very dull without thee. The spring is wonder- 
 fully fine ; the double door of the balcony has been 
 taken out ; the path to the greenhouse has been for 
 the last four days quite dry ; the peach-trees are in 
 full bloom ; a few patches of snow are seen here and 
 there only ; the swallows have returned ; and Lubotchka 
 brought me the first spring flowers to-day. The doctor 
 says I shall soon be quite well, and that in three days’ 
 time he will give me leave to go out and breathe the 
 fresh air, and warm myself in the April sunbeams. 
 Good-bye, my friend ; do not be alarmed either by my 
 illness or thy loss ; finish thy business as quickly as 
 possible, and come here with the children to spend 
 the whole summer with us. I have formed many 
 delightful plans for this summer, and your presence 
 alone is wanting for their fulfilment.’ 
 
 The next part of the letter was written in French 
 on another scrap of paper, in a close and uneven 
 handwriting. I translate it word for word : 
 
 ‘ Do not believe what I have written to thee about 
 my illness ; nobody suspects how serious it really is. 
 I know that I shall never recover. Do not lose a 
 moment ; come at once, and bring the children. 
 Maybe I shall yet be able to kiss them once more 
 and bless them : it is my last and only wish. I know 
 
122 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 what a dreadful blow it will be for thee to read these 
 lines ; but sooner or later thou must hear it from 
 others, if I do not tell thee myself. Let us try to 
 bear the misfortune with firmness, and hope in God’s 
 mercy. Let us submit to His will. 
 
 ‘ Pray do not think that this is but the delirium of 
 a sick fancy ; on the contrary, my thoughts at this 
 moment are particularly clear, and I am quite calm. 
 Do not comfort thyself vainly by the hope that these 
 words are but the false, indistinct forebodings of a 
 nervous invalid. No; I feel, I know — I know, 
 because God has chosen to reveal it to me, that I 
 have but a very short time to live. 
 
 ‘ Will my love for thee and our children end with 
 my last breath ? I see clearly that it cannot. I feel 
 too deeply at this moment to think that a feeling, 
 which seems a part of my very existence, can ever be 
 annihilated. My soul cannot exist without loving 
 thee, and I know it will not die ; because I believe 
 that a love such as mine could never have sprung into 
 life, if it were not destined to live for ever. 
 
 i I shall soon be parted from you, but I am firmly 
 convinced that my love will never leave you; and 
 this thought fills my heart with such joy that I await 
 the approach of death calmly, and without fear. 
 
 ‘ I am quite calm, and God knows that I have 
 always thought of death but as a passage to a better 
 life ; yet, why can I not keep back my tears ? Why 
 must the children be deprived of a mother whom they 
 love ? Why must such a heavy and unexpected blow 
 fall upon you ? Why must I die so early, when your 
 love has made my life so infinitely blessed ? 
 
THE LETTER. 
 
 123 
 
 ‘ God’s holy will be done ! 
 
 ‘ My tears prevent my continuing my letter. It 
 may be that I shall see thee no more. I thank thee, 
 my beloved friend, for all the happiness with which 
 thou hast filled my life ; I will ask God to reward 
 thee. Farewell, my best friend ; remember that, 
 though I am no more, my love will never fail thee. 
 Good-bye, Volodja ! good-bye, my love ! farewell, my 
 Benjamin-Nicolinka ! 
 
 ‘Will a time come when they will forget me ? . . .’ 
 
 Mimi enclosed a note in French ; it ran thus : 
 
 ‘ The doctor told me yesterday that the sad fore- 
 bodings which her letter breathes are far from being 
 groundless. Last night she ordered me to send the 
 letter to the post-office immediately. Thinking she 
 was delirious, I waited till the morning, then deter- 
 mined to open it. Hardly had I broken the seal, 
 when Natalia Nicolaevna asked me what I had done 
 with the letter, and enjoined me to burn it, if it were 
 not yet sent off. She goes on talking about it, and 
 says that it will kill you. Do not postpone your 
 arrival here, if you wish to see our angel once more, 
 before she leaves us for ever. Pray excuse my 
 scribbling. I have not closed my eyes for the last 
 three nights. You know how I love her!’ 
 
 Natalia Savishna, who spent the whole night of 
 April 11 in mother’s bedroom, told me afterwards 
 that when she had finished the first part of the letter, 
 she laid it near her on the table and fell asleep. 
 
 * I confess/ continued Natalia Savishna, ‘ I did the 
 
124 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 same while sitting in the armchair near her, and the 
 stocking fell out of my hands. Suddenly, about mid- 
 night, I was aroused by hearing her talk. I opened 
 my eyes, and what did I see ? She was sitting upon 
 her bed — the darling! — clasping her hands like this, 
 and weeping bitterly. “ Then all is over!” was all 
 she said, and she buried her face in her hands. 
 
 c I arose and asked her : “ What is the matter with 
 you ?” 
 
 ‘ “ Ah, Natalia Savishna ! if you only knew whom I 
 saw just now !” 
 
 f But she would not answer any further questions, 
 only ordered me to move the table nearer to her, 
 added something to her letter, ordered me to seal it 
 in her presence, and to send it off at once. After 
 that she grew worse and worse.’ 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 WHAT AWAITED US AT HOME. 
 
 On April 25 we left our carriage near the porch of 
 Petrovskoje House. On leaving Moscow, papa was 
 very thoughtful; and when Volodja asked him, ‘Is 
 mamma ill V he looked at him sadly, and silently 
 nodded assent. During the journey he evidently 
 grew calmer, but as we drew nearer home his face 
 grew more and more mournful ; and when, on leaving 
 the carriage, he asked Foka, who was quite out of 
 breath from the haste he had made to meet us, ‘ How 
 is Natalia Nicolaevna ?’ his voice had lost its firmness, 
 and his eyes were full of tears. Good old Foka stole 
 
WHAT AWAITED US AT HOME. 
 
 125 
 
 a look at us, cast down his eyes, and opening the 
 door of the antechamber, turned his face aside, and 
 answered : 
 
 f It is the sixth day that she has not left her room.’ 
 
 Milka, I was afterwards told, had not ceased howl- 
 ing dolefully from the very first day mother fell ill, 
 and now sprang towards my father fawning upon 
 him, and licking his hands ; but he pushed it aside, 
 and went to the drawing-room, then reached the 
 parlour, whence the door led straight to the bedroom. 
 As he approached the room, his agitation increased 
 visibly. When he entered the parlour, he advanced 
 on tiptoe, hardly breathing, and made the sign of the 
 cross before he touched the handle of the door. Just 
 at that moment Mimi, with her eyes red with weep- 
 ing, and with her hair all hanging loose, came in from 
 the corridor. 
 
 ‘Ah, Peter Alexandrovitch !’ said she in a low voice, 
 with an expression of unfeigned despair ; then, ob- 
 serving that papa was turning the door-handle, she 
 added in a whisper : ‘ You cannot go in by that way ; 
 the entrance is from the other side.’ 
 
 Oh, how deeply did all this sink into my childish 
 fancy, tuned to sorrow by a dire foreboding ! 
 
 We went to the maid’s room. On our way thither 
 we met, in the corridor, Akim the idiot; he had 
 always amused us by his odd grimaces, but at the 
 present moment I saw nothing droll about him — 
 indeed, nothing struck us so painfully as the aspect of 
 his senselessly indifferent face. Two maidservants, 
 who were sitting in the room at some needlework, 
 rose with such a mournful expression on their faces 
 
126 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 to greet us that I grew frightened. Passing through 
 Mimi’s room also, papa opened the bedroom door, 
 and we entered. 
 
 On the right-hand side from the door were two 
 windows closely covered with shawls. Close to one 
 window sat Natalia Savishna, with her spectacles on 
 her nose, knitting a stocking. She did not kiss us as 
 she usually did, but only rose a little, looking at us 
 over her spectacles, while the tears streamed down 
 her cheeks. It impressed me disagreeably to see that 
 all those whom I remembered always to have seen 
 serene and calm should be unable to look at us with- 
 out tears. 
 
 On the left side from the door was a screen ; beyond 
 it were the bed, a small table, a chest full of medicines, 
 and a large armchair, in which the doctor was dozing. 
 Close to the bed stood a very beautiful girl with very 
 light hair. She wore a white morning-gown, with the 
 sleeves turned up a little ; she was putting some ice 
 on mother’s head ; I did not see the latter at first. 
 This young lady was la belle Flamande, whom mamma 
 had mentioned in her letter, and who afterwards 
 played such an important part in the life of our whole 
 family. As soon as we entered, she raised one of her 
 hands from mother’s head, and settled the folds of 
 her dress on her breast, then whispered, ‘ She is 
 slumbering.’ 
 
 I was in great grief at that moment, yet I involun- 
 tarily observed all the minutest details. It was 
 quite dark in the room, and very hot ; there was a 
 smell of mint, eau-de-Cologne, camomile, and Hof- 
 man’s drops. The smell struck me so forcibly that 
 
WHAT AWAITED US AT HOME. 
 
 127 
 
 even now, whenever I perceive it, or even remember 
 it, my fancy transfers me in the twinkling of an eye 
 to that dark suffocating room, and reproduces in my 
 mind all the sad details of those awful moments. 
 
 Mother’s eyes were open, but she saw nothing. . . . 
 Oh ! never shall I forget that dreadful look ! How 
 full of suffering it was ! 
 
 We were taken out of the room. 
 
 When I afterwards asked Natalia Savishna about 
 the last minutes of my beloved mother’s life, she gave 
 me the following account : 
 
 ‘ When you went away she writhed for some time 
 as if in great suffering, then dropped her dear head 
 upon the pillow, and fell into a doze, so calmly, so 
 quietly, looking just like an angel from heaven. I 
 went out to ask why they did not bring her drink, 
 and when I returned a few minutes after, I saw 
 that my poor darling was awake again, and was 
 beckoning to your father to approach. He bent over 
 her, but her strength was evidently failing her, and 
 she could not say what she wished : she only unclosed 
 her lips, and groaned : “ O Lord ! O God ! the 
 children, the children !” I was going to call you 
 back, but Ivan Vasilievitch stopped me and said : 
 “ Do not bring the children ; it will excite her more.” 
 After that she could only feebly raise her hand several 
 times. God only knows what she wished to say. I 
 think that she was blessing you in your absence. It 
 did not please God to let her see her beloved children 
 before she breathed her last. Suddenly my poor 
 darling rose, crossed her arms, and began to say in a 
 voice that I cannot recall even now without terror: 
 
128 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 “ Holy Virgin, watch over them !” . . . And then the 
 pain came up to her heart. We could see by her eyes 
 how dreadfully she was suffering. She turned on the 
 pillow, and even seized the sheet with her teeth, the 
 tears running down her cheeks all the time.’ 
 
 •' Well, and then ?’ asked I. 
 
 Natalia Savishna could not utter a word more ; she 
 turned her head aside and wept bitterly. 
 
 Mother expired in dreadful suffering. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 MY GRIEF. 
 
 The next day I longed to look at her once more. It 
 was very late in the evening. Conquering an involun- 
 tary feeling of terror, I slowly opened the door, and 
 slipped on tiptoe into the saloon. 
 
 The coffin was standing in the middle of the room 
 on a table, which was surrounded with tapers in large 
 silver candlesticks. In a distant corner sat the. 
 chaunter, slowly reading the Psalms in a monotonous 
 voice. 
 
 I stopped close to the door and looked in, but my 
 eyes were so red with weeping, and my nerves so 
 excited, that I could see nothing. The lights, the 
 brocade, the velveteen, the large candlesticks, the 
 rose-coloured pillow trimmed with lace, the band of 
 paper round her forehead with the saint-images of our 
 Saviour and St. Mary, a cap with ribbons, and 
 something transparent and waxlike, were all blended 
 strangely together. I got up on to a chair to see her 
 
MY GRIEF. 
 
 129 
 
 face, but instead of it there lay something pale, yellow, 
 and transparent before me. I could not believe it 
 was her face. I looked fixedly at it, and by degrees 
 began to recognise in it the dear, familiar features. I 
 shuddered when I did so, and knew that this some- 
 thing was my mother. But why had her closed eyes 
 sunk thus into her head ? Why was she so dreadfully 
 pale, and why was a dark spot visible through her 
 transparent skin on one of her cheeks ? Why was the 
 expression of her face so stern and so cold ? Why 
 were her lips so bloodless, and their lines so fair, so 
 grand ? Why did they express such unearthly calm- 
 ness, that a cold shiver passed through me as I looked 
 at them ? . . . 
 
 I looked, and felt as if some incomprehensible, 
 irresistible force attracted my eyes towards the life- 
 less face. I did not take my eyes off it, and my 
 imagination called up one picture after another of 
 blooming life and happiness. I forgot that the dead 
 body which lay before my eyes, and which I looked 
 down upon so senselessly, as if there was nothing in 
 common between it and my remembrance of the past, 
 was the mother I loved so dearly. I fancied her 
 again as I had so often seen her, alive, gay and 
 smiling ; then suddenly some feature in her pale face 
 attracted my eyes, and I remembered the dreadful 
 reality. I trembled, but could not take my eyes off 
 her face. And dreamy remembrances drove the sad 
 reality out of my mind, only to give way to the reality 
 again. At last my imagination grew weary ; it ceased 
 to mock me ; I lost all consciousness of everything 
 around me. I do not know how long this state 
 
 9 
 
13 ° 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 lasted ; I do not know what it was ; I only know that 
 I lost for the time all consciousness of existence, and 
 experienced a kind of ineffably sweet, sad happiness. 
 
 It may be her soul, while leaving this world for a 
 better one, looked pityingly down on those whom she 
 was forsaking ; it may be she saw my sorrow, pitied 
 it, and on the wings of love and with a heavenly 
 smile of compassion glided back again to earth to 
 comfort and to bless me. 
 
 The door creaked, and another chaunter entered to 
 relieve the first. The noise roused me, and the first 
 thought that came to my mind was, that as I was not 
 crying, but simply standing on the chair in an attitude 
 which had nothing pathetic in it, the chaunter would 
 take me for an unfeeling boy, who had perched him- 
 self up on the chair out of curiosity. I made the sign 
 of the cross, bowed my head on my hands, and burst 
 into tears. 
 
 On looking back now it seems to me that that one 
 moment of utter forgetfulness of self was true grief. 
 Both before the funeral and after it I did not cease 
 to weep and feel melancholy ; but I do not like to 
 remember it, because a feeling of self-love mingled 
 with all its manifestations : either a desire to show 
 that I was more afflicted than the rest, or thoughts 
 about the impression I produced upon others, or idle 
 curiosity, which made me examine Mimi’s cap or the 
 faces of those around me. I hated myself for not 
 experiencing exclusive grief, and endeavoured to hide 
 my weakness from the others, and for that very reason 
 my grief was insincere and unnatural. Besides, the 
 knowledge that I was unhappy excited me agreeably. 
 
MY GRIEF. 
 
 I3i 
 
 I tried to keep up my consciousness of unhappiness, 
 and it was that selfish feeling which acted most power- 
 fully in stifling my real grief. 
 
 Having slept very soundly all night, as is always 
 the case after some great sorrow, I awoke with my 
 eyes dry and my nerves much calmed. At ten o'clock 
 in the morning we were called to hear the requiem 
 before the body was carried out. The room was full 
 of servants and peasants of both sexes, who came, 
 with the tears streaming down their faces, to give 
 their last kiss to their dead mistress. I wept during 
 the divine service, made the sign of the cross, and 
 knelt out of decorum ; but I did not pray from the 
 bottom of my heart, and was phlegmatic. I was 
 anxious about my new coat, which was too tight 
 under my arms ; thought about not dirtying my 
 trousers when I knelt, and busied myself in stealthily 
 observing those present. My father stood close to 
 the head of the coffin ; he was as pale as a sheet, and 
 with evident difficulty refrained from tears. His tall 
 figure, dressed in a black dress-coat ; his pale and ex- 
 pressive face and his graceful gestures, which were as 
 self-possessed as usual in making the sign of the cross 
 or bending his body to touch the floor with his 
 hand, instead of bowing to the ground ; the way 
 in which he took the taper from the hands of 
 the priest or approached the coffin — were extremely 
 impressive ; but for some incomprehensible reason I 
 did not like him to look so showy at' such a moment. 
 Mimi was leaning against the wall, and seemed as if 
 she could hardly stand ; her dress was in disorder and 
 covered with down ; her cap was awry ; her swollen 
 
 9—2 
 
132 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 eyes were red ; her head shook and she did not cease 
 sobbing in a heart-broken manner, hiding her face in 
 her handkerchief or in her hands. It seemed to me 
 that she did so in order to have a few moments of 
 respite, and to rest from her hypocritical sobs. I re- 
 membered that the day before she had said to father 
 that the death of mother was a dreadful blow for her, 
 and that she thought she should never be able to sur- 
 vive it ; that death had deprived her of all ; that that 
 angel (she thus called mother) did not forget her 
 before her death, and had expressed a wish to assure 
 her future and that of Kate. She shed bitter tears 
 while telling us all this, so it may be that her sorrow 
 was true ; but it was not a pure and exclusive feeling. 
 Lubotchka, in her black dress trimmed with white, 
 her face all wet with tears, stood with bent head 
 glancing at the coffin from time to time, and her face 
 expressing nothing but childish terror. Katenka 
 stood close to her mother, and in spite of her long 
 face her cheeks were as rosy as ever. The frank, 
 open disposition of Volodja was open in his sorrow ; 
 he stood pensive, staring straight before him ; then his 
 mouth would begin to twitch, and, observing it, he 
 hastily made the sign of the cross over it and bowed 
 his head. All the strangers who were present at the 
 funeral procession provoked me. Their set phrases 
 for my father’s consolation — as, for example, that she 
 would be happier there ; that she was not for this 
 world — were most offensive to me. 
 
 What right had they to speak about her and to 
 sorrow for her ? Some of them in speaking about us 
 called us orphans. As if we wanted their explanations 
 
MY GRIEF. 
 
 133 
 
 to know that children who have lost their mother are 
 called by such a name. Just as there are many who 
 usually hasten to be the first to call a newly-married 
 young lady f madame,' so they were now pleased to 
 be the first to give us the name of ‘ orphans.’ 
 
 In the opposite corner of the saloon a hunchbacked, 
 gray-haired old woman was hardly seen from behind 
 the door of the butler’s room, which was open. With 
 her hands clasped and her eyes raised she was not 
 weeping, but praying fervently. Her soul was rising 
 towards God, asking Him in mercy to let her soon re- 
 join the one whom she loved more than anybody else in 
 the whole world, and earnestly hoping that her prayer 
 would soon be granted her. 
 
 There is one who loved her truly, thought I, and I 
 felt ashamed of myself. 
 
 The requiem was over ; the face of my dead 
 mother was uncovered, and all who were present 
 began to approach the coffin one after another, and 
 after having kissed* her went away. 
 
 Amongst the last who approached the deceased 
 was a peasant’s wife ; she had a pretty little girl of 
 about five years old in her arms ; God knows why 
 she brought her there. At that moment I had 
 dropped my wet handkerchief on to the floor and 
 was just going to pick it up, when, as I stooped to do 
 so, a shrill scream was heard, expressive of such 
 terror that were I to live a hundred years I should 
 never be able to forget it ; even now, when I think of 
 it, a cold shudder passes through my whole body. I 
 raised my head ; the woman was now standing on 
 
 * Last kisses — a Russian custom. 
 
134 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 the footstool near the coffin, and could hardly hold 
 the child, who, waving her little arms, and throwing 
 back her frightened little face, was staring wildly at 
 mother’s face and uttering a succession of violent 
 shrieks. I, too, uttered a cry which, I think, must 
 have been more dreadful than that which had struck 
 me, and ran hastily out of the room. 
 
 It was only at that moment that I fully understood 
 whence came that strong and heavy smell, which, 
 mixing with the smell of benzoin, pervaded the room ; 
 and the thought that the face that had been so lovely 
 and kind a few days since, the face of her I loved 
 most in the world, should excite terror, revealed the 
 bitter truth to me for the first time, and filled my 
 soul with despair. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 MY LAST SAD REMEMBRANCES. 
 
 Mamma is no more, but our life goes on as usual. 
 We continue to go to bed and to rise at the same 
 hour, and sit in the same rooms ; have tea in the 
 morning and in the evening ; the time for dinner and 
 supper is the same ; the tables and chairs stand in 
 the same places ; nothing in our house, nothing even 
 in the course of our lives, was changed — only she was 
 no more. . . . 
 
 It seemed to me that, after such a misfortune, every- 
 thing ought to have been changed ; our usual way of 
 life seemed to me to be an insult to her memory, 
 and reminded me still more vividly of her absence. 
 
MY LAST SAD REMEMBRANCES. 135 
 
 On the eve of the funeral, dinner being over, 
 I wished to rest a little, and went to Natalia 
 Savishna's room, intending to lie down on her bed 
 of down, covered with a warm counterpane. When I 
 entered, Natalia Savishna was lying on her bed, 
 and I supppsed she was asleep ; but no sooner did 
 she hear the sound of my steps than she arose, took 
 off the woollen shawl with which she had covered her 
 head to protect it from the buzzing flies, and setting 
 her cap to rights, sat up on the edge of the bed. 
 
 As I formerly often used to come after dinner to 
 take a nap in her room, she guessed the reason of my 
 visit, and, rising, said to me : 
 
 ‘Well, I dare say you have come for a nap, my 
 poor darling, haven’t you ? Weil, lie down.’ 
 
 ‘What an idea, Natalia Savishna V answered I, 
 holding her hand. ‘ I came for another reason . . . 
 without any purpose. ... You are tired yourself : it 
 would be better for you to lie down.’ 
 
 ‘ No, my dear ; I have slept quite enough,’ said she. 
 (I knew very well that she had had no sleep for the 
 last three days and nights.) * I do not feel inclined 
 to sleep now,’ added she, with a deep sigh. 
 
 I longed to talk with Natalia Savishna about my 
 grief. I knew how sincerely she had loved my mother, 
 and felt that it would be a comfort to weep with her. 
 
 ‘Natalia Savishna,’ said I, after a short silence, 
 sitting down on the bed, ‘ did you expect it ?’ 
 
 The old woman looked at me with perplexity and 
 curiosity, as if she could not understand why I asked 
 her the question. 
 
 ‘ Who could have expected it ?’ repeated I. 
 
36 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 ‘ Ah, my dear !’ answered she, casting upon me a 
 glance of the kindest compassion, ‘ not only did I not 
 expect it, but I cannot even think of it now. I am 
 an old woman ; it has long been time for my old 
 bones to rest, and yet I have lived to bury my old 
 master, your grandfather, Prince Nicolai Mihailovitch 
 (may God rest his soul !), two of my brothers, my sister 
 Annie (they were all younger than I was, my dear), 
 and now I am fated to survive her ; surely it is for 
 some great sin that God has punished me thus. His 
 holy will be done ! He has taken her because she was 
 worthy to go ; and He needs good souls in heaven.’ 
 
 The simple thought comforted me, and I drew 
 closer to Natalia Savishna. She crossed her arms on 
 her breast, and raised her eyes to heaven ; her tearful 
 sunken eyes expressed great but calm grief. She 
 firmly trusted that God had not separated her for 
 long from one in whom, during so many years, all the 
 fibres of her love had been bound up. 
 
 4 Yes, my dear; it seems as if it was not long ago 
 since I nursed and swaddled her, and she called me 
 “ Nadia.”* She used to come running up to me, and, 
 putting her little arms round me, would kiss me, 
 saying : “Oh, my Nachik ! my beauty! my sweet 
 one !” And in reply to these dear words, I would 
 say jokingly : “ No, my dear, you do not love me. 
 When you are a grown-up young lady, you will get 
 married, and will, of course, forget your Nacha.” She 
 would look thoughtfully at me. “ No,” she would 
 answer ; “ I will not marry at all, if I cannot take 
 
 * Nacha — in English, ‘our,’ and diminutive to ‘Natacha’ 
 (Natalia). 
 
MY LAST SAD REMEMBRANCES. 
 
 1 37 
 
 Nacha with me. I will never leave Nadia.” And 
 now she has left me, and has not waited. And how 
 sincerely she loved me ! To say the truth, was there 
 anybody whom she did not love ? Yes, my dear, you 
 ought never to forget your mother. She was not a 
 woman, but an angel from heaven ! As soon as her 
 soul is in the kingdom of God, she will continue to 
 love you there ; from there she will rejoice with you.’ 
 
 * Why do you say, Natalia Savishna, as soon as 
 she is in the kingdom of God ?’ asked I. ‘ I think 
 she is there now.’ 
 
 ‘ No, my dear,’ answered Natalia Savishna, lower- 
 ing her voice, and drawing closer to me on the bed ; 
 * her soul is here yet.’ And she pointed upwards. 
 She spoke in a whisper, and with such feeling and 
 conviction that I involuntarily raised my eyes, look- 
 ing up at the ceiling as if I expected to see something 
 there. 4 Before the souls of the just enter paradise, 
 they have to pass through forty trials, my dear, in the 
 course of forty days, and they may visit their own 
 homes. . . .’ 
 
 She spoke a long time in the same style, and said 
 it with such simplicity and confidence, as if she were 
 talking about the most ordinary things which she 
 was used to see, and the reality of which nobody 
 could doubt. I listened to her, holding my breath, 
 and although I did not understand quite well all she 
 said, I trusted her completely. 
 
 ‘Yes, my dear, now she is here ; she is looking at 
 us ; it may be she hears what we are talking about,’ 
 said Natalia Savishna in conclusion. 
 
 And, bowing her head, she sat quite still. Wanting 
 
138 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 to get her handkerchief in order to dry her tears, she 
 rose, looked fixedly at me, and said in a voice 
 trembling with emotion : 
 
 'God has brought me much nearer to Him by this. 
 What is left to me now ? For whose sake have I to 
 live ? Whom have I to love ?’ 
 
 ‘ Do you not love us ?’ asked I reproachfully, and 
 refraining with difficulty from bursting into tears. 
 
 ‘ God knows how sincerely I love you, my poor 
 darlings ! but I never did and never can love again as 
 I loved her.’ 
 
 She could say no more, but turned her head aside 
 and sobbed aloud. 
 
 I thought of sleep no more ; we sat silently opposite 
 each other and wept. 
 
 Foka entered the room. Seeing our grief, and not 
 wishing to disturb us, he stopped close to the door, 
 looking at us silently and timidly. 
 
 ‘What dost thou want, Fokasha?’ asked Natalia 
 Savishna, drying her tears. 
 
 ‘ A pound and a half of raisins, four pounds of 
 sugar, and three pounds of rice for the cutia,* please.’ 
 
 ‘Directly?’ said Natalia Savishna; and having 
 hastily taken a pinch of snuff, she went with short 
 but rapid strides towards the box. The last traces 
 of the sorrow called up by our conversation dis- 
 appeared when she began to fulfil her duty, which 
 she considered a very important one. * Why dost 
 thou want four pounds?’ grumbled she, taking the 
 sugar out of the box and weighing it ; ‘ three pounds 
 
 * Rice boiled with raisins and sugar, and eaten after the 
 Mass for the Dead. 
 
MY LAST SAD REMEMBRANCES. 
 
 39 
 
 and a half are quite enough.’ And she took some 
 pieces of sugar off the scales. ‘ And what does that 
 mean ? It was only yesterday that I gave eight 
 pounds of rice, and now thou wantest some more. 
 Foka Dmitrievitch, I will not give the rice. John is 
 glad that there is a bustle in the house ; he thinks I 
 shall not notice how much he takes. No, I am not 
 going to allow any encroachment on our master’s 
 property. Who ever heard of such a thing — eight 
 pounds of rice ?’ 
 
 ‘ What is to be done ? He says there is none left.’ 
 
 * Well, there, take it ! Let him have it !’ 
 
 I was quite struck by the rapid transition from the 
 touching pathos with which she had talked to me, to 
 this grumbling about a mere trifle. On thinking it 
 over afterwards, I understood that, whatever the state 
 of her mind might be, she possessed sufficient energy 
 to think of her duties, and the force of habit made 
 her take an interest in her usual business. Grief had 
 taken. such a hold of her, that she did not find it 
 necessary to conceal that she was nevertheless able to 
 attend to every-day matters ; she would even have 
 been quite unable to understand how such a strange 
 idea as her being un-able to do so could have come 
 into anybody’s mind. 
 
 Vanity is a feeling which can never go together 
 with true grief, yet it is so firmly engrafted on human 
 nature that even the greatest grief can seldom entirely 
 eradicate it. Vanity in grief expresses itself by a 
 wish to seem either afflicted, unhappy, or firm ; and 
 this mean desire, which we do not confess even to 
 ourselves, but which even under the heaviest affliction 
 
140 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 never leaves us, deprives our grief of strength, dignity, 
 and sincerity. But Natalia Savishna was so entirely 
 overwhelmed by grief that in her heart there was no 
 room left for any wish, and she continued the usual 
 routine of her life only through habit. 
 
 Having given Foka the provisions required by him, 
 and having reminded him of the pie, which was to be 
 cooked for the entertainment of the clergy, she let 
 him go, then took up her stocking and sat down close 
 to me again. 
 
 The topic of conversation was the same, and we 
 again shed tears and again wiped them away. 
 
 Our talks with Natalia Savishna went on day after 
 day, and I found consolation and comfort in her 
 quiet tears and in her calmly pious speeches. 
 
 But at last we had to part. Three days after 
 mother’s burial we all went to Moscow, and I was 
 fated never to see Natalia Savishna again. 
 
 My grandmother learned the sad news only upon 
 our arrival, and her grief was intense. We were for- 
 bidden to enter her room ; she was unconscious 
 during a whole week ; her life hung on a thread, the 
 physicians said ; for she not only refused to take any 
 medicines, but would not utter a word ; did not sleep 
 at all, and would take no food. Sometimes, while 
 sitting alone in her room, she would suddenly begin 
 to laugh, then to sob, without tears, or fall into fits, 
 shrilly uttering meaningless or dreadful words. It 
 was her first grief, and she was in despair. She 
 sought to accuse somebody of the misfortune which 
 had befallen her, and she used dreadful words, 
 threatening somebody with extraordinary energy, 
 
MY LAST SAD REMEMBRANCES. I41 
 
 springing up from her armchair and striding rapidly 
 up and down the room, after which she would again 
 faint away. 
 
 I once entered her room : she sat as usual in her 
 armchair and seemed calm, although her looks struck 
 me. Her eyes were wide open, but her gaze was 
 vague and dull. She looked at me, but did not, as it 
 seemed, notice me. Her lips began slowly to smile, 
 and she said, in a touchingly tender voice, ‘ Come 
 here, my dear ! come close to me, my angel !’ I 
 thought she was speaking to me, and approached ; but 
 she was looking at somebody else. ‘Ah ! if you only 
 knew, my love, how I have suffered and how glad I 
 am now you are come again !’ . . . I saw then that 
 she fancied mother was before her, and stopped. 
 * And I was told that you are no more !’ continued 
 she, frowning. ‘ What nonsense ! How could you die 
 before me ?’ And she burst out laughing hysterically. 
 
 Only those who are capable of loving deeply can 
 feel deep grief too ; but at the same time their loving 
 natures bring about a reaction against grief, which 
 saves them. That is why the moral nature of man is 
 stronger than his physical nature. Grief never kills 
 him. 
 
 In a week my grandmother was able to weep, and 
 was getting better. Her first thought, when she re- 
 covered, was of us, and her love for us increased. We 
 did not leave her, and she wept calmly, talking about 
 our mamma and fondling us. 
 
 Nobody could have thought, on seeing grand- 
 mother’s grief, that she exaggerated it ; the expression 
 of her sorrow was heartfelt and touching ; yet, I know 
 
142 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 not why, I sympathized more iully with Natalia 
 Savishna, and I still feel convinced that nobody 
 ever loved and regretted my mother as sincerely and 
 as disinterestedly as this ignorant, loving creature did. 
 
 With my mother’s life ended the happy time of my 
 childhood, and a new period — i.e., my adolescence — 
 began ; but as my remembrances of Natalia Savishna, 
 whom I saw no more, and who had had such a power- 
 ful and good influence upon the development of my 
 feelings, belong to that first period, I will add a few 
 words about her and her death. 
 
 After our departure, as the servants who were left 
 on the estate told me afterwards, she felt very sad at 
 having nothing to do. Although all the boxes were 
 still under her care and she did not cease to examine 
 them, to lay the things out over and over again, and 
 to weigh and to portion out the rice and sugar and other 
 household goods, she missed the noise and bustle of 
 the master’s presence in the house ; from her childish 
 years she had been so used to that life. Grief, the 
 change of life and want of bustling activity, rapidly de- 
 veloped in her a disease to which old women are often 
 subject, and the germ of which she had long had. 
 Exactly a year after my mother’s death she fell a 
 prey to the dropsy, and was unable to leave her bed. 
 
 It was hard, I think, for Natalia Savishna to live 
 alone in our large empty house in Petrovskoje, and 
 still harder to die all alone there, without relations or 
 friends around her dying-bed. All in the house loved 
 and esteemed Natalia Savishna ; but she had no 
 friends, and was proud of it. She thought that in 
 her position of housekeeper, possessing the entire con- 
 
MY LAST SAD REMEMBRANCES. 
 
 M3 
 
 fidence of her masters, and having on her hands so 
 many boxes filled with all kinds of things belonging 
 to them, a friendship with those around might lead 
 her to impartiality in a criminal conniving at mal- 
 practices ; for that reason, or it may be in consequence 
 of her not having anything to do with the other ser- 
 vants, she kept apart from all, and used to say that 
 she had in the house neither gossips nor kinsmen, and 
 that she would not allow any appropriating of her 
 masters’ property. 
 
 Giving vent to her feelings in a fervent prayer to 
 God, she thus sought for consolation and found it; 
 but sometimes in moments of weakness, such as all 
 are subject to, when tears and the sympathy of some 
 living creature are the best consolation, she would go 
 to bed, taking her little pug-dog in her arms (the little 
 animal licking her hands and staring at her with- its 
 yellow eyes) : she would talk to it, weeping calmly, 
 while she fondled it. When the pug-dog began to 
 howl plaintively, she endeavoured to quiet it, saying : 
 ‘ There, that will do ; I know without your howling 
 that I shall soon die.’ 
 
 A month before her death she took some yards of 
 white calico, some white muslin, and rose-coloured 
 ribbons out of her own box. With the help of her 
 servant-maid she made a white dress and a cap for 
 herself, and gave the most minute details concerning 
 the way she wished to be buried. She set in order all 
 her masters’ goods, wrote out a most exact inventory 
 of all, and handed it to the steward ; then she took 
 out some former gifts of my grandmother’s — two silk 
 dresses, an old shawl, and my grandfather’s uniform, 
 
144 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 laced with gold, and examined them. Thanks to the 
 care she had taken of them, the embroidery and gold 
 lace were quite new, and the broadcloth had not been 
 in the least moth-eaten. 
 
 On the eve of her death she expressed a desire that 
 one of her two dresses, the rose-coloured one, was 
 to be given to Volodja ; the other, the puce and 
 striped one, to me, asking us to use the material 
 for dressing-gowns ; the shawl was for Lubotchka. 
 As to the uniform, she bequeathed it to the first 
 of us who attained the rank of officer. All her other 
 property, with the exception of forty roubles (^4), 
 which she put aside for her funeral and for prayers to 
 be said for the repose of her soul, she left to her 
 brother. Her brother, who had long ago been en- 
 franchised, was living in a distant village, and led a 
 most dissolute life ; that was why she had held no in- 
 tercourse with him during her lifetime. 
 
 When the brother of Natalia Savishna came to 
 receive the heritage, and was told that the whole 
 property of the deceased consisted of but twenty-five 
 roubles, he would not believe it, and said it was quite 
 impossible that an old woman, who during sixty years 
 had all on her hands in a rich family, who had led 
 a miser’s life, and all the time grudged even a duster, 
 could have left nothing after her death. But it was 
 quite true. 
 
 During two months Natalia Savishna suffered and 
 bore her sufferings with truly Christian patience ; she 
 did not grumble; not a word of complaint escaped her 
 lips ; and in accordance with her usual custom, she con- 
 stantly uttered the name of God. An hour before her 
 
MY LAST SAD REMEMBRANCES. 
 
 145 
 
 death she confessed her sins and received the last 
 sacrament and extreme unction. 
 
 She asked all the servants to pardon any affronts 
 which she might have put upon them, and asked her 
 confessor, Father Basil, to tell us that she did not 
 know how to thank us for all our kindness to her, and 
 that she begged us to forgive her if through stupidity 
 she had ever provoked any of us, but added that she 
 had never been a thief, and could say with truth that 
 she had never enriched herself, by a single thread 
 even, taken from her masters. It was the one quality 
 which she prided herself upon. 
 
 Having put on the dress and cap that she had had 
 prepared, and leaning her elbow on the pillow, she 
 did not cease to talk with the priest, and then, remem- 
 bering that she had not left anything for the poor, she 
 took ten roubles and asked him to distribute them 
 amongst the poor in the parish ; then having made the 
 sign of the cross, she lay down and breathed her last, 
 with a peaceful smile and the name of God on her lips. 
 
 She left life without regret, did not fear death, and 
 welcomed it as a boon. Such a death is often spoken 
 of, but how seldom does anybody really die thus ! 
 Natalia Savishna could face death without fear 
 because she died in the firm belief that she had ful- 
 filled the commandments of Christ. Her whole life 
 had been one of pure and disinterested love and 
 self-denial. 
 
 Her faith might perhaps have been more lofty and 
 her life might have been directed towards a more 
 elevated aim, but is such a pure soul as hers less 
 worthy of love and wonder ? 
 
 10 
 
46 
 
 BOYHOOD. 
 
 She fulfilled the best and the highest purpose of 
 life by dying without regret and fear. 
 
 According to her wish, she was buried near the 
 chapel built over my mother’s grave. The hillock 
 under which she was laid is now overgrown with 
 nettles and burdock and enclosed by a black railing, 
 and I never forget, after visiting the chapel, to 
 approach the railing and bow down to the ground 
 before her grave. 
 
 Sometimes I stand silently between the chapel and 
 the black railing. Sad thoughts of the past suddenly 
 arise, and involuntarily the idea crosses my mind : is 
 it possible that Providence united me with these two 
 creatures only in order that I should for ever mourn 
 their loss ? . . . 
 
ADOLESCENCE . 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 A JOURNEY TO TOWN. 
 
 Two vehicles are once more at the door of Petrovskoje 
 House — one, a carriage in which Mimi, Katenka, 
 and Lubotchka are going, with the maid-servant; the 
 steward, Jacob, sitting on the coach-box ; the other, 
 a chaise for Volodja, myself, and the man-servant, 
 Vassily (a serf lately taken into our service). 
 
 Papa, who is to come to Moscow in a few days, 
 stands on the staircase without his hat, and makes 
 the sign of the cross over the window of the carriage 
 and over our chaise. 
 
 ‘God bless you! Drive on!’ Jacob and the two 
 coachmen — we are going with our own horses — take 
 off their caps and cross themselves. ‘Now then! 
 God speed you !’ The coach and the chaise begin to 
 jolt along the uneven road, and the birch-trees of the 
 spacious avenue seem to fly past us. I do not feel 
 sad at all. My thoughts are not turned upon what I 
 am leaving, but upon what awaits me. As we go 
 further from all the objects to which the sad memo- 
 ries are attached, which up to the present moment 
 
 io — 2 
 
148 
 
 ADOLESCENCE. 
 
 had filled my mind, these remembrances fade, and 
 give way to a buoyant feeling full of strength, fresh- 
 ness, and hope. 
 
 I have seldom passed a few days — I will not say as 
 merrily, for I felt somewhat ashamed yet of giving way 
 to merriment — but as pleasantly as the four days of 
 our journey. I had no more before my eyes the 
 closed doors of my mother’s room, which I could not 
 pass without a shudder ; neither did I see the closed 
 piano, which we not only avoided approaching, but 
 which we looked at with a feeling of dread ; I did not 
 see our mourning-dresses — we were all in our usual 
 travelling clothes — nor any of those things which, by 
 vividly recalling to my mind the irreparable loss we 
 had sustained, made me avoid every appearance of 
 gaiety, for fear of wounding her memory in some way. 
 Here, on the contrary, my mind was constantly 
 diverted by new picturesque scenes and objects, while 
 the fresh spring air instilled into me a delightful feel- 
 ing of contentment with the present and bright hopes 
 for the future. 
 
 Early, early in the morning the pitiless Vassily (too 
 zealous in his duties, as people always are in a new 
 function) pulls off the blanket, saying that it is time 
 to set off, and that all is in readiness. In spite of all 
 my shrinking, my anger and my artful efforts to pro- 
 tract my sweet morning sleep, if it were only for a 
 quarter of an hour, I see by Vassily’s resolute face 
 that he is inflexible, and ready to pull off the blanket 
 twenty times more; so I jump up and run into the 
 yard to wash myself 
 
 In the lobby the tea-urn is already boiling; Mitjka 
 
A JOURNEY TO TOWN. 
 
 149 
 
 the postilion, looking as red as a lobster, is blowing 
 the fire; out of doors it is damp and foggy; some- 
 thing like steam rises from the dunghill ; the sun 
 illuminates the eastern part of the sky, and the straw- 
 covered roofs of the spacious sheds which surround 
 the back-yard glitter in the dew with a bright, cheerful 
 light. Under them we see our horses tied to their 
 mangers, and hear their measured chewing. A shaggy 
 little dog, which had been crouching before daydawn 
 on the dunghill, now sluggishly stretches itself, and, 
 wagging its tail, trots off to the other end of the 
 yard. The busy housewife opens the creaking gate, 
 driving out the pensive cows into the street, whence 
 the stamping, bellowing and bleating of the herd 
 reach our ears, then exchanges a few words with her 
 sleepy neighbour. Philip, with his shirt sleeves 
 tucked up, pulls up a bucket out of the deep well by 
 means of a wheel, and, splashing the clear water about, 
 pours it into an oaken trough, round which a number 
 of ducks are already splashing about in a pool ; and 
 I look with pleasure at the dignified, bearded face of 
 Philip, and at the well-developed veins and muscles 
 which are so clearly defined on his strong arms when- 
 ever he makes an effort. 
 
 Behind the partition-wall, where Mimi had slept 
 with the girls, and across which we had talked with 
 them the evening before, a bustling may be heard. 
 Masha keeps running past our room, concealing 
 various objects from our inquisitive gaze by covering 
 them with her apron ; at last the door is opened and 
 we are called to tea. 
 
150 
 
 ADOLESCENCE . 
 
 Vassily, in his fit of superfluous zeal, is incessantly 
 running into the room, first for one thing, then for 
 another, winking at us and beseeching Maria Ivanovna 
 to set off earlier. The horses are put to, and express 
 their impatience by now and then rattling the little 
 bells on their harness ; trunks, boxes, cartoons, and 
 small parcels, are again packed in, and we take our 
 seats. But at every attempt to sit down in the 
 vehicle we find hill-like knolls instead of a seat, and 
 cannot make out how all had been packed in the 
 day before, and how we are to sit now ; there is 
 one hazel-wood tea-box, with a triangular lid, 
 placed in our chaise underneath my seat, which 
 makes me feel most indignant. But Vassily says 
 it will smooth down in time, and I am forced to 
 believe him. 
 
 The sun has just risen above a compact white 
 cloud, which covered the east, and sheds a bright, 
 calm light all around. Everything is so beautiful, 
 and my heart feels so light, so peaceful. . . . The 
 road winds before us like a wide grayish ribbon — 
 along the dry stubble-fields and along the meadows, 
 glittering with dew ; here and there beside the road 
 you see a dark-looking cythesus, or a young birch- 
 tree, with its tiny sticky foliage, casting long motion- 
 less shadows on the dry clay ruts and the green grass 
 of the road. . . . The monotonous noise of the wheels 
 and the tinkling of the little bells do not prevent our 
 hearing the singing of the larks, which whirl close by 
 the road. The smell of moth-eaten cloth, dust, and 
 something sour, which pervades our chaise, is over- 
 powered by the fragrant smell of morning, and I feel 
 
A JOURNEY TO TOWN. 
 
 151 
 
 a pleasant restlessness, a longing for action — the sign 
 of true happiness. 
 
 I had no time to say my prayers at the inn ; but as 
 I had more than once noticed that on the day when 
 I by some chance forgot to do so, some misfortune 
 was sure to happen to me, I now try to amend my 
 fault, take off my cap, turn my face towards the corner 
 of the vehicle, say my prayers, and make the sign of 
 the cross under my jacket, so as not to be seen. But 
 thousands of different things divert my attention, and 
 I absently repeat the same words of the prayer several 
 times running. 
 
 There on the pathway, which stretches along the 
 side of the road, some figures slowly moving forwards 
 are visible — these are pilgrims. Dirty handkerchiefs 
 are bound round their heads ; on their backs they 
 have wallets made of birch-bark ; their feet are 
 wrapped in dirty torn rags, and they wear heavy bast 
 shoes. Swinging their sticks monotonously to and 
 fro, and hardly noticing us, they move along one after 
 the other with slow, measured steps, and I ask myself, 
 Where are they going ? and what for ? Whether 
 theirs is a long journey, and whether the tall shadows 
 which they cast on the road will soon join the shadow 
 of the cythesus, which they will pass by ? Then we 
 meet a carriage, with four post-horses, driving rapidly 
 along from an opposite direction. Two seconds, and 
 the faces, which at the distance of about two yards 
 had looked so pleasantly and curiously at us, have 
 already passed, and it seems strange to me that these 
 persons have nothing in common with me, and that it 
 may be I shall never see them again. 
 
152 
 
 ADOLESCENCE. 
 
 There on the roadside run two sweaty, shaggy 
 horses, their collars with traces lashed behind the 
 back-bands, and behind them sits a young lad, a post- 
 boy, his long legs, in huge boots, hanging on both 
 sides of the horse, over whose neck hangs a bow, 
 and now and then the tinkling of the bell is faintly 
 heard ; his lamb’s-wool cap on one side, he is singing 
 some drawling song. His face and attitude express so 
 much idle, careless content, that it seems to me it 
 must be the height of felicity to be a postboy, and to 
 be riding home thus, singing melancholy songs. 
 There, far beyond the ravine, against the light-blue 
 sky, rises a village church, with its green roof ; there is 
 a village, with the red roof of the landowner’s house 
 and a green garden. Who lives in that house ? I 
 wonder whether there are any children in it — a father, 
 a mother, a tutor ? Why should we not drive up 
 to that house and make acquaintance with its 
 inmates ? There comes a long train of huge carts, 
 each drawn by three well-fed, thick-legged horses, 
 and we find ourselves obliged to drive aside out of 
 their way. ‘ What have you got there ?’ says Vassily, 
 addressing the front driver, who, with his feet dangling 
 down the side of the cart, is swinging the whip to and 
 fro. He stares fixedly and stupidly at us for some time, 
 and only answers when we are too far to hear him. 
 ‘What goods have you got there?’ says Vassily, 
 addressing the driver of the next cartload, who is 
 lying on the front bar covered with a new mat. A 
 fair-haired head with a red face and a reddish beard 
 peeps out for a moment from beneath the mat, casts 
 an indifferent, contemptuous glance at our vehicle, and 
 
A JOURNEY TO TOWN. 
 
 153 
 
 again disappears under the mat ; and the thought 
 strikes me that these drivers probably do not know 
 who we are, whence we come, and where we are 
 going. 
 
 For about an hour and a half after that I am rapt 
 in thought, and pay no attention to the crooked posts 
 which mark the number of miles we pass. But now 
 the sun begins to scorch my head and back ; the road 
 gets more dusty ; the triangular lid of the tea-box 
 begins to inconvenience me greatly, and I alter my 
 position several times — I begin to feel hot, uncomfort- 
 able, and weary. All my attention is directed 
 towards the mile-posts and to the numbers marked 
 on them ; I make different kinds of mathematical 
 calculations at what time we are likely to reach 
 the next stage. Eight miles are one-third of twenty- 
 four, and there are twenty-seven to Liepetz, conse- 
 quently we have done one-third, and how much more ? 
 
 ‘Vassily,’ say I, noticing that he is dozing, ‘let me 
 get on to the coach-box, pray.’ Vassily consents. We 
 change places ; he instantly .begins to snore, and 
 stretches himself out so that there is no room in the 
 vehicle left for anybody else ; while a lovely picture 
 opens before me from the height where I am seated. 
 Our four horses — Nerouchinskaja, Chanter, the Left 
 Still-horse, and Apothecary — I examine them all, 
 even to the least details and shades of the peculiarities 
 of each. 
 
 ‘ Why is Chanter to-day on the right-hand side, 
 and not on the left, Philip ?’ I inquire somewhat 
 timidly. 
 
 ‘ Chanter ?’ 
 
154 
 
 ADOLESCENCE. 
 
 ‘And Nerouchinskaja is not drawing at all/ say I. 
 
 ‘ Chanter cannot be put in the left-side/ says Philip, 
 ignoring my last remark ; ‘ it is not a horse like that 
 that is to be put on the left-side trace. The left side 
 requires a horse, a horse in the real sense of the word, 
 but this is not one.’ 
 
 And with these words Philip bends over to the 
 right side, and with all his strength pulls the bridle 
 and begins to lash poor Chanter over the tail and legs 
 in a peculiar way from below ; and though Chanter 
 works hard, and draws along the whole vehicle almost 
 alone, Philip only stops this manoeuvre when he feels 
 the necessity of resting, and, for some unknown reason, 
 shoves his hat to one side, although up to that time it 
 had rested securely and tightly on his head. I 
 seize that favourable opportunity to ask Philip to let 
 me drive. Philip gives me one rein first, then the 
 other ; at last all the six reins and the whip are in my 
 hands, and I am quite happy. I try hard to imitate 
 Philip. I ask him whether he approves of my driving, 
 but the end is usually that he is dissatisfied with me, 
 saying that one horse pulls hard, while the other does 
 not pull at all, thrusts his elbow against my chest, and 
 takes the reins from me. The heat keeps increasing, 
 little white clouds begin to rise, like soap bubbles, 
 higher and higher, then unite and assume dark-gray 
 tints. From the window of the carriage a hand 
 is stretched out with a bottle and a parcel ; Vassily, 
 with wonderful dexterity, jumps down from the coach- 
 box without our stopping, and brings us some curd- 
 cakes and kvass.* 
 
 * A liquor made of rye-flour and rye-malt. 
 
A JOURNEY TO TOWN. 
 
 155 
 
 On a steep descent we all get out of our coaches and 
 race as far as the bridge, while Vassily and Jacob, 
 having scotched the wheels, uphold the carriage on 
 both sides, as if they could keep it from falling over. 
 Then, with Mimi’s permission, Volodja or myself get 
 into the carriage, while Lubotchka or Katenka takes 
 her seat in the chaise. This change of place affords 
 much pleasure to the girls, because they find it much 
 more pleasant to sit in the chaise. At times during 
 the intense heat, when passing through a wood, we 
 get out of the carriage, gather some green twigs, 
 and construct a sort of arbour in the vehicle. The 
 moving arbour overtakes the carriage at full 
 speed, and Lubotchka shrieks shrilly, a thing she 
 never fails to do whenever anything gives her great 
 pleasure. 
 
 But here is the village where we are to dine and 
 rest. Now we already perceive the smell of a village 
 — smoke, tar, cracknels ; we hear the sounds of voices, 
 steps, and wheels ; the bells do not tinkle any more 
 as sonorously as they did in the open field, and 
 cottages are seen on each side with their thatched 
 roofs, carved-deal staircases, and small windows with red 
 and green shutters, at which here and there the face of 
 some inquisitive old woman appears. Peasant boys 
 and girls in shirts alone stare at us, standing with 
 their arms wide apart, motionless on one spot, or 
 kicking up the dust with their naked little feet; in spite 
 of the threatening gestures of Philip, they run after the 
 coaches, and try to get on our trunks, which are 
 strapped to the back of the carriage. Now several 
 red-haired peasants come up to our carriages on both 
 
156 
 
 ADOLESCENCE. 
 
 sides, and by their words and gestures try to entice 
 the travellers to their respective cottages. Stop ! the 
 gate creaks, the whipple-trees catch against the base of 
 the gate, and we drive into the yard. Four hours of 
 rest and liberty ! 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE TEMPEST. 
 
 The sun was setting, and his slanting beams burnt 
 my neck and cheeks insufferably ; it was impossible 
 to place my hand on the heated edge of the chaise ; 
 dense clouds of dust rose up along the road and 
 filled the air. There was not a breath of wind to 
 disperse them. In front of us, at some distance, 
 rolled the high, dusty carriage, with our trunks 
 fastened on the top, and from behind which, every 
 now and then, the whip of the coachman, his hat, and 
 Jacob’s cap, might be seen. I did not know what to 
 do with myself. The dust which had begrimed the 
 face of Volodja, who was dozing by my side, the 
 restlessness of Philip’s back, the tall shadow of our 
 chaise following us in the shape of a slanting triangle) 
 did not afford me any diversion. All my attention 
 was directed towards the mile-posts, which I could 
 see at a distance, and towards the clouds, which had 
 gradually spread over the horizon, and, assuming 
 ominous shades, had now united into o-ne large black 
 cloud. Now and then the distant rolling of thunder 
 reached my ears. This last circumstance increased 
 
THE TEMPEST. 
 
 *57 
 
 my impatience to reach the inn as quickly as possible. 
 A thunderstorm always gave me a strange depressing 
 feeling of weariness and dread. 
 
 The nearest village was still about seven miles off, 
 and the large dark-blue cloud (God knows where it had 
 come from, for there was not the slightest breeze) 
 was moving towards us rapidly. The sun had not 
 yet disappeared behind the clouds, and cast a vivid 
 brightness over the dark cloud and the gray stripes 
 which stretched from it along the whole horizon. 
 Now and then flashes of lightning and a faint rolling 
 noise is heard, gradually growing louder, approaching 
 nearer and nearer, and changing into long irregular 
 peals of thunder. Vassily gets down from the coach- 
 box and draws the cover up ; the coachmen put their 
 overcoats on, and at every peal of thunder take off 
 their hats and make the sign of the cross ;* the horses 
 prick up their ears, expand their nostrils as if sniffing 
 the fresh air wafted from the dark cloud, which draws 
 nearer and nearer as our chaise rolls rapidly along 
 the dusty road. A feeling of awe comes over me, 
 and my blood seems to circulate with greater rapidity 
 in my veins. The nearest clouds begin to hide the 
 sun ; now he looks out for the last time, casting his 
 light on the awful gloom of that part of the horizon, 
 and disappears. All the country around suddenly 
 changes its aspect, and looks gloomy. The aspens 
 in the wood begin to tremble ; the leaves rustle and 
 assume a whitish colour, forming a striking contrast 
 to the purple background of the cloud ; the summits 
 
 * The habit amongst the people of Russia. 
 
iS8 
 
 ADOLESCENCE . 
 
 of the tall birch-trees begin to shake, and blades ot 
 dry grass fly over the road. Martins and white- 
 breasted swallows, as if in order to stop us, whirl 
 round our chaise, and fly close to the very breasts 
 of the horses ; jackdaws, with outstretched wings, 
 fly along sidewise with the wind ; the edges of the 
 leathern rug which covers us begin to flap, knocking 
 against the chaise, and admitting gusts of moist wind 
 upon us. There is a flash of lightning which seems 
 to fill the chaise itself, dazzling our eyes and lighting 
 up for an instant the gray cloth, the silk galloons, 
 and the figure of Volodja cowering in a corner. At 
 the same moment a grand peal of thunder is heard 
 above our heads. The sound seems to ascend, 
 gathering strength as it rolls along in its huge 
 spiral course, higher and higher ; becoming wider 
 and wider in a huge spiral line, it gradually grows 
 louder, and passes into a deafening crash, which 
 makes us tremble involuntarily, and hold our breath. 
 The wrath of God ! How poetical is that common 
 expression ! 
 
 The wheels roll quicker and quicker. On looking 
 at the backs of Vassily and Philip, who is nervously 
 twitching the reins, I notice that they are afraid, too. 
 Our vehicle rapidly goes down the hill, and with 
 a rattling noise passes over the wooden bridge. I 
 am afraid to move, and expect every moment that 
 we shall all perish. 
 
 Halt ! a whipple-tree has come off, and notwith- 
 standing the uninterrupted, deafening peals of thunder, 
 we are compelled to stop on the bridge. 
 
 Leaning my head against one side of the chaise, 
 
THE TEMPEST. 
 
 159 
 
 I breathlessly and hopelessly watch the movements of 
 Philip’s thick black fingers, as he slowly lashes on the 
 traces, pushing the side-horse with his hand and his 
 whip. 
 
 The unpleasant sensation of uneasiness and fear 
 increases as the storm grows more and more violent ; 
 but when the sublime moment of silence has come — 
 which is usually the forerunner of a violent peal of 
 thunder — my feelings reach such a pitch that, had 
 this situation lasted a quarter of an hour longer, I am 
 sure I should have died of agitation. At that very 
 moment from under the bridge appears a human 
 being in a dirty, ragged shirt, and with a stupid, 
 swollen face, a shaking, bare, shaved head, bandy 
 legs, and a red glossy stump instead of a hand, which 
 he pushes right into the chaise. 
 
 ‘ Good sir, help a poor wretch, for Christ’s sake !’ 
 says the beggar in a weak voice, crossing himself and 
 bowing low at each word. 
 
 I cannot describe the feeling of cold dread which 
 filled my heart at that minute. A shiver ran through 
 my whole body, while my eyes, stupefied with fear, 
 were directed towards the beggar .... 
 
 Vassily, whose business it is to distribute alms 
 during our journey, is giving Philip directions as to 
 the fastening of the whipple-tree, and it is only when 
 everything is done, and Philip, taking up the reins, 
 has got on the coach-box again, that he gets some- 
 thing out of his pocket. But just as we are about to 
 start, a dazzling flash of lightning, suddenly illuminat- 
 ing the whole vale with its fiery light, compels our 
 horses to stop simultaneously with it ; such a deafening 
 
i6o 
 
 ADOLESCENCE. 
 
 crash of thunder rolls over our heads, that it seems as 
 if the whole vault of heaven were going to crush us. 
 The wind grows more violent ; the manes and tails of 
 our horses, Vassily’s cloak, and the edges of the rug 
 are tossed in one direction, and are waved wildly 
 about by the furious wind. But now a heavy drop of 
 rain has fallen on the leathern cover of the chaise 
 . . . . another, a third, a fourth, and on a sudden it 
 seemed as if the rolling of a drum were heard, and the 
 monotonous pattering of the falling rain resounded 
 all around. I notice by the jerking of Vassily’s 
 elbow, that he is undoing his purse, the beggar, con- 
 tinually crossing himself and bowing, keeps running 
 close to the wheels, so that we may every moment 
 expect to see him driven over. ‘ For Christ’s sake, 
 give me something P At last a copper coin flies past 
 us, and the poor wretch, his lean limbs covered with 
 rags that are wet through, and shaking in the wind, 
 stops, with a puzzled look, in the middle of the road, 
 then disappears out of my sight. 
 
 The oblique rain, carried along by the violent 
 wind, comes down as if it were poured out of 
 buckets ; the rain streams down Vassily’s frieze- 
 coat into the pools of muddy water. The flashes 
 of lightning grow fainter and wider, and the peals of 
 thunder are less awful, lost in the monotonous sound 
 of the falling rain. 
 
 But now the rain grows less ; the thunder-cloud 
 begins to divide itself into fleecy clouds, and grows 
 lighter where the sun might be, and through the gray- 
 white edges of the cloud a bit of clear-blue sky peeps 
 out. A minute more, and a shy sunbeam is already 
 
THE TEMPEST. 
 
 1 6 1 
 
 glittering on the pools in the road, on the fine straight 
 rain, which falls as through a sieve, and on the clear, 
 glittering green of the grass by the roadside. The 
 black cloud has overshadowed the opposite side of 
 the horizon in the same threatening manner, but I 
 fear it no more. I experience an indescribably joyous 
 feeling of buoyancy, which rapidly takes the place ot 
 the depressing sensation of dread. My heart feels as 
 joyous as the refreshed, enlivened nature around me 
 seems to do. Vassily folds back the collar of his 
 cloak, takes off his cap, and shakes the wet off it ; 
 Volodja throws aside the rug ; I put my head out of 
 the chaise, and greedily inhale the fresh, fragrant air. 
 The shining, cleanly-washed frame of the coach, with 
 the trunks fitted on the top of it, rocks backwards and 
 forwards with its load in front of us ; the horse’s 
 back, the traces, the reins, the tires of the wheels, are 
 all wet, and glitter in the sun as if they had been 
 varnished. The wet soil and grass of an immense 
 winter cornfield, here and there intersected by shallow 
 ditches, glitters before us on one side of the road, 
 and stretches, like a shady carpet, to the very horizon ; 
 on the other side, an aspen-wood, with hazel-trees and 
 wild cherry-trees here and there, stands, as if in an 
 excess of happiness, without a rustle, while the drops 
 of rain drip from its washed branches upon the dry 
 dead leaves scattered around. The larks whirl above 
 us, singing merrily, then rapidly shoot down ; in 
 the wet shrubs the bustling flutter of little birds is 
 heard, and from the midst of the wood the note of 
 the cuckoo reaches our ears. So bewitching is the 
 wonderful fragrance of the wood after that early 
 
 ii 
 
ADOLESCENCE. 
 
 162 
 
 storm, the fragrance of birch-trees, violets, of the 
 mouldering last year’s foliage, of mushrooms, wild 
 cherry-trees, that I cannot stay in the chaise, but leap 
 out, run towards the bushes, and though I get a 
 shower of raindrops over me, I pluck some wet twigs 
 of a wild cherry-tree in bloom, beat my face with the 
 same, and inhale with delight the delicious odour. 
 Without paying any attention to my boots, which are 
 covered with mud, and to my socks, which are wet 
 through, I splash along through the mud, and run up 
 to the window of the coach. 
 
 ‘ Lubotchka ! Katenka !’ I cry, handing a few twigs 
 of the wild cherry-tree ; ‘ look how beautiful !’ 
 
 The girls cry out * Oh !’ Mirni shouts to me to 
 go away, or I shall be driven over. 
 
 ‘ But you just smell it; what fragrance !’ I cry. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 I SEE THINGS UNDER A NEW ASPECT. 
 
 Katenka sat beside me in the chaise, and, bending 
 down her pretty little head, thoughtfully watched the 
 road flying rapidly past under the wheels. I looked 
 at her in silence, and was surprised at the sad expres- 
 sion, so unnatural in a child, which I then noticed 
 on her rosy little face for the first time. 
 
 ‘ Now we shall soon be in Moscow,’ said I. ‘ How 
 do you think it looks ?’ 
 
 ‘ I do not know,’ replied she reluctantly. 
 
 ‘Well, but how do you think it looks ? is it larger 
 than Serpouhoff or not ?’ 
 
I SEE THINGS UNDER A NEW ASPECT. 163 
 
 ‘ What did you say ?’ she said. 
 
 And her wandering eyes showed that her thoughts 
 were far away. 
 
 4 Oh, nothing of any consequence/ I replied. 
 
 But by that instinctive feeling which enables one 
 person to read the other’s thoughts, and which serves 
 as a guiding-thread in a conversation, Katenka under- 
 stood that her indifference grieved me. She raised 
 her head, and, turning to me, said : 
 
 4 Did thy papa tell thee that we are to live at thy 
 grandmamma’s ?’ 
 
 4 He did. Grandmother wants us to live with her 
 entirely. 
 
 ‘ And shall we all be there ?’ 
 
 ‘ Of course. We shall occupy one part of the upper 
 floor, you the other, and papa will live in the wing ; 
 but we shall all dine together downstairs with grand- 
 mother.’ 
 
 4 Mamma says grandmother is such a grand lady, 
 and so cross.’ 
 
 4 N — o ; she only looks so at first. She is a grand 
 lady, but not cross at all ; on the contrary, she is very 
 kind-hearted and merry. You should have seen the 
 ball she gave on her birthday !’ 
 
 4 All the same, I am afraid of her ; but then God 
 knows whether we shall . . 
 
 Katenka was silent once more, and again fell into 
 deep thought. 
 
 4 What is the matter?’ asked I anxiously. 
 
 ‘Nothing particular.’ 
 
 4 No ? Thou wert saying something : 44 God 
 
 knows” . . 
 
 1 1 — 2 
 
164 
 
 ADOLESCENCE . 
 
 ‘ And thou sayest a ball was given by thy grand- 
 mamma ?’ 
 
 ‘ Yes ; it is a pity thou wert not there. There were 
 a great many visitors — about a thousand — a band of 
 musicians, several generals, and I danced . . . 
 
 Katenka,’ said I, stopping abruptly in the middle of 
 my description ; ‘ thou art not listening.’ 
 
 ‘Yes, I am ; you were saying you danced.’ 
 
 ‘ Why are you so sad ?’ 
 
 ‘ I cannot always be gay.’ 
 
 ‘No; you have changed very much since our 
 arrival from Moscow. Tell me truly,’ added I reso- 
 lutely, turning towards her, ‘ what makes you so 
 strange.’ 
 
 ‘ Am I strange ?’ replied Katenka with an anima- 
 tion which showed that my remark interested her. 
 ‘ I am not strange at all.’ 
 
 ‘ No ; thou art not the same thou wast before,’ I 
 continued. ‘ Formerly thou wert one of us, thou 
 lookedst upon us as relations, and lovedst us, as we 
 love thee ; but now thou hast grown so grave, and 
 avoidest us. . . .’ 
 
 ‘ Not at all. . . .’ 
 
 ‘ No ; let me speak out,’ interposed I, beginning to 
 feel a slight tickling in my nose, the forerunner of 
 tears, which always filled my eyes when I expressed 
 any long-suppressed heartfelt thought. ‘ Thou shun- 
 nest our company, and thou only speakest with Mimi 
 as if thou didst not want to have anything to do with 
 us.’ 
 
 ‘ One cannot always remain the same ; sometime 
 or other everyone must change,’ replied Katenka, who 
 
I SEE THINGS UNDER A hEW ASPECT. 165 
 
 always used to ascribe everything to some inevitable 
 fatality when she did not know what else to say. 
 
 I remember once, in a quarrel with Lubotchka, 
 who had called her a stupid girl, she had replied : 
 ‘ Everybody cannot be clever ; there must be stupid 
 ones, too.’ But the answer that one cannot always 
 remain the same, and that everyone must change 
 sometime, did not satisfy me, and I continued my 
 questions : 
 
 ‘And why should it be so ?’ 
 
 ‘We shall not always live together,’ said Katenka, 
 flushing slightly, and looking fixedly at Philip’s back. 
 Mamma could live with your deceased mother, who 
 was her friend ; but it is a question whether she will 
 be able to live with the countess, who, they say, is 
 so cross : God knows whether they will agree ! Besides, 
 sometime or other we shall have to part ; you are 
 rich — Petrovskoje belongs to you — and we are poor 
 — mother has nothing/ 
 
 ‘You are rich, we are poor’ ; these words, and the 
 meaning attached to them, appeared very strange to 
 me. According to my views at that time, only 
 beggars and peasants could be poor. I could by no 
 means reconcile the idea of poverty with the grace- 
 ful, pretty Katenka. It seemed to me that Mimi 
 and Katenka, who had lived with us so long, were 
 always to do so, and share all with us. I had’ thought 
 it could never be otherwise. But now a thousand 
 new undefined thoughts in reference to their lone- 
 some position filled my head, and I felt so ashamed 
 of being rich, while they were poor, that I blushed, 
 and could not make up my mind to look at Katenka. 
 
ADOLESCENCE. 
 
 1 66 
 
 ‘ What does it matter that we are rich and they 
 are poor ?’ thought I ; ‘ and why does that make it 
 necessary for us to part ? Why should not we share 
 what we possess with them ?’ But I instinctively 
 understood that it would not do to say so to Katenka, 
 and a sort of practical instinct, in defiance of these 
 logical deliberations, already told me that she was 
 right, and that it would be out of place to explain 
 my thoughts to her. 
 
 ‘ Dost thou really mean to say that thou wilt leave 
 us V said I ; ‘ how can we live apart ?’ 
 
 ‘ What is to be done ? I am very sorry, too ; but 
 when it happens I know what I shall do. . , . / 
 
 ‘ Become an actress . . . what nonsense !’ replied 
 I, knowing that such had always been a favourite 
 dream of hers. 
 
 ‘No; I talked about that when I was a little 
 girl. . . 
 
 ‘ What wilt thou do, then ?’ 
 
 ‘ I shall enter a convent and live there ; shall wear 
 a black dress and a velvet cap.’ 
 
 Katenka began to cry. 
 
 Did you ever happen, dear reader, at any period of 
 life, suddenly to perceive that the aspect under which 
 things appeared to you had undergone a change — 
 that everything you had seen up to that time had 
 suddenly taken a new perfectly unfamiliar appear- 
 ance ? This kind of moral change took place in me 
 for the first time during our journey, and from that 
 time I consider my adolescence to have commenced. 
 
 For the first time now I saw clearly that we — that 
 is to say, our family — were not the only beings in the 
 
I SEE THINGS UNDER A NEW ASPECT. 167 
 
 world, that all the interests of life did not turn upon 
 us alone, but that there existed another life, that of 
 people who had nothing in common with us, who did 
 not care or trouble themselves about us, and that 
 many had not even any idea of our existence. No 
 doubt I had known all that before, but I had not 
 known it as I did now — I had not realized it ; I had 
 not felt it. 
 
 Thoughts pass into convictions in a peculiar way, 
 often quite unexpectedly and differently from that by 
 which other minds attain the same conviction. My 
 conversation with Katenka, which had affected me 
 deeply, and had made me reflect upon her future 
 position, was what led me to new convictions. When 
 I looked at the villages and towns we passed, in every 
 house of which lived at least one family like ours — at 
 the women, children, who with momentary curiosity 
 glanced at our chaise and then disappeared for ever 
 from our sight — at the shopmen, peasants, who not only 
 did not bow to us, as I was accustomed to see them 
 do at Petrovskoje, but did not even cast a look at 
 us, the question for the first time crossed my mind 
 what it was that occupied their thoughts so that they 
 did not take the least notice of us. And thence 
 arose other questions : how did they live ? what did 
 they live on ? how did they bring up their children ? 
 whether they educated them ? whether they let them 
 play ? how they punished them ? and all kinds of 
 new matters of interest suggested themselves to my 
 awakened mind. 
 
ADOLESCENCE. 
 
 1 68 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 IN MOSCOW. 
 
 With our arrival in Moscow the change in my 
 opinions of things and people, and my relations to 
 them, became still more evident to me. 
 
 When I first met grandmamma and saw her thin 
 wrinkled face and her dim eyes, the feeling of respect 
 and fear with which I had regarded her changed 
 into compassion ; but when, leaning her head on 
 Lubotchka’s shoulder, she burst into tears, as if she 
 saw before her eyes the body of her beloved daughter, 
 my compassion even changed into a feeling of love. 
 I did not like to see her so afflicted on seeing us ; I 
 was conscious that we were personally nothing in her 
 eyes, that we were dear to her simply by association. 
 I felt that every kiss which she imprinted on my 
 cheeks expressed but one thought — ‘she is no more! 
 she is dead ! I shall never see her more !’ 
 
 Papa, who in Moscow hardly paid any attention 
 to us, and who, looking care-worn, only came in 
 to dinner, clad in his dress-coat, lost much of 
 his prestige in my e) es ; I missed his large shirt- 
 collars, his dressing-gown, his overseer, his clerks, his 
 walks to the threshing-floor, and hunting. Karl 
 Ivanovitch, whom grandmamma used to call our 
 overseer,* and who now (God knows why) had taken 
 it into his head to cover his respectable bald pate 
 with a red wig, with a canvas parting almost in the 
 middle of his head, looked so strange and ridiculous 
 
 * A man-nurse. 
 
THE ELDER BROTHER. 
 
 169 
 
 to me that I was surprised it had never struck me 
 before. 
 
 Between the girls and us there also arose an in- 
 visible barrier ; they had their secrets, as we had 
 ours ; just as if they had grown proud of their dresses, 
 which were now longer ; and we of our pantaloons 
 with straps. Minnie on the first Sunday came down 
 to dinner in such a fine dress, and with such ribbons 
 in her hair, that it was evident at once that we were 
 not in the country, and that everything was different 
 now. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE ELDER BROTHER. 
 
 I WAS only one year and some months younger than 
 Volodja ; we had grown up, studied, and played 
 together. No difference had ever been made between 
 us on account of our ages, but about the time I am 
 speaking off I began to see that Volodja was no 
 companion for me, either in his years, his tastes, or 
 his abilities. It seemed to me even that Volodja felt 
 conscious of his superiority over me, and was proud 
 of it. This conviction (it may be an erroneous one) 
 was inspired by my self-love, which had to suffer 
 every time I came in contact with him. He was in 
 every respect my superior: in our amusements, in our 
 studies, our disputes ; and his behaviour separated us 
 and made me experience a mental suffering! could 
 not understand. If, when* Volodja began to wear 
 linen shirts with folds, I had said frankly thatH was 
 
170 
 
 ADOLESCENCE. 
 
 very much vexed not to have such too, I am sure it 
 would have been a relief to me, and it would not 
 have seemed to me every time he adjusted his collars 
 that he did it on purpose to hurt my feelings. 
 
 It seemed to me that Volodja understood me, but 
 tried to conceal it from me, and this was what tor- 
 mented me most of all. 
 
 Who has not noticed those mysterious silent 
 relations betrayed by a scarce perceptible smile, a 
 movement, or a look between persons who constantly 
 live together, between brothers, friends, husband 
 and wife, a master and his servant, especially when 
 such persons are not quite open towards each other? 
 How many unexpressed wishes, thoughts, and what 
 a fear of being understood are expressed in one 
 accidental look, in the timid and irresolute meeting of 
 the eyes ! 
 
 I was, perhaps, mistaken and deceived by my super- 
 abundant sensitiveness and inclination to analyze my 
 impressions. Perhaps Volodja did not at all feel as 
 I did. He was passionate, open-hearted, and fickle. 
 Allured in turns by the most varying subjects, he gave 
 himself up to them, heart and soul. 
 
 At one time he would suddenly grow passionately 
 fond of pictures ; he would take to drawing, spend all 
 his money on pictures, or beg them of his drawing- 
 master, of papa, or grandmother ; then, again, he 
 would get a passion for knicknacks to adorn his 
 writing-table, and collect them from every room in 
 the house ; then a passion for novels, which he used to 
 get on the sly, and read day and night. ... I was 
 involuntarily carried away by his hobbies, but was too 
 
THE ELDER BROTHER. 
 
 171 
 
 proud to follow in his steps, and too young and, 
 dependent to choose a new path for myself. But 
 nothing did I envy so much as VolodjVs happy, nobly 
 frank disposition which was especially observable in the 
 disputes which happened to take place between us. I 
 felt that he behaved well, but I was unable to imitate 
 him. 
 
 Once, at the time when his passion for ornamental 
 things was at its height, I approached his table ? 
 and accidentally broke a little coloured empty scent- 
 bottle. 
 
 ‘ Who asked thee to touch my things ?’ said Volodja, 
 entering the room and noticing the disorder that 
 I had created in the symmetry of the various orna- 
 ments on his table ; ‘ and where is the little scent- 
 bottle ? Of course thou . . ! 
 
 ‘ I dropped it accidentally, and it broke. What 
 harm is there ? 
 
 ‘ Have the goodness never to touch my things/ said 
 he, putting together the pieces of the broken bottle 
 and looking at them with regret. 
 
 ‘ Pray do not give me any of thy orders,’ replied 
 I. ‘ Well, the thing is broken ; what is the use of 
 talking about it ?’ 
 
 And I smiled, although I did not feel in a laughing 
 mood in the least. 
 
 ‘Yes, thou dost not care, but I do,’ continued 
 Volodja, shrugging his shoulders, a movement which 
 he had inherited from papa. ‘ Thou hast broken 
 it, and now thou grinnest, thou nasty little fellow S’ 
 
 ‘ I am a little fellow ; and you are a big fellow, and 
 a stupid one, too.’ 
 
172 
 
 ADOLESCENCE. 
 
 ‘ I am not going to quarrel with thee/ said Volodja, 
 pushing me slightly ; ‘ get away.’ 
 
 ‘ Do not push !’ 
 
 ‘ Get away.’ 
 
 ‘ I tell thee not to push \ } 
 
 Volodja took my hand, and wanted to take me 
 away from the table ; but I was beside myself, caught 
 hold of the foot of the table, and knocked it over. 
 ‘ There now !’ and all the china and glass ornaments 
 fell on to the floor with a crash. 
 
 ‘ Disgusting fellow ! . . .’ cried Volodja, trying to 
 prevent the things from falling. 
 
 ‘Now all is over between us/ thought I, leaving the 
 room ; ‘ we have quarrelled for ever/ 
 
 We did not speak to each other till the evening. I 
 felt myself in the wrong, was afraid to look at him, 
 and unable to do anything the whole day long. 
 Volodja, on the contrary, did his lessons as well as 
 ever, and after dinner he talked and laughed with the 
 girls as usual. 
 
 As soon as the tutor closed our lesson, I left the 
 room, for I felt ashamed to remain in the room alone 
 with my brother. After the evening lesson of history 
 I took my books, and directed my steps towards the 
 door, passing by Volodja. Though I longed to step up 
 to him and make friends, I pouted, and tried to look 
 angry. Volodja at the very same moment raised 
 his head, and with a kind and slightly satirical 
 smile looked straight at me. Our eyes met, and 
 I saw that he understood me, and that he saw I 
 did so ; but an irresistible feeling made me turn 
 away. 
 
MASHA. 
 
 73 
 
 * Nicolinka,’ said he simply and not pathetically in 
 the least, ‘ come, don’t be cross. Forgive me if I 
 offended you.’ And he offered me his hand. 
 
 Something seemed to rise higher and higher from 
 my heart to my throat and choke me ; it lasted but 
 a second ; my eyes filled with tears, and I felt 
 relieved. 
 
 ‘Forgive . . . m — e, Volo — dja !’ stammered I, free- 
 ing his hand. 
 
 But Volodja looked at me as if he could by no 
 means make out why my eyes were full of tears. . . . 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 MASHA. 
 
 But none of the changes which took place in my 
 ideas was as striking to myself as that which made me 
 cease to look upon one of our maid-servants as a 
 servant, but begin to see in her a woman, on whom, 
 to a certain extent, my peace and happiness de- 
 pended. 
 
 As far back as I can remember, Masha had always 
 been at our house, and up to the occasion which 
 entirely changed my opinion of her, and which I 
 shall speak of presently, I .had never paid the least 
 attention to her. Masha was about five-and-twenty 
 years of age when I was fourteen ; she was very 
 handsome, but I am afraid to describe her, lest 
 my imagination should again present her to me under 
 
174 
 
 ADOLESCENCE. 
 
 the charming and delusive aspect under which she 
 appeared to me at the time of my passion for her. 
 To avoid any mistake of the kind, I will only say that 
 her complexion was wonderfully fair, she was buxom, 
 and was a woman ; and I was fourteen. 
 
 During one of those moments when, with book in 
 hand, I used to walk up and down the room, trying to 
 step along some particular chink in the floor, or was 
 singing some stupid song, or daubing the edge of the 
 table with ink, or mechanically repeating some 
 expression out of my book over and over again — in 
 short, during one of those moments when the mind 
 refuses to work, and imagination gets the upper 
 hand and seeks for new impressions — I one day went 
 out of the class-room and descended the stairs to the 
 landing without any definite purpose. 
 
 Somebody was coming up the stairs. Of course I 
 was curious to know who it was. Suddenly the 
 steps stopped and were not heard, and Masha’s voice 
 said : ‘ Now then, what are you doing ? Maria Ivanovna 
 may come ; then there will be a fine fuss !’ 
 
 ‘ She won’t come,’ said Volodja’s voice in a whisper ; 
 and directly afterwards I heard a noise, as if Volodja 
 were trying to stop her. 
 
 * Now then, what are you doing with your hands ? 
 For shame ? and Masha ran past me with her ker- 
 chief all awry, thus exposing her white, round neck 
 to view. 
 
 I cannot describe my amazement at this discovery ; 
 but my surprise soon gave way to sympathy with 
 Volodja. The action itself did not surprise me, but I 
 wondered how he had managed to find out that it was 
 
MASHA. 
 
 175 
 
 pleasant to act thus, and I involuntarily longed to 
 imitate him. 
 
 1 used sometimes to stand for hours on the landing 
 without any thought, with strained attention listening 
 to the least movement upstairs, but I was never able 
 to make up my mind to imitate Volodja, though I 
 longed to do so. Sometimes, concealing myself 
 behind the door, with an awkward feeling of envy 
 and jealousy I heard the romping going on in the 
 maid-servants’ room, and the thought would come 
 into my mind, what would my position be if I were to 
 go upstairs and try, like Volodja, to kiss Masha? 
 What should I say, with my broad nose and my 
 sticking-up forelock, if she should ask me what I 
 wanted ? I heard Masha say several times to Volodja, 
 ‘ What a bore ! Why do you pester me ! Get away, 
 you naughty fellow ! . . . Why does Nicolas Petro- 
 vitch never come here and behave so foolishly ? . . .’ 
 She did not know that Nicolas Petrovitch was at that 
 minute sitting at the foot of the stairs, and would 
 have given worlds to take the place of the naughty 
 fellow Volodja. 
 
 I was bashful by nature, but my bashfulness was 
 increased by a conviction of my ugliness. I feel con- 
 vinced that nothing has as powerful an influence upon 
 a man’s manners as his outward appearance, and not 
 so much his appearance even as his conviction of its 
 being either attractive or the reverse. 
 
 I had too much self-love to be able to get used to 
 my position ; I consoled myself by persuading myself, 
 like the fox, that the grapes were sour ; that is to say, 
 I tried to despise all the pleasures which were to be 
 
ADOLESCENCE. 
 
 176 
 
 obtained by one who was good-looking — a distinction 
 by which Volodja evidently profited, and which I 
 envied him with all my heart ; but yet I strained 
 every nerve of brain and imagination to find pleasure 
 in proud loneliness. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 SMALL-SHOT. 
 
 ‘ Good God, gunpowder! . . .’ cried Mimi, in a choked 
 voice of emotion. ‘ What are you doing ? You will 
 set the house on fire ; we shall all perish! . . / 
 
 And with an indescribable expression of resolution, 
 Mimi told all to get out of the way, firmly ap- 
 proached the small-shot that was strewn about, and 
 in spite of the danger which might arise from a sudden 
 explosion, began to stamp upon it. As soon as she 
 conceived all danger to be over, she called Mikej, and 
 told him to remove all the ‘ gunpowder ’ further away, 
 or, best of all, to throw it into water ; and proudly 
 shaking her cap, directed her steps towards the parlour. 
 ‘ They are well looked after, to be sure/ growled she. 
 
 When papa came, and we went together with him 
 to grandmother’s room, we found Mimi already 
 sitting by her side, and with a rather mysteriously- 
 important expression, looking past the door. In her 
 hand she held something wrapped up in several 
 papers. I at once guessed it was the small-shot, and 
 that grandmamma already knew everything. 
 
 Besides Mimi there were in grandmamma’s room 
 
SMALL-SHOT . 
 
 1 77 
 
 the servant-maid, Gasha, who, as we could see by her 
 angry, flushed face, was very much disturbed, and 
 Doctor Blumenthal, a short, pockmarked man, who 
 tried in vain to calm Gasha, making mysterious con- 
 ciliatory signs with his eyes and head. 
 
 Grandmamma herself sat aside, laying before her 
 a very dull book, called ‘ The Traveller’ — a certain 
 sign of her being out of humour. 
 
 ‘ How do you feel to-day, mamma ? Did you sleep 
 well ?’ said papa, kissing her hand respectfully. 
 
 ‘ Very well, my dear. I think, you know, that I am 
 always well,’ replied grandmamma, in a tone that 
 seemed to imply that papa's inquiry was an in- 
 opportune and disagreeable one. ‘ Well, are you 
 going to give me a clean handkerchief?’ continued 
 she, addressing Gasha. 
 
 4 1 have brought you one,’ replied Gasha, pointing 
 to a snowy- white lawn handkerchief which was lying 
 on the arm of the chair. 
 
 ‘ Take away that dirty rag, and give me a clean 
 one.’ 
 
 Gasha went towards the chiffonnier, opened the 
 drawer, and then slammed it so violently that all the 
 windows in the room shook. Grandmamma looked 
 sternly at us, and went on eagerly, watching all the 
 movements of the servant-maid. When the latter 
 handed her, as it seemed to me, the very same hand- 
 kerchief, grandmamma said : 
 
 . ‘ When will you grind the tobacco for me ?’ 
 
 ‘ I shall do it when I have time.’ 
 
 ‘ What do you say ?’ 
 
 ‘ I shall grind it to-day.’ 
 
 12 
 
i 7 8 
 
 ADOLESCENCE. 
 
 ‘ If you do not wish to serve me, my dear, you 
 should have said so. I should have dismissed you 
 long ago.’ 
 
 4 Dismiss me if you like ; I shall not cry about it,’ 
 muttered the servant. 
 
 Just then the doctor made her a sign with his eyes, 
 but she looked so angrily and resolutely at him that 
 he instantaneously cast his looks down and began to 
 twirl his watch-key. 
 
 ‘You see, my dear/ said grandmamma, addressing 
 herself to papa, when Gasha, still grumbling, left the 
 room, ‘ how they speak to me in my own house ?’ 
 
 ‘ Allow me, mamma; I will grind the tobacco for 
 you myself/ said papa, who evidently found himself 
 placed in a very awkward position by this unexpected 
 behaviour. 
 
 ‘No, thank you ; she is so rude just because she 
 knows there is nobody except her who knows how to 
 grind the tobacco to my taste. Do you know, my 
 dear/ continued grandmamma, after a minute’s pause, 
 ‘ that your children nearly set the house on fire to- 
 day ?’ 
 
 Papa looked respectfully but inquiringly at grand- 
 mamma. 
 
 * Yes, that is what they play with. Show him/ said 
 she, addressing herself to Mimi. 
 
 Papa took the small-shot into his hand, and could 
 not suppress a smile. 
 
 ‘ That is shot, mamma/ said he ; ‘it is quite harm- 
 less/ 
 
 ‘ I am very much obliged to you, my dear, for 
 teaching me, but I am too old 3 
 
SMALL-SHOT. 
 
 179 
 
 ‘ Nerves, nerves !’ whispered the doctor. 
 
 And papa immediately turned towards us : 
 
 * Where did you take this ? and how dare you play 
 with such things ?’ 
 
 ‘ There is no need to ask them ; their overseer must 
 be asked,’ said grandmother, with a particularly scorn- 
 ful stress on the word ‘overseer’ ; ‘ why does he not 
 look after them V 
 
 Voldemar told me that Karl Ivanovitch himself 
 gave him the “ gunpowder,’” said Mimi. 
 
 ‘ There, you see what a nice man he is,’ continued 
 grandmamma ; 4 and where is he, the fellow ? what is 
 his name ? — send him here/ 
 
 ‘ I gave him leave to go and pay a visit,’ said 
 papa. 
 
 ‘ That is not right ; he must always be here. The 
 children are not mine, but yours, and I have no right 
 to give you any advice, because you are more clever 
 than I am,’ continued grandmamma ; ‘ but I think it 
 is time to engage a tutor for them, and not a sort of 
 nurse ; a German peasant — and a stupid peasant 
 besides, who is unable to teach them anything except 
 bad manners and Tyrolese songs. Is it very neces- 
 sary, I ask you, for the children to know how to sing 
 Tyrolese songs ? However, now there is nobody to 
 care about it, and you may do whatever you 
 like.’ 
 
 The word ‘ now ’ meant that they were now with- 
 out a mother, and it recalled sad recollections to 
 grandmamma’s mind ; she cast her looks down at 
 the snuff-box with the portrait on it, and sank into 
 thought. 
 
 12 — 2 
 
i8o 
 
 ADOLESCENCE. 
 
 ‘ I have thought of it for some time,’ rejoined papa, 
 ‘ and I wished to consult you about it, mamma ; 
 should not we invite Mr. St. Jerome, who at present 
 is giving them lessons, to be their tutor V 
 
 ‘You could not do better, my friend,’ said grand- 
 mamma, no more in the displeased voice in which 
 she had spoken before. f St. Jerome is at least a 
 gouverneur , who will know how to manage “ des 
 enfants de bonne maison ” ; he is not an ordinary 
 merlin , man-nurse, who is only fit to take them out 
 for walks. 
 
 * I will speak to him to-morrow,’ said papa. 
 
 And indeed, two days after this conversation, Karl 
 Ivanovitch was replaced by the young elegant French- 
 man. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE HISTORY OF KARL IVANOVITCH. 
 
 Late in the evening before the day on which Karl 
 Ivanovitch was to leave us for good, he stood in his 
 wadded morning-gown and a red cap beside the bed- 
 stead, and bent over a trunk, carefully packing his 
 things. 
 
 Karl Ivanovitch’s behaviour of late had been parti- 
 cularly dry and cool. He seemed to avoid any com- 
 munications with us. And so now, on my entering 
 the room, he looked askance at me, and again turned 
 to his work. I lay down on my bed, but Karl 
 Ivanovitch, who had strictly prohibited this before, 
 
THE HISTORY OF KARL IVANOVITCH. 
 
 1 8 1 
 
 said nothing to me, and the thought that he never 
 would scold us any more, or prevent us from doing what 
 we wished, that now he had nothing to do with us, 
 vividly reminded me of the approaching separation. 
 I grew sad at the idea that he did not love us any 
 more, and I felt anxious to express that feeling to 
 him. 
 
 ‘ Let me assist you, Karl Ivanovitch,’ said I, step- 
 ping nearer to him. 
 
 Karl Ivanovitch looked at me, and again turned 
 away ; but in the glance which he cast upon me I 
 did not see the indifference to which I had attributed 
 his coldness, but sincere pent-up grief. 
 
 ‘ God sees and knows everything, and everything 
 comes by His will,’ said he, raising his body and 
 sighing deeply. ‘Yes, Nicolinka,’ continued he, 
 observing the expression of true sympathy with which 
 I looked at him ; * it has been my fate to be unhappy 
 from my very infancy, and it will be so till I die. 
 Evil has always been returned me for the good that I 
 have done to people, and my reward is not here, but 
 will come there/ said he, pointing to heaven. ‘ If you 
 knew my history, and all that I have had to go 
 through in life ! . . . I have been a bootmaker, I have 
 been a soldier, I have been a deserter, I have been a 
 manufacturer, I have been teacher, and now I am 
 nothing; and, like the Son of God, I have not where 
 to rest my head/ said he, and, closing his eyes, sat 
 down on his chair. 
 
 Seeing that Karl Ivanovitch was in that senti- 
 mental state of mind which always made him ignore 
 any listener, and speak out his inmost thoughts 
 
1 82 
 
 ADOLESCENCE. 
 
 merely for his own satisfaction, I sat down on the 
 bedstead in silence, fixing my eyes on his kind 
 face. 
 
 ‘ You are not a child ; you can understand. I will 
 tell you the story of my life, and all I have had to 
 go through. Some day, children, you will think of 
 your old friend who loved you so dearly/ 
 
 Karl Ivanovitch leaned his arm on the small table 
 that stood beside him, took a pinch of snuff, and, 
 turning up his eyes, commenced his story in that 
 peculiarly slow, husky tone in which he usually 
 dictated to us. 
 
 As Karl Ivanovitch afterwards told me his story 
 more than once, and every time in exactly the same 
 order, and in the very same words and tone, I think 
 I can repeat it almost word for word ; of course, 
 with the exception of the incorrectness of his speech.* 
 Up to the present time I am not quite sure whether 
 the story was really the history of his own life, or the 
 working of his fancy, created during his lonely life 
 at our house, and which he had at last begun to 
 believe, in consequence of having so frequently 
 repeated it ; or whether he had embellished the real 
 events of his life with various fantastic additions. 
 He told his story so naturally and so methodically 
 that it seemed to bear an impress of truth ; but, on 
 the other hand, there was too much poetical beauty 
 in his narrative, and that excited my doubts as to its 
 veracity. It was as follows : 
 
 ‘ Ill-luck was mine even in my mother’s womb ! 
 
 * Karl Ivanovitch, being a German, spoke Russian very 
 incorrectly. 
 
THE HISTORY OF KARL IV ANOVITCH. 183 
 
 I was born six weeks after my mother’s marriage. 
 My mother’s husband (I called him “ papa”) was a 
 tenant of Count Sommerblatt. He could not forget 
 my mother’s disgrace, and consequently hated me. 
 I had a little brother, named John, and two sisters; 
 but I was a stranger in our family. Whenever John 
 was naughty, papa used to say : “ Karl will never 
 give me a moment’s peace,” and I was scolded and 
 punished. Whenever my sisters quarrelled, papa used 
 to say : “ Karl will never be a good, obedient boy,’ 
 and I was scolded and punished. My dear kind 
 mother was the only being who loved and treated me 
 kindly. She used to say : “ Karl, come into my room,” 
 and there she would stealthily kiss me. “ Poor Karl ! 
 poor boy!” she would say, “ no one loves thee but 
 myself. Mother asks but one thing of thee — be 
 diligent at thy studies, and be honest, and God will 
 watch over thee.” And I tried to obey her. When 
 I was fourteen, and had been confirmed, my mother 
 said to papa : “ Karl is a big boy, Gustav : what are 
 we to do for him ?” And papa said : “ I do not know.” 
 Then mamma said : “ Let us send him to town, to 
 Mr. Shulz ; let him be a bootmaker.” And papa 
 said : “ Very well.” I lived six years and seven 
 months at the bootmaker’s, and my master liked me. 
 He used to say : “ Karl is a good workman, and shall 
 be my Geselle.”* But . . , man proposes, and God 
 disposes In the year 1796 there was a con- 
 
 scription, and all who were fit for service from the 
 age of seventeen to twenty-one were called. 
 
 * Partner, 
 
184 
 
 ADOLESCENCE. 
 
 ‘Papa and my brother John came up to town, 
 and we were to draw lots for the conscription. 
 John drew a bad number — he was to be a soldier; 
 I drew a good one — I was not to serve. Papa said : 
 “ I have an only son, and now I must let him go 
 away from me.” 
 
 ‘ I took his hand and said : “ Why do you say so, 
 dear papa? Come with me; I have something to 
 say to you.” So papa followed me. We took our 
 seats at a small table. “ Let us have two tankards 
 of beer,” said I, and they were brought to us. We 
 drank off a glass each, and my brother John also had 
 one. 
 
 ‘ “ Dear papa,” said I, “ do not say that you 
 must part with your only son ; my heart is ready 
 to burst when I hear you say so. My brother 
 John shall not serve ; I will be a soldier. . . . Karl 
 is not wanted by anyone here, and Karl will be a 
 soldier.” 
 
 ‘“Thou art a fine fellow, Karl Ivanovitch,” said my 
 father, embracing me. 
 
 ‘ And I became a soldier.’ 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 KARL IVANOVITCH CONTINUES HIS STORY. 
 
 ‘That was a bad time, Nicolinka,’ continued Karl 
 Ivanovitch ; ‘ it was the time of Napoleon. He 
 wanted to conquer Germany, and we defended our 
 Fatherland to the last drop of our blood.’ 
 
KARL IVANOVITCH CONTINUES HIS STORY. 185 
 
 ‘ I was at Ulm, I was at Austerlitz, I was at 
 Wagram.’ 
 
 ‘ And did you fight, too ?’ asked I, looking at him 
 with surprise. ‘ Did you kill people, too ?’ 
 
 Karl Ivanovitch immediately set my mind at ease 
 on that point. 
 
 ‘ Once a French grenadier, who had been left 
 behind by his comrades, fell down on the road. I 
 ran up to him with my rifle, intending to stab 
 him ; but the Frenchman threw his rifle away, and 
 called out, “ Pardon,” so I did not touch him. 
 
 ‘ At Wagram Napoleon drove us on to an island 
 and surrounded us, so that there was no escape. 
 For three days we had no provisions, and stood 
 in the water up to our knees, and that wicked 
 Napoleon would neither take us nor let us go 
 free. 
 
 ‘ On the fourth day, thank God ! we were taken 
 and carried off to the fortress. I had blue pantaloons 
 on, and a fine cloth uniform, fifteen thalers in cash, 
 and a silver watch — a present from my father. A 
 French soldier took all away from me. I fortunately 
 remained in possession of three ducats which my 
 mother had sewn in the lining of my vest. They 
 were not found. 
 
 ‘ I did not want to remain long in the fortress, and 
 resolved to flee. Once, on a great holiday, I said to 
 our sergeant on guard : “ Sir, it is a great holiday 
 to-day ; I should like to keep it. Bring two bottles 
 of madeira, and let us take a glass each.” The 
 sergeant said : “Very well.” When he had brought 
 it, and we had each taken a glass, I seized his hand 
 
86 
 
 ADOLESCENCE. 
 
 and said : “ Sir, perhaps you have a father and mother 
 still living?” He said: “Yes, I have, Mr. Mauer. 
 My father and mother have not seen me for the last 
 eight years, and do not even know if I am still alive, 
 or if my bones have not long ago been laid in the cold 
 earth.” “ Oh, sir ! I have two pieces of gold concealed 
 in my vest ; take them, and let me go. Be my bene- 
 factor, and my mother will pray for you all the rest 
 of her life.” 
 
 ‘ The sergeant drank off his glass of madeira and 
 said : “ Mr. Mauer, I have grown fond of you, and I 
 pity you ; but you are a prisoner, and I am a soldier.” 
 I shook his hand and said, “ Sergeant.” 
 
 ‘And the sergeant said: “You are a poor man, 
 and I shall not take your money, but I shall help 
 you. When I go to bed, buy some brandy for the 
 soldiers, and they will all sleep soundly. I shall not 
 watch.” 
 
 ‘ He was a kind-hearted man. I bought some 
 brandy, and when the soldiers were all tipsy, I put 
 on my boots, my old overcoat, and crept stealthily 
 out of doors. I went up the embankment, intending 
 to spring down ; there was a moat round it, and I did 
 not want to spoil the only clothes I had, so I went 
 towards the gate. 
 
 ‘ The sentinel, who was marching up and down, 
 saw me. “ Qui vive?” exclaimed he suddenly. I 
 was silent. “ Qui vive ? sagte er zum zweiten Mai. 
 Qui vive?” said he for the third time, and I fled. I 
 dashed into the water, reached the opposite bank, and 
 fled. 
 
KARL IVANOVITCH CONTINUES HIS STORY. 187 
 
 ‘ During the whole of the night I ran along the 
 highroad, but when day dawned I was afraid of being 
 recognised, and concealed myself in a field of rye. 
 There I fell down on my knees, clasped my hands, 
 thanked God Almighty for my safety, and then fell 
 into a peaceful sleep. 
 
 4 I awoke towards evening, and went on my way. 
 At last I was overtaken by a large German waggon, 
 drawn by two black horses. In the waggon sat a 
 well-dressed man smoking a pipe ; he looked at me. 
 I walked on at a slower pace, that the waggon might 
 drive past, but the slower I walked, the slower did 
 the waggon advance, the man still looking at me. I 
 walked on faster ; the waggon advanced faster, too, the 
 man still looking at me. I sat down by the wayside ; 
 the man stopped his horses. “Young man,” said he, 
 “ where are you going so late at night ?” I said : 44 I 
 am going to Frankfurt.” “ Get into my waggon; there 
 will be room enough, and I will take you there. But 
 how is it you have nothing with you, and why is your 
 beard not shaven, and your clothes all dirty?” said 
 he, when I had taken a seat near him. “ I am a poor 
 man,” I said ; “ l want to find work in some manu- 
 factory, and my clothes are dirty because I happened 
 to fall as I was going along.” “ That is a falsehood, 
 young man,” said he ; “ the road is dry.” 
 
 ‘ I did not answer. 
 
 4 44 Tell me the truth,” said the good man, “who are 
 you ? and where do you come from ? I like your 
 looks, and if you are an honest man, I will help 
 you.” 
 
ADOLESCENCE. 
 
 1 88 
 
 ‘Then I told him all. He said : “Very well, young 
 man, come with me to my manufactory. I will give 
 you work, clothes, money, and you shall live at my 
 house.” 
 
 ‘ And I said : “ Very well.” 
 
 ‘ We came to a rope-manufactory, and the kind man 
 said to his wife : “ Here is a young man who has 
 fought in defence of his native land, and who has 
 escaped from captivity ; he has no home, no clothes, 
 no food. He shall bide with us. Give him some 
 clean linen and something to eat.” 
 
 4 1 lived a year and a half at the rope-manufactory, 
 and my master grew so fond of me that he would not 
 let me go away. 
 
 ‘ And I was happy there. I was then a hand- 
 some man. I was young, tall, had blue eyes, and a 
 Roman nose, and Mrs. L. (I cannot mention her 
 name) was a young and pretty woman. She loved 
 me. 
 
 ‘ One day she said to me : “ Mr. Mauer, by what 
 name did your mother call you?” “ Karlchen,”* 
 said I. 
 
 ‘ Then she said : “ Karlchen, come and sit down 
 near me.” 
 
 ‘ I did so, and she said : “ Karlchen, kiss me.” 
 
 ‘ I gave her a kiss, and she said : “ Karlchen, 1 love 
 you ; I can conceal it no longer,” and began to 
 tremble/ 
 
 At this point of his narrative Karl Ivanovitch 
 paused, and looking upwards with his kind blue 
 eyes, sat shaking his head slightly and smiling, as 
 
 * Charlie. 
 
KARL IVANOVITCH CONTINUES HIS STORY, 189 
 
 people smile under the influence of some particularly 
 pleasant reminiscence. 
 
 ‘ Yes/ continued he, seating himself more comfort- 
 ably in his easy-chair, and wrapping himself up closer 
 in his morning-gown ; ‘ there has been plenty of both 
 good and bad in my life, but here is my witness,’ 
 added he, pointing to a picture of our Saviour, em- 
 broidered in worsted, which hung over his bed : 
 ‘ nobody can say that Karl Ivanovitch was ever a 
 dishonourable man. I did not choose to repay all 
 Mr. L.’s kindness with base ingratitude, and I re- 
 solved to flee. In the evening when all were in bed, 
 I wrote a letter to my master, left it on my table, 
 took some clothes, three thalers, and stealthily left 
 the house. Nobody saw me, and I walked away along 
 the highroad.’ 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 KARL IVANOVITCH CONTINUES HIS STORY. 
 
 * I HAD not seen my mother for nine years, and did 
 not know whether she was yet alive, or whether she 
 had already been laid in the cold damp earth, so I 
 turned homewards. When I entered the town, I 
 asked where Gustav Mauer, who had rented land of 
 Count Sommerblatt, lived. I was told that Count 
 Sommerblatt was dead, and that Gustav Mauer lived 
 in one of the large thoroughfares of the town, and 
 kept a shop of “ liqueurs.” I put on my new waist- 
 coat, a good coat that had been given me, as a present, 
 
ADOLESCENCE. 
 
 190 
 
 by my former master, the manufacturer, brushed my 
 hair, and went into my father’s shop. My sister Mary 
 was sitting in the shop, and asked me what I wanted. 
 I said : “ I will thank you for a small glass of liqueur.’’ 
 And she called out : “ Father, here is a young man 
 who wants a glass of liqueur,” and my father said : 
 “ Give the young man one.” I sat down at a small 
 table, drank my liqueur, lighted my pipe, looked at 
 papa, Mary, and John, who had all come into the 
 shop. In the course of conversation papa said to me : 
 “ I suppose, young man, that you know where our 
 army is at present ?” I said : “ I have just come 
 from the army; it is near Vienna.” U 0ur son,” said 
 papa, “ is a soldier, and we have had no news of him 
 for upwards of nine years ; we do not know whether 
 he is alive or dead. My wife does nothing but cry. . . 
 
 I went on smoking my pipe, and said : “ What 
 was your son's name ? In what regiment was he ? 
 I know him, perhaps.” “ His name is Karl Mauer, 
 and he is in the Austrian Jagers,” answered my father: 
 ‘‘ He is a tall, handsome man, like you,” said my sister 
 Mary. “ I know your Karl,” said I. “ Amalie,” ex- 
 claimed my father, “come here! Here is a young 
 man who knows our Karl.” And my dear mother 
 came out of the next room. I knew her immediately. 
 “ Do you know our Karl ?” said she, and I dared not 
 raise my eyes to hers ; my heart was ready to burst. 
 “ My Karl is alive 1” cried mother ; “ thanks be to 
 God ! Where is he ? where is my dear Karl ? I 
 should die in peace if I could but see my darling son 
 once more. It is not God’s will that it should be so,” 
 added she, bursting into tears. I could keep silence 
 
KARL IVANO VITCH CONTINUES HIS STORY, igt 
 
 no longer. “ Mamma,” I cried, “ I am your Karl !” 
 and she fell into my arms.’ 
 
 Karl Ivanovitch closed his eyes, and his lip 
 quivered. 
 
 ‘ “ Mutter!” cried I — “ ich bin ihr Sohn, ich bin ihr 
 Karl !” und sie sturzte mir in die Arme,’ repeated he, 
 wiping away the large tears that rolled down his 
 cheeks. 
 
 ‘ But it was not the will of God that I should end 
 my days in my native land. I was fated to be un- 
 fortunate in life ! I spent but three months at home. 
 One Sunday I was sitting in a cafe, with a mug of 
 beer before me, smoking my pipe, and talking politics 
 with some friends about the Emperor Franz, Napoleon, 
 the war, each of us freely emitting his own opinion. 
 At another table, not far from us, sat a stranger in a 
 gray overcoat. He sat drinking his coffee, and smok- 
 ing his pipe, without uttering a word. When the 
 “ Nachtwachter ” called out that it was ten o’clock, I 
 took my hat, paid for my beer, and went home. At 
 midnight there was a loud knocking at the door of 
 our house. I awoke, and called out : “ Who is there ?” 
 “Open! Macht auf!” I called out: “Tell me who you 
 are, and I will open the door.” “Macht auf im Namen 
 des Gesetzes !” said a voice. So I opened the door. 
 Two soldiers, with bayonets in their hands, stood 
 outside ; and the stranger in the gray overcoat, who 
 had sat next to us in the coffee-house, entered the 
 room. He was a spy! You must come with me,” 
 said the spy. “Very well,” said I. I put on my 
 clothes, walking up and down the room all the time. 
 My blood was up. I said to myself : “ He is a 
 
192 
 
 ADOLESCENCE. 
 
 villain !” When I came up to the wall on which 
 hung my sword, I seized it, and said : “ Thou art a 
 spy; defend thyself !” Ich gab ein Hieb to the right, 
 ein Hieb to the left, and one on his head. The spy 
 fell ! I snatched up my portmanteau, my money, 
 and sprang out of the window, I came to Ems, and 
 there I made the acquaintance of General Sazin. He 
 liked my looks, got me a passport from the ambas- 
 sador, and took me with him to Russia as teacher to 
 his children. When General Sazin died, your mamma 
 asked me to come to her house. She said to me : 
 “ Karl Ivanovitch, I entrust my children to you ; love 
 them, and I shall never forsake you, but shall provide 
 for you in your old age.” Now she is no more, and 
 all is forgotten. After my twenty-five years' service, 
 I must go and beg in the streets for a bit of dry 
 bread. God sees it all ; His holy will be done ; but 
 it grieves me to part from you, children,’ added Karl 
 Ivanovitch, drawing me towards him, and pressing a 
 kiss on my forehead. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THE BAD MARK. 
 
 TOWARDS the close of the year of mourning my 
 grandmother recovered a little from the blow that 
 had well-nigh struck her down, and began to receive 
 a few visitors, mostly children of our age. 
 
 On Lubotchka’s birthday, the 13th of December, 
 Princess Kornakoff came before dinner, with her 
 
THE BAD MARK. 
 
 93 
 
 daughter, Mrs. Valahoff with Sonitchka, Illiinka 
 Grap, and the two younger of the Ivins. 
 
 Sounds of voices talking and laughing, and of the 
 servants running to and fro, reached our ears from 
 downstairs, where all the company was assembled ; 
 but we could not go down to join them till we had 
 finished our morning studies. On a placard, which 
 hung in the class-room, stood the words : ‘ Lundi, 
 2 — 3, maitre d’histoire et de geographie / and so we 
 had to wait for the coming of that same ‘ maitre 
 d’histoire/ in order to finish our lessons with him 
 before we were free to go down. It was already 
 twenty minutes past two, and the master had not yet 
 made his appearance, neither could we see him 
 coming up the street, down which I stared with a 
 great longing never to see his face any more. 
 
 * Lebedeff is not coming to-day, it seems/ said 
 Volodja, glancing up from Smaragdoff,* which he had 
 been conning. 
 
 ‘ I hope he is not coming. I hope not ... I do 
 not know a single word of my lesson . . . There he is, 
 after all/ added I, a moment after, in a melancholy 
 tone. 
 
 Volodja got up and approached the window. 
 
 ‘ No, that is not he ; that is a gentleman / said he. 
 
 ‘ Let us wait till half-past two/ added he, stretching 
 himself and scratching the back of his head, his usual 
 habit, when resting after his studies. ‘ If he is not 
 here by half-past two, we may tell St. Jerome to put 
 away our copybooks/ 
 
 ‘ What in the world is the use of his coming ?’ 
 * A class-book on history. 
 
 13 
 
194 
 
 ADOLESCENCE. 
 
 said I, stretching myself likewise, and shaking 
 Kaidanoffs ‘Rudiments of History’ over my head 
 with both hands. 
 
 Having nothing better to do, I opened the book at 
 the page I had to learn, and began to read it over. 
 It was a long lesson, and a difficult one I did not 
 know at all, and soon saw that I should not be able 
 to get it into my head in so short a time, the more so 
 as I was in that fretful state of mind which prevents 
 one’s thoughts from resting long upon any subject. 
 
 At the preceding lesson of history (a lesson which 
 always seemed a most tedious, uninteresting one to 
 me) Lebedeff had complained of me to St. Jerome, 
 and had given me ‘ two,’ which was considered a 
 very bad mark. St. Jerome had told me that if 
 I got less than ‘ three ’ at the next lesson I should be 
 punished. This was the next lesson, and I was, 
 I must confess, in an awful fright. 
 
 I was so taken up with reading over my lesson, 
 that the sound of footsteps and the taking off of 
 galoches in the anteroom took me by surprise. I 
 had barely time to glance round, when the hateful 
 scarred face of the master, the clumsy figure, so 
 familiar to me, in the dark-blue, close-fitting coat, 
 with its ‘ learned buttons,’* appeared in the door- 
 way. 
 
 The master leisurely put his hat on the window-sill, 
 Ahe copybooks on the table, and, turning aside the 
 skirts of his coat with both hands, sat down, puffing 
 and blowing. 
 
 * Teachers in public schools wear a sort of uniform, with gilt 
 buttons. 
 
THE BAD MARK. 
 
 195 
 
 ‘ Well, gentlemen,’ said he, rubbing his clammy 
 hands, * let us first see what we talked about last 
 time, and I shall then acquaint you with the subse- 
 quent events of the Middle Ages.’ 
 
 This meant : * Now, answer your lesson.’ 
 
 While Volodja answered with the ease and assur- 
 ance of one who knows what he has to say, I walked 
 out aimlessly to the staircase, and as I dared not go 
 down, I naturally soon found myself on the landing- 
 place at the top of the stairs. But just as I was 
 going to settle down in my usual post of observa- 
 tion, behind the door, Mimi, who was always the 
 cause of every misadventure that befell me, found 
 me out. 
 
 ‘ You here !’ said she, looking sternly at me, then at 
 the door of the maid-servants’ room, then at me once 
 more. 
 
 I felt like a culprit — in the first place because I 
 was not in the schoolroom, and then because I had 
 been found in a place where I had no business to be. 
 I was silent, and looked down — a picture of abject 
 remorse. 
 
 ‘Now, that is too bad!’ cried Mimi. ‘What are 
 you here for?’ No answer. ‘No, I shall not let the 
 matter drop,’ continued she, rapping the balustrade 
 with her knuckles. ‘ I shall tell the countess.’ 
 
 It was already five minutes to three when I re- 
 entered the schoolroom. The master was explaining 
 the lesson for the next time, and looked as if he 
 neither noticed my absence nor my presence. 
 
 When he had done he began putting the books 
 aside, while Volodja went into the next room for a 
 
 13—2 
 
196 
 
 ADOLESCENCE. 
 
 ticket, and I was overjoyed at the thought that all 
 was over, and he had forgotten to ask me my 
 lesson. 
 
 All at once the master turned to me with a malig- 
 nant smile. 
 
 ‘ I hope you know your lesson, young gentleman,’ 
 said he, rubbing his hands. 
 
 ‘ I have learnt it, sir,’ answered I. 
 
 * Well, then, tell me something about the Crusade 
 of Louis le Saint,’ said he, balancing himself on his 
 chair, and looking at his feet. ‘ You will first tell me 
 the reasons which induced the French king to begin 
 the Crusade,’ said he, raising his eyebrows and passing 
 his finger across the inkstand ; * then you will explain 
 the general characteristics of that period,’ here he 
 made a motion with his wrist, as if he were catching 
 something; ‘then speak of the influence of that 
 Crusade upon Europe in general,’ continued he, 
 striking the left side of the table with a copybook, 
 ‘ especially the influence it exercised over France,’ 
 concluded he, tapping the right side of the table and 
 inclining his head to the right at the same time. 
 
 I cleared my throat several times, coughed, cast 
 down my eyes, and stood before him in silence. Then 
 taking up a quill-pen that lay on the table, began to 
 pull it to pieces without uttering a word. 
 
 ‘ Let me have that pen, pray,’ said the master, 
 stretching out his hand for it;' ‘it may be of use to 
 me. Well?’ 
 
 ‘ Lou . . . Car . . . Louis le Saint was . . . was 
 . . . was ... a good and wflse czar.’ 
 
 ‘ What was he ?’ 
 
THE BAD MARK. 
 
 19 7 
 
 ‘A czar. He went to Jerusalem, and left the man- 
 agement of his kingdom to his mother.’ 
 
 ‘ What was her name ?’ 
 
 ‘ B1 . . . Blan . . . Blank . . 
 
 ‘ What do you say ? Boulianka ?'* 
 
 I smiled — a constrained, awkward smile. 
 
 ‘Well, do you know anything else about it?’ said 
 he, with a grin. 
 
 I saw that I was lost. Clearing my throat, I went 
 on at random, saying whatever happened to come 
 into my head. The master listened in silence, sweep- 
 ing the dust off the table with the quill-pen he had 
 taken out of my hands, looking fixedly at me, and 
 only saying every now and then, ‘Well, sir,’ ‘Very well,’ 
 ‘Indeed, sir!’ I was perfectly aware that I knew 
 nothing, that I was not saying what I ought to have 
 said, and I was greatly abashed to find that the 
 master neither interrupted nor corrected me. 
 
 ‘And what induced him to go to Jerusalem?’ 
 asked he at last, repeating the words I had just 
 used. 
 
 ‘ Because . . . because ... on account of . . P 
 I was quite unable to continue — did not utter a 
 word more, and felt that if that hard-hearted master 
 were to go on sitting and staring inquiringly at me 
 for a whole year, I should not be able to say a single 
 word all the time. 
 
 The master looked at me for a minute or two, then 
 assuming a look of concern said, in a feeling tone to 
 Volodja, who just then entered the room : 
 
 ‘ Pray give me the mark-book.’ 
 
 * A name given to horses in Russia. 
 
198 
 
 ADOLESCENCE. 
 
 Volodja brought it, and carefully placed the ‘ cachet’ 
 beside it. 
 
 The master opened the mark-book, and deliberately 
 dipping the pen in the ink, put Volodja down a ‘ five’ 
 for his lesson. 
 
 Then with the pen suspended over the place where 
 my name stood, he looked up at me, shook the pen, 
 and seemed thoughtful. 
 
 Suddenly his hand made an almost imperceptible 
 motion, and opposite my name there stood an ele- 
 gantly-shaped ! one,’ with a full-stop after it ; a second 
 motion of the hand, and there stood a second ‘ one,’ 
 with a full-stop after it, for behaviour. 
 
 After having carefully closed the book, the master 
 rose and went towards the door, regardless of the 
 look of despair, entreaty, and reproach that I turned 
 upon him. 
 
 ‘Michael Larionovitch !’ cried I. 
 
 ‘No,’ said he, guessing what I was going to say; 
 ‘it is impossible to learn as you do. 1 cannot take 
 money for nothing.’ 
 
 The master put on his galoches, his overcoat, and 
 carefully wrapped a comforter round his throat. As if 
 it was possible to think of anything else after what 
 had happened to me ! It was but a stroke of the 
 pen for him ; but for me it was the greatest misfortune 
 possible. 
 
 ‘ Is the lesson over?’ asked St. Jerome, coming into 
 the room. 
 
 ‘ Yes.’ 
 
 ‘ Was the master satisfied with you ?’ 
 
 ‘ Yes,’ said Volodja. 
 
THE KEY. 
 
 199 
 
 ‘ What mark have you got ?’ 
 
 ‘ A “ five.” ’ 
 
 ‘ And Nicholas ?* 
 
 I was silent. 
 
 ‘ I think he has a “ four,’” said Volodja. 
 
 He knew it was absolutely necessary to save me ; 
 for that day, at least. Let them punish me afterwards, 
 but not just the day there were visitors at the house. 
 
 ‘Voyons, messieurs’ (St. Jerome was in the habit 
 of prefacing all he said with ‘ voyons ’) ; ‘ faites votre 
 toilette et descendons.’ 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE KEY. 
 
 No sooner had we greeted the assembled guests, on 
 entering the drawing-room, than dinner was an- 
 nounced. 
 
 Papa was in high spirits — he had been winning 
 largely at cards — and gave Lubotchka a valuable 
 silver tea-service. At dinner-time he suddenly re- 
 collected that there was, besides that, a box of bon- 
 bons in his room for the birthday queen. 
 
 ‘ I should not like to send the servant ; go thou, 
 Coco,’ said he to me. ‘ The keys are in the shell that 
 is on my table. Take them, and with the largest key 
 open the second drawer to the right. There thou 
 will find a small box and a packet of bonbons ; bring 
 them all here.’ 
 
 ‘ Am I to bring thee any cigars ?’ asked I, for I 
 knew he always sent for them after dinner. 
 
200 
 
 ADOLESCENCE. 
 
 ‘ Yes, do ; and mind thou dost not touch anything,’ 
 added he, as I was leaving the room. 
 
 Having found the keys just where he had told me, 
 I was about to open the drawer, when it occurred to 
 me that I should like to know for what purpose a tiny 
 key, which was lying amongst the rest, was used. 
 
 Amidst a heterogeneous mass of things on the table, 
 I perceived an embroidered portfolio with a little 
 padlock attached to it, and I thought I would try if 
 the tiny key would not unlock it. 
 
 I was right in my conjecture, opened the portfolio, 
 and found a heap of papers in it. Curiosity prompted 
 me so powerfully to find out what there was in those 
 papers that I had no time to listen to the voice of 
 conscience, and began to examine the contents of 
 the portfolio. . . . 
 
 My childlike feeling of reverence for all my elders, 
 and especially for papa, was so strong, that my mind un- 
 consciously refused to draw any conclusions whatever 
 from what I had found out. I felt as if papa lived in 
 a different world, in which there was something beau- 
 tiful, inaccessible, and utterly beyond my compre- 
 hension, and that for me to try and fathom the secrets 
 of his life would be almost sacrilegious. 
 
 That is why the discovery 1 made, almost acci- 
 dentally, on opening papa’s portfolio, was but imper- 
 fectly comprehended by me, and left me but the 
 unpleasant consciousness of having done very wrong. 
 I felt both ashamed and embarrassed. 
 
 Under the influence of that feeling I hastily closed 
 the portfolio, but I was fated to meet with all sorts of 
 misfortunes on that memorable day. Putting the 
 key into the keyhole, 1 turned it the wrong way ; 
 
THE KEY. 
 
 201 
 
 supposing it to be locked, I took out the key, and, 
 oh terror ! the upper part of the key alone was in my 
 hand. It was in vain that I tried to join it to the 
 other half, left in the keyhole, and to get it out in 
 some wonderful way or other. I was at last obliged 
 to acknowledge to myself that I had committed a 
 second misdemeanour, which would come to light the 
 same day, as soon as ever papa returned to his room. 
 
 Complaints of me from Mimi ; a bad mark ; and a 
 broken key! Nothing worse could ever have hap- 
 pened. Grandmother would scold me on hearing 
 Mimi’s complaints; St. Jerome for the ‘one’; and 
 papa for the key . . . and all was to be burst over 
 my head no later than that same evening. 
 
 ‘ What is to become of me ? Oh ! what have I 
 done !’ said I aloud, walking up and down the soft 
 carpet. ‘ Well/ added I, getting out the bonbons 
 and the cigars, ‘ what is to be will be,’ and ran back 
 to the drawing-room. 
 
 The preceding fatalistic saying, overheard by me in 
 my childhood from our man-servant, Nicolas, ever 
 afterwards exercised a beneficial, temporarily soothing 
 influence upon me in every crisis of my life. When I 
 came into the hall I was in an unnatural, excited, but 
 very merry, state of mind. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE TRAITRESS. 
 
 After dinner we played at ‘ petits jeux,’ and I took 
 an active part in them. While playing at blindman’s- 
 buff, I was so awkward as to jostle the governess of 
 
202 
 
 ADOLESCENCE. 
 
 the Kornakoffs, who was playing with us ; then I 
 inadvertently stepped upon her gown and tore it. 
 Having noticed that all the little girls who were 
 present, and especially Sonitchka, looked gleefully at 
 the discomfiture of the governess as she went into 
 the maid's room to get her dress mended, I resolved 
 to amuse them in the same way once more. The 
 result of that amiable resolution was that as soon as 
 the governess returned, I began to dance round her, 
 and continued my pranks till I managed to catch the 
 heel of my boot in the skirt of her dress once more, 
 and tore it again. Sonitchka and the little princesses 
 were bursting with laughter, and I felt very proud of 
 my exploit; but St. Jerome, having noticed it too, 
 came up to me, and knitting his brows (a thing 
 I hated to see), said that my gaiety boded no good, 
 and that if I did not behave better, he would make 
 me repent, in spite of its being a holiday. 
 
 I was in the excited state of mind of a man who, 
 having lost at cards more than he has in his pocket, 
 fears to cast up his accounts, and plays on desper- 
 ately, without any hope of winning back what he has 
 lost, only in order to banish thought. I turned on 
 my heel with an insolent laugh. 
 
 After having played at blindman’s-buff some time, 
 a game called ‘ Lange Nase’ was proposed. It con- 
 sisted in placing two rows of chairs, one opposite the 
 other, and the ladies and gentlemen of the party, 
 divided into separate groups, chose each other by 
 turns. 
 
 The youngest princess always chose Ivin the 
 younger ; Katenka's choice generally fell either upon 
 
THE TRAITRESS. 
 
 203 
 
 Volodja or Illiinka, and Sonitchka’s upon Serge ; 
 nor did she seem in the least abashed when Serge 
 went confidently straight up to her, and took a seat 
 opposite her. She laughed her pleasant, merry laugh 
 every time, and only nodded, as a sign that he had 
 guessed right. Nobody ever chose me. My self-love 
 was bitterly wounded to find that nobody wanted 
 me ; that I was the one left behind ; that they used to 
 say : ‘ Who is there left ? Oh yes, there is Nicholas ; 
 well, then, take him.’ So, when my turn came, I 
 always went up either to my sister, or to one of the 
 ugly princesses, and, unfortunately, I was never mis- 
 taken. Sonitchka seemed to be so taken up with 
 Serge Ivin, that she hardly noticed my existence. I 
 do not know on what grounds I mentally called her a 
 traitress, for she had never promised to choose me 
 and not Serge, yet I felt fully persuaded that she had 
 treated me very badly indeed. 
 
 When the play was over I noticed that the traitress , 
 whom I despised, yet off whom I could, neverthe- 
 less, never keep my eyes, had gone into a corner of 
 the room with Serge and Katenka, and that they were 
 engaged in a mysterious whispering conversation. 
 Creeping stealthily up to them in order to find out 
 what the secret was, I saw that Katenka was holding 
 up a fine cambric handkerchief by both ends, in lieu 
 of a screen, thus concealing the heads of Serge and 
 Sonitchka from view. 
 
 ‘ Well, you see you have lost the wager, so you 
 must pay,’ said Serge. 
 
 Sonitchka stood before him like a culprit, and said 
 with a blush : 
 
204 
 
 ADOLESCENCE. 
 
 ‘ No, I have not lost the wager, have I, Catherine ?’ 
 ‘ I cannot tell a lie/ answered Katenka ; ‘ you have 
 lost, ma chere ! 
 
 Hardly were the words out of her mouth, when 
 Serge bent his head and kissed Sonitchka. Kissed 
 her ruby lips ! And Sonitchka laughed, as if she was 
 not in the least put out, as if she found it very 
 pleasant to be kissed. Dreadful ! Oh, wicked, wicked 
 traitress ! 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 I GROW WILD. 
 
 I NOW felt that I despised the whole female sex, and 
 Sonitchka in particular. I persuaded myself that 
 these games were not nice at all, only fit for little 
 girls, and I longed to play some boisterous trick, 
 some wild prank which would astonish everybody. 
 An opportunity soon presented itself. 
 
 St. Jerome had been talking with Mimi, and I 
 now saw him rise and walk out of the room ; I heard 
 his steps going up the stairs ; then they sounded 
 above our heads, in the direction of the schoolroom. 
 I supposed Mimi had been telling him where she 
 had seen me standing during the lesson-hour that 
 morning, and that he had gone up to see the mark- 
 book. At that time it seemed to me that St. Jerome 
 could have no other interest in life but that of 
 punishing me. I have read somewhere, that children 
 between twelve and fourteen years of age — that is, in 
 the transition stage from childhood to adolescence — 
 are especially apt to become murderers or incendiaries. 
 
I GROW WILD. 
 
 205 
 
 When I recall my own adolescence, and the state of 
 mind I was in on that unfortunate day, I can under- 
 stand the incentive to the most dreadful crimes 
 committed without aim or purpose, without any 
 precise desire to harm others — done simply out of 
 curiosity, out of an unconscious need of action. There 
 are moments when the future seems so gloomy that 
 one fears to look forward to it ; when the mind works 
 no more, and one tries to persuade one’s self that 
 there will be no future, and that there has been no 
 past. At such a moment, when the will is not 
 governed or modified by reflection, and the main- 
 springs of life are but carnal instincts, I can under- 
 stand how a child, a being especially prone to fall 
 into such a state on account of his inexperience of 
 life, will wantonly, and without the least hesitation or 
 fear, with a smile of curiosity, set fire to the house in 
 which his brothers and sisters, his father and mother, 
 all of whom he loves dearly, are sleeping. Under 
 the influence of a similar absence of thought, absence 
 of mind almost, a country clown of seventeen, 
 examining the edge of a sharp axe lying near the 
 bench on which his old father lies asleep, will 
 suddenly raise the axe and look on, with dull curiosity, 
 while the blood oozes under the bench, from the cut 
 throat of the old man. Under the influence of a 
 similar absence of all thought, out of instinctive 
 curiosity, a man finds pleasure in standing on the very 
 brink of a precipice, and thinks : ‘ Why should I not 
 fling myself down ?’ or, raising a loaded pistol to his 
 forehead, says to himself: ‘Shall I not pull the trigger?’ 
 Or, again, looking at some grand personage whom all 
 
206 
 
 ADOLESCENCE. 
 
 treat with servile respect, he will say to himself : 
 ‘Why should I not go up to him, pull his nose, and 
 say, “ Well, old fellow, come along”?’ 
 
 I was exactly in such a state of unthinking excite- 
 ment when St. Jerome came down and told me I had 
 no business to be downstairs that day, having both 
 learnt and behaved badly at my lesson ; he ordered 
 me to go upstairs immediately, upon which I thrust 
 out my tongue, and answered that I would not go. 
 
 At first St. Jerome stared at me in speechless 
 astonishment and anger. 
 
 ‘ C’est bien,’ said he at last ; ‘ I have promised to 
 punish you more than once already, but your grand- 
 mamma has always begged you off ; but I see that 
 nothing will teach you obedience except a good 
 whipping, and to-day you have amply deserved 
 one.’ 
 
 He spoke in a loud, audible voice. The blood 
 rushed forcibly to my heart ; I felt it beat wildly ; I 
 felt that my cheek grew pale and my lips trembled. 
 My looks must have been frightful at that moment, 
 for St. Jerome, avoiding my gaze, approached me 
 hastily and seized me by the arm. When I felt his 
 hand touch me I was beside myself, and, as soon as I 
 could release my arm from his grasp, struck him with 
 all my strength. 
 
 ‘What is the matter with thee?’ said Volodja, 
 coming up and looking at me w r ith mingled surprise 
 and terror. 
 
 ‘ Leave me !’ cried I, in a voice half choked with 
 sobs. ‘You none of you love me — none of you 
 understand how miserable I am. You are all nasty, 
 
/ GROW WILD. 
 
 207 
 
 disgusting creatures !’ added I wildly, addressing all 
 present. 
 
 St. Jerome, his face firm and pale, once more came 
 up to me, and before I had time to take any defensive 
 measures, seized both my hands as in a vice, and 
 dragged me away. I was quite dizzy from passion. 
 I only remember that I struggled desperately as long 
 as I had any strength to do so ; I remember that I 
 struck my nose several times against somebody’s 
 thighs ; that the skirts of somebody’s coat was between 
 my teeth ; that [ heard the sound of footsteps and 
 inhaled a smell of dust mingled with that of ‘ violette,’ 
 the perfume used by St. Jerome. 
 
 Five minutes after I heard the garret door locked 
 upon me. 
 
 ‘ Basil/ said he in a malignant, triumphant voice, 
 ‘ bring me a rod. . . / 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 CASTLES IN THE AIR. 
 
 COULD I have believed that I should survive the 
 misery of that day, that a time would ever come when 
 I should be able to recall it calmly ? 
 
 Thinking over all I had done, I could not even 
 imagine what was to become of me, but had a dim 
 consciousness that I was lost for ever. 
 
 At first all was perfectly still around me, or at least 
 it seemed so to me, after the violent agitation I had 
 undergone ; but by degrees I began to distinguish 
 various sounds. I heard Basil come upstairs and 
 
208 
 
 ADOLESCENCE. 
 
 throw something that sounded like a bunch of dry 
 twigs on to the window-sill, then lie down on the 
 bench, with a yawn. The loud voice of Augustus 
 Antonovitch* talking about me, no doubt, might be 
 heard ; then childish voices, laughter, and people 
 running to and fro, and in a few minutes all seemed 
 to be going on as usual, as if nobody either knew or 
 cared about my being shut up in a dark garret. 
 
 I was not crying now, but felt a heavy weight, like 
 a stone, on my heart. All sorts of thoughts and 
 fancies whirled through my brain ; but the remem- 
 brance of the misfortune that had befallen me inter- 
 rupted their erratic course, and I fell once more into 
 a labyrinth of conjectures as to the fate which was in 
 store for me. 
 
 I thought to myself that there must be some reason, 
 unknown to myself, why everybody disliked, nay, 
 hated, me. 
 
 At that time I felt perfectly convinced that all — 
 from grandmother to Philip the coachman — hated me, 
 and rejoiced in my misery. 
 
 ‘ I am, perhaps, not the son of my father and mother, 
 not Volodja’s brother, but a poor orphan, a foundling, 
 taken in out of charity/ said I to myself; and the 
 ridiculous notion seemed not only a consoling sup- 
 position, but a very probable one. It was consoling 
 to think that I was miserable, not through any fault 
 of mine, but because I was fated to be miserable from 
 the day of my birth, and that my destiny was like that 
 of Karl Ivanovitch. 
 
 ‘ But why do they keep it from me, when I have 
 * St. Jerome. 
 
CASTLES IN THE AIR . 
 
 209 
 
 already fathomed the mystery ?’ said I to myself. ‘ I 
 shall go to papa to-morrow, and shall say to him : 
 “ Papa, it is useless for thee to try and conceal from 
 me the secret of my birth. I know all.” fie will 
 answer : “ Well, my boy, thou must have learnt it 
 sooner or later — thou art not my son — I have adopted 
 thee, and if thou art worthy of my affection I shall 
 never cast thee away.” And I shall say : “ Papa, I 
 have no right to call thee by that name — I do so for 
 the last time ; I have always loved thee, shall always 
 love thee ; thou art my benefactor, and I shall never 
 forget thee ; but I cannot stay in thy house any 
 longer. Nobody loves me, and St. Jerome has vowed 
 my ruin. Either he or I must leave thy house, for I 
 cannot answer for myself ; I hate the man ; I shall kill 
 him. Yes, that is what I will say : I shall kill him.” 
 Papa will try to remonstrate, but with a wave of my 
 hand I shall say : “ No, my friend, my benefactor, we 
 cannot live together any longer ; let me go away ;” 
 and then I shall put my arms round his neck and say, 
 in French : “ Oh, mon pere ! oh, mon bienfaiteur, donne 
 moi pour la derniere fois la benediction, et que la 
 volonte de Dieu soit faite !” * And sitting on a trunk, 
 in the dark garret, I sob aloud at the thought. Then 
 I suddenly remember the ignominious punishment in 
 store for me, the present is once more before me in its 
 true colours, and my day-dreams fade away. 
 
 Then again I fancy myself free, away from home. 
 I am a hussar, and go to the war. I am surrounded 
 by the enemy ; with one wave of my sword I kill one, 
 another, a third. At last, exhausted and wounded, I 
 fall, crying: ‘Victory!’ The general rides up and 
 
 14 
 
ADOLESCENCE. 
 
 Sio 
 
 asks : ‘ Where is he that has saved us ?’ I am pointed 
 out to him ; he embraces me with tears in his eyes, 
 and repeats the cry of ‘ Victory.’ I recover, and walk 
 up and down the Tverskoi boulevard with my arm in 
 a sling. I am a general ! And now the emperor 
 meets me and asks : ‘Who is that young man ?’ He 
 is told that it is the great hero, Nicholas. The 
 emperor comes up to me and says : ‘ I thank thee. 
 Ask of me what thou wilt, and it shall be granted 
 thee.’ I bow respectfully, and, leaning on my sabre, 
 say: ‘Your majesty, I am happy to have shed my 
 blood for my native land ; I would die for it. But if 
 it be thy gracious will to grant my request, let me 
 entreat but one favour of thee — give me leave to slay 
 a foe of mine, a foreigner, St. Jerome by name. I 
 long to annihilate my foe, St. Jerome.’ I stand 
 sternly before St. Jerome, and say: ‘Thou art the 
 cause of all my misery ! A genoux !’ And then the 
 idea occurs to me that the real St. Jerome may enter 
 the room at any moment with a rod in his hand, and 
 I am no longer a general who has saved his father- 
 land, but a most abject, pitiable being. 
 
 I begin to think of God, and wonder why He 
 punishes me thus. I have never forgotten to say my 
 prayers, either morning or evening ; why is such 
 misery mine ? I may confidently assert that the first 
 step towards the doubts concerning religion, which 
 assailed me in my adolescence, were engendered in 
 me at that moment of my life, not because I was then 
 led on to murmur against my fate, but because the 
 idea of the injustice of Providence, which took posses- 
 sion of my mind during that period of mental suffer- 
 
CASTLES IN THE AIR. 
 
 211 
 
 ing, grew apace like a seed falling into the damp 
 earth and rapidly taking root. Then it occurred to 
 me that I was going to die, and I drew a lively picture 
 of St. Jerome’s stupefaction on coming in and finding 
 me a corpse. I remembered what Natalia Savishna 
 had once told me about the souls of the departed 
 hovering during forty days around the spots in which 
 they had dwelt during life; and I hovered, in thought, 
 over all the rooms in grandmother’s house, seeing 
 Lubotchka’s bitter tears, grandmother’s grief, and 
 overhearing in imagination papa’s conversation with 
 St. Jerome. ‘He was a good boy,’ papa will say, 
 with tears in his eyes. ‘Yes,’ St. Jerome will answer, 
 ‘he was; but very wild.’ ‘Respect the memory of 
 the dead, pray,’ papa will then say ; ‘ you were the 
 cause of his death. You terrified him ; he could not 
 submit to the indignity you threatened him with. 
 Begone, you wretch !’ 
 
 And St. Jerome will go down on his knees sobbing, 
 and beg to be forgiven. After forty days my soul 
 goes up to heaven. I see something wonderfully 
 beautiful, all white and transparent, and I feel that it 
 is my mother. The undefined white substance sur- 
 rounds me, caresses me ; but I am restless, and am not 
 quite sure that it is she. ‘ If thou art mother, let me 
 see thee better, that I may embrace thee.’ And it is 
 her voice that answers : ‘ We are all thus here ; I 
 cannot embrace thee closer. Art thou not happy 
 thus ?’ ‘ I am, but thou canst not touch me ; I cannot 
 kiss thy hands. . . .’ ‘That is needless; all is joy 
 here,’ says she; and I feel that all is truly joy here, 
 and we soar up together, higher and higher. Here I 
 
 14 — 2 
 
212 
 
 ADOLESCENCE. 
 
 awake as from a dream, and find myself again on the 
 trunk, in the dark garret, my cheeks wet with tears, 
 mechanically repeating the words, ‘ and we soar 
 higher and higher/ I try my utmost to see my 
 present position clearly, but my mental gaze can only 
 see something dimly terrible looming before me. I 
 endeavour to recall those sweet, happy dreams which 
 had driven away all consciousness of the present ; but, 
 to my surprise, I find that I cannot take up the broken 
 thread again, and, strangely enough, find no pleasure 
 in them any longer. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 ALL WILL COME RIGHT AT LAST. 
 
 I PASSED the night in the garret, and nobody came 
 near me ; but on the next day, which was Sunday, 
 I was taken into a small room, next to the school- 
 room, and shut up there. I began to hope that my 
 punishment would be limited to confinement for 
 some days ; after a sound, invigorating sleep, and 
 under the influence of the bright sunshine on the 
 patterns made by the hoar-frost on the window-panes, 
 and the noise in the streets, I began to feel calmer. 
 Nevertheless, I found my solitude very irksome. I 
 longed to move about; to talk to somebody about 
 the thoughts that filled my mind, and there was not a 
 living soul near me. What aggravated me still more 
 was hearing St. Jerome walking up and down his 
 room, calmly whistling a lively tune. I felt fully 
 persuaded that he had not the least inclination to 
 
ALL WILL COME RIGHT AT LAST. 
 
 213 
 
 whistle, and did so solely for the purpose of tor- 
 turing me. 
 
 At two o’clock St. Jerome and Volodja went down- 
 stairs, and Nicolas brought me up my dinner. When 
 I began to speak to him about what I had done, and 
 wondered what was to be done to me, he said : 
 
 ‘ Oh, master, never mind ; all will come right at 
 last.’ 
 
 Though that saying, which even in after-years has 
 often kept up my spirits, comforted me a little, the 
 fact that the whole dinner, even the last dish, con- 
 sisting of dumplings, had been sent up to me, instead 
 of the bread and water I had expected, puzzled me 
 not a little. If no dumplings had been sent me, 
 it would have been a proof that my captivity was 
 my punishment ; now it looked as if I was not 
 punished yet, but only kept away from the others, 
 as being too wicked to associate with them, and that 
 my punishment was yet to come. While I was revolv- 
 ing the question in my mind, the key of my prison 
 door was turned, and St. Jerome entered the room. 
 
 ‘ Come with me to your grandmamma,’ said he, 
 without looking at me. 
 
 I was about to clean the sleeve of my jacket, 
 which was smeared with chalk, before leaving the 
 room ; but St. Jerome told me that it was quite useless 
 for me to do so, as if I were in such a pitiable moral 
 condition that any care about my outward appear- 
 ance was useless. 
 
 Katenka, Lubotchka and Volodja all glanced at 
 me, as St. Jerome led me through the room, holding 
 my arm in exactly the same way as the criminals were 
 
214 
 
 ADOLESCENCE. 
 
 held whom we used to see taken past our windows 
 on Mondays. When I approached grandmother’s 
 chair, in order to kiss her hand, she turned away 
 from me and hid her hand under her mantilla. 
 
 ‘Yes, my dear,’ said she, after a prolonged silence, 
 during which she had looked at me from head to 
 foot in such a way that I did not know what to do 
 with my eyes and hands, ‘you set great store on my 
 affection for you, and are a comfort to me, I must 
 say. Mr. St. Jerome, who consented, at my request,’ 
 added she, with emphasis, ‘ to take your education 
 upon himself, now refuses to stay here. Why ? 
 Because of you. I hoped you would be grateful/ 
 continued she, after a pause, and in a tone which 
 showed that her speech had been prepared before- 
 hand — ‘ grateful for his care and his trouble, that you 
 would know how to appreciate his worth, and instead 
 of that you — a milksop, a mere boy — dared raise your 
 hand against him ! Very fine ! I begin to think 
 that you are incapable of understanding gentlemanly 
 treatment ; that other, ruder measures must be 
 adopted. Beg his pardon immediately/ added she 
 sternly and imperatively, pointing to St. Jerome, 
 ‘ dost thou hear ?’ 
 
 I looked in the direction of grandmother’s finger, 
 and catching a glimpse of St. Jerome’s coat, turned 
 away and stood quite still, with a sinking heart. 
 
 ‘Well, dost thou not hear what I say?’ 
 
 My whole body trembled, but I did not stir. 
 
 ‘ Coco !’ said grandmother, who must have noticed 
 the mental suffering I endured ; ‘ Coco,’ repeated she 
 in a kinder, less imperative tone, ‘ is it thou indeed !’ 
 
ALL WILL COME RIGHT AT LAST. 
 
 215 
 
 * Grandmamma, I shall not beg his pardon ! No, 
 I shall not . . cried I, suddenly stopping short, for 
 I felt that I should be unable to restrain the tears 
 which choked my utterance, if I tried to speak 
 another word. 
 
 ( I order thee to do so — nay, I ask thee to do so. 
 Well ?’ 
 
 ‘ I . . . I . . . will . . . not — I cannot !’ said I, and 
 the sobs so long pent up in my breast suddenly burst 
 all bounds, and found vent in a flood of despairing tears. 
 
 ‘ C’est ainsi que vous obeissez a votre seconde 
 mere ; c’est ainsi que vous reconnaissez ses bontes,’ 
 said St. Jerome in a tragic tone. ‘ A genoux !’ 
 
 ‘O God ! if she could see this !’ said grandmother, 
 turning aside and wiping away the starting tears. 
 
 ‘ If she had seen ... all is for the best — she could 
 never have survived a shock like this — she would 
 never have survived it !’ 
 
 And grandmother wept bitterly ; my tears flowed 
 likewise, but I never thought of begging pardon. 
 
 ‘ Tranquillisez-vous, au nom du ciel, Madame la 
 Comtesse,’ said St. Jerome. 
 
 But grandmother did not hear him ; she had covered 
 her face with both hands, and her sobs soon turned 
 into gasps and hysterics. Mimi and Gasha came 
 running in with frightened looks ; there was a strong 
 smell of ether ; steps running to and fro and low 
 whispering voices were audible all over the house. 
 
 ‘That’s all your doing/ said St. Jerome, marching 
 me upstairs. 
 
 O God, what have I done? What an awful 
 criminal I am 1 
 
ADOLESCENCE. 
 
 216 
 
 As soon as St. Jerome had gone down again, after 
 having told me to go back to my room, I rushed 
 down the wide staircase which led into the street, 
 hardly conscious of what I was doing. 
 
 I do not remember if I wanted to run away from 
 home, to throw myself into the river, or what I 
 wanted to do. I only know that, covering my face 
 with both hands, so that I could see nothing, I ran 
 wildly down the stairs. 
 
 * Where art thou going?’ asked a well-known voice 
 suddenly. ‘ I want thee, my fine fellow.’ 
 
 I was about to rush past him, but papa caught 
 hold of my arm, and said sternly : 
 
 ‘ Come here, sirrah ! Who gave thee leave to 
 meddle with the portfolio in my study ?’ and with 
 these words he led me into the little parlour. ‘ Well, 
 what hast thou to say for thyself ? Eh ?’ added he, 
 taking hold of my ear. 
 
 ‘ Forgive me,’ said I ; ‘ I do not know what pos- 
 sessed me to do so.’ 
 
 ‘ Oh, indeed ! thou dost not know what possessed 
 thee — thou dost not know — dost thou?’ repeated he, 
 pulling my ear at each word ; ‘ wilt thou again poke 
 thy nose where thou hast no business to poke it — 
 thou wilt, wilt thou?’ 
 
 In spite of the violent pain I did not cry, but 
 experienced a sensation of moral relief. No sooner 
 had my father let go my ear, than I seized his 
 hand, and, bursting into a torrent of tears, covered it 
 with kisses. 
 
 4 What is the matter with thee ?’ asked he, slightly 
 pushing me aside, 
 
ALL WILL COME RIGHT AT LAST. 
 
 21 7 
 
 ‘No, no, I will not go,’ said I, catching hold of his 
 coat. ‘ Everybody hates me, I know, but for God’s 
 sake hear me ! Defend me, or drive me out of the 
 house. I cannot live with him — he is always trying 
 to humiliate me — orders me to go down on my knees 
 before him ; he wants to flog me. I cannot bear that ; 
 I am not a child. I shall not survive it — I shall 
 die — I shall kill myself ! He told grandmamma that 
 I was a good-for-nothing fellow — now she is ill — I 
 shall have been the cause of her death. I . . . with 
 him . . . for God’s sake, flog me . . . why do they 
 tor . . . ture . . . me ?’ 
 
 Tears choked my utterance ; I sat down on the 
 sofa, and, unable to utter another word, laid my head 
 on his knees, sobbing so violently that it seemed to 
 me I was about to die that instant. 
 
 ‘ What art thou crying about, thou bubble ? J said 
 papa kindly, stooping over me. 
 
 ‘ He is my tyrant . . . my tormentor ... I shall 
 die . . . nobody loves me !’ I uttered with difficulty, 
 and fell down in a fit. 
 
 Papa took me up in his arms and carried me to my 
 bedroom. I was soon fast asleep. 
 
 When I awoke it was already late ; a single candle 
 was burning near my bed, and in the room sat the 
 family doctor, Mimi, and Lubotchka. I could see 
 by their faces that fears for my health were enter- 
 tained. But I felt so well, my heart felt so light after 
 my twelve hours’ sleep, that I could have sprung out 
 of bed immediately if I had not been restrained by 
 the fear of destroying their conviction that I was 
 very ill. 
 
2 1 8 
 
 ADOLESCENCE. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 HATRED. 
 
 Yes, it was real hatred ; not the hatred we read of in 
 novels, and which I do not believe in — a hatred which 
 finds delight in harming another — but the hatred 
 which fills you with abhorrence of a man who at one 
 time had your esteem, and which makes you hate the 
 very sight of his hair, his neck, his gait, the sound of 
 his voice, his whole person, every movement of his, 
 and at the same time attracts you in some unaccount- 
 able way, and makes you watch his slightest gesture. 
 Such were my feelings towards St. Jerome. 
 
 St. Jerome had been with us a year and a half. 
 Now, when I can judge the character of the man 
 calmly, I find that he was a good man, but a true 
 Frenchman. He was not wanting in cleverness, was 
 pretty well informed, and did his duty by us con- 
 scientiously ; but he possessed the distinctive traits 
 peculiar to all his countrymen, which are so contrary 
 to the character of the Russians — he was thoughtless, 
 selfish, full of vanity, arrogance, and self-sufficiency. 
 I disliked all this. Grandmother had, of course, 
 imparted her opinions to him concerning corporal 
 punishment, and he dared not beat us ; nevertheless, 
 he often threatened us, and me especially, with the rod, 
 and pronounced the word fouetter (somewhat like 
 fouatter) in a way I hated, and in a tone which 
 seemed to say that to flog me would be the greatest 
 pleasure in life to him. 
 
 I did not, indeed, fear the pain of punishment in the 
 
HATRED. 
 
 219 
 
 least ; I did not even know what it was ; but the bare 
 idea of St. Jerome’s daring to strike me threw me 
 into a state of concentrated rage and despair. 
 
 Karl Ivanovitch, in a moment of ill-humour, used 
 sometimes to make us feel his ruler or his braces, but 
 the remembrance of that excites no feeling of anger 
 in my breast. Even at the period I am now speaking 
 about (when I was fourteen), if Karl Ivanovitch had 
 chanced to beat me, I should have taken the beating 
 very coolly. I loved Karl Ivanovitch — could remem- 
 ber him ever since I remembered myself — and con- 
 sidered him as one of the family ; but St. Jerome was 
 a proud, self-sufficient man, for whom I had never 
 experienced any feeling but that involuntary respect 
 which I felt for all ‘grown-up people.’ Karl Ivano- 
 vitch was a funny old man, a ‘diadka’ whom I loved, 
 but whom I nevertheless, in my childish comprehen- 
 sion, considered my inferior in social position. 
 
 St. Jerome, on the contrary, was a well-bred, hand- 
 some young fop, who endeavoured to be on terms of 
 equality with all. 
 
 Karl Ivanovitch was never in a passion when he 
 punished us ; he evidently considered it as a neces- 
 sary but unpleasant duty. St. Jerome, on the con- 
 trary, liked to show off his tutorship ; when he 
 punished us, he seemed to do so rather for his own 
 pleasure than for our good. He was full of his own 
 importance. His high-flown French phrases, which 
 he pronounced with great emphasis on the last 
 syllable, with circumflex accents, were my antipathy. 
 
 When Karl Ivanovitch was angry, he used to say : 
 A puppet-show — mischievous urchin !’ St. Jerome 
 
220 
 
 ADOLESCENCE. 
 
 would call me ‘ Mauvais sujet/ ‘ Vilain garnement/ 
 and such like appellations, which stung me to the 
 quick. 
 
 Karl Ivanovitch used to make us kneel down, with 
 our faces turned to the wall, and the punishment lay 
 in the physical pain caused by the uncomfortable 
 posture. St. Jerome would stick out his chest, and 
 with a stately gesture would exclaim, in a tragic tone: 
 ‘ A genoux, mauvais sujet !’ and would make us kneel 
 with our faces turned towards him and beg his pardon. 
 The punishment lay in the degradation. 
 
 I was not punished, and no mention was made of 
 what had occurred, but I could not forget what I had 
 suffered — the despair, the shame, the fear, and the 
 hatred of the last two days. Though from that time 
 St. Jerome seemed to have washed his hands of me, 
 and hardly took any notice of me, I could not look at 
 him with any degree of calmness. Every time our 
 eyes chanced to meet, I felt as if my glance expressed 
 my dislike too plainly, and I hastily put on an air of 
 indifference ; then, again, fancying he must see 
 through the feint, I would blush and turn away. 
 
 In a word, it was unbearably hard for me to have 
 anything to do with him. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 THE MAID-SERVANTS’ ROOM. 
 
 I FELT more and more lonely, and my greatest plea- 
 sure was to give way to solitary reflection and con- 
 templation. I shall speak of the subjects I reflected 
 
THE MAIDSERVANTS’ ROOM. 
 
 221 
 
 upon in my next chapter ; the theatre of my con- 
 templations was principally the maid-servants’ room, 
 where a very touching romance was just then going 
 on, and I took great interest in it. The heroine was, 
 of course, Masha. She was in love with Vassily, who 
 had been a friend of hers when she lived at her father’s, 
 and who had then asked her to marry him. Fate, 
 which had parted them five years ago, had reunited 
 them at grandmother’s house, but had raised a barrier 
 between them in the person of Nicolas, Masha’s uncle, 
 who would not hear of his niece's marrying Vassily, 
 whom he called a ‘ worthless, boisterous fellow.’ 
 
 The obstacle thus placed in their way made Vassily, 
 who up to that time had been tolerably cool and off- 
 hand in his treatment of Masha, fall as passionately 
 in love with her as only a tailor serf in a pink shirt, 
 and with well-oiled hair, is capable of doing. 
 
 Though the outpourings of his love were most odd 
 and grotesque (for instance, if he met Masha he would 
 always endeavour to hurt her in some way, either 
 pinching or slapping her, or squeezing her so hard 
 that she would scarcely breathe), he really did love 
 her, as was proved by the fact that no sooner had 
 Nicolas decidedly refused his consent to their mar- 
 riage, than Vassily had taken to drinking hard, from 
 grief, began to loiter about in ale-houses, to be so 
 recklessly boisterous that he was more than once 
 sentenced to corporal punishment at the police-office. 
 But all his misdemeanours and their consequences 
 only seemed to enhance his merit in the opinion of 
 Masha, and served to make her love him more than 
 
 ever. 
 
222 
 
 ADOLESCENCE. 
 
 When Vassily was locked up in the watch-house, 
 Masha would weep bitterly all day, complain of her 
 hard fate to Gasha (who took a lively interest in the 
 unfortunate lovers), and, heedless of her uncle’s scold- 
 ings and the many beatings he gave her, would run 
 stealthily to the watch-house to see her lover. 
 
 Reader, do not despise the society into which I 
 bring thee. If the chords of love and affection have 
 not yet been weakened in thy heart, there will be 
 sounds even in the maid-servants’ room to which it 
 will respond. Let me step on to the landing-place at 
 the head of the staircase, whence I can see all that 
 goes on in the maid-servants’ room. There is the 
 ‘ lejanka,’* on which there stand an iron, a pasteboard 
 doll with a broken nose, a slop-pail, a basin ; there is 
 the window, on which I can see a small piece of black 
 wax, a skein of silk, a green cucumber, half of which 
 has been bitten off, and an old pasteboard-box which 
 had once contained bonbons ; there is the large red 
 table, on which lies some unfinished work, pinned by one 
 end to a bright pincushion, covered with cotton-print, 
 and at it Masha sits in her favourite pink gingham 
 gown, and in a blue kerchief, which especially attracts 
 my attention. She is sewing, stopping every now 
 and then to scratch her head with her needle, or to 
 trim the candle ; and as 1 look on I think in my 
 heart, ‘ Why was she not born a lady, with those 
 bright blue eyes, thick chestnut tresses, and buxom 
 shape ?’ How nice she would look, sitting in the best 
 
 * A part of the oven which projects, forming a sort of ledge 
 about three feet from the ground ; sometimes used by the 
 domestics as a bed in cold weather. 
 
THE MAIDSERVANTS’ ROOM. 
 
 223 
 
 parlour, a cap with pink ribbons on her head, in a 
 dark-red silk morning-gown, not like the one Mimi 
 usually wears, but like one I had once seen a lady 
 wear on the Tverskoi boulevard. She should sit at 
 her embroidery-frame, and I would sit looking at her 
 face, reflected in the mirror. I should do whatever 
 she pleased — I would do everything for her — would 
 hold her cloak, hand her food. . . . 
 
 What a tipsy face and what a disgusting figure 
 Vassily has, in his narrow coat (put on over a dirty 
 pink shirt), which hangs down to his knees! In every 
 movement he makes, in every curve of his back, I 
 fancy I see traces of the ignominious punishments he 
 has undergone. 
 
 4 Well, Vassily, again ?’ said Masha to him, without 
 raising her head to greet his entrance. 
 
 ‘ What of that ? What is one to expect of him ?’ 
 answered Vassily. ‘ If he could make up his mind 
 one way or another, at least. I am going to the dogs, 
 and all through him.’ 
 
 ‘ Have a cup of tea ?’ said Nadeja, another of the 
 housemaids. 
 
 ‘ Thanks ; and why does that old thief, thy uncle, 
 hate me ? Because I wear good clothes, because of 
 my “ style,” my gait ; in a word . . . Oh, oh !’ con- 
 cluded Vassily with a wave of his hand. 
 
 ‘We must submit/ said Masha, biting off a thread, 
 
 ‘ and you . . 
 
 ‘ It is beyond me, that’s what it is.’ 
 
 Just then grandmother’s door opened, and the 
 grumbling voice of Gasha was heard as she came up 
 the stairs. 
 
224 
 
 ADOLESCENCE. 
 
 1 There’s no pleasing one who does not know her- 
 self what she wants. . . . It’s a cursed life ; no better 
 than a galley-slave’s. . . . God forgive me !’ muttered 
 she. 
 
 ‘ My respects to you, Agatha Mihailovna,’ said 
 Vassily, rising as she entered. 
 
 ‘ Get along with you, all of you ! Be off with thy 
 respect !’ said she, with a menacing look. * What dost 
 thou come here for ? What business have men to 
 come and see girls ? . . .’ 
 
 ‘ I came to inquire about your health,’ said Vassily 
 bashfully. 
 
 ‘ I shall soon be dead ; that is how the matter 
 stands !’ cried Agatha Mihailovna, still more angrily. 
 
 Vassily laughed. 
 
 ‘ It is no laughing matter, and if I tell thee to be 
 off, march ! A beastly fellow, like thee to be thinking 
 of marriage, forsooth — a rogue ! March off in double- 
 quick time !’ 
 
 And Agatha Mihailovna, stamping her foot at him, 
 went off into her room, slamming the door so violently 
 that all the windows shook. 
 
 She might be heard, a long time afterwards, scold- 
 ing all and everybody, cursing her own life, flinging 
 her things about, and pulling her pet cat’s ears ; at 
 last the door was partially opened, and the poor cat, 
 mewing piteously, was flung out by the tail. 
 
 ‘ I suppose I had better come some other day to 
 have tea with thee,’ whispered Vassily. 
 
 ‘ Never mind her,’ said Nadeja, winking at him ; ‘ I 
 will go and set the tea-urn.’ 
 
 ‘ I shall put an end to all,’ continued Vassily, sitting 
 
THE MAID-SERVANTS’ ROOM. 
 
 225 
 
 down closer to Masha as soon as Nadeja had left the 
 room. I shall either go straight to the Countess 
 myself, and shall say so and so ... or else ... I 
 shall throw up all, and go off to the other end of the 
 world, by God ! . . / 
 
 ‘ And how shall I remain here ? . . .’ 
 
 ‘ I am sorry for thee ; if I had not been sorry, I 
 should long, long ago have been free, by God !’ 
 
 ‘ Why dost thou not bring me thy shirts to be 
 washed ?’ said Masha, after a moment’s pause. ‘ See 
 how dirty this one is,’ added she, taking hold of his 
 shirt-collar. 
 
 Just then grandmother’s bell was heard downstairs, 
 and Gasha came out of her room. 
 
 ‘ Thou low fellow ! what dost thou want with her ?’ 
 said she, pushing Vassily, who had risen hastily at 
 her entrance, towards the door. ‘ Thou hast brought 
 the girl to a pretty pass, and now here thou art again* 
 It seems thou likest to see her tears, thou good-for- 
 nothing ! Be off! don’t let me see thee here any 
 more ! And what in the world hast thou found in 
 him, to make thee care for him ?’ continued she? 
 turning to Masha. ‘ Thou hast not been beaten 
 enough by thy uncle on account of him. Always the 
 same story : I will not marry any other than Vassily 
 Gouskoff. Thou art a fool, girl !’ 
 
 ‘ And I shall never marry any other ; I love him 
 alone. You may beat me to death for it,’ retorted 
 Masha, suddenly bursting into tears. 
 
 I stood a long time looking at Masha, who lay on 
 her trunk wiping away her tears with her neck- 
 kerchief ; while endeavouring to alter my estimate 
 
 15 
 
226 
 
 ADOLESCENCE . 
 
 of Vassily, I tried to find out the point of view under 
 which he seemed so attractive to Masha. But though 
 I sympathized sincerely with her in her sorrow, I 
 could not possibly understand how such a bewitching 
 creature as Masha seemed to me to be could love a 
 man like Vassily. 
 
 ‘ When I grow up/ said I to myself, as I went 
 upstairs to my room, ‘ Petrovskoje will be mine, and 
 Vassily and Masha will be my serfs. I shall be 
 sitting in my study smoking a pipe, and Masha will 
 pass by with an iron in her hand, on her way to the 
 kitchen. I shall call her ; she will come, and we 
 shall be alone in the room. All at once Vassily will 
 come in, and, seeing Masha there, will cry : “ I am 
 undone !” and Masha will begin to cry too, and I 
 shall say : “ Vassily, I know that thou lovest her, and 
 she loves thee ; here are a thousand roubles for thee ; 
 marry her, and may God bless thee !” and with these 
 words I shall go into the parlour.’ 
 
 Amidst the countless thoughts and fancies, many 
 of which pass through our brain without leaving any 
 traces behind, there are some which do leave deep 
 and sensitive furrows in our hearts ; so that it often 
 happens that though you do not exactly recall the 
 idea, you remember that a good thought did pass 
 through your mind — you feel its traces, and long to 
 call it up once more. A similar impression has ever 
 since remained in my mind of the wish I then ex- 
 perienced to sacrifice my own feelings for the sake of 
 Masha, whose happiness could only be secured by her 
 marriage with Vassily. 
 
MY BOYHOOD. 
 
 227 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 MY BOYHOOD. 
 
 My readers will hardly believe me when I tell them 
 what were the favourite and ever-recurring subjects 
 of meditation of my boyhood, they were so little in 
 accordance with my age and position. I think, how- 
 ever, that the discrepancy between the position of a 
 man and his mental activity is the surest sign of 
 truth. 
 
 For the space of a whole year, during which I led 
 a solitary moral life, concentrated in myself, various 
 abstract questions concerning the destination of man, 
 the next world, the immortality of the soul, had pre- 
 sented themselves to my mind, and my weak, childish 
 intellect had tried, with all the eagerness of inex- 
 perience, to understand all those problems which 
 form the highest point to which the mind of man can 
 attain, but which the power to solve has not been 
 given him. 
 
 I think that the mind of each man, in the course of 
 its development, follows the same course as the 
 development of whole generations ; that the ideas 
 which form the basis of various philosophical theories 
 are inseparable particles of the mind, and that each 
 man has been more or less conscious of them even 
 before knowing anything about the existence of 
 philosophical theories. 
 
 These ideas presented themselves to my mind so 
 clearly and forcibly, that I endeavoured to apply 
 
 15—2 
 
228 
 
 ADOLESCENCE. 
 
 them to life, fancying that I was the first to discover 
 such important and useful truths. 
 
 At one time it occurred to me that happiness did 
 not depend on outward causes, but upon the way we 
 considered them ; that a man who had grown used 
 to suffering could never more be truly miserable ; and 
 in order to get myself inured to labour, I used to 
 hold Tatischeff’s Dictionaries in my outstretched hand 
 for five minutes, or I would go into the closet, and 
 scourge my bare back with a rope so severely that the 
 tears would flow down my cheeks. 
 
 Another time, when it suddenly occurred to me 
 that death is always at hand, every hour, every 
 minute of our lives, I came to the conclusion that 
 a man could only be happy by profiting by the 
 present, without reflecting upon the future ; I won- 
 dered the idea had never occurred to anyone, and 
 for three whole days, acting under its influence, cast 
 all my lessons aside, and spent my time in lying on 
 my bed enjoying the pleasure of reading a novel, and 
 eating gingerbread bought with the last money which 
 I possessed. 
 
 Once, while standing before the blackboard and 
 drawing various figures upon it, the thought suddenly 
 struck me : ‘ Why is symmetry agreeable to the eye ? 
 What is symmetry ? It is innate, was my answer. 
 What is it grounded upon? Is everything sym- 
 metrical in life? On the contrary. This is life and 
 I drew an oval figure on the board. ‘ After life the 
 soul passes into eternity. This is eternity and I 
 drew on one side of the oval figure a long line to the 
 end of the board. * Why is there no such line on the 
 
MY BOYHOOD. 
 
 229 
 
 other side? And, in fact, what eternity can there be 
 if it is only on one side? We must have existed 
 before this life, though we have lost all remembrance 
 of it.’ 
 
 The idea, which seemed a very novel and clear one 
 to me, and the thread of which I can hardly follow 
 now, pleased me very much indeed, and taking a 
 sheet of paper, I thought I would put it all down in 
 writing ; but at the very outset so many ideas crowded 
 into my head, that I was obliged to rise and walk up 
 and down the room. When I came up to the window 
 my glance fell upon the dray-horse that the coach- 
 man was just putting to a cart, and my attention was 
 entirely absorbed in solving the question : into the 
 body of what man or animal would the soul of the 
 horse enter, after its death? Just at that moment 
 Volodja passed through the room, and smiled as he 
 saw me standing in deep thought, and the smile 
 alone sufficed to make me feel that I had been build- 
 ing up but a rotten edifice in my mind. 
 
 I mention this last circumstance, which has some- 
 how or other remained in my memory, only in order 
 to give my reader some idea of the habit of mental 
 philosophizing into which I had fallen at that period 
 of my life. 
 
 There was, however, no point of philosophical 
 argument which had as great a hold of me as 
 scepticism, which at one time brought me almost 
 to the verge of madness. I imagined that nobody 
 and nothing but myself really existed in the world ; 
 that the objects before me were not real, but only 
 images rising before me, when I turned my attention 
 
230 
 
 ADOLESCENCE. 
 
 towards them, and that I had no sooner ceased to 
 think of them than they vanished. In a word, I 
 came to the same conclusion as Schelling, that things 
 did not really exist, except as I myself gave them 
 being in my own mind. There were moments when, 
 under the influence of that constant idea, I attained 
 such a point of insanity that I used sometimes to 
 turn hastily round and glance in some opposite direc- 
 tion, expecting to find nothingness ( neant ) there 
 where I was not. 
 
 What a pitiful, worthless spring of moral activity is 
 the mind of man ! 
 
 My weak mind could not penetrate the im- 
 penetrable, and in work beyond its strength lost, one 
 after the other, all those convictions which, for the 
 happiness of my life, I ought never to have touched. 
 
 All this hard moral labour has left me nothing but 
 a wavering mind, which has weakened the force of 
 my will, and a habit of constant moral analysis which 
 has annihilated the freshness of my feelings and the 
 clearness of my reason. 
 
 Abstract speculations are the result of the aptitude 
 of man to seize, by intuition, at a given moment, the 
 actual state of his mind, and always to be able to 
 carry his thoughts back to it. 
 
 My fondness for a meditation on abstract questions 
 developed my meditative faculties to such a degree 
 that I used, on thinking of the simplest thing, to fall 
 into a maze, analyzing my own thoughts, and entirely 
 losing sight of the question which had occupied my 
 thoughts at the outset. Asking myself : ‘What am I 
 thinking of ?’ I would answer myself thus : ‘ I am 
 
MY BOYHOOD. 
 
 231 
 
 thinking what it was that I was thinking of. And 
 now what am I thinking of ? I am thinking that I 
 am thinking what it was that I was thinking of, and 
 so on.’ My mind was going astray. 
 
 However, the philosophical discoveries I had made 
 greatly flattered my self-love. I would fancy myself 
 some great man who had discovered new truths for 
 the good of humanity, and with a proud conscious- 
 ness of my merits, would look down contemptuously 
 upon all other mortals ; yet I felt strangely bashful 
 whenever I had anything to do with these same , ^ 
 
 mortals, and the higher I placed myself in my own 
 opinion, the less capable I was of parading that 
 consciousness of my own merits. I could not even 
 avoid feeling ashamed of every word or gesture of 
 my own, even the very simplest. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 VOLODJA. 
 
 The further I proceed in my description of this 
 period of my life, the harder and more difficult it 
 becomes. I seldom, very seldom find, in my remem- 
 brances of the past, any traces of those true, warm 
 feelings which had so brightly and so constantly cast 
 a lustre on my early years. I involuntarily long to 
 pass rapidly over the desert of my boyhood, and to 
 come to that happy time when the warm, noble 
 sentiment of friendship cast its bright light over the 
 last year of my boyhood, and laid the foundation of 
 
232 
 
 ADOLESCENCE. 
 
 the new period of youth, so full of poetry and 
 charm. 
 
 I shall not follow my recollections closely, but 
 shall throw a rapid glance over the more important 
 points between the time to which I have brought my 
 narrative and my friendship with an extraordinary 
 man, who had a decisive and beneficial influence on 
 my disposition. 
 
 Volodja is to enter the university in a few days ; 
 several masters come to give him private lessons, and 
 I listen, with mingled envy and respect, when, boldly 
 striking the blackboard with a bit of chalk, he talks 
 glibly of functions, sines, co-ordinates, etc., which all 
 seem to me to be expressions of unattainable wisdom 
 and knowledge. And now, one Sunday after dinner, 
 all the masters assemble in grandmother’s room ; 
 there are two professors there likewise, and in the 
 presence of papa and several guests there is a 
 rehearsal of the university examination, at which, to 
 grandmothers delight, Volodja gives proofs of extra- 
 ordinary information. I am also questioned ; am 
 found to know very little, and the professors evidently 
 try to conceal my ignorance from grandmother, and 
 that makes me still more ashamed of myself. How- 
 ever, little attention is paid to me. I am only fifteen^ 
 and have therefore a whole year before me. Volodja 
 only comes down for dinner, and spends whole days, 
 and even the evenings, upstairs at his studies, not 
 because he is ordered to do so, but of his own free 
 will. He is full of self-love, and wishes to undergo 
 his examination, not only creditably, but perfectly 
 well. 
 
VOLODJA. 
 
 233 
 
 At last cbmes the day of his first examination. 
 Volodja puts on a dark-blue coat with bronze buttons, 
 a gold watch and varnished boots ; papa’s phaeton is 
 brought to the door, Nicolas throws aside the cover, 
 and Volodja and St. Jerome drive off to the university. 
 The girls, with joyful, excited faces, look out of the 
 window at the slender figure of Volodja, as he gets 
 into the phaeton ; papa says : ‘ God grant he may 
 succeed !’ and grandmother, who has also managed to 
 crawl to the window, with her eyes full of tears, makes 
 the sign of the cross over his receding figure, mutter- 
 ing some inaudible words, until the phaeton dis- 
 appears behind the corner of the street. 
 
 Volodja returns. All eagerly ask : ‘ Well ? What ? 
 Did it go off well ? What mark have they put ?’ 
 But his joyous looks show clearly that all is well. 
 He has a ‘ five.’ The next day he departs with the 
 same fears, and the same good wishes for his success, 
 and is received on his return with the same joy. 
 Nine days pass thus. On the tenth day is the last 
 examination — the most difficult one of all — that on 
 theology, and we all stand at the window, waiting for 
 his return, with greater impatience than ever. 
 
 ‘ O God ! oh dear ! oh dear ! there they are ! there 
 they are !’ cries Lubotchka, with her face pressed 
 close to the window-pane. 
 
 And indeed there is Volodja sitting in the phaeton, 
 with St. Jerome ; but he is not in his dark-blue coat 
 and gray cap now, but in a student’s uniform, with a 
 blue embroidered collar, in a three-cornered hat, and 
 with a sword by his side. 
 
 ‘ Oh, if thou wert but alive !’ cries grandmother, on 
 seeing Volodja in his uniform, and faints away. 
 
234 
 
 ADOLESCENCE. 
 
 Volodja comes running into the outer hall, with a 
 beaming face, kisses and embraces me, Lubotchka, 
 Mimi, and Katenka, who blushes to the tips of her 
 ears. Volodja is beside himself with joy. And how 
 nice he looks in his uniform ! How well the blue 
 collar suits his incipient black moustache ! What a 
 long, slender waist he has, and how gracefully he 
 walks ! On that memorable day we all dine in 
 grandmother’s room ; all faces are bright and joyous, 
 and while we are eating the last dish the butler 
 comes in with a respectfully pompous, pleased look, 
 bringing a bottle of champagne, wrapped round with 
 a napkin. Grandmother takes a glass of champagne 
 for the first time after mother’s death, drinks off 
 the whole of it, wishing Volodja joy, and again 
 shedding tears of happiness as she looks at him. 
 Volodja drives out alone, in his own equipage, re- 
 ceives his friends in his own room, smokes, goes to 
 balls ; and I once saw him, with my own eyes, drink 
 two bottles of champagne with his friends, in his own 
 room. I heard them drink each glass to the health 
 of some mysterious personages, and quarrel as to who 
 was to get ‘ le fond de la bouteille.’ He dines at 
 home, however, every day, and after dinner sits with 
 us as usual, in the parlour, carrying on a mysterious 
 conversation with Katenka. As far as I could make 
 out, for I took no part in their conversation, they 
 talked about the heroes and heroines of the novels 
 they had read, about jealousy, love, and I could by no 
 means understand what interest they could find in 
 such conversations, and why they both smiled so 
 knowingly, and argued so warmly. 
 
K4TENKA AND LUBOTCHKA. 
 
 235 
 
 I notice that besides the friendship natural between 
 young people who have been brought up together, 
 there are other and strange ties between them, which 
 remove them further from us, and link them together 
 in some mysterious way. 
 
 CHAPTER XXL 
 
 KATENKA AND LUBOTCHKA. 
 
 Katenka is sixteen ; she has grown taller ; the 
 angular figure, the shyness and awkwardness usual to 
 girls, just growing out of childhood, have given place 
 to the harmonious freshness and grace of a new-blown 
 flower, but otherwise she is not changed. The same 
 light-blue eyes and smiling glance ; the same straight 
 nose with firm nostrils, which is almost on a line with 
 the forehead ; the little mouth with its bright smile ; 
 the same tiny dimples on her pink, transparent-looking 
 cheeks; the same white hands ; . . . and, as formerly, 
 the term * a clean little girl ’ seems to suit her re- 
 markably well. She now wears her thick brown hair 
 in some grown-up fashion, and is fast developing into 
 a woman. 
 
 Though she and Lubotchka have grown up 
 together and have been brought up alike, the latter 
 is a very different sort of girl. 
 
 Lubotchka is not tall, and as she had the rickets 
 in her childhood, she has bandy legs and an ugly 
 figure. Her one beauty is her eyes, which are really 
 beautiful ; they are large, black, and have such a 
 lovely expression of mingled dignity and frankness 
 
236 
 
 ADOLESCENCE. 
 
 that they attract everybody’s attention. Lubotchka 
 is simple and unaffected ; Katenka always looks as if 
 she were trying to be like somebody else. Lubotchka 
 always looks everyone straight in the face, and will 
 sometimes sit staring at people with her great black 
 eyes till she is reprimanded for doing so, and reminded 
 that it is very rude. Katenka, on the contrary, screws 
 up her eyes, telling us that she is short-sighted, though 
 I know that her eyesight is very good. Lubotchka 
 does not like to show off before strangers, and if any 
 of us kiss her in the presence of strangers, she will 
 pout and say that she hates such fondling. Katenka, 
 on the contrary, is always especially loving with 
 Mimi before visitors, and likes to walk up and down 
 the room with her arm round some other girl’s waist. 
 Lubotchka is a good laugher, and will sometimes, in 
 a fit of merriment, toss up her arms and run up and 
 down the room. Katenka will cover her mouth with 
 her pocket-handkerchief or her hands when she laughs. 
 Lubotchka always sits bolt upright, and walks with 
 her arms hanging down by her sides. Katenka holds 
 her, head a little on one side, and folds her arms when 
 she walks. Lubotchka is very fond of conversing 
 with grown-up gentlemen, and says she will abso- 
 lutely marry a hussar. Katenka says she dislikes all 
 men, that she will never marry, and looks queer, as if 
 she were afraid of something, when any gentleman 
 talks to her. Lubotchka is always displeased with 
 Mimi for making her wear tight stays ; she says she 
 cannot breathe in them, and is fond of eating. 
 Katenka, on the contrary, will often put her finger 
 under the bodice of her dress to show us that it is 
 
PAPA. 
 
 237 
 
 too wide for her, and eats very little. Lubotchka 
 likes to draw heads ; Katenka draws only flowers and 
 butterflies. Lubotchka plays Field’s concertos very 
 accurately, as well as some of Beethoven’s sonatos. 
 Katenka plays variations and waltzes, does not keep 
 good time, hammers, uses the pedal continually, and, 
 before beginning to play any piece, runs her fingers 
 over the keys, and makes a grand flourish. 
 
 But Katenka seems to me to be more like a grown- 
 up young lady, and therefore pleases me better. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 PAPA. 
 
 Papa has been more cheerful than usual since Volodja 
 entered the university, and comes oftener to dine at 
 grandmother’s. However, I have heard from Nicolas 
 that his good spirits are the result of his having won 
 largely at cards. Sometimes, before going to the 
 club, he comes to our house, sits down to the piano 
 and sings gipsy songs, keeping time by tapping the 
 floor with his soft boot (he cannot bear high-heeled 
 boots, and never wears them). And you should have 
 seen the delight of his pet, Lubotchka, who, in her 
 turn, almost worships him. Sometimes he will come 
 into the class-room, and, with a stern look, listen to 
 me as I answer my lesson ; but I soon notice, by the 
 few words he utters in order to rectify any mistake I 
 may make, that he knows but little of the matter 
 himself. Sometimes he winks slily, and makes signs 
 to us with his hand, when grandmother begins to 
 
238 
 
 ADOLESCENCE. 
 
 grumble and to be angry with us without any cause. 
 ‘ We have caught it, children/ he will say. In general, 
 he gradually descends, in my eyes, from the lofty 
 height upon which my imagination had placed him. 
 I kiss his large white hand with the same sincere love 
 and respect, but I allow myself to think of him, to 
 criticise his actions, and many ideas concerning him 
 involuntarily occur to me, which I am almost afraid 
 of harbouring. I shall never forget one circumstance 
 which awoke many such feelings in me, and caused 
 me great moral suffering. 
 
 Late one evening he came into the drawing-room 
 in a black dress-coat and white waistcoat, in order to 
 take Volodja, who was yet in his own room, dressing, 
 to a ball. Grandmother was waiting in her bedroom for 
 Volodja to come and show himself to her. (She always 
 used to call him into her room before he went to a 
 ball, in order to see how he looked, to admonish him 
 concerning his behaviour, and to give him her blessing.) 
 Mimi and Katenka were walking up and down the 
 hall, which was lighted by a single lamp ; and 
 Lubotchka was at the piano, learning to play the 
 second concerto of Field, mamma’s favourite piece of 
 music. 
 
 I have never seen such a family likeness as there 
 was between my sister and my mother. The re- 
 semblance lay neither in the face nor in the figure, but 
 in some intangible likeness in the hands, in the way 
 of walking, in the tones of her voice, and in certain 
 expressions she used. When Lubotchka was vexed 
 and said, ‘ They keep us waiting a whole age/ the 
 words ‘ a whole age/ which mamma had] also been in 
 
PAPA. 
 
 239 
 
 the habit of using, were pronounced by her in a way 
 that forcibly reminded us of mamma’s slow way of 
 saying a wh-o-le a-ge.’ But at no time was the re- 
 semblance as striking as when she sat at her piano ; 
 the way she took her seat, smoothing down the folds 
 of her dress in exactly the same manner ; turning the 
 pages from the top with her left hand. When vexed 
 at her inability to master some difficult passage, she 
 would strike the keys with her fist, and cry, ‘ Oh dear ! 
 in exactly the same tone. There was the same soft- 
 ness and accuracy in her method of playing ; it was 
 that beautiful method taught by Field, and which has 
 justly been styled ‘jeu perle,’ whose charm all the 
 juggling trickery of modern pianists can never efface 
 from our memories. 
 
 Papa came into the room briskly and went up to 
 Lubotchka, who left off playing on seeing him. 
 
 ‘ Go on playing, Luba ; go on,’ said he, making her 
 sit down again ; ‘ thou knowest how I like to hear 
 thee play.’ 
 
 Lubotchka went on playing, and papa sat opposite 
 her for a long time leaning on his elbow ; then, 
 twitching his shoulders, he rose and began to walk up 
 and down the room. Every time he came near the 
 piano, he stopped and looked fixedly at Lubotchka. 
 I could notice by his movements, and by the way he 
 walked up and down the room, that he was in a state 
 of nervous excitement. After several turns he stopped 
 behind Lubotchka* s chair, kissed her black head, and 
 then, turning hastily away, recommenced his walk. 
 When Lubotchka had finished she went^up to him, 
 asking : ‘ Did I play it well ?’ 
 
240 
 
 ADOLESCENCE. 
 
 He did not answer, but taking her head with both 
 hands, kissed her forehead and her eyes with a tender- 
 ness I had never before seen him exhibit. 
 
 ‘ Oh, thou art weeping !’ said Lubotchka, suddenly 
 letting go his watch-chain, and fixing her large eyes 
 on him with surprise. Forgive me, dearest papa ; I 
 had forgotten that it was mamma’s favourite piece.’ 
 
 ‘ No, my love, play it often,’ said he, in. a voice 
 trembling with emotion ; f if thou but knewest what a 
 comfort it is for me to weep with thee !’ 
 
 He kissed her once more ; then, with an effort to 
 overcome his emotion, left the room by the door that 
 opened on the corridor leading to Volodja’s room. 
 
 f Voldemar, wilt thou be soon ready ?’ cried he, 
 stopping in the middle of the corridor. The maid- 
 servant Masha, who happened to be passing just at 
 that moment, stopped on seeing the ‘ barin ’* standing 
 there, cast down her eyes, and was going to make a 
 circuit in order to avoid passing close to him, when 
 he stopped her with the words : 
 
 ‘And thou art getting prettier than ever,’ and 
 stooped towards her. 
 
 Masha grew very red, and bent her head still 
 lower. 
 
 ‘ Allow me to pass,’ murmured she. 
 
 ‘ Well, Volodja, wilt thou soon be ready ?’ repeated 
 papa, coughing slightly as Masha passed on, and he 
 caught sight of me. 
 
 I love my father ; but the mind and the heart of 
 man are independent of each other, and the former 
 
 * * Master * in English ; in Russian, ‘ barin.’ 
 
GRANDMOTHER. 
 
 241 
 
 often harbours thoughts which wound the heart, and 
 which seem strangely harsh. And similar thoughts 
 occur to me, though I try hard to drive them away. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 GRANDMOTHER. 
 
 Grandmother grows weaker from day to day. 
 The sound of her bell, the grumbling voice of Gasha, 
 and the opening and shutting of doors are heard 
 more frequently in her room ; she does not receive 
 us in her study now, sitting in her easy-chair, as she 
 used to do, but in her bedroom, lying on a high bed, 
 the pillows of which are trimmed with lace. When 
 I wish her good-morning, I notice the pale, yellowish 
 swelling of her hands, and there is the same heavy 
 odour in her room that I had smelt five years ago 
 in mother’s chamber. The doctor comes to see her 
 two or three times a day, and there have been several 
 consultations. But neither her disposition nor her 
 haughty, formal manner towards the whole house- 
 hold has undergone any alteration ; she drawls out 
 her words as much as ever, raises her eyebrows, and 
 says : 4 My dear.’ * 
 
 And now we have not been allowed to see her for 
 several days, and St. Jerome, during lesson hours, 
 proposes to me to take a drive, with Katenka and 
 Lubotchka. 
 
 * This was not so much a term of endearment, when used 
 without the name of the person addressed, as of conscious 
 superiority. 
 
 16 
 
242 
 
 ADOLESCENCE. 
 
 Though I notice, as we get into the sledge, that 
 the street before grandmother’s window is strewn 
 with straw,* and that some men in dark-blue jerkins 
 are standing near our gates, I cannot possibly imagine 
 why we are sent out for a drive at such an unwonted 
 hour. On that day, and during the whole time of 
 our drive, Lubotchka and I are in that merry mood 
 in which every simple circumstance, every word, every 
 movement, excite laughter. 
 
 A pedlar, catching hold of his board, trots quickly 
 across the road, and we burst out laughing. A ragged 
 ‘ vanka ’-f* overtakes our sledge, pulling at the reins 
 and urging his horse to a gallop, and we laugh 
 again. Philip’s whip gets caught in the sledge-apron ; 
 turning round he says : ‘ Oh me !’ and we burst into a 
 fit of laughter once more. Mimi looks displeased, 
 and says that it is only silly people that laugh thus, 
 without any reason, and Lubotchka, with her face 
 quite red from the effort she makes to keep her 
 merriment within due bounds, glances stealthily at 
 me. Our eyes meet, and we give way to such a burst 
 of homeric laughter, that our eyes are full of tears, 
 and we can no longer restrain ourselves without 
 running the risk of choking. No sooner have we 
 grown a little calmer than I glance at Lubotchka 
 and utter a certain word which has been in vogue 
 amongst us for some time, and off we are again. 
 
 As we drive up to the house, I open my mouth to 
 
 * This is done in cases of severe illness, in order to soften the 
 noise of the passing vehicles. 
 
 j* An inferior kind of cabman, called vanka from the diminu* 
 tive of Ivan, a very frequent name amongst the lower classes. 
 
GRANDMOTHER. 
 
 243 
 
 make a face at Lubotchka, when I am thunderstruck 
 at seeing the black lid of a coffin placed against one 
 side of the house-door, and my mouth remains motion- 
 less with the ugly grimace upon it. 
 
 ‘Votre grandmere est morte !’ says St. Jerome, 
 coming out to meet us with a very pale face. 
 
 All the time grandmother’s body is in the house 
 I am under a heavy feeling of the fear of death ; that 
 is, the dead body reminds me unpleasantly that I 
 shall have to die, too, some day ; it is a feeling that 
 we somehow or other often mistake for grief. I do 
 not regret grandmother ; indeed, hardly anybody 
 did. Though the house is full of visitors in mourning, 
 nobody mourns for her, except one, whose excessive 
 grief surprises me greatly. It is her maid-servant, 
 Gasha. She goes up to the garret, locks herself up 
 there, cries without intermission, curses herself, tears 
 her hair, is deaf to all remonstrance, and says that 
 death is the only consolation left her, after the loss 
 of her beloved mistress. 
 
 I repeat once more that incongruity in matters of 
 feeling is the surest sign of their truth. 
 
 Grandmother is no more, but her memory still 
 lives in our house, and there is much conversation 
 about her. The talk turns chiefly on the will which 
 had been drawn up a short time before her death, and 
 which nobody knew anything of except her executor, 
 Prince Ivan Ivanovitch. I notice a certain excite- 
 ment amongst grandmother’s serfs, and often hear 
 surmises as to whose property they are to become, 
 and I confess that it is with a sensation of pleasure 
 that I remember that we are her heirs. 
 
 1 6 — 2 
 
244 
 
 ADOLESCENCE. 
 
 When six weeks are over, Nicolas, who is always 
 the newsmonger of the house, tells me that grand- 
 mother has left all her property to Lubotchka, 
 appointing Prince Ivan Ivanovitch, and not papa, as 
 her guardian until her marriage. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 MY OWN AFFAIRS. 
 
 There are but a few months left before I enter the 
 university. I study hard. I now await the coming 
 of the masters without fear, and even find a certain 
 pleasure in my studies. I like to answer my lesson 
 clearly and distinctly. I am preparing for the 
 mathematical faculty, and, to tell the truth, I have 
 chosen it solely because I delight in the words 
 sines, tangents, differentials, integrals, etc. 
 
 I am much shorter than Volodja, broad-shouldered 
 and stout. I am as ugly as ever, and still make 
 myself miserable about my ugliness. I try to seem 
 eccentric, and have but one comfort ; it is that I once 
 overheard papa say that I had a clever phiz , and feel 
 persuaded that he was quite right. 
 
 St. Jerome is pleased with me ; praises me, and I 
 no longer hate him ; indeed, when he says that 
 ‘ with my abilities, with my cleverness/ I ought to 
 be ashamed of not doing well, I feel as if I even 
 love him. 
 
 My watching the maid-servants’ room has long 
 been at an end ; I now feel ashamed of hiding behind 
 doors, and then the conviction that Masha really 
 
MY OWN AFFAIRS. 
 
 245 
 
 loved Vassily has contributed not a little, I must con- 
 fess, towards cooling my passion. I was finally cured 
 of my unfortunate attachment by the marriage of 
 Vassily and Masha, which had been at last permitted 
 by my father through my intervention. 
 
 When the newly-married couple came to thank 
 papa, bringing in a tray with various sweets upon it, 
 and when Masha, in a cap with blue ribbons, thanks 
 all of us, kissing each on his or her shoulder, I smell 
 the scent of rose-oil pomatum which pervades her, 
 but do not experience the least agitation. 
 
 In general I am beginning to cast aside the defects 
 of my boyhood, except the most important one, how- 
 ever, which is fated to do me a great deal of harm in 
 the course of my life, i.e., a taste for philosophizing. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 VOLODJA’S FRIENDS. 
 
 THOUGH in the society of Volodja’s friends I played 
 a part which wounded my self-love, I liked to sit in 
 his room when he had visitors, and silently to watch 
 all that went on. Volodja’s most frequent guests at 
 that time were an aide-de-camp, Doubkoff, and a 
 student, Prince Neklioudoff. Doubkoff was a 
 short, sinewy, dark-haired man, no longer in his first 
 youth, with rather short legs, but good-looking, and 
 always in good spirits. He was one of those shallow- 
 brained people who are liked just on account of their 
 shallowness — who are incapable of seeing both sides 
 of any question at once, and are always- carried away 
 
246 
 
 ADOLESCENCE. 
 
 by the impulse of the moment. The judgments of 
 such people are often one-sided and defective, but 
 always frank and impulsive. Even their narrow 
 egotism seems excusable and attractive. Doubkoff 
 had, besides, a double charm in the eyes of Volodja 
 and myself ; it lay in his warlike appearance, and, 
 still more, in his being at an age which young people, 
 for some unaccountable reason, usually confound with 
 their idea of ‘ comme il faut,’ and which is conse- 
 quently highly prized at that age. And Doubkoff 
 was indeed what is considered ‘ un homme comme il 
 faut.’ There was one thing that displeased me — it 
 was that Volodja always looked as if he were ashamed 
 of everything I did, even of my youthfulness, when 
 Doubkoff was there. 
 
 Neklioudoff was plain ; his small gray eyes, his 
 round forehead, the disproportionate length of his 
 legs and arms, could not be considered handsome 
 The only good points in him were his remarkably tall 
 stature, his clear complexion, and his fine teeth. 
 Such an original and energetic expression was im- 
 parted to his face by his narrow, bright eyes, and his 
 ever-varying smile, at times stern, at others childishly 
 vague, that it was impossible for anyone to pass him 
 by without notice. 
 
 He was apparently very bashful, for every trifle 
 made him blush to the tips of his ears ; but his bash- 
 fulness was not like mine. The more he blushed the 
 more resolute he looked, as if he were ashamed of his 
 own weakness. 
 
 Though he seemed to be on friendly terms with 
 Doubkoff and Volodja, it was clear to me that chance 
 
VOLODJA 1 S FRIENDS. 
 
 247 
 
 alone had drawn them together. Their dispositions 
 and his were very different. Both Volodja and 
 Doubkoff seemed almost to dread anything like 
 serious argument or sentiment. Neklioudoff, on the 
 contrary, was an enthusiast, and would often, in spite 
 of their raillery, begin to argue about some philo- 
 sophical question or other, or some question of senti- 
 ment. Volodja and Doubkoff liked to talk about 
 their lady-loves (they were sometimes in love with 
 several ladies at the same time ; or, again, both would 
 be in love with the same person) ; Neklioudoff, on 
 the contrary, was always very angry if anybody 
 hinted at his love for a certain ‘ red-haired girl.’ 
 
 Though both Volodja and Doubkoff loved their 
 own relations, they often allowed themselves to turn 
 them into ridicule, when talking of them. Nekli- 
 oudoff was beside himself if anybody dared speak 
 disparagingly of his aunt, for whom he seemed to feel 
 a sort of enthusiastic adoration. Volodja and Doub- 
 koff used sometimes to go out together, after supper, 
 without Neklioudoff, and called the latter ‘ a shy 
 maiden.’ 
 
 Prince Neklioudoff struck me, from the moment 
 I first saw him, both by his conversation and by his 
 outward appearance. Though I soon found much 
 in his disposition that accorded with my own, perhaps, 
 indeed, for that very reason, my feelings towards him, 
 when I first saw him, were far from being friendly. 
 
 I did not like his quick look, his firm voice, his 
 proud mien, and, least of all, the absolute indifference 
 with which he treated me. How often did I long to 
 contradict him, when he talked ; to punish him for 
 
248 
 
 ADOLESCENCE. 
 
 his firmness by beating him in argument, thus proving 
 to him that I was clever, though he did not choose 
 to notice me ! I was restrained from doing so by 
 bashfulness. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 OUR ARGUMENTS. 
 
 VOLODJA, lounging on the sofa and leaning his head 
 on his arm, was reading a French novel, when I 
 entered his room, according to my usual custom, 
 after my evening studies. He raised his head for a 
 moment, glanced at me, and returned to his book — 
 the movement was a simple, natural one, yet I grew 
 red. His glance seemed to me to express wonder 
 why I had come ; and his looking down immediately 
 after was construed by me into a wish to conceal the 
 significance of that glance. This proneness to attach 
 importance to the slightest gesture formed a character- 
 istic trait of my disposition at that age. I went up 
 to the table and took a book ; but, before beginning 
 to read it, it occurred to me that our having nothing 
 to say, though we had not seen each other the whole 
 day, was very queer. 
 
 ‘Wilt thou be at home this evening ?’ 
 
 ‘ I don’t know. Why dost thou want to know ?’ 
 
 ‘ So/ said I ; and perceiving that our conversation 
 lagged, I took up the book once more and began to 
 read. 
 
 Oddly enough, we passed whole hours together in 
 silence, when we were alone ; but if a third person, 
 even a taciturn one, were present, The most various 
 
OUR ARGUMENTS. 
 
 249 
 
 and interesting topics of conversation would arise. 
 We felt that we knew each other too well. To know 
 each other too little or too well are equal hindrances to 
 intimacy. 
 
 ‘ Is Volodja at home ?’ Doubkoff’s voice was heard 
 asking in the entrance-hall. 
 
 ‘ At home !’ said Volodja, taking his legs off the 
 sofa and putting down his book. 
 
 Doubkoff and Neklioudoff entered in their cloaks. 
 
 ‘Well, art thou coming to the theatre with us, 
 Volodja ?’ 
 
 ‘ No, I have no time,’ said Volodja, growing red. 
 
 ‘ What stuff ! do come.’ 
 
 ‘ And besides, I have no ticket.’ 
 
 ‘ Thou canst get as many as thou likest at the 
 entrance.’ 
 
 ‘ Stop a bit, I shall be back in a moment,’ said 
 Volodja evasively; and he left the room, shrugging 
 his shoulders. 
 
 I knew that Volodja longed to go, and that he had 
 refused to do so for the simple reason that he had no 
 money ; and that now he had left the room in order 
 to borrow five roubles from the butler, to be repaid 
 from his next monthly allowance. 
 
 * Good-evening, diplomatist ,’ said Doubkoff, shaking 
 hands with me. 
 
 Volodja’s friends had nicknamed me ‘ diplomatist’ 
 because one day, after dinner, grandmother had 
 happened to say, speaking about our future careers, 
 in their presence, that Volodja would be a military 
 man ; but that she hoped to see me a diplomatist, 
 in a black dress-coat, and my hair ‘ a la coq,’ which 
 
250 
 
 ADOLESCENCE. 
 
 she seemed to consider as the essential conditions of 
 a diplomatic career. 
 
 ‘ Where is Volodja gone?’ asked Neklioudofif. 
 
 ‘ I don’t know/ answered I, reddening at the 
 thought that they had perhaps guessed why Volodja 
 had left the room. 
 
 ‘ He has no money, very likely. Is it so ? Oh, 
 diplomatist !’ added he, understanding my smile. 
 ‘And I have none, either. Hast thou any, Doub- 
 kofif?’ 
 
 ‘ Let us see,’ said Doubkoff, getting his purse, and 
 carefully fingering a few coins. ‘ Here are five 
 copecks ; here is a dvougrinvennik,* and the rest 
 f-f-f-fl-o-wn !’ said he, with a funny gesture. 
 
 Just at that moment Volodja come in again. 
 
 ‘ Well, are we going ?’ 
 
 ‘No! . . : 
 
 ‘ What a ridiculous fellow thou art !’ exclaimed 
 Neklioudoff ; ‘why dost not thou say outright that 
 thou hast no money ? Take my ticket.’ 
 
 i And what wilt thou do ?’ 
 
 * He can go into his cousin’s box/ said Doubkoff. 
 
 ‘ No ; I shan’t go at all.’ 
 
 ‘ Why not ?’ 
 
 ‘ Because, as thou knowest, I do not like to sit in 
 the boxes.’ 
 
 ‘ Why not ?’ 
 
 ‘ Because I do not like to do so. It would be 
 rather awkward for me.’ 
 
 ‘ The old story ! I cannot understand how thou 
 canst find it awkward for thee to go to people who 
 
 * Twenty copecks. 
 
OUR ARGUMENTS. 
 
 251 
 
 are always glad to see thee. It is ridiculous, mon 
 cher/ 
 
 'What’s to be done, si je suis timide? I am sure 
 thou hast never blushed in thy life ; and I do every 
 moment of my life, and for every trifle/ said he, 
 blushing as he spoke. 
 
 'Savez-vous, d’ou vient votre timidite? . . . d’un 
 exces d’amour-propre, mon cher/ said Doubkoff sen- 
 tentiously. 
 
 ‘ It is not from “ exces d’amour-propre ” in the least/ 
 retorted Neklioudoff, nettled by the remark. ' On 
 the contrary, I am bashful because I have too little 
 “amour-propre.” I always fancy people must find 
 me disagreeable, tiresome . . . that is why. . . .’ 
 
 ‘ Get ready to go, Volodja/ said Doubkoff, taking 
 him by the shoulder, and pulling his coat off. ' Come 
 here, lazy one, and help your “ barin ” to dress.’ 
 
 ' It often happens to me, . . .’ continued Nekli- 
 oudoff. 
 
 But Doubkoff was not listening to him. ‘Tra-la- 
 tra-la-tra-la-la !’ sang he. 
 
 ‘ Thou shalt not escape so easily,’ said Neklioudoff ; 
 
 ' I shall prove to thee that bashfulness does not 
 proceed from self-love.’ 
 
 ‘ Thou wilt prove it best by coming with us.’ 
 
 ' I have told thee, I am not going.’ 
 
 'Well, then, stay here, and prove it to the diplo- 
 matist ; when we return he can tell us all about it.’ 
 
 ‘ So I shall/ retorted Neklioudoff with childish 
 wilfulness ; ‘ only make haste back.’ 
 
 ‘ Well, and do you think I have too much self- 
 love ?’ asked he, taking a seat near mine. ‘ Though 
 
2 5 2 
 
 ADOLESCENCE. 
 
 my opinion was already formed on the subject, I was 
 so overcome with shyness at this unexpected address 
 that I could not answer immediately. 
 
 ‘ I think you have/ said I, while my voice shook, 
 and my face grew red at the idea that now was the 
 time to show him how clever I was. ‘ I think all 
 men are selfish, and that all a man does is done out 
 of self-love/ 
 
 ‘ Then what is self-love, according to you ?’ said 
 Neklioudoff, smiling rather contemptuously, as I 
 thought. 
 
 ‘ Self-love/ said I, ‘ is a conviction that I am better 
 and cleverer than anyone else.’ 
 
 ‘ But how can everybody be persuaded that he is 
 cleverer and better ?’ 
 
 ‘ I do not know if I be right or wrong, and nobody, 
 except myself, will ever confess it, I suppose ; but I, 
 for one, feel perfectly convinced that I am cleverer 
 than anybody else in the world, and I am sure you 
 think the same of yourself/ 
 
 ‘ Oh no ! I must tell you that I have often met 
 with people whom I have found to be cleverer than 
 myself,’ said Neklioudoff. 
 
 ‘ That is impossible/ said I decidedly. 
 
 ‘ Can it be that you really think so ?’ said Doub- 
 kofi, looking fixedly at me. 
 
 ‘ I am quite in earnest,’ replied I ; and then an idea 
 suddenly occurred to me, to which I immediately 
 gave utterance : ‘ I shall prove it to you. Why does 
 each of us love himself better than he loves anyone 
 else ? Because each finds himself better than anyone 
 else, more worthy of being loved. If we found others 
 
OUR ARGUMENTS. 
 
 253 
 
 better than ourselves, we should love them better than 
 we do ourselves, and that is a thing that never does 
 occur. Even if it does sometimes, still I am right,’ 
 added I, with an involuntary smile of self-satisfaction. 
 
 Neklioudoff was silent for about a minute. 
 
 ‘ I did not think you were so clever,’ said he, with 
 such a kind-hearted, sweet smile that I suddenly 
 felt myself a most happy fellow. 
 
 Praise acts so powerfully, not only on the feelings, 
 but on the very mind, that under its influence I 
 seemed to myself to have grown cleverer ; and 
 thought followed thought with inconceivable rapidity. 
 From self-love we imperceptibly came to * love,’ and 
 that was a topic which was inexhaustible. 
 
 Though our arguments might have appeared sheer 
 nonsense to a bystander, and seemed somewhat 
 obscure and one-sided, they were of the highest signifi- 
 cance for us. Our minds were so tuned in unison, 
 that the lightest touch upon any one chord found an 
 echo in the mind of the other. We were pleased by 
 that very responsiveness in the resounding of every 
 chord that we touched in the course of our conversa- 
 tion. It seemed to us that we had neither time nor 
 words sufficient to pour out all the thoughts which 
 filled our minds. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 THE BEGINNING OF OUR FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 From that day, an intimacy sprang up between me 
 and Dimitri Neklioudoff, which was very pleasant, 
 though it was rather a strange one. In the presence 
 
254 
 
 ADOLESCENCE. 
 
 of others, he hardly took any notice of me ; but no 
 sooner were we alone, than we would ensconce our- 
 selves in some snug corner, and begin to talk and 
 argue, forgetful of all around us, and unmindful of 
 the flight of time. 
 
 We talked about the future, about the fine arts, 
 military service, marriage, the education of children, 
 and it never once occurred to us that all we said was 
 jnost nonsensical. It did not appear so to us, because 
 the nonsense that we talked was clever and pleasing 
 nonsense ; and when one is young, cleverness is prized 
 and believed in. In ones youth all the powers of 
 one’s mind are directed towards the future, and that 
 future takes such various, lively and bewitching 
 shapes, under the influence of hope, based, not on the 
 experience of the past, but upon an imaginary 
 possibility of happiness, that these dreams of future 
 bliss, when shared with another, are in themselves 
 sources of true happiness at that age. In our meta- 
 physical arguments, which formed one of the principal 
 subjects of our conversations, I liked the moment 
 when thought following thought in rapid succession, 
 and growing more and more abstract, at last reaches 
 such a point of haziness that there is no possibility of 
 expressing your thought clearly, and you say one 
 thing, while intending to say something very different. 
 I liked the moment when, rising higher and higher 
 in the domain of thought, you all at once comprehend 
 all its vastness, and acknowledge the impossibility of 
 going any further. 
 
 One day, during the carnival, Neklioudoff was so 
 taken up with various pleasures and "amusements 
 
THE BEGINNING OF OUR FRIENDSHIP. 255 
 
 that, though he called at our house several times a 
 day, he did not say a word to me ; and I felt so 
 wounded by it, that I once more began to look upon 
 him as a proud, disagreeable fellow. I longed for 
 some opportunity of showing him that I did not value 
 his company in the least, and that I did not care for 
 him at all. 
 
 After the carnival, the first time he wanted to have 
 a talk with me once more, I said I had some lessons 
 to prepare, and went upstairs ; in a quarter of an 
 hour the door of the class-room was opened, and 
 Neklioudoff came up to me. 
 
 ‘ Am I in your way ?’ asked he. 
 
 ‘ No,’ replied I, though I had fully intended to say 
 that I was busy. 
 
 ‘ Then why did you go out of Volodja’s room ? It 
 is long since we have talked together, and I have 
 grown so used to it that I feel as if something were 
 wanting.’ 
 
 All my vexation evaporated in a moment, and 
 Dimitri was again the same kind, agreeable com- 
 panion. 
 
 f I am sure you know why I went away,’ I said. 
 
 ‘ Perhaps I do,’ answered he, taking a seat by my 
 side ; ‘ but if I do guess the reason, I cannot speak of 
 it, but you can,’ added he. 
 
 ‘ So I shall ; I went away because I was angry with 
 you . . . no, not angry — but vexed. It is simply 
 this : I fear you look down upon me, because I am so 
 young.’ 
 
 ‘ Do you know why we have come to be on such 
 friendly terms V said he, answering my avowal by a 
 
256 
 
 ADOLESCENCE. 
 
 kind, clever glance ; ‘ do you know why I like you 
 better than I do people whom I know better, and 
 with whom I have more in common ? I have just 
 found out why it is : you have a rare, wonderful 
 quality — it is frankness/ 
 
 ‘Yes, I always tell just what I am ashamed to 
 avow/ said I, in corroboration of his words ; ‘ but that 
 is only with those whom I can trust.’ 
 
 ‘Yes, but in order to trust a man, you must be his 
 friend, and we are not friends yet, Nicholas. Do 
 you remember our conversation about friendship ? In 
 order to be true friends, one must be sure of one 
 another/ 
 
 ‘Yes, one must be sure that one’s words will never 
 be repeated to anyone else,’ said I. ‘Yet our more 
 serious, more interesting thoughts are just those that 
 we never do speak about.’ 
 
 And what wicked thoughts they are sometimes ! 
 Such base thoughts, that if we only knew that we 
 should have to confess them, they would never dare to 
 enter our heads. 
 
 ‘ Do you know what I have thought of, Nicholas?’ 
 added he, rising and rubbing his hand, while a smile 
 broke over his face. ‘ Let us do so, and you will see 
 how much good it will do us both ; let us promise 
 mutually to confess all to each other. We shall know 
 each other, and then we shall not be ashamed of 
 speaking openly ; and in order to have nothing to 
 fear of strangers, let us promise faithfully never to 
 speak about each other to anybody else. Shall we ?’ 
 And we really did so. What the result was I shall 
 tell in the sequel of my story. 
 
THE BEGINNING OF OUR FRIENDSHIP. 257 
 
 Carr has said that in every friendship there are two 
 sides : One loves ; the other lets himself be loved : 
 one kisses ; the other presents his cheek to be kissed. 
 It is quite true; in the friendship betwixt us I was 
 the one who kissed, while Dimitri but offered his 
 cheek to be kissed, though he, too, was not unwilling 
 to kiss me. We loved each other in an equal degree, 
 because we mutually knew and appreciated each 
 other ; however, that did not hinder his exercising an 
 influence over me, nor my submitting to it. 
 
 It follows, as a matter of course, that under the 
 influence of Neklioudofif, I involuntarily adopted his 
 tendency to an enthusiastic worshipping of an ideal 
 of virtue, and his conviction that the main purpose of 
 life was constant improvement. At that time, it 
 seemed to us a feasible thing to improve humanity, 
 and to extirpate all human vices and sufferings — it 
 seemed such a simple, easy thing to amend our own 
 faults, to acquire every virtue and to be happy. 
 
 God knows whether all these noble dreams of our 
 youth were really ridiculous, and whose fault it was 
 that they were never realized. 
 
YOUTH . 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 WHAT I CONSIDER AS THE BEGINNING OF YOUTH. 
 
 I HAVE already said that my friendship with Dimitri 
 had thrown a new light upon life, its aims and its 
 duties. This new light consisted in the conviction 
 that the destination of man is to strive after moral 
 perfection, and that this perfection is easily obtain- 
 able, possible, and continual. But up to the present 
 time I had merely delighted in the revelation of the 
 new thoughts resulting from that conviction, and in 
 the forming of grand plans for a moral, active future ; 
 yet my life went on in the same trivial, disorderly, 
 idle way. 
 
 The virtuous thoughts which we had discoursed 
 about with my adored friend Dimitri — dear good 
 Mitia ,* as I used to call him to myself — had only 
 pleased my mind, but had not touched the feelings of 
 my heart. The time came, however, when these 
 thoughts returned to my mind with such fresh power 
 of moral revelation that I took fright, thinking what 
 an amount of time I had been wasting, and I resolved 
 * Short name for Dimitri. 
 
THE BEGINNING OF YOUTH. 259 
 
 that very moment, that very second, to apply these 
 thoughts to actual life, with the firm intention never 
 to be false to them. 
 
 And it is this period that I consider the beginning 
 of youth. 
 
 At that time I was at the close of my sixteenth 
 year. Tutors continued to give me lessons; Mr. St. 
 Jerome attended to my tuition ; and I was unwillingly 
 and reluctantly preparing for the university. Besides 
 my studies, I gave up much of my time to rambling, 
 solitary dreams and reflections ; to gymnastics, in 
 order to become the strongest man in the world ; to 
 strolling about the rooms without any precise purpose 
 or thought, especially along the corridor which led 
 to the maid-servant’s room ; and looking at myself 
 in the looking-glass, which I, however, always left 
 with a deep feeling of sadness, and even repulsion. 
 My outward appearance, I felt convinced, was un- 
 sightly, and I could not even comfort myself with the 
 usual consolations in such instances ; I could not say 
 that my face was expressive, intelligent, or noble- 
 looking. There was nothing expressive in it the 
 
 most ordinary, gross, and unsightly features ; and my 
 small gray eyes, especially when I looked into the 
 looking-glass, seemed rather stupid than clever ; there 
 was nothing manly about me ; though I was not 
 short of stature, and was very strong for my age, all 
 my features were soft, flat, and meaningless. And 
 there was even nothing noble-looking in me ; on the 
 contrary, my face was like that of a common peasant. 
 I had large feet and hands, and at that time I felt 
 very much ashamed of them. 
 
 17—2 
 
26 o 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 SPRING. 
 
 In the year I entered the university, Easter was 
 somewhat late, in the month of- April, so that the 
 examinations were appointed for the first week after 
 Easter ; while during Passion Week I had to fast, as 
 well as finally to prepare myself for them. 
 
 After the wet snow, which Karl Ivanovitch used to 
 call ‘ the son come for his father,’ the weather became 
 mild, warm, and clear. In the streets there was not a 
 flake of snow to be seen ; the dirty mud was replaced 
 by wet, glistening roads and rapid brooks. In the 
 sun the last snow on the roofs was already thawing ; 
 in the garden in front of the house the trees were 
 budding ; in the yard there was already a dry path- 
 way leading to the stables past a frozen dunghill ; 
 fresh mossy grass was already appearing between 
 stones near the outer stairs. It was that peculiar time 
 of spring which has the strongest influence upon the 
 human mind : the sun shone clear and bright, but 
 not too hot ; you saw brooklets and places where the 
 snow had thawed ; a fragrant freshness filled the air ; 
 and long transparent clouds glided along the light- 
 blue sky. I do not know why it seems to me that in 
 a large town this first period of the birth of spring 
 acts still more powerfully on the mind ; one sees but 
 little, it is true, but it seems to promise so much. As 
 the morning sun poured his beams through the double 
 windows on the floor of the schoolroom, of which I 
 
SPRING. 
 
 261 
 
 was so heartily sick, I stood near the window solving 
 some long algebraic equation on the blackboard. In 
 one hand I held a tattered work on algebra by 
 Franker, in the other a small piece of chalk, with 
 which I had already soiled both hands, as well as my 
 face and the sleeves of my jacket. Nicolas, who wore 
 an apron and both sleeves turned up, was breaking 
 off the putty from the double frames of the window, 
 and unscrewing the tacks in the window which opened 
 on the palisade. His work and the noise which he 
 was making diverted my attention. At the same 
 time I was in a very bad humour. Everything 
 seemed to go wrong ; I had made a mistake in the 
 beginning of my calculation, so that I had to do it all 
 over again ; I had let the chalk drop twice ; I was 
 quite aware that my face and hands were dirty; the 
 sponge had disappeared ; the noise made by Nicolas 
 made me nervous. I felt inclined to get angry and 
 to grumble ; I threw down the chalk, the algebra- 
 book, and began walking up and down the room. 
 But then I remembered that it was the day we were 
 to go to confession, and that I ought therefore to 
 refrain from doing anything wrong ; I suddenly fell 
 into a peculiarly mild state of mind, and went up to 
 Nicolas. 
 
 ‘May I help thee, Nicolas?’ said I, trying to give 
 my voice the meekest expression ; the thought that I 
 was doing right in suppressing my vexation and 
 assisting him increased my mildness still more. 
 
 The putty was removed, the tacks unbent ; but 
 though Nicolas pulled the frame with all his might, 
 the window would not give way. 
 
262 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 ‘ If the window come out at once, when I pull it 
 together with him/ thought I, ‘ it will be a sign that 
 it would be a sin to learn any more to-day/ 
 
 The window gave way on one side and came 
 out. 
 
 ‘ Where is it to be taken to ?’ said I. 
 
 ‘ Allow me ; I shall manage it myself/ replied 
 Nicolas, evidently surprised, and apparently dissatis- 
 fied with my zeal ; ‘ they must not get mixed, so I 
 keep them all numbered in the pantry.’ 
 
 ‘ I shall mark it/ said I, lifting up the frame. 
 
 ‘ I think that if the pantry had been two miles off, 
 and the frame had weighed double its weight, I should 
 have been quite pleased. I wanted to fatigue myself 
 by rendering Nicolas a service. When I returned to 
 the room, bricks and forms of salt already lay on the 
 window-sill, and Nicolas was flinging the sand and 
 dead flies through the open window. The fresh 
 fragrant air had already penetrated into the room and 
 filled it. From the window the noise in the town, 
 and the twittering of the sparrows in the garden, 
 were heard. 
 
 Everything looked bright ; the room grew more 
 cheerful ; the mild spring breeze waved over the 
 leaves of my algebra-book and the hair of Nicolas. I 
 stepped close to the window, sat down on the 
 window-sill, bent over into the garden, and sank into 
 thought. 
 
 A new and extraordinarily pleasant feeling filled my 
 soul. The damp ground along which the light-green 
 grass appeared here and there, with its yellow stems ; 
 the rivulets glittering in the sun, and carrying along 
 
SPRING. 
 
 263 
 
 tiny bits of earth and chips of wood ; the reddening 
 branches of the lilac-trees, with their tumid buds, 
 waving just below the window; the busy twittering 
 of birds on the bushes ; the blackish hedge wet with 
 the thawing snow, but principally the fragrant damp 
 air and the bright sun, seemed to speak audibly to me 
 of something new and beautiful, which, although I 
 can hardly explain it, produced a powerful impression 
 upon me. I will try to explain it, as I understood it 
 then. Everything spoke to me about beauty, happi- 
 ness and virtue ; told me that one was as easily 
 attainable and as possible as the other ; that one 
 cannot exist without the other, and even that beauty, 
 happiness and viitue were all one and the same. 
 
 ‘ How was it that I did not understand it before ? 
 How wicked I must have been ! how good and 
 happy I can be in future!’ said I to myself. ‘ Quick, 
 quick ! from this very moment I must become another 
 man, and begin another life.’ Yet I remained sitting 
 on the window-sill for a long time, meditating and 
 doing nothing. Did you ever happen to go to sleep 
 during a dull, rainy day, and awaking at sunset, to 
 open your eyes, and see through the wide window- 
 pane, below the linen blind which, inflated by the wind, 
 beats against the window-sill, the shady side of the 
 lime-tree alley and the wet garden-path lighted up by 
 the bright slanting beams of the sun, to hear the 
 merry voices of birds in the garden, and to see the 
 insects hovering in the open window, glistening in the 
 sun ; to inhale the fresh air after the rain, and to think : 
 
 ‘ Was not it a shame to sleep through an evening like 
 this ?’ and to rise hastily in order to go into the 
 
264 
 
 YOUTH . 
 
 garden and enjoy life ? If you have ever felt anything 
 like this, it is but a sample of the feelings which I 
 experienced at that time. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 DAY-DREAMS. 
 
 ‘ To -DAY I am going to confession and shall purify my- 
 self from all sin/ thought I; ‘and nevermore shall I . . / 
 (here I recollected the sins which troubled me most). 
 ‘ I shall go to church every Sunday without fail, and 
 afterwards read the Gospel for an hour ; then out of the 
 twenty* five roubles, which I shall receive every month, 
 when I enter the university, I shall without fail give 
 two roubles fifty cop. (the tenth) away, to the poor, 
 but so that nobody should know it, and not to 
 beggars — I shall find out poor people, orphans or old 
 women, whom nobody knows anything about. I 
 shall have a separate room (most likely St. Jerome’s), 
 and I shall put it in order myself, and keep it remark- 
 ably clean ; but I shall never request the man-servant 
 to do anything for me. He is a human being, as I 
 am. Then I shall go to the university on foot every 
 day; and if they give me a vehicle, I shall sell it, and 
 give the money to the poor, too, and shall accurately 
 fulfil all ’ (what the ‘ all ’ was, I could not by any 
 means have told at the time, but I well understood 
 and felt * all ’ to mean a prudent, moral and irre- 
 proachable life). ‘ I shall work at the lectures, and 
 shall even study the subjects beforehand, so that in 
 
DA Y -DREAMS. 
 
 265 
 
 the first form I shall be the first, and shall write a dis- 
 sertation; in the second I shall know everything before- 
 hand, and be transferred straight to the third form, 
 so that in my eighteenth year I shall have finished 
 my course of studies as first candidate with two gold 
 medals ; then I shall pass my examination as 
 “ magister,” then as “ doctor,” and shall become the 
 first scientific man in Russia . . . even in Europe.’ 
 ‘ Well, and then ?’ said I to myself ; but here I 
 recollected that these day-dreams were all pride — a 
 sin, which I would have to confess that very day to 
 my father confessor, and I returned to the beginning 
 of my meditations. ‘ In order to prepare the lectures, I 
 shall walk to the Sparrow Hills ;* there I shall choose 
 some spot under a tree where I shall read the lectures ; 
 sometimes I shall take something to eat with me : 
 cheese, or pastry from Pedotti’s, or something else. I 
 shall rest, and then read some nice book, or draw 
 sketches, or play on some instrument ; I shall by all 
 means learn to play the flute. Then she will go for 
 a walk to the Sparrow Hills, too, and some day will 
 step up to me and will ask who I am. I shall look 
 sadly at her, and tell her that I am the son of a 
 clergyman, and that I only feel happy here, when I 
 am alone — quite alone. She will give me her hand, 
 will say something to me, and will sit down close to 
 me. So we shall come to the same spot every day, 
 shall be friends, and I shall kiss her. . . . No, that is 
 wicked. On the contrary, from to-day, I shall not 
 look at women any more. Never — never shall I go 
 into the maid-servants’ room, and shall even try not 
 * A picturesque spot in the outskirts of Moscow. 
 
266 
 
 YOUTH . 
 
 to pass near it ; but in three years I shall not be 
 under guardianship any more, and shall certainly 
 marry. I shall purposely take as much exercise as 
 possible, do gymnastics every day, so that when I am 
 five-and-twenty I shall be stronger than Rappo. On 
 the first day I shall hold eighteen pounds, in my out- 
 stretched hand for five minutes, the next day nineteen 
 pounds, the third day twenty pounds and so on, so 
 that at last I shall hold a hundred and fifty pounds 
 in each hand, and shall be stronger than any of 
 the household ; and if anybody dare to offend me, 
 or speak disrespectfully of her , I shall simply take 
 him by the throat, raise him with one hand two 
 archines* from the ground, and shall hold him so as 
 to make him feel my strength, and then leave him ; 
 but, then, that is wrong too — no, it is nothing, for I 
 shall not harm him, but only prove that I. . . 
 
 Let not anyone reproach me, saying that the illusions 
 of my youth are as childish as were those of my 
 childhood and of my boyhood. I am convinced that if 
 it be my fate to live to a great age, and if my narra- 
 tive keep up to my age, I shall be found, when I am 
 an old man, to have just the same impossible childish 
 illusions as at present. I shall dream of some charm- 
 ing Maria, who will love me, a toothless old man, as 
 Mazeppa was loved ; I shall dream that my weak- 
 minded son may suddenly by some extraordinary in- 
 cident become a minister, or that I shall suddenly 
 find myself in possession of millions. I am convinced 
 that there is no human being, whatever age he or she 
 may be, who is deficient in the beneficent, comforting 
 * One archine is a little less than a yard. 
 
DA Y -DREAMS. 
 
 267 
 
 capacity of day-dreaming. But in spite of their ill- 
 bearing the bewitching stamp of impossibility, the 
 day-dreams of each man, whatever be his age, have 
 their distinctive characters. At that period, which I 
 consider as the boundary between boyhood and the 
 beginning of youth, my day-dreams were based on 
 four sentiments : love to her , to the imaginary woman, 
 whom I was always thinking of in the same way and 
 whom I every minute expected to meet. She was a 
 little like Sonitchka, a little like Masha, the wife of 
 Vassily, at the time when she washed linen in a trough, 
 and a little like a woman, with pearls round her 
 white neck, whom I had seen a very long time ago 
 at the theatre in the box next to ours. The second 
 sentiment was the desire of being loved. I wished 
 to be known and loved by everybody. I wished to 
 be able to announce my name, Nicolas Irtenieff. and 
 to find everybody astounded at the information, to be 
 surrounded and thanked. The third sentiment was 
 the hope of some extraordinary striking happiness, 
 such a strong and firm hope, that it almost degenerated 
 into madness. I was so sure that soon by some 
 extraordinary coincidence I should suddenly become 
 the wealthiest and the most distinguished man in the 
 world, so that I was continually in breathless expecta- 
 tion of some magic happiness. I kept expecting that 
 it would come, and I should obtain all that man can 
 desire ; and I was always in a hurry, thinking that it 
 had already begun while I was absent. The fourth 
 and chief sentiment was dissatisfaction with myself, 
 and repentance, but a repentance to such an extent 
 closely connected with the hope of happiness, that 
 
268 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 there was no sadness in it. It seemed to me so easy 
 and natural to tear myself away from the past, to 
 change, to forget all, and to begin life anew, that the 
 past did not trouble or bind me. I even rejoiced in 
 this feeling of repulsion for the past, and even tried to 
 view it in a darker light than it really was. The 
 darker the recollections of the past were, the clearer 
 and brighter did the pure present emanate from it, 
 unrolling rainbow-tints of a bright future before me. 
 This voice of repentance and of passionate longing 
 for perfection was the feeling that predominated in 
 my mind at that period of my development, and it 
 was the root of my new opinions concerning myself, 
 other people, and all creation. Blessed voice of 
 comfort ! how often in those sad moments, when my 
 soul silently submitted to the power of worldly false- 
 hood and corruption, did it boldly rise against all that 
 was evil, denouncing the past, making me love the 
 bright present, and promising amendment and happi- 
 ness in the future ! Blessed voice of comfort ! will a 
 time ever come when I shall hear thee no more ? 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 OUR FAMILY CIRCLE. 
 
 My father was seldom at home during that spring. 
 But when he was, he used to be extremely cheerfu^ 
 playing his favourite tunes on the piano, or looking 
 sweetly at us, and would make all sorts of jokes at 
 our expense, and at Mimi’s; such as, for instance 
 pretending that the Prince of Georgia had seen 
 
OUR FAMILY CIRCLE. 
 
 269 
 
 Mimi, when she was taking a drive, and had fallen so 
 desperately in love with her that he had petitioned the 
 Synod for a divorce ; or that I was appointed assistant 
 to the Ambassador of Vienna — saying all this with a 
 very grave face ; or he would frighten Katenka* with 
 spiders, of which she was dreadfully afraid. He was 
 very amiable in his manner to our friends Doubkoff 
 and Neklioudoff, and continually kept telling us and 
 the guests about his plans for the next year. Though 
 these plans changed almost every day, and continu- 
 ally contradicted each other, they were so alluring, 
 that we listened to them attentively, and Lubotchkaf 
 stared straight at papa’s lips, as if fearing to lose a 
 single word. At one time it was settled that we were 
 to live in Moscow, at the university, and he was to go 
 with Lubotchka to Italy for two years ; then he was 
 to buy an estate in the Crimea on the south coast, 
 and go there every summer ; then again to remove 
 with all his family to St. Petersburg, etc. But besides 
 this extraordinary cheerfulness, another change had 
 lately taken place in my father, which surprised me. 
 He had a fashionable suit made for himself : an 
 olive -coloured dress-coat, fashionable pantaloons, 
 with straps, and a long cloak, which suited him very 
 well ; and he often smelt of scents when he went to 
 pay his visits, and especially to one lady, about whom 
 Mimi always spoke with a sigh, and with a face 
 which seemed to say : ‘ Poor orphans !’ ‘ What an 
 
 unfortunate passion !’ 4 It is well she is no more,’ etc. 
 
 I was told by Nicolas — for my father never told us 
 
 * Diminutive for Catherine (little Kate). 
 
 t Diminutive for Lovelsoff (Love). 
 
270 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 anything about his gambling affairs — that he had 
 been very lucky at cards that winter, had won a good 
 deal, had put the money into the savings bank, and did 
 not intend to gamble any more. It was most likely 
 because he was afraid he would be unable to abstain 
 from doing so, if he remained in town, that he was 
 so anxious to go into the country as soon as possible. 
 He even resolved not to wait till I entered the 
 university, but to go with the girls to Petrovskoje im- 
 mediately after Easter, leaving Volodja* and me to 
 join them later on. 
 
 During the whole winter and till the spring Volodja 
 had been inseparable from Doubkoff (his friendship 
 with Dimitri, however, had begun to cool). Their 
 chief pleasure, as far as I could conclude from what I 
 overheard them saying, consisted in drinking cham- 
 pagne incessantly, or driving about in sledges past 
 the windows of a young lady, with whom, it seems, 
 both were in love, and dancing vis-a-vis — not at 
 children’s balls any more, but at real balls. The latter 
 circumstance, though Volodja and I still loved each 
 other dearly, has separated us to a certain extent- 
 We both felt that there was too great a difference — 
 between a boy who is yet under the charge of tutors, 
 and a man who dances at grand balls — for us to be 
 able to talk frankly to each other. Katenka was 
 already quite grown up, had read a great many 
 novels, and the thought that she might soon get 
 married did not seem a joke to me any longer ; but 
 although Volodja was also grown up, they did not 
 get on well together, and even seemed mutually to 
 * Diminutive of Voldemar, or Walter. 
 
OUR FAMILY CIRCLE . 
 
 271 
 
 despise each other. In general, when Katenka was 
 alone at home, she found no interest in anything but 
 novels, and was often dull ; but as soon as any 
 gentlemen visitors came, she would be very lively 
 and amiable, and gave them sweet looks, which I 
 could by no means understand nor make out what she 
 meant by them. It was only afterwards, during a 
 talk I had with her, when she told me that the only 
 kind of flirtation allowed young ladies was to flirt 
 with their eyes, that I could explain to myself these 
 strange unnatural grimaces, which, it seems, others 
 did not wonder at at all. Lubotchka had also begun 
 to wear longer dresses, so that her ugly feet were 
 hardly seen ; but she was still the same cry-baby she 
 had always been. Now she did not dream of marry- 
 ing a hussar any longer, but a singer or a musician, 
 and therefore she was zealously studying music. St. 
 Jerome, knowing that he was to stay at our house 
 only till I had finished my examination, found a 
 situation at some count’s, and from that time looked 
 somewhat contemptuously upon us all. He seldom 
 used to be at home, began to smoke cigarettes, which 
 were at that time a great luxury, and was continually 
 whistling lively tunes. Mimi grew more and more 
 melancholy every day, and it seemed that, now we 
 were growing up, she had left off expecting any good 
 of anyone or anything. 
 
 When I came to dinner, I found only Mimi, 
 Katenka, Lubotchka, and St. Jerome in the dining- 
 room ; papa was not at home, and Volodja was in his 
 room with his friends, preparing for his examination, 
 and had ordered his dinner to be brought up to him. 
 
272 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 In general, the first place at table had lately been 
 mostly occupied by Mimi, whom none of us re- 
 spected, and the dinner had lost much of its charm. 
 Dinner was not, as it used to be in mamma’s or 
 grandmother’s time, a ceremony which at a certain 
 hour united the whole family, and divided the day 
 into two equal parts. We took the liberty to be too 
 late, to come for the second course, to drink wine out 
 of tumblers (Mr. St. Jerome himself being the first to 
 do so); to lounge on the chair, to get up before dinner 
 was over, and to take such-like liberties. From that 
 time dinner ceased to be, as before, a merry family 
 solemnity. It had been very different at Petrovskoje, 
 when at two o’clock all dressed for dinner, and sat in 
 the reception-room, and talking merrily in expecta- 
 tion of the appointed time. Exactly as the clock in 
 the butler’s room was about to strike two, Phocas, 
 with a napkin on his arm, would enter with a digni- 
 fied and rather stern expression on his face. ‘ Dinner 
 is served,’ he would say in a loud, drawling voice, and 
 all would walk into the dining-room, with cheerful 
 and contented looks, the elders in front, the younger 
 behind, their starched skirts rustling, and their boots 
 and shoes creaking, and would take their respective 
 seats. Or, for instance, at Moscow, when all, talking 
 calmly together, were standing before the covered table 
 in the principal hall, waiting for grandmother, to 
 whom Gavrilo had gone to announce that dinner was 
 served, the door would open ; the rustling of a dress 
 and shuffling footsteps would be heard, and grand- 
 mother, in a cap trimmed with queer lilac-coloured 
 ribbon on one side, would come out of her room, 
 
OUR FAMILY CIRCLE. 
 
 273 
 
 smiling or frowning (according to the state of her 
 health). Gavrilo would rush up to her arm-chair, 
 there would be a noise of chairs moved, and with a 
 chill running down one's back — a forerunner of appe- 
 tite — we would take the starched damp napkin, eat a 
 crust of bread, and impatiently and joyously rubbing 
 our hands under the table, from time to time would 
 look at the plates of soup served by the major-domo, 
 out of respect to the rank and age of grandmother. 
 
 Now I did not experience either joy or emotion on 
 sitting down to my dinner. 
 
 The chat of Mimi, St. Jerome, and the girls about 
 the horrid boots the Russian teacher wore, or the 
 flounced dresses of the Princesses Kornakoff — a chat 
 which had formerly filled me with a contempt, which 
 I had never tried to conceal, especially when Lu- 
 botchka and Katenka had been the speakers — did not 
 destroy my virtuous state of mind. I was unusually 
 meek ; I listened to them with a peculiarly affec- 
 tionate smile, respectfully asked them to pass me the 
 kvass, and agreed with St. Jerome, who corrected me 
 in a phrase which I used at dinner, saying that it was 
 better to say { je puis/ than ‘je peux.’ I must confess, 
 however, that it was rather unpleasant to me to find 
 that no one took any notice of my meekness and 
 goodness. Lubotchka showed me after dinner a paper 
 on which she had written down all her sins. I found 
 it a very good plan, but added that it would be still 
 better to write all one's sins down in one’s heart, and 
 that ‘ it was not quite the right thing.’ 
 
 ‘ Why not ?’ asked Lubotchka. 
 
 ‘ Well, there is no harm in it ; thou wilt not under- 
 
 18 
 
274 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 stand me and I went upstairs to my room, telling 
 St. Jerome that I was going to work, but really in- 
 tending, as we were to go to confession in an hour 
 and a half, to draw up a list of my duties and occupa- 
 tions for my whole life ; to commit to paper what the 
 aim and purpose of my life was to be ; and to write 
 down some rules of conduct by which I was always to 
 be guided. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE RULES OF CONDUCT I LAID DOWN FOR 
 MYSELF. 
 
 I OBTAINED a sheet of paper, and resolved first of all 
 to begin with the list of my duties and my occupations 
 for the next year. The paper had to be ruled. As I 
 did not find a ruler, I used the Latin dictionary for 
 the purpose. But after drawing a line with the pen 
 along the dictionary, and removing the latter, it 
 appeared that, instead of a line, I had made an 
 oblong blot of ink on the paper, besides which, the 
 dictionary did not reach over the whole paper, and 
 the line bent round the soft corner of the same ; so I 
 took another sheet of paper, and by moving the 
 dictionary, managed to rule it at last. Dividing my 
 duties into three kinds : my duty to myself, my duty 
 towards my neighbour, and my duty towards God, I 
 began to write the first ; but there appeared so many 
 of them, and so many subdivisions, that the ‘ rules of 
 life ’ had to be written down first, and then the list. 
 I took six sheets of paper, sewed them together, and 
 
MY RULES OF CONDUCT. 
 
 275 
 
 wrote on the top, ‘ Rules of Life.’ These three words 
 were written so crookedly and unevenly, that I sat for 
 some time thinking whether it would not be better to 
 write them over again. I felt quite vexed, looking at 
 the torn list and the disfigured title-page. Why is 
 everything so beautiful and clear in my mind, and 
 yet seems to be so deformed on paper and in life in 
 general, when I try to put my thoughts in practice ? 
 
 * The confessor has arrived ; go downstairs, please, 
 to attend to the preliminary prayer/ said Nicolas, 
 coming in at that moment. 
 
 I put my writing-book away, glanced at the look- 
 ing-glass, brushed my hair up (for I thought that it 
 gave me a melancholy appearance), and went into 
 the sitting-room, where there stood a covered table, 
 with several images on it and lighted tapers. My 
 father entered the room by another door at the same 
 moment. The confessor, a gray-headed monk, with a 
 stern, senile face, gave my father his blessing. My 
 father kissed his small, broad, dry hand ; I did the 
 same. 
 
 ‘ Call Voldemar/ said father. ‘ Where is he ? Oh 
 yes, I forgot ; he is preparing to receive the Sacra- 
 ment at the university.’ 
 
 ‘ He is studying with the prince/ said Katenka, 
 looking at Lubotchka. 
 
 Lubotchka suddenly blushed, made a face, pretend- 
 ing that something hurt her, and left the room. I 
 followed her. She stopped in the drawing-room, and 
 wrote something down in pencil on her paper. 
 
 ‘ What ! have you committed a fresh sin ?’ asked I. 
 
 * No, nothing particular/ replied she, blushing. 
 
 18 — 2 
 
276 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 At this time the voice of Dimitri was heard in the 
 hall, bidding adieu to Volodja. 
 
 ‘ There is another temptation for you/ said Katenka, 
 entering the room, and addressing Lubotchka. 
 
 I could not make out what was the matter with my 
 sister : she was so confused that tears filled her eyes, 
 and her confusion, increasing more and more, changed 
 into anger with herself and Katenka, who seemed to 
 be teasing her. 
 
 ‘Now that shows you are a stranger’ (nothing 
 wounded Katenka more than to be called a ‘ stranger, 
 and that was just why Lubotchka used the word). 
 ‘ At such a solemn moment,’ continued she gravely, 
 ‘you purposely annoy me. . . . You ought to under- 
 stand . . . this is no joke at all.’ 
 
 ‘ Dost thou know, Nicolinka, what she has written 
 down ?’ said Katenka, greatly offended at being called 
 a stranger. ‘ She has written . . 
 
 ‘ I did not expect thee to be so spiteful/ said 
 Lubotchka, bursting into tears, ‘ at such a moment, 
 and on purpose leading me into sin ; thou art 
 always trying to do so. I do not worry thee about 
 thy feelings and sufferings.’ 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 CONFESSION. 
 
 Full of these and similar meditations, I returned' to 
 the drawing-room ; and when all were assembled, the 
 confessor, rising, prepared to read the prayer before 
 confession. But when, amidst a deep silence, only 
 
CONFESSION. 
 
 2 77 
 
 the expressive, stern voice of the monk was heard 
 reading the prayer, and especially when he pro- 
 nounced the words, Disclose all your sins without 
 false shame and concealment, and without trying to 
 justify yourselves, and your souls shall be purified before 
 God ; but if you conceal anything, you commit a great 
 sin , the feeling of awe which I had experienced in the 
 morning at the thought of receiving the Sacrament 
 returned in full force. I even rejoiced in the con- 
 sciousness of that state of mind, and tried to keep it, 
 driving away all the other thoughts which came into 
 my mind. 
 
 The first who went to confession was my father. 
 He remained a very long time in grandmother’s 
 room, and during all the time we were all quite silent 
 in the drawing-room, or talked in whispers together, 
 questioning who was to go next. Finally, the voice 
 of the monk was heard again reading the prayer, and 
 then my father’s steps. The door creaked, and he 
 re-entered the drawing-room, humming, as he had a 
 habit of doing, shrugging his shoulders, and not look- 
 ing at anyone. 
 
 ‘Now, go thou, Luba, and mind thou tellest all. 
 For thou art a great sinner,’ said father gaily, pinch- 
 ing her cheek. 
 
 Lubotchka changed colour, took her paper out of 
 her apron-pocket, put it away again, and, bowing her 
 head, somehow making her neck look shorter, as if 
 expecting a blow from above, walked towards the 
 door. She did not stop there long, but when she 
 came out her shoulders were shaking with sobs. 
 
 Finally, after pretty Katenka, who re-entered the 
 
278 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 room smiling, my turn came. I went with the same 
 feeling of awe, trying to increase it, if possible, and 
 entered the dimly-lighted room. The confessor stood 
 before the reading-desk and turned slowly towards me. 
 
 I did not remain in grandmother’s room more than 
 five minutes, but I came out happy, and firmly con- 
 vinced at the time that I was quite absolved, morally 
 regenerated, and a new man. Though I was dis- 
 agreeably impressed by finding everything unchanged 
 around me — the same rooms, the same furniture, my 
 own appearance just the same as it had been (I should 
 have liked every external thing to have undergone as 
 great a change as my inner self seemed to me to have 
 done) — I remained in that happy peaceful mood till I 
 went to bed. 
 
 I was already half asleep, recalling to my mind all 
 the sins from which I had just been absolved, when I 
 recollected one shameful sin which I had concealed 
 at confession. The words of the prayer were in my 
 memory, and sounded incessantly in my ears. All 
 my peace of mind instantly vanished. ‘But if you 
 conceal anything, you commit a great sin . . .’ These 
 words rang ceaselessly in my ears, and I saw myself 
 to be such a great sinner that there was no punish- 
 ment severe enough for me. I kept turning from 
 side to side for a long time, thinking over my position, 
 and every minute expecting the punishment of God, 
 and even sudden death — a thought which frightened 
 me indescribably. But suddenly a happy thought 
 occurred to me — I resolved at daybreak to walk or 
 drive to the monastery, where my confessor lived, and 
 confess my sin ; and then I grew calm. 
 
MY DRIVE TO THE MONASTERY. 
 
 279 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 MY DRIVE TO THE MONASTERY. 
 
 I AWOKE several times during the night, being afraid 
 to miss the morning by sleeping too long, and at six 
 o’clock I was already up. I could see through the 
 windows that day was breaking. I put on my boots 
 and my clothes, which were lying crumpled, and not 
 brushed, close to my bed, for Nicolas had not yet had 
 time to take them, and without saying my prayers or 
 washing myself. I went for the first time in my life 
 all alone into the street. 
 
 On the opposite side, from behind the green root 
 of a large house, rose the reddish misty dawn. A 
 rather severe spring-morning frost, which had locked up 
 the rills and mud, pricked my feet and pinched my face 
 and hands. In our street there was not a single cab- 
 man to be seen, whereas I had reckoned on taking 
 one, in order to drive to the monastery and back. 
 Only a few cart-loads were moving slowly along the 
 Arbat* and two bricklayers talking together passed 
 along the foot-path. After walking on for about a mile 
 further, I met several men and women going to 
 market with baskets on their arms ; some were carry- 
 ing barrels to fetch water ; at the crossing of the 
 street appeared a pie-man ; one baker’s shop was 
 opened, and at last at the 4 Arbatsky Gate ’ I found 
 a cabman, an old man, nodding sleepily in his old- 
 fashioned, worn-out cab covered with blue cloth, and 
 * A large street in Moscow. 
 
28 o 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 all patched. Being half asleep, he demanded only 
 twenty copecks for his fare to the monastery and back ; 
 but then suddenly becoming aware of the mistake 
 he had made, just as I was going to take my seat, he 
 whipped his horse with the ends of the reins, and was 
 driving away from me. 
 
 I must feed my horse! Impossible, sir,’ muttered he. 
 
 With great difficulty I persuaded him to stop, offer- 
 ing him two twenty-copeck pieces. He stopped his 
 horse, looked closely at me and said: 'Get in, sir/ 
 I must confess I was rather afraid that he would 
 drive me into some by-street and rob me. 
 
 Seizing him by the collar of his tattered armiack , 
 thus disclosing his wrinkled neck and bent back, I 
 took my seat on the light- blue vehicle, and we began 
 to jolt along the Vosdvigenka.* During our drive I 
 managed to notice that both the armiack of the cab- 
 man and the back of the vehicle were made of the 
 same piece of light-green cloth, a fact which for some 
 incomprehensible reason made me quite calm and 
 dispersed all the fears I had of his driving me into 
 some by-street and robbing me. 
 
 The sun had already risen, and was gilding the 
 cupolas of the churches brightly, when we came to 
 the monastery. In the shade it was still freezing, 
 but swift muddy rills were running along the road, 
 and the horse went splashing through the mud. On 
 entering the gates of the monastery, I addressed the 
 first person I met, and asked where I could find the 
 confessor. 
 
 ‘ There is his cell,’ said a monk who was passing, 
 
 * A street. 
 
MYIDR 1 VE TO THE MONASTERY. 281 
 
 stopping for a moment, and pointing to a small house 
 with a small staircase. 
 
 ‘ I am much obliged to you/ said I. . . . 
 
 But what can the monks have thought of me, as 
 each of them looked at me, on coming one after 
 the other out of the church ? I was neither a grown- 
 up man nor a child ; my face was not washed, my 
 hair not brushed, my clothes covered with down, 
 my boots uncleaned and covered with mud. To 
 what class of people did the monks think I belonged ? 
 and they all looked attentively at me. However, 
 I followed the direction given me by the young 
 monk. 
 
 On the narrow pathway leading to the cells, I met 
 an old man dressed in black with thick gray eye- 
 brows, who asked me what I wanted. 
 
 For a moment I felt inclined to say nothing — to 
 run back to the cab and drive home — but in spite of 
 the wrinkled eyebrows, the face of the old man 
 inspired confidence and trust. I said I wanted to 
 see the confessor, telling his name. 
 
 ‘ Come along, young master ; I will show you the 
 way to him/ said he, turning back and apparently at 
 once guessing my errand. ‘ The confessor is reading 
 the morning service ; he will soon come.’ 
 
 He opened the door, and taking me through a clean 
 passage and the entrance-hall, along a clean linen 
 carpet, led me into the cell. 
 
 ‘ You must wait here,’ said he to me kindly, and 
 went out. 
 
 The room was very small and exceedingly tidy. 
 The whole furniture consisted of a small table, 
 
282 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 covered with oil-cloth, which stood between two tiny 
 folding windows, on which stood two pots of geranium, 
 a bracket with some images on it, and a lamp hang- 
 ing in front of them ; one arm-chair and two chairs. 
 In the corner there was a clock, with a dial-plate 
 ornamented with painted flowers, and with weights 
 drawn up by chains ; on the partition-wall, which 
 joined to the ceiling by means of whitewashed 
 wooden poles (and behind which, probably, stood the 
 bedstead), hung two cassocks on a nail. 
 
 The windows looked on a white wall, which 
 stood at the distance of about five feet from them. 
 Between the windows and the wall grew a small lilac- 
 bush. No sound from outside reached the room, so 
 that in the quietude the monotonous pleasant ticking 
 of the pendulum sounded quite loud. When I was 
 left to myself in this quiet corner, all my former 
 thoughts and recollections vanished, as if they had 
 never existed, and I sank into an inexpressibly 
 pleasant feeling of melancholy. The yellowish 
 nankeen cassock, with its shabby lining ; the worn 
 leather covers of the books with brass clasps ; the 
 dull green flowers so carefully watered, and their 
 washed leaves, but especially the monotonous sound 
 of the pendulum, seemed to speak to me so distinctly 
 of some new, hitherto unknown life, of .1 life of 
 solitude, prayer, and quiet, peaceful happiness. . . . 
 
 ‘ Months and years pass/ thought I ; ‘ he is always 
 alone and calm ; he always feels that his conscience is 
 clear before God, and that his prayer is heard by Him/ 
 I sat about half an hour on the chair, trying not to 
 move and not to breathe loud, not to disturb the 
 
MY SECOND CONFESSION. 
 
 283 
 
 harmony of sounds which told me so much. The 
 pendulum went on in the same way, tapping louder 
 to the right, softer to the left. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 MY SECOND CONFESSION. 
 
 The steps of the confessor woke me from my 
 reverie. 
 
 ‘ Good-day/ said he, smoothing down his gray hair 
 with his hand. ‘ What is it you want ?’ 
 
 I asked for his blessing, and, with a special feeling 
 of delight, kissed his small yellowish hand. 
 
 When I had explained my request to him, he said 
 nothing to me, approached the image, and began the 
 confession. 
 
 When the confession was over, and, surmounting 
 my feeling of shame, I had told him everything that 
 burdened my soul, he laid his hands upon my head, 
 and in his sonorous, calm voice pronounced : ‘ May 
 the blessing of our Father in heaven be upon thee, my 
 son, and may He for ever keep thee in faith, humility, 
 and goodness ! Amen.’ 
 
 I was thoroughly happy ; tears of happiness rose 
 to my eyes ; I kissed the fold of his cassock and 
 raised my head. The face of the monk was quite 
 calm. 
 
 I felt happy in the emotion, and, afraid of dis- 
 pelling it, hastily took my leave, and without looking 
 either to the right or left, so as not to divert my 
 thoughts, I passed through the gate, and again took 
 
284 
 
 YO UTH. 
 
 my seat on the striped shaking droshki. But the 
 jolting and bumping of the vehicle, the various objects 
 which glided before my eyes, soon dispelled the feel- 
 ing, and I now thought that the confessor was per- 
 haps thinking that he had never met so good a young 
 man as I was, and never would meet one — that there 
 were no men in existence like me. I was convinced 
 of it ; and this conviction made me feel so happy, 
 that I felt it absolutely necessary to tell someone 
 about it. 
 
 I wished very much to talk to somebody ; but as 
 there was nobody at hand but the cabman, I ad- 
 dressed him. 
 
 ‘ Was I long ?’ asked I. 
 
 ‘ Well, yes, and the horse ought to have been fed 
 long ago, for I only drive about at night/ replied the 
 old cabman, who had now become comparatively 
 cheerful since the sun had appeared. 
 
 ‘ But it seemed to me as if I had been there only 
 one minute,’ said I. ‘Do you know why I went to 
 the monastery V added I, seating myself in the part 
 of the vehicle which was nearer to the old cabman. 
 
 ‘ That is no business of mine. Our business is to 
 drive wherever we are ordered to go/ replied he. 
 
 4 Well, but all the same, what do you think ?’ con- 
 tinued I. 
 
 ‘ Perhaps you have to bury somebody, so you went 
 to buy a place in the burial-ground/ said he. 
 
 ‘ No, friend ; do you know why I went ?’ 
 
 ‘ I do not, sir,’ repeated he. 
 
 The voice of the cabman seemed to me such a kind 
 one, that I resolved, for his edification, to tell him the 
 
MY SECOND CONFESSION. 285 
 
 reason of my drive, and even the feelings which I 
 experienced. 
 
 f Would you like me to tell you ? Don’t you see. . . / 
 
 And I told him all, and described all my fine feel- 
 ings. I even now blush at the recollection. 
 
 ‘ So/ said the cabman distrustfully. 
 
 And he was silent for some time after this, and did 
 not move, except every now and then, to settle the 
 skirt of his overcoat, which was always slipping from 
 underneath his legs, encased in large boots, and flap- 
 ping against the step of the vehicle. I was beginning 
 to think that, like the confessor, he was persuaded 
 that there was not a better man than I was in the 
 whole world, when he suddenly turned to me. 
 
 4 And what, sir, is your occupation ? Are you a 
 gentleman ?’ 
 
 ‘ What ?’ asked I. 
 
 ‘ Are you a landowner ?’ repeated he with his 
 toothless lips. 
 
 ‘ No, he has not understood me,’ thought I ; but I 
 did not speak any more till I reached our house. 
 
 My satisfaction of the feelings of emotion and 
 piety which I had experienced, if not the feelings 
 themselves, lasted almost all the way, in spite of the 
 people, who checkered the streets in the bright sun- 
 shine ; but as soon as I came home, the feeling 
 vanished entirely. I had not two twenty-copeck 
 pieces to pay the cabman. The major-domo Gavrilo, to 
 whom I already owed money, would not lend me any 
 more. The cabman, on seeing me run twice across 
 the courtyard trying to obtain money, and probably 
 guessing what the matter was, descended from the 
 
286 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 droshki, and though he had seemed to me to be so 
 kind, began to grumble loudly, evidently with the 
 intention of wounding my feelings, about there being 
 swindlers who do not pay the fare. 
 
 At home all were still asleep, so that I could not 
 borrow two twenty-copeck pieces from anybody but 
 from the servants. At last Vassily, upon my giving 
 him my word of honour that I would repay him, 
 though I could see by his face that he did not believe 
 me, paid the cabman simply because he liked me, and 
 remembered the service I had rendered him formerly. 
 Thus my fine feelings all turned to smoke. When I 
 began to dress for church in order to go and receive 
 the Sacrament with all the others, I found that my 
 suit of clothes had not been altered, and was not fit to 
 put on, upon which I committed a great many new 
 sins. Putting on another suit, I went up to the 
 Communion-table with my thoughts all in a maze, and 
 with an entire distrust in my ‘excellent disposition.’ 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 HOW I PREPARE FOR MY EXAMINATION. 
 
 On the Thursday in Easter week, my father, sister, 
 and Mimi, with Katenka, went to the country, so that 
 only Volodja, myself, and St. Jerome remained in 
 grandmother’s large house. The mood I had been in 
 on the day of confession, and of my drive to the 
 monastery, was entirely over, and had only left a 
 faint though pleasant remembrance, which grew 
 
HOW I PREPARE FOR MY EXAMINATION. 287 
 
 fainter and fainter under the new impressions of the 
 more independent life I now led. 
 
 The copybook entitled ‘ Rules of Life ’ was also 
 put away, together with my rough-draft school books. 
 Though I liked the idea of drawing up rules for 
 all the circumstances of life, and taking them as 
 my guide, and the idea of doing so seemed to me a 
 very simple, and at the same time a very grand one, 
 and though I intended to apply these rules to my life, 
 yet I again seemed to have forgotten that this had to be 
 done at once ; I kept* putting it off. It was a comfort to 
 find, however, that every thought which came into my 
 head now agreed with some of the subdivisions of my 
 rules and duties — either with the rules that referred to 
 our neighbours, or those that referred to myself or to 
 God. ‘ I shall write it down, and many, many other 
 thoughts which will come to me then on the subject/ 
 said I to myself. Now I very often put the question 
 to myself : ‘ When was I better and more right — when 
 I believed in the omnipotence of human intellect, or 
 now, when, having lost the power of development, 
 I doubt the power and importance of the human 
 intellect?’ and I cannot give myself any positive 
 answer. 
 
 The consciousness of independence and the fresh 
 feeling of expectation, of which I have already 
 spoken, agitated me t to such a degree that I was 
 decidedly unable to master myself, and I qualified 
 myself very badly for the examination. Sometimes 
 in the morning I would be studying in the class-room, 
 knowing that it was necessary to work, for the next 
 day I was to undergo an examination on some sub- 
 
288 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 ject of which I had not yet read over two questions, 
 when suddenly a sweet breath of spring air would be 
 wafted in through the open window, and it would 
 seem as if there were something urgently to be 
 remembered ; my hands would let the book fall ; my 
 feet would begin to move up and down, while it 
 would seem as if somebody had suddenly touched 
 some spring and brought some mechanical work into 
 motion ; my head would feel so free, and so many 
 various happy illusions would begin to pass through 
 my mind, that I hardly had time to follow the bright 
 flash. One, two hours would pass imperceptibly, or 
 else I would sit over my book, and try to concentrate 
 all my attention upon it, when suddenly I would hear 
 a woman’s step and the rustling of a dress in the 
 corridor, and everything would fly out of my head, 
 and it was impossible to sit still, although I knew 
 very well that besides my grandmother’s old maid- 
 servant, Gasha, nobody could be passing along the 
 passage. ‘ Yes, but if it were she V would flash across 
 my mind. ‘ But if it has begun, and I miss it ?’ and 
 I would rush into the passage and see that it was 
 really Gasha ; but for a long time afterwards I would 
 be unable to master my thoughts. The spring being 
 touched again, an awful discord would begin once 
 more; or in the evening I would sit alone in my room 
 with a tallow candle, when suddenly throwing aside 
 my book for a moment, in order to trim the candle or 
 to seat myself more comfortably, I would notice how 
 dark it was all around in every corner, and how silent 
 all was in the house ; and again, it would be impos- 
 sible not to stop and hearken or look through the 
 
nOW I PREPARE FOR MY EXAMINATION. 289 
 
 darkness of the open door into the dark room, not to 
 remain motionless for a long, long time, or not to go 
 downstairs and walk through all the empty rooms. 
 Often in the evening I used to sit very late in the 
 principal hall, unnoticed, listening to the tune entitled 
 ‘ The Nightingale/ which Gasha was playing with two 
 fingers on the piano, as she sat alone in the large hall 
 dimly lighted by a tallow candle. But when the moon 
 shone I could absolutely not help getting up from my 
 bed, and, leaning over the window-sill into the garden, 
 looking at the glittering roof of ShaposhinkofP s 
 house, at the slender belfry of our parish church, and 
 at the evening shadow thrown by the fence and the 
 bushes upon the little garden-path ; I could not help 
 sitting up so long that I found it difficult to get up 
 even at ten o’clock the next morning. 
 
 Thus, if it had not been for my teachers, who con- 
 tinued to come, St. Jerome, who now and then in- 
 voluntarily stimulated my self-love, and especially if 
 I had not wished to appear a steady young fellow in 
 the eyes of my friend Neklioudoff — that is, to undergo 
 my examination well, which he considered a most 
 important affair — if it had not been for all this, I say, 
 the spring air and the independence I now enjoyed 
 would have made me forget all that I had learnt 
 before, and I should not have undergone my exami- 
 nation at all. 
 
 19 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 MY EXAMINATION IN HISTORY. 
 
 On April 1 6, under the protection of St. Jerome, I 
 entered the large hall of the university for the first 
 time. We arrived in our rather elegant phaeton. I 
 wore a frock-coat for the first time in my life, and all 
 my clothes, even the linen and stockings I had on, 
 were of the newest and best. When the porter down- 
 stairs helped me off with my overcoat, and I stood 
 before him in all my finery, I felt somewhat ashamed 
 of being so dazzling. However, no sooner did I enter 
 the light, crowded hall, and see hundreds of young 
 fellows come in school-uniforms and others in frock- 
 coats, some of whom looked at me with indifference, 
 and at the farther end of the hall several eminent 
 professors, walking leisurely round the tables or 
 sitting in large armchairs, than I immediately felt 
 disappointed in my hopes of attracting general atten- 
 tion, and my face, which at home and in the entrance- 
 hall had worn an expression of something like regret 
 at looking too grand and fine, now expressed nothing 
 but shyness and confusion. I even fell into the oppo- 
 site extreme, and was delighted to see a very shabbily- 
 dressed man with gray hair, though he was not old, 
 who sat at some distance from the others on the last 
 bench. I presently sat down beside him, and began 
 to contemplate those who came up to be examined, 
 and drew my conclusions about them. There were 
 divers figures and faces, but all of them, according to 
 
MY EXAMINATION IN HISTORY. 
 
 291 
 
 my ideas at that time, could easily be divided into 
 three groups. 
 
 There were such as myself, who had come with their 
 tutor or with their parents to the examination hall, and 
 amongst these were Ivin the younger, who had come 
 there with my old acquaintance Frost, and Iliinka 
 Grap, with his old father. All these had slight tokens 
 of a beard on their chins, snowy linen, and sat quite 
 still, without opening their books which they had 
 brought with them, and were looking at the professors 
 and the examination-tables with evident timidity. 
 The second group consisted of young fellows dressed 
 in their gymnasium uniforms, many of whom had 
 already begun to shave their beards. They were 
 for the most part acquainted with each other, talked 
 aloud, calling the professors by their Christian and 
 patronymic names, preparing their answers, passing 
 books to each other, stepping over the benches from 
 the entrance-hall, and bringing cakes and sandwiches, 
 which they ate there, slightly inclining their heads on 
 a level with the bench. And lastly, the third group 
 of those who had to be examined, which did not 
 number many, consisted of quite old fellows, some in 
 frock-coats and others in long-coats, and without any 
 signs of linen about them. These observed a very 
 serious attitude, sat quite isolated, and looked very 
 gloomy. The one whom I had noticed upon my first 
 entrance, with a feeling of pleasure at his not being 
 dressed as well as I was, belonged to the last group. 
 Leaning both elbows on the table, his fingers passed 
 through his entangled grayish hair, he was reading, 
 and only for an instant looking at me in a rather 
 
 19 — 2 
 
292 
 
 YOUTH , 
 
 unfriendly manner, he frowned gloomily and stuck 
 his shiny elbow into my side, in order to prevent my 
 moving closer up to him. The pupils from the gym- 
 nasium, on the contrary, were too sociable, and I was 
 a little afraid of them. One of them, pushing a 
 book into my hands, said : ‘ Pass it over to him 
 there another, passing by me, said : ‘ Make way 
 there, old fellow, will you ?’ a third, climbing over the 
 bench, leaned against my shoulder as if it were a 
 bench. All this seemed strange and unpleasant to 
 me ; I considered myself much superior to these 
 pupils from the gymnasium, and thought they ought 
 not to take such liberties or be so familiar with me. 
 At last the names were called out ; the scholars of 
 the gymnasium went boldly forward, they mostly 
 answered well, and returned with cheerful faces ; our 
 fellows were much more faint-hearted, and, it seemed 
 to me, did not answer as well. Among the old fellows 
 some answered very well indeed ; others very badly. 
 When ‘ Semenoff 3 was called out, my neighbour with 
 the gray hair and sparkling eyes, pushing rudely past 
 me, trod upon my toes as he went up to the table. 
 As I could judge by the attitude of the professors, he 
 answered well and boldly. On returning to his place, 
 without having tried to find out what mark he had 
 got, he quietly took up his books and went out. I 
 had already started several times at the sound of the 
 voice calling out the names, but my turn, according 
 to the alphabetical list, had not come yet, although 
 several names beginning with a K had already been 
 called out. ‘ Ikonin and Tenjeff’ suddenly shouted 
 somebody from the corner where the professors were 
 
MY EXAMINATION IN HISTORY. 
 
 293 
 
 seated. A chill ran down my back and through my 
 hair. 
 
 ‘Who was called? Who is Bartenjeff ?’ I heard 
 someone saying. 
 
 ‘ Ikonin, go ; you are called. But who is Bartenjeff, 
 Mordenjeff?’ • 
 
 ‘ I do not know,’ said a tall, fresh-coloured pupil 
 from the gymnasium, standing behind me. 
 
 ‘ It is your turn/ said St. Jerome. 
 
 ‘ My name is Irtenjeff/ said I to the fresh-coloured 
 scholar of the gymnasium ; ‘did they say Irtenjeff?’ 
 
 ‘ Well, yes. Why do you not go ? . . . Look what 
 a dandy !’ added he in a low tone, but so that I could 
 hear him as I went along between the benches. 
 
 Ikonin, a tall young man of about five-and-twenty 
 years of age, and who belonged to the third group, 
 i.e. of the old fellows, preceded me. He had an olive- 
 coloured tight dress-coat on, a blue satin necktie, 
 over which his long red hair hung down, carefully 
 brushed a la moushik.* I had noticed his appear- 
 ance when sitting on the bench. He was not bad- 
 looking, but rather talkative. I was particularly 
 struck by his strange red hair, which covered his neck, 
 and a curious habit he had of incessantly unbuttoning 
 his waistcoat and scratching his chest, with his hand 
 underneath his shirt. 
 
 Three professors were sitting at the table, which I 
 approached with Ikonin ; neither of them returned 
 our bow. A young professor shuffled the tickets like 
 a pack of cards ; the other professor, with a star 
 attached to his dress-coat, looked at a scholar from 
 * Moushik — a peasant. 
 
294 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 a gymnasium before him ; the latter was talking 
 somewhat quickly about Charles the Great, continu- 
 ally adding the word ‘finally and the third, an old 
 man with spectacles on, inclining his head, looked at 
 us over his spectacles, and pointed to the tickets. I 
 felt that he was gazing at me and Ikonin, and that 
 something in our appearance did not please him (per- 
 haps it was the red hair of Ikonin) ; for, looking again 
 at us both, he made an impatient gesture with his 
 head, as a sign that we were to draw the papers con- 
 taining the questions we were to answer. I felt vexed 
 and offended : first, because nobody had returned our 
 bow ; and secondly, because they apparently classi- 
 fied me in the same group with Ikonin, and were 
 already prejudiced against us on account of Ikonin’s 
 red hair. I boldly took a ticket, and was about to 
 answer, but the professor turned his gaze upon 
 Ikonin. I read my ticket over — it was one I knew ; 
 and quietly waiting for my turn to come, I watched 
 what was going on before me. Ikonin was not timid 
 at all, rather too bold even ; he moved sideways to take 
 a ticket, threw his hair back, and boldly read what was 
 written on the paper. He had already opened his 
 lips to answer, as it seemed to me, when suddenly the 
 professor with the star, after having let the scholar from 
 the gymnasium go with an approving nod, looked at 
 him. Ikonin, as if recollecting something, stopped. 
 A general silence prevailed for about two minutes. 
 
 ‘ Well ?’ said the professor with the spectacles. 
 
 Ikonin opened his lips and was silent again. 
 
 ‘ You are not the only one hero. Do you choose to 
 answer or not ?’ said the young professor. 
 
MY EXAMINATION IN HISTORY. 
 
 295 
 
 But Ikonin did not even look at him. He looked 
 fixedly at the ticket, and did not utter a single word. 
 The professor with the spectacles looked at him 
 through his spectacles, and over his spectacles, and 
 without his spectacles ; for he had had time in the 
 meanwhile to take them off, wipe them carefully, and 
 to put them on again. Ikonin did not utter a single 
 word. Suddenly a smile flashed over his face ; he 
 threw his hair back, again standing sideways at the 
 table, put his ticket down, looked at all the professors 
 by turns, then at me, turned round, and with a firm 
 step, and swinging his arms backwards and forwards, 
 went back to his seat. The professors exchanged looks. 
 
 ‘ A nice fellow !’ said the younger professor. 
 
 I moved closer to the table, but the professors 
 kept on talking almost in whispers, as if none of them 
 even suspected my presence. I was at that time quite 
 convinced that all three professors were extraordi- 
 narily interested in the question, whether I should 
 undergo my examination, and whether I should 
 undergo it well, and that it was only for form’s sake 
 that they pretended to be perfectly indifferent, and 
 tried to look as if they had not noticed me. 
 
 When the professor with the spectacles addressed 
 me with the request to answer the question, I looked 
 at him, and felt ashamed for him, that he had been 
 playing the hypocrite with me. So I stammered a 
 little at the beginning, but then got on better ; and 
 the question being one on Russian history, which I 
 knew perfectly well, I answered splendidly, and even 
 went so far as to offer to take one more ticket, wish- 
 ing to let the professors see that I was not Ikonin, 
 
296 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 and that I was not to be put on a par with him ; but 
 the professor, nodding his head, said ‘ Good,’ and 
 made a mark in his note-book. On returning to my 
 seat, I was instantly informed by the scholars from 
 the gymnasium, who, God knows how, got to know 
 everything, that I had ‘ five ’ for my answer. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 MY EXAMINATION IN MATHEMATICS. 
 
 By the time the following examinations came on, I 
 had already several acquaintances, besides Grap, 
 whom I never considered unworthy of my acquaint- 
 ance, and Ivin, who for some reason avoided me. 
 Several greeted me when I came in. Ikonin even 
 * seemed quite glad to see me, and told me he was to 
 be re-examined in history ; that the professor of 
 history was angry with him ever since his last ex- 
 amination, during which he had also tried to put him 
 out. Semenoff, who, like myself, was going up for the 
 degree of mathematics, again avoided everybody till 
 the end of the examinations. He sat quietly alone, 
 leaning on his arms, and pushing his fingers through 
 his gray hair, and went through his examinations 
 excellently. He was the second. The first was a 
 scholar from the first gymnasium. He was a tall, 
 thin, and dark young fellow, very pale, with a black 
 scarf tied round his cheek, and his forehead covered 
 with pimples. His hands were thin and red, with 
 extraordinarily long fingers, the nails bitten off, so 
 that the ends of his fingers seemed to be tied round 
 
MY EXAMINATION IN MATHEMATICS : 
 
 297 
 
 with thread All this seemed to me very fine, and 
 just what the first scholar in a gymnasium ought to be. 
 He spoke to all, as the others did, and I made his 
 acquaintance ; yet, as it seemed to me, there was in 
 his gait, in the movement of his lips and eyes, some- 
 thing strangely magnetic. 
 
 I came earlier than usual to the examination in 
 mathematics. I knew the subject fairly well, but 
 there were two questions in algebra which I had 
 somehow concealed from my tutor, and which I knew 
 nothing about. These were, as I remember very 
 well, the theory of conjunction, and Newton’s bi- 
 nomial. I took my seat on the back bench, and 
 looked over the two questions which I did not know ; 
 but not being accustomed to study in a noisy room, 
 and seeing that there would not be time enough, I 
 could not concentrate my attention on what I was 
 reading. 
 
 ‘ Here he is. Come here, Neklioudoff,’ said a familiar 
 voice behind me. It was Volodja's. 
 
 I turned round and saw my brother and Dimitri, 
 who, with their coats unbuttoned and swinging their 
 arms to and fro, were passing over the benches towards 
 me. One could immediately see that they were 
 students of the second year, and that they felt quite at 
 home at the university. The aspect of their un- 
 buttoned coats alone showed their contempt for us 
 fellows who were entering, and inspired us with envy 
 and respect. I felt very much flattered to think that 
 all the others would see that I was acquainted with 
 two students of the second course, and I quickly rose 
 and went to meet them. 
 
298 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 Volodja could not forbear betraying his conscious- 
 ness of superiority. 
 
 ‘ Heigh-ho, poor old chap !’ said he ; ‘ what, hast 
 not been examined yet ?’ 
 
 ‘No/ 
 
 ‘ What art thou reading ? Art not thou ready ?’ 
 ‘No, not quite; there are two questions I do not 
 know — I do not understand.’ 
 
 ‘ What ! this here ?’ said Volodja, and began to 
 explain the binomial of Newton to me, but so quickly 
 and confusedly that, reading distrust of his knowledge 
 in my eyes, he turned to Dimitri, and seeing the same 
 expression in his, most likely he blushed, but went on 
 explaining something which I did not understand. 
 
 ‘ No ; stop a minute, Volodja ; let me go through it 
 with him, if there is time,’ said Dimitri, looking 
 towards the corner where the professors were seated, 
 and sitting down beside me. 
 
 I noticed immediately that my friend was in that 
 self-sufficient yet meek mood, to which he always was 
 liable when he felt satisfied with himself, a mood I 
 particularly liked in him. As he knew mathematics 
 well and spoke clearly, he went through the question 
 with me so thoroughly that I remember it even now. 
 He had only just finished, when St. Jerome said in a 
 low whisper: ‘A vous, Nicolas!’ and, following Ikonin, 
 I left the bench without having had time to look over 
 the other question I did not know. I approached the 
 table at which two professors were sitting, and a 
 scholar from the gymnasium stood before a black- 
 board. He was boldly solving some formula, noisily 
 breaking the bit of chalk he held in his hand against 
 
MY EXAMINATION IN MATHEMATICS . 
 
 299 
 
 the board and writing away, although the # professor 
 had already said to him ‘ That will do/ and had re- 
 quested us to take a question each. 
 
 ‘ What am I to do, if I get the theory of conjunc- 
 tion ?’ thought I, as with trembling fingers I drew a 
 ticket from the soft heap. Ikonin took the ticket 
 that lay at the top as boldly as he had done at the 
 preceding examination, looked at it, and frowned 
 angrily. 
 
 ‘ Always my confounded ill-luck !’ muttered he. 
 
 I looked at mine. Oh, horror! it was the theory of 
 conjunction . . . 
 
 ‘And what is yours?’ asked Ikonin. 
 
 I showed it to him. 
 
 ‘ I know that/ said he. 
 
 * Will you change ?’ 
 
 ‘ No, it is all the same ; I feel I am not in the vein 
 to answer/ Ikonin had just time to whisper, when the 
 professor called us to the board. 
 
 ‘Well, everything is lost!’ thought I ; ‘instead of 
 passing a splendid examination as I expected, I shall 
 be disgraced for ever, worse than Ikonin.’ But 
 suddenly Ikonin, turning round to me before the pro- 
 fessor’s eyes, snatched the ticket from my hand and 
 gave me his. I looked at the ticket. It was Newton’s 
 binomial. 
 
 The professor was not an old man ; he had a 
 pleasant and clever expression of face, as especially 
 conveyed by his convex forehead. 
 
 ‘ How is it that you are changing your tickets, 
 gentlemen ?’ said he. 
 
 ‘ No ; he simply gave me his to look at, sir,’ said 
 
300 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 Ikonin with great presence of mind, and again the 
 word ‘ sir ’ was the last word he pronounced on that 
 spot. On going back, and passing by me, he looked 
 at the professors, at me, and shrugged his shoulders 
 with a smile, as much as to say : ‘ Never mind !’ 
 
 (I was afterwards told that Ikonin had already 
 gone up for examination two years running, and 
 this was the third.) 
 
 I solved the question which I had just prepared 
 quite correctly. The professor even told me that I 
 did it better than could have been expected, and 
 marked me a five. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 MY EXAMINATION IN LATIN. 
 
 Everything went on very well until the Latin 
 examination. The scholar from the gymnasium, with 
 the scarf round his cheek, was the first, Semenofif the 
 second, I the third. I had even begun to boast and 
 to feel persuaded, that, notwithstanding my youth, I 
 was ‘somebody’ after all. 
 
 On the day of my first examination, all had talked 
 about the professor of Latin with sundry expressions 
 of fear ; he was said to be a brute, and to delight in 
 the misery of young men who came up to be examined, 
 especially of those who were not crown students, and 
 always spoke only in Latin or Greek. St. Jerome, 
 who was my Latin teacher, tried to keep up my 
 courage, and I myself thought that as I could trans- 
 
MY EXAMINATION IN LATIN . 
 
 301 
 
 late Cicero and part of Horace without a dictionary ? 
 and as I knew Zumpt very well, I was as well pre- 
 pared as the others ; but it turned out otherwise. 
 During the whole morning, nothing was talked of but 
 the fate of those who went up before me : one got a 
 nought, another a one ; one had been scolded and 
 threatened with expulsion. Semenoff and the first 
 scholar from the gymnasium alone went up as calmly 
 as they had done before, and returned, each having 
 gained five marks. I felt beforehand that some ill- 
 luck would befall me, when being called out together 
 with Ikonin we went up to the small table, at which 
 that awful professor sat quite alone. The awful pro- 
 fessor was a short, thin, yellow-faced man, with long 
 oily hair and with a most pensive countenance. 
 
 He gave Ikonin a book of Cicero’s speeches, and 
 made him translate it. 
 
 To my great surprise, Ikonin not only read, but 
 translated some lines with the assistance of the pro- 
 fessor, who prompted him. Perceiving my superiority 
 over such a weak rival, I could not help smiling, and 
 even rather contemptuously, when it came to the 
 analysis, and Ikonin, as before, sank into an obviously 
 helpless silence. I thought to please the professor by 
 this clever, slightly sarcastic smile, but it proved the 
 reverse. 
 
 ‘ It seems you know better,’ said the professor to 
 me in bad Russian ; ‘ we shall see. Well, now 
 answer.’ 
 
 Afterwards I heard that the Latin professor 
 patronized Ikonin, and that the latter even lived at 
 his house. . At once I answered the question of syntax 
 
302 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 which had puzzled Ikonin, but the professor made a 
 face and turned away from me. 
 
 f Very well, your turn will come ; we shall see,’ said 
 he, without looking at me, and went out to explain 
 to Ikonin the question he had put him. ‘ Go,’ added 
 he, and I saw him putting a four to Ikonin in the 
 mark-book. 
 
 ‘ Why,’ thought I, ‘ he is not at all as strict as they 
 said he was.’ After Ikonin was gone, for about five 
 minutes, which seemed to me like five hours, he busied 
 himself with putting away books, tickets, wiping his 
 nose, adjusting the arm-chairs, stretching himself, 
 then looking all round the room, but not at me. 
 This feigned indifference to me did not seem to 
 satisfy him, however, so he opened a book and pre- 
 tended to be reading as if I were not there at all. I 
 stepped a little closer and coughed slightly. 
 
 ‘ Oh yes ! you are here still ? Well, translate any- 
 thing,’ said he, giving me a book ; ‘ no, take this one.’ 
 He glanced over Horace, and opened it at a passage 
 which, as it seemed to me, was perfectly untrans- 
 latable. 
 
 ‘ I have not prepared this,’ said I. 
 
 ‘ And so you want to answer what you have learned 
 by heart — very good ! No, translate this.’ 
 
 I began to try and make out the sense ; at every 
 interrogative look of mine he only shook his head, 
 saying, with a sigh, ‘ No.’ At last he shut the book, 
 so nervously and quickly that his finger got caught 
 between the leaves ; drawing it angrily out, he gave me 
 a question out of grammar, and, reclining in the chair, 
 kept an ominous silence. I was going to answer, 
 
MY EXAMINATION IN LATIN. 
 
 303 
 
 but the expression of his face closed my mouth at 
 first, and then all I said seemed to me to be wrong. 
 
 ‘ It is not so ; it is not so — not so at all/ said he 
 suddenly in his nasty accent, quickly altering his 
 position, leaning against the table and playing with 
 his gold ring, which was loose on the thin finger of 
 his left hand. ‘ It is impossible, gentlemen, to prepare 
 thus for the highest educational course ; you only 
 want to wear the uniform with a blue collar, and 
 think you can be students, with just a little smattering 
 of knowledge. No, gentlemen, the subject must be 
 studied thoroughly,’ etc. 
 
 During this speech, uttered in his distorted accent, 
 I gazed with stupefied attention at his downcast eyes. 
 At first I was worried by my disappointment at not 
 being ‘ third/ then by the fear of not passing through 
 at all, and finally came the perception that I was 
 treated with injustice, of wounded self-love and 
 undeserved degradation : besides this, a feeling of 
 contempt for the professor — who in my opinion was 
 not a man comme il faut, as I discovered by look- 
 ing at his short, hard and round nails — excited and 
 embittered me still more. Looking at me and 
 noticing my trembling lips and my eyes filled with 
 tears, which he probably took for an entreaty to him 
 to give me a better mark, he said, as if pitying me (in 
 the presence of another professor, who by this time 
 had approached the table) : 
 
 ‘ Very well, I shall put you down a mark which 
 will not lead to your expulsion (this meant a two) ; 
 you do not deserve it, but I will do so only out of 
 regard to your youth, and in hopes that at the 
 
3°4 
 
 YOUTH . 
 
 university you will not be so careless about your 
 studies.’ 
 
 His last sentence, uttered in the presence of the 
 other professor, who looked at me, as if to say, ‘ Yes, 
 you see, young man !’ confounded me. For a 
 moment all grew ,dark before my eyes ; the awful 
 professor at the table seemed to me to be sitting 
 somewhere at a great distance, and with awful dis- 
 tinctness a strange idea struck me : ‘And what if . . . ? 
 what will the consequences be ?’ But whatever it was, 
 I did not act up to it ; but, on the contrary, uncon- 
 sciously but most respectfully bowed to both pro- 
 fessors, and slightly smiling, very likely with a smile 
 like that Ikonin had worn, left the table. 
 
 The injustice with which I had been treated pro- 
 duced such a powerful impression on me then, that 
 had I been free to act as I chose, I should not have 
 gone up for examination any more. I lost all 
 ambition (to be third was not to be thought of), and 
 went through the remaining examinations without 
 either care or emotion. On an average, however, I 
 had more than four, but this did not interest me 
 any more ; I reflected, and demonstrated very clearly 
 to myself that it was extremely absurd, and even 
 ‘ mauvais genre,’ to try to be first ; all that was 
 necessary was not to be too badly nor too well pre- 
 pared, like Volodja. I intended to keep to this for 
 the future at the university, though in this instance 
 I differed for the first time in opinion with my friend. 
 
 I only thought about the uniform, the three- 
 cornered hat, about having my own carriage, my 
 own room, and principally my perfect independence. 
 
I AM A GROWN-UP MAN. 
 
 305 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 I AM A GROWN-UP MAN. 
 
 The thought had its charms. 
 
 On May 8, on returning home from my last examina- 
 tion in theology, I found the foreman from Rosanoffs, 
 who had already some time before brought me a uni- 
 form hastily tacked together, and a coat of glossy- 
 black cloth, and had marked the facings with chalk, 
 and who now brought me a grand suit with bright 
 gilt buttons, wrapped in paper. 
 
 Putting on these clothes and finding that they fitted 
 perfectly well, though St. Jerome assured me that 
 there were folds at the back of the coat, I went down- 
 stairs with a self-conceited smile, which quite in- 
 voluntarily came over my face, and went up to Volodja, 
 feeling, but pretending not to notice, the looks of the 
 domestics, who were all staring at me from the 
 entrance-hall and from the passage. Gavrilo, the 
 major-domo, overtook me in the great hall, con- 
 gratulated me, and handed me, by order of my father, 
 four white notes (one hundred roubles each), and told 
 me that by my father's orders the coachman Kousma, 
 the proletka* and the sorrel Krassavchikf were 
 from that day at my entire disposal. I was so 
 delighted at this almost unexpected happiness, that 
 I could not keep up my pretence of indifference before 
 Gavrilo, and feeling quite confused and breathless 
 
 * A sort of a four-wheeled cabriolet, 
 f Krassavchik (beauty), the name of the horse. 
 
 20 
 
3°6 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 with joy, I said the first thing that came into my 
 mind ; I think it was, ‘ Krassavchik is an excellent 
 trotter/ Then seeing all the heads, that were peeping 
 at me from behind the doors of the entrance-hall and 
 the passage, I felt unable to restrain myself any 
 longer, and ran quickly through the principal hall, 
 in my new coat with shining gilt buttons. Just as I 
 entered Volodja’s room, I heard behind me the voices 
 of Doubkoff and Neklioudoff, who had come to con- 
 gratulate me, and to propose to me to go and dine 
 together somewhere and drink champagne in honour 
 of my having entered the university. Dimitri told 
 me that, although he did not care to drink champagne, 
 he would go with us, in order to drink to our mutual 
 friendship, which was to be further carried out by our 
 saying ‘thou ’* to each other instead of ‘you/ Doub- 
 koff said that I looked rather like a colonel ; Volodja 
 did not congratulate me, and only said, very dryly, 
 that we could now go to the country the next day but 
 one — as if, though he was glad I had entered, he 
 found it somewhat unpleasant to see that I was now 
 a grown-up man too. St. Jerome, who also came in, 
 said pompously that his duties were over, that he did 
 not know whether he had fulfilled them well or badly, 
 but that he had done what he could, and that the 
 next day he was going to the count’s. In answer to 
 all that was said to me, I felt a happy but rather 
 absurdly self-conceited smile expanding over my 
 face against my will, and I noticed that the smile 
 communicated itself to all those who spoke to me. 
 
 * In Russian the pronoun thou is very generally used ; amongst 
 relatives and good friends always. 
 
I AM A GROWN-UP MAN. 
 
 30 7 
 
 And now I have no tutor, I have got my own 
 carriage (droshki), my name stands in the list of 
 students, I wear a sword by my side, the police- 
 soldiers will sometimes salute me. ... I am grown 
 up — I am, I think, happy ! 
 
 We resolved to dine at Yar’s,* at five o’clock ; but 
 as Volodja went to Doubkoff’s, and Dimitri dis- 
 appeared as usual, saying he had business to attend 
 to before dinner, I had two hours to myself. For a 
 long time I kept walking through all the rooms, and 
 looking into every looking-glass — now with my coat 
 buttoned up, then with the same unbuttoned entirely, 
 then again with only the top-button of the coat 
 buttoned, and finding that I looked most elegant. 
 Afterwards, though I felt rather ashamed of showing 
 my great joy, I could not forbear going to the stables 
 and to the coach-house ; I looked at Krassavchik, 
 Kousma, and the droshki ; then I returned again, and 
 continued to walk about the rooms, looking into the 
 looking-glasses and counting the money in my pocket, 
 smiling happily all the time. However, before an 
 hour was over, I felt weary and sorry that there was 
 nobody to see me in all my splendour, and I felt a 
 longing for exercise and activity. Therefore, I ordered 
 the horse to be harnessed, and resolved to drive to 
 Kuznetski-Mostj- to make some purchases. 
 
 I recollected that Volodja, on entering the university, 
 had bought some lithographic pictures of horses by 
 Victor Adam, some tobacco, and several pipes, and I 
 thought it absolutely necessary for me to do the same. 
 
 * A celebrated restaurant. 
 
 f Kuznetski-Most (the Smith’s [Bridge), the name of the 
 principal streetun Moscow. 
 
 20 — 2 
 
308 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 I drove up the street, the people all looking at me, and 
 the sun shining bright upon my buttons, upon the cock- 
 ade of my hat and my sword, and stopped at Daziaro’s 
 magazine. Looking round in all directions, I stepped 
 in. I did not intend to buy Victor Adam’s horses, so 
 as not to be accused of aping Volodja, but feeling quite 
 ashamed of the trouble I gave the shopmen, hastened 
 to choose something, and so took a female head 
 painted in water-colours, which stood in the window, 
 and paid twenty roubles for it. Yet, though I had 
 paid twenty roubles, I felt no less ashamed of troubling 
 two such handsomely-dressed shopmen for such a 
 trifle, and at the same time found that they looked at 
 me rather too indifferently. Wishing to let them see 
 what a grand gentleman I was, I next directed my 
 attention to a silver object which lay in the glass case, 
 and being told it was a port-crayon, which cost 
 eighteen roubles, I asked them to wrap it up in paper, 
 and having paid the money, and being informed that 
 good pipes and tobacco were to be had at the tobacco- 
 nist’s next door, I politely bowed to both shopmen, 
 and went out with the picture under my arm. In the 
 neighbouring shop, on the signboard of which there 
 was a picture of a negro smoking a cigar, I bought, in 
 order not to be accused of imitating others, not J oukow’s 
 tobacco, but Sultan tobacco, a Turkish pipe, and two 
 lime-tree and rosewood tubes. On coming out of the 
 shop and going towards my droshki, I saw Semenoff, 
 who, with his head bent, was walking quickly along the 
 footpath. I was annoyed that he did not recognise 
 me. I said rather loudly : ‘ Drive up !’ and seating 
 myself in the droshki, overtook Semenoff. 
 
I AM A GROWN-UP MAN. 
 
 309 
 
 ‘ Good-day to you/ said I to him. 
 
 ‘ My compliments to you/ replied he, walking 
 along. 
 
 ‘ How is it you are not in uniform ?’ asked I. 
 
 Semenoff stopped, showing his white teeth and 
 screwing up his eyes as if it pained him to look at 
 the sun, but in fact in order to show himself indif- 
 ferent to my droshki and the uniform : he looked at 
 me without saying a word, and walked on. 
 
 From Kuznetski-Most I drove to the confectioner’s 
 on the Tverskaja Street, and although trying to look 
 as if I were chiefly interested in reading the papers, I 
 could not help eating one sweet-cake after the other. 
 Though I was ashamed to see that a gentleman kept 
 looking at me with curiosity over his newspaper, I 
 quickly devoured eight cakes one after the other. 
 
 When I came home I felt rather sick ; but without 
 paying any attention to that, I went to contemplate 
 my purchases ; the picture displeased me so much 
 that I would not put it into a frame nor hang it up in 
 my room, as Volodja had hung his, but carefully put 
 it away behind the drawers, where nobody could see 
 it. The port-crayon did not please me at home, 
 either ; I put it into my desk, consoling myself, how- 
 ever, with the idea that it was silver — a capital thing, 
 and a very useful one for a student. As to the smok- 
 ing articles, I resolved to use them at once and to try 
 them. 
 
 Opening the quarter-pound packet, I carefully filled 
 the Turkish pipe with the reddish-yellow, finely cut, 
 Sultan tobacco, put a hot tinder on it, and taking the 
 tube between the middle and fourth finger (I liked 
 
3io 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 this position of the hand particularly), I began to 
 inhale the smoke. 
 
 The smell of the tobacco was very pleasant, but it 
 left a bitter taste in my mouth and made me lose my 
 breath. However, summoning up all my courage, I 
 kept on drawing in the smoke, for some time trying 
 to make the smoke curl up in rings, and to inhale 
 it. The room was soon filled with bluish clouds of 
 smoke, the pipe began to rattle, the hot tobacco rose 
 in whirlwinds ; but I felt a bitter taste in my mouth, 
 and my head felt quite giddy. I was already about 
 to give it up, and only wanted to see myself first in 
 the looking-glass with the pipe in my mouth, when, 
 to my astonishment, I could not stand firmly on my 
 feet; the room went round, and looking in the mirror, 
 which I approached with great difficulty, I saw that 
 my face was as white as a sheet. I had only time 
 to throw myself on the sofa, when I felt so sick and 
 weak that, fancying the pipe to be fatal — it seemed 
 to me that I was dying ; I was seriously frightened, 
 and thought of calling for help and sending for a 
 doctor. 
 
 However, this feeling of terror did not last long. I 
 soon understood what was really the matter with me, 
 and with a dreadful headache, and feeling quite 
 weak, I remained for a long time on the sofa, gazing 
 vacantly at the arms, printed on the quarter- pound 
 packet of tobacco, at the pipe on the floor, at the 
 cigarette-ends lying about, at the remains of the pastry 
 and cakes ; and, with a feeling of disappointment, 
 I said to myself : ‘ It seems I am not yet quite a 
 grown-up man, if I cannot smoke as others do ; it is 
 
I AM A GROWN-UP MAN. 311 
 
 evidently not my fate to do as others do — to hold a 
 pipe between the middle and fourth finger, inhaling 
 the smoke and puffing out whiffs from between light- 
 coloured mustachios.’ 
 
 When Dimitri came to fetch me at five o’clock, he 
 found me in this unpleasant state. After having 
 drunk a glass of water, however, I was almost right 
 again, and was ready to go with him. 
 
 ‘And what pleasure do you find in smoking?’ said 
 he, looking at the signs which betrayed my late 
 endeavours. ‘ It is all nonsense and waste of money. 
 1 have pledged my word to myself never to smoke. 
 . . . However, let us be off, for we must go and fetch 
 Doubkoff.’ 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 IN WHAT THE OCCUPATIONS OF VOLODJA AND 
 DOUBKOFF CONSISTED. 
 
 As soon as Dimitri entered my room, by his face, his 
 gait, and a habit he had, when in low spirits, of wink- 
 ing with his eye, and inclining his head on one side in 
 an awkward manner, as if he were adjusting his neck- 
 tie, I could see that he was in that cool, obstinate 
 humour which used to come over him when he was 
 displeased with himself, and which always used to 
 have a cooling effect upon my sentiments towards 
 him. Lately I had already begun to examine closer 
 and to analyze my friend’s character, but all this did 
 not alter our friendship in the least : our friendship 
 was so young and strong that, whatever view I might 
 
312 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 take of Dimitri, I could not help thinking him per- 
 fect. There were two different men in him, both of 
 them excellent in my opinion. The one, whom I 
 loved with all my heart, was good, kind, meek, lively, 
 and conscious of these amiable qualities. When he 
 used to be in this mood, his appearance, the sound of 
 his voice, all his movements seemed to say : * I am 
 meek and virtuous; I am enjoying my meekness and 
 virtue, and you all see it.’ The other, whom I only 
 now began to understand, and before whose stateliness 
 I bowed, was a cool man, rigid towards himself and 
 others, proud, religious to fanaticism, and pedantically 
 moral. At the present minute he was this second 
 self. 
 
 With the frankness which was the indispensable 
 condition of our relations I told him, when we had 
 taken our seats in the droshki, that I was very sorry 
 to see him in that dull, unpleasant mood on a day 
 that was such a happy one for me. 
 
 ‘ Something must have grieved you. Why will 
 you not tell me what it is ?’ asked I. 
 
 ‘Nicholas/ replied he slowly, turning his head 
 nervously to one side and winking, ‘ when once I 
 have given you my word never to conceal anything 
 from you, you have no right to suspect me of doing 
 so. One cannot always be in the same mood, and if 
 anything has put me out, I really do not myself know 
 what it is.’ 
 
 ‘ What a wonderfully open, honest disposition !’ 
 thought I, and did not speak to him any more. 
 
 We arrived in silence at DoubkofFs house. His 
 rooms were remarkably pretty, as it seemed to me. 
 
OCCUPATIONS OF VOLODJA AND DOUBKOFF. 313 
 
 There were carpets, pictures, curtains, different- 
 coloured tapestry, portraits, armchairs, easy-chairs ; 
 on the walls hung guns, pistols, tobacco-bags, and 
 some cartoon heads of animals. As soon as I saw 
 that room, it grew clear to me whom Volodja had 
 imitated in the decoration of his room. We found 
 Doubkofif and Volodja at cards. A stranger (pro- 
 bably an unimportant person, judging by his reserved 
 attitude) sat beside the table, attentively watching the 
 game. Doubkofif was in a silk dressing-gown and 
 soft shoes. Volodja sat opposite to him on the sofa, 
 without his coat, and, judging by his red face and the 
 displeased glance with which he looked up for a 
 second at us, was much interested in the game. See- 
 ing me, he grew still redder in the face. 
 
 ‘ Well, it is thy turn to deal,’ said he to Doubkoff. 
 
 I could see that he was displeased at my knowing 
 that he played at cards. But his face did not express 
 any confusion ; it seemed to say : * Yes, I play at 
 cards ; and thou art surprised simply because thou 
 art still so young. It is not only right, but indis- 
 pensable, to do so at our age.’ 
 
 I immediately felt that it was true, and understood 
 his thoughts. 
 
 Doubkoff, however, did not deal ; he rose, shook 
 hands with us, gave us seats, and offered us pipes, 
 which we refused. 
 
 ‘ There he is, our diplomatist, the author of the 
 feast/ said Doubkofif. * By Jove! he looks very much 
 like a colonel !’ 
 
 ‘ Hm !’ muttered I, feeling again that stupid L self- 
 conceited smile spreading over my face. 
 
314 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 I respected Doubkoff as only a boy of sixteen 
 could respect an adjutant of twenty-seven, whom all 
 people called a most orderly young man, who danced 
 perfectly, spoke French, and who, though in his heart 
 despising my youth, evidently tried to conceal that he 
 did so. 
 
 Notwithstanding the esteem I entertained for him, 
 during all the time of our acquaintance I found it 
 difficult and uncomfortable, for some unaccountable 
 reason, to look into his eyes. But I afterwards 
 noticed that there were three kinds of people into 
 whose eyes I did not feel it easy to look : those who 
 were greatly inferior to me, those who were greatly 
 superior to me, and those with whom we could not 
 make up our minds to tell each other anything which 
 both of us knew. Perhaps Doubkoff was superior, 
 perhaps inferior to me ; but it is certain that he often 
 told untruths, never admitting the fact. However, I 
 had noticed that defect in him, but of course could 
 not make up my mind to tell him of it. 
 
 ‘ Let us have one more deal,’ said Volodja, shrug- 
 ging his shoulders as father used to do, and shuffling 
 the cards. 
 
 ‘ Don’t worry me !’ said Doubkoff ; ‘ we shall finish 
 the game afterwards. Well, then, after all, let us have 
 one more deal.’ 
 
 While they w r ere playing, I watched their hands. 
 Volodja had a large, well-shaped hand : the joints of 
 his thumb and the bend of the other fingers, when he 
 held the cards in his hand, were so like father’s that 
 it occurred to me that Volodja held his hand thus for 
 the purpose of resembling a grown-up man ; but on 
 
OCCUPATIONS OF VOLODJA AND DOUBKOFF. 315 
 
 looking at his face, I could see instantly that he was 
 not thinking of anything but the cards. Doubkoff, 
 on the contrary, had small, plump hands, bent 
 inwards, extremely alert-looking, and with soft 
 fingers ; that is to say, the kind of hand on which 
 rings are worn, and which belongs to persons skilful in 
 the use of their hands, and who are fond of possessing 
 pretty things. 
 
 Probably Volodja was losing, for the gentleman, 
 looking into his cards, made the remark that Voldemar 
 Petrovitch was awfully unlucky ; and Doubkoff, 
 getting out his pocket-book, made an entry in it, and 
 showing the note he had made in the book to 
 Volodja, asked : 
 
 ‘ Is it so ?’ 
 
 ‘Quite right,’ said Volodja, looking with feigned 
 abstraction at the book. ‘ Now let us go.’ 
 
 Volodja went with Doubkoff ; Dimitri took me in 
 his vehicle. 
 
 ‘ What game did they play ?’ asked I, addressing 
 Dimitri. 
 
 ‘ Piquet. A stupid game ; indeed, it is always 
 stupid to play cards.’ 
 
 ‘ And do they play high ?’ 
 
 ‘ No ; but it is wrong all the same/ 
 
 ‘ Do you not play ?’ 
 
 ‘ No, I gave my word never to play ; and Doubkoff 
 always wins.’ 
 
 ‘ But that is very wrong of him,’ said I. ‘ I suppose 
 Volodja does not play as well as he does ?’ 
 
 * Of course it is wrong ; but there is nothing par- 
 ticularly bad in it. Doubkoff likes to play, and 
 
316 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 knows how to play ; and on the whole he is an ex- 
 cellent fellow/ 
 
 ‘ But I did not mean . . / said I. 
 
 ‘ And no one ought to think any harm of him, for he 
 is indeed a splendid fellow. And I am fond of him, 
 and always shall be, notwithstanding his weakness.’ 
 
 For some reason it seemed to me, just because 
 Dimitri took the part of Doubkoff so eagerly, that he 
 did not like him and did not feel any esteem for him, 
 but would not admit it out of obstinacy, and in order 
 not to give anybody the right to accuse him of in- 
 constancy. He was one of those people who love 
 their friends for life, not exactly for the reason that 
 these friends are always lovable, but because, if they 
 once like a man, they consider it dishonest to cease 
 loving him. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 I RECEIVE THE CONGRATULATIONS OF MY FRIENDS. 
 
 Doubkoff and Volodja knew all the people at Yar’s 
 by name, and all from the porter to the proprietor 
 treated them with great respect. We were im- 
 mediately ushered into a separate room, and a wonder- 
 fully fine dinner, chosen by Doubkoff from the French 
 bill of fare, was served up. A bottle of champagne, 
 at which I tried to look as indifferently as possible, 
 was already prepared. The dinner was very pleasant 
 and lively, although Doubkoff, as usual, told many 
 strange stories, relating them as facts ; as, for instance, 
 that his grandmother had killed three highwaymen 
 
/ RECEIVE CONGRATULATIONS . 
 
 3i7 
 
 with a musket when the latter had attacked her. Here 
 I blushed, and, casting down my eyes, turned away 
 from him. Volodja looked rather nervous every time 
 I began to speak, but he had no need to fear, for I 
 did not say anything to be ashamed of as far as I 
 remember. When the champagne was served all 
 wished me joy, and we drank * Bruderschaft,’* as the 
 Germans say, interwining our arms and kissing each 
 other. As I did not know whose the bottle of cham- 
 pagne was (it belonged to us all, as I was afterwards 
 told), and wished to stand my friends some from my 
 own money, which I was incessantly fingering in my 
 pocket, I quietly took out a ten-rouble note, and, 
 calling the waiter, I gave him the money, and in a 
 whisper that was perfectly audible, for all were looking 
 at me in silence, told him to be kind enough to bring 
 just a half- bottle of champagne more. Volodja 
 blushed, looking both ashamed and frightened, so that 
 I felt I had made a mistake, but the half-bottle was 
 brought, and we emptied it with great pleasure. The 
 evening continued to be very merry. Doubkoff went 
 on telling his stories, and Volodja also said such funny 
 things, and said them much better than I had expected 
 of him, that we laughed a great deal, their wit — that 
 is, Volodja and Doubkoff’s — consisting in imitating 
 and amplifying the well-known anecdote. ‘ Have you 
 been abroad ?’ asks one. * No, I have not/ answers 
 the other ; ‘ but my brother plays the violin.’ In 
 this kind of comical nonsense they reached such a 
 pitch of perfection that one of them even made this 
 
 * ‘Brotherhood/ a toast which pledged us to a mutual 
 friendship. 
 
3i8 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 very witty reply : ‘ My brother never played the violin, 
 either/ They answered every question in a similar 
 way, or, without any questions or answers, managed to 
 combine two most incongruously absurd things, saying 
 it all with grave faces, which made what they said 
 still more laughable. I began to understand in what 
 the fun lay, and wished to say something comical too ; 
 but all looked queerly at me, or tried not to look at 
 me at all, while I was speaking, so my anecdote fell 
 quite flat. Doubkofif said : ‘ You are talking at 
 random, my young diplomatist’ ; but I felt so elated by 
 the champagne I had drunk, and by being in company 
 with grown-up men, that this remark affected me but 
 slightly. Dimitri alone, though he had taken just as 
 much wine as we had, continued in his rigid, serious 
 humour, which to some extent checked the general 
 merriment. 
 
 ‘Now then, listen, gentlemen,’ said Doubkoff. ‘After 
 dinner, of course, we must take the diplomatist into 
 our hands. Let us go to “ auntie’s,” and take him 
 there too.’ 
 
 ‘ But Neklioudofif won’t go,’ said Volodja. 
 
 ‘ What an unbearably meek-minded person, thou 
 abominable meek man !’ said Doubkoff, addressing 
 him. ‘ Come along with us ; thou wilt see that 
 “auntie ” is an excellent lady.’ 
 
 ‘ I shall not go, neither shall I let him go,’ replied 
 Dimitri, reddening. 
 
 ‘ Whom — the diplomatist ? But wouldn’t you like 
 to go, diplomatist ? Look how his eyes brighten at 
 the mere mention of “ auntie.” ’ 
 
 ‘ It is not that I shall not let him go,’ continued 
 
I RECEIVE CONGRATULATIONS. 
 
 3'9 
 
 Dimitri, rising from his seat and walking up and down 
 the room without looking at me ; ‘ but I advise him 
 not to go ; I should not like him to do so. He is no 
 child any longer, and if he wish, he can go there by 
 himself without you, and you ought to be ashamed 
 of yourself, Doubkofif ; when you do wrong, you want 
 others to do the same/ 
 
 ‘ What is there wrong/ said Doubkofif winking at 
 Volodja, ‘in my inviting you all to come to “ auntie’s” 
 for a cup of tea ? But if it does not please you, all 
 right. We shall go with Volodja. Volodja, wilt thou 
 come ?’ 
 
 ‘ H’m, h’m V said Volodja affirmatively; ‘let us 
 take a drive there, and then we can come back to my 
 place and continue our game at piquet.’ 
 
 ‘ Well, dost thou want to go with them or not ?* 
 said Dimitri, stepping up to me. 
 
 ‘ No,’ said- I, moving on the sofa, so as to give him 
 a seat close to me, which he took ; ‘ I do not care 
 about it, and if thou advisest me not, I shall certainly 
 not go.’ 
 
 ‘ No,’ added I, after a moment’s silence ; ‘ it would 
 not be the truth were I to say I have no wish to go 
 with them ; yet I am very glad that I am not going.’ 
 
 ‘ Excellent,’ said he ; ‘it is always best to live 
 according to our own tastes, and not to be at any- 
 body’s beck and call/ 
 
 This little quarrel did not disturb our pleasure, but 
 even increased it. Dimitri’s mood suddenly changed 
 to the meek one I liked in him. As I afterwards 
 often noticed, the consciousness of having performed 
 a good action always had a similar effect upon him. 
 
320 
 
 YOUTH . 
 
 He was pleased with himself for having saved me. 
 He became extremely merry, ordered another bottle 
 of champagne (which was against his principles), 
 brought a strange gentleman into our room, and began 
 to treat him, sang Gaiideamns igitur , asked us all to 
 join him, and proposed to take a drive to Sokolniki * 
 — a proposal that Doubkoff found rather ‘ too senti- 
 mental/ as he said. 
 
 ‘ Let us enjoy ourselves to-day/ said Dimitri, 
 smiling ; ‘ in honour of his having entered the university 
 I shall get tipsy for the first time/ This merry mood 
 suited Dimitri particularly well. He was like a tutor 
 or a kind father, who, pleased with his children, gets 
 quite merry with them, and at the same time proves 
 that one can enjoy one’s self both honestly and de- 
 cently. Nevertheless, his sudden joyousness acted 
 infectiously upon me and the others — the more so as 
 each of us had already drunk almost half a bottle of 
 champagne. 
 
 In such pleasant spirits, I went out into the large 
 room in order to light a cigarette, which had been 
 given me by Doubkoff. 
 
 As I rose from my seat, I noticed that my head 
 went round a little, and that my feet moved and my 
 hands kept their natural position only when I fixedly 
 thought of them. Otherwise, my feet seemed to be 
 slipping to one side or the other, while my hands 
 moved about awkwardly. I directed all my atten- 
 tion to them, ordered my hands to button my coat 
 and to smooth my hair (in doing which my elbows 
 rose awfully high), forced my feet to pass through the 
 * Sokolniki, a fine park in the environs of Moscow, 
 
THE QUARREL. 
 
 321 
 
 door, which they did, stepping rather too firmly, or 
 too gently, especially my left foot, which stood on tip- 
 toe all the time. A voice shouted to me : 
 
 Where are you going ? Wait till they bring a 
 candle/ 
 
 I recognised the voice to be Volodja’s, and the idea 
 that I had found this out pleased me ; but in reply 
 to him I only smiled slightly and went on. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 THE QUARREL. 
 
 In the large room sat a robust gentleman of small 
 stature, with reddish moustache, at a small table, eating 
 something. Beside him sat a tail, dark, beardless 
 gentleman. They were talking French. Their looks 
 confused me, yet I resolved to light my cigarette at 
 the burning candle that stood before them. Looking 
 on all sides, in order to avoid meeting their gaze, I 
 appproached the table to light the cigarette. When 
 it was lighted, I could not refrain from looking at 
 the gentleman who was dining. His gray eyes were 
 fixed malevolently upon me. I was about to turn 
 away, when his red moustache began to move, and he 
 said in French : ‘ Sir, I do not like anybody to 
 smoke when I am having my dinner/ 
 
 I muttered something rather incomprehensible. 
 ‘Yes, sir, I do not like it,’ sternly continued the 
 gentleman with the moustache, casting a fugitive 
 look at the beardless gentleman, as if inviting him to 
 notice the way in which he would settle me: ‘I do 
 
 21 
 
322 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 not like it, nor do I like those who are so unmannerly 
 as to come and puff smoke into a gentleman’s face — 
 I do not like it, sir.’ 
 
 I immediately understood that the gentleman was 
 giving me a scolding, and at first it seemed to me 
 that I was very much in the wrong. 
 
 ‘ I did not think it would disturb you/ said I. 
 
 ‘ Oh, you did not think that you were very rude, 
 but I think so !’ shouted the gentleman. 
 
 ‘ What right have you to shout thus?’ said I, feeling 
 that he had insulted me, and getting angry myself. 
 
 ‘ I have the right never to allow anybody to behave 
 thus towards me, and shall always give a lesson to 
 lads like you. What is your name, sir ? and where do 
 you live ?’ 
 
 I got very angry ; my lips trembled and my breath 
 failed me. But yet I felt myself in the wrong, 
 somehow, perhaps for having drunk too much cham- 
 pagne, and did not say anything rude to the gentle- 
 man, but, on the contrary, my lips most humbly gave 
 my name and address. 
 
 ‘ My name is Kolpikoff, sir, and I request you will 
 be more polite in future. You shall hear from me 
 shortly’ (‘ Vous aurez de mes nouvelles ’), added he, 
 the conversation having been carried on in French. 
 
 I only said ‘ Very pleased/ trying to make my voice 
 firm, turned round, and with the cigarette, which by 
 this time had gone out, in my mouth, returned to our 
 room. 
 
 I did not mention what had happened to me either 
 to my brother or to my friends, the more so as 
 they were engaged in an eager discussion. I took a 
 
THE QUARREL. 
 
 323 
 
 seat in the corner, deliberating on the strange afiair. 
 The words ‘ You are rude, sir ’ (‘ Un mal eleve, mon- 
 sieur ’), were sounding in my ears, rousing my indigna- 
 tion more and more. I had totally recovered from 
 my inebriety. When I pondered over the way I had 
 acted in this affair, the awful thought suddenly struck 
 me that I had acted like a coward. What right had he 
 to insult me ? Why did not he simply say that it 
 annoyed him ? Consequently he was in the wrong ? 
 Why then, when he called me rude, did I not say to 
 him, ‘ A rude person, sir, is one that takes the liberty 
 to be impertinent ’ ? or why did I not simply shout 
 out, ‘ Hold your tongue V It would have been a very 
 good thing; why didn’t I challenge him? No! 
 I did nothing of the kind, but bore the insult like 
 a mean coward. ‘ You are rude, sir,’ continually 
 sounded provokingly in my ears. ‘No, I cannot 
 leave the matter thus,’ thought I, and rose with the 
 firm intention of going again to the gentleman and 
 saying something dreadful to him ; perhaps flinging 
 a candle at his head, if I could manage to do so. 
 I thought of doing so with delight ; but it was not 
 without trepidation that I again entered the large room. 
 Fortunately, Mr. Kolpikoff had already left ; a waiter 
 was alone in the room, clearing the table. I felt 
 inclined to tell the waiter what had happened, and to 
 explain to him that I had not been wrong in the 
 least, but I changed my mind, and returned to our 
 room in a most gloomy state of mind. 
 
 ‘ What is the matter with our diplomatist ?’ said 
 Doubkoff ; ‘he is probably deciding the fate of 
 Europe.’ 
 
 21 — 2 
 
324 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 1 Oh, leave me alone, do !’ said I surlily, turning 
 away. 
 
 After this, I commenced walking up and down the 
 room, and somehow began to think that Doubkoff 
 was not at all a good fellow. ‘ And what do his end- 
 less jokes mean? and, then, why is he always calling 
 me “ diplomatist ” ? There is nothing amiable in that. 
 He only cares about winning money from Volodja at 
 cards, and going to see some “ auntie.” . . . There is 
 nothing nice about him. Everything he says is either 
 a lie or something silly ; and, then, he is so fond of 
 laughing at people. It seems to me that he is 
 nothing but a fool, and a bad man besides.’ I sat 
 musing thus for about five minutes, and the longer I 
 thought about Doubkoff, the more inimical did my 
 feelings towards him become. Doubkoff, however, 
 paid no attention to me — a circumstance that annoyed 
 me still more. I even felt angry with Volodja and 
 Dimitri for talking with him. 
 
 ‘ I say, gentlemen, we must pour some water over 
 the diplomatist,’ suddenly said Doubkoff, looking at 
 me with a smile, which seemed to me a mocking and 
 even a perfidious one; ‘he is top-heavy! By Jove, 
 he is !’ 
 
 ‘ You want a ducking yourself ; you are no better 
 yourself,’ said I, with an angry smile, forgetting that 
 we had agreed to say ‘ thou ’ to each other. 
 
 My answer must have surprised him ; but he turned 
 away from me with an air of indifference, and went 
 on talking with Volodja and Dimitri. 
 
 I tried to take part in their conversation, but I felt 
 that I could not possibly feign friendship, and again 
 
THE QUARREL. 
 
 325 
 
 went to my corner, where I remained until the very 
 moment of my departure. 
 
 When we went to put on our over-coats, after 
 having settled the account, Doubkoff addressed 
 Dimitri : ‘Well, and where will Orestes and Pylades 
 go ? I suppose they will go home to talk about love> 
 and we shall go and visit our dear “ auntie ” — that’s 
 better than sour friendship.’ 
 
 ‘ How dare you say so, or laugh at us ?’ said I 
 suddenly, stepping very close to him and waving my 
 arms; ‘how dare you laugh at feelings which you do 
 not understand ? I shall not let you do so. Hold 
 your tongue !’ shouted I, and stopped myself, not 
 knowing what to say further, and losing my breath 
 from emotion. Doubkoff was surprised at first ; 
 then he tried to smile as if it were a joke, and then, 
 to my great astonishment, he looked frightened and 
 cast down his eyes. 
 
 ‘ I am not laughing at you or your feelings at all. 
 I was only joking/ said he evasively. 
 
 ‘ Oh, indeed !’ shouted I ; but at that time a feeling 
 of shame for myself and pity for Doubkoff, whose 
 red, confused face expressed real pain, came over me. 
 
 ‘What is the matter with you?’ said Volodja and 
 Dimitri together ; ‘ nobody had any idea of insulting 
 you / 
 
 ‘Yes, he did — he wanted to insult me !’ 
 
 ‘ What a desperate fellow your brother is !’ said 
 Doubkoff, just as he was going out at the door, so as 
 not to hear my answer. 
 
 I should, perhaps, have run after him, and should 
 again have said something harsh to him, if the waiter, 
 
326 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 who had witnessed my affair with Kolpikofif, had not 
 just then given me my coat. I instantly grew calm, 
 only keeping up a pretence of being angry before 
 Dimitri just sufficient to prevent my sudden calm- 
 ness from appearing strange to him. On the next 
 day I met Doubkoff at Volodja’s ; we did not mention 
 the affair at all, but again said ‘ you * to each other, 
 and it became still more awkward for us to meet each 
 other’s eyes. 
 
 The remembrance of my quarrel with Kolpikoff, 
 who, by-the-bye, did not turn up and did not give me 
 de ses nouvelles/ remained very fresh and vivid in. 
 my mind for many a year. I could not help uttering 
 a groan for five years afterwards every time I remem- 
 bered the unavenged insult, and only consoled myself 
 by self-conceitedly remembering what a courageous 
 fellow I had shown myself, on the other hand, in the 
 affair with Doubkoff. It was not for a considerable 
 time afterwards that I began to look upon the 
 matter in a different light, recollected my quarrel 
 with Kolpikofif with a kind of comical pleasure, and 
 repented of the undeserved abuse I had given that 
 good fellow Doubkoff. 
 
 When, on the evening of the same day, I told 
 Dimitri about my adventure with Kolpikoff, whose 
 appearance I minutely described to him, he was 
 amazed. 
 
 ‘ The same man P exclaimed he ; ‘ only think, this 
 Kolpikoff is a notorious scoundrel and cheat, and a 
 coward besides, who was expelled from the regiment 
 by his brother officers, because he had his ears boxed 
 and refused to challenge the man who had struck 
 
THE QUARREL. 
 
 327 
 
 him. How did he manage to pluck up his courage, I 
 wonder ?* added he, with a kind smile, looking at me. 
 ‘ But he did not say anything to you except “Rude 
 fellow !” did he ?’ 
 
 ‘ Yes, he did !’ replied I, blushing. 
 
 ‘ That is a bad job ; well — but never mind !’ said 
 Dimitri soothingly. 
 
 It was not for a considerable time afterwards, on 
 quietly considering the circumstance, that I came to 
 a fairly just conclusion — viz., that Kolpikoff, feeling 
 that I might be attacked with impunity, had avenged 
 upon me the insult he had received in the presence of 
 the dark gentleman with moustaches, in the same 
 way as I, immediately afterwards, had avenged his 
 expression of ‘ Rude fellow !’ upon the innocent 
 Doubkoff. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 I PREPARE TO MAKE SEVERAL CALLS. 
 
 When I awoke the next morning, my first thought 
 was about my adventure with Kolpikoff; again I 
 groaned, and began pacing up and down the room, 
 but there was nothing to be done ; besides, it was my 
 last day in Moscow, and my father had desired me to 
 pay several visits, and had himself written down a list 
 of the people upon whom I ought to call. My father 
 was not as anxious about our morals or our education 
 as about our observing the laws of good-breeding. On 
 the paper was written, in his broken, rapid hand- 
 writing: ‘ i. Prince Ivan Ivanovitch, by all means; 
 
328 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 2. Ivins, by all means; 3. Prince Michael; 4. 
 Princess Nekliofudoff and Valahins, if you have 
 time ; and, of course, the president, the rector, and 
 the professors.’ 
 
 Dimitri did not advise me to pay the latter visits, 
 saying that it was not only unnecessary, but would not 
 even be the correct thing, but all the other visits had to 
 be paid that day. The two first, to which the words 
 f by all means ’ were adjoined, made me feel nervous. 
 Prince Ivan Ivanovitch was a general-in-chief, an old 
 man, wealthy, and quite alone ; so that I, a student 
 of sixteen, would have to be with him on terms which 
 I felt beforehand could not be flattering to me. The 
 Ivins were also wealthy people, and their father was 
 a general, and had called upon us only once, when 
 grandmother was alive. After the death of our 
 grandmother. I noticed that the younger Ivin avoided 
 us, and seemed to be giving himself airs. The eldest, 
 as I was told, had already finished his course of 
 jurisprudence, and was in St. Petersburg; the second, 
 Sergius, whom I had formerly almost worshipped, 
 was also in Petersburg, a tall plump cadet in the 
 corps des pages. 
 
 In my youth I not only disliked having anything 
 to do with people who considered themselves my 
 superiors, but even found it intolerably disagreeable, 
 for I was constantly afraid of having my feelings 
 wounded, and had to strain all my mental powers in 
 order to prove my independence. However, as I was 
 not going to pay all the visits my father had enjoined 
 me to do, this had to be atoned for by my paying the 
 three first immediately. I was walking about the 
 
/ PREPARE TO MAKE SEVERAL CALLS. 3 29 
 
 room examining my clothes, which were spread out 
 on chairs, my sword and hat were ready, when old 
 Grap came to me with his congratulations, bringing 
 Iliinka with him. Mr. Grap was a Russianized 
 German, unbearably fawning, flattering, and very often 
 flushed with wine ; he usually visited us only for the 
 purpose of asking for something, and my father some- 
 times invited him to his private room, but he never 
 was asked to dine at our table. His humility and 
 constant habit of begging went hand-in-hand with so 
 much external kind-heartedness and attachment to 
 our house, that all believed him to be really attached 
 to us ; but for some reason or other I did not like 
 him, and when he spoke, always felt ashamed for his 
 sake. 
 
 I was greatly displeased with the arrival of these 
 visitors, and did not even try to conceal my dis- 
 pleasure. I was so accustomed to look down upon 
 Iliinka, and he was so used to consider that we had a 
 right to do so, that it was rather disagreeable to me 
 to remember that he, too, was a student. It seemed 
 to me that he also felt somewhat ashamed of this 
 equality. I coolly shook hands with my visitors 
 without offering them a seat ; I felt ashamed to do so, 
 thinking that they could take a seat just as well 
 without my saying anything, and ordered my horse 
 to be harnessed. Iliinka was a kind-hearted, very 
 honest, and very clever young fellow, but he was what 
 may be called a whimsical man ; he always seemed 
 to be in some extremity without any ostensible 
 reason — either ready to weep, or to laugh, or to be 
 put out by any trifle ; now he seemed to be in the 
 
330 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 last state. He did not speak, but looked crossly at 
 me and at his father, and it was only when addressed 
 that he smiled a humble, constrained smile, as he was 
 in the habit of doing, in order to conceal his feelings, 
 and especially the feeling of shame for his father 
 which he could not help experiencing in our 
 presence. 
 
 ‘ So, so, Nicolas Petrovitch,’ said the old man, ad- 
 dressing me, following me up and down the room 
 while I was dressing, and deferentially and slowly 
 twisting and turning about in his plump fingers a 
 silver snuff-box, given him as a present by my grand- 
 mother. As soon as ever I heard from my son of 
 your having passed such a brilliant examination — 
 but, then, we all know how clever you are — I came up 
 to wish you joy, sir ; I used to carry you about on my 
 shoulder, and God knows that I love you all as if you 
 were relations of mine, and my Iliinka has been 
 longing to see you. He also is so fond of you all/ 
 
 All this time Iliinka sat silently at the window, as 
 if contemplating my three-cornered hat, and mutter- 
 ing something angrily to himself. 
 
 ‘ Then I wanted to ask you, Nicolas Petrovitch,’ 
 continued the old man, ‘how my Iliinka underwent 
 his examination. He told me he would be your 
 fellow-student ; pray be kind to him, look after him, 
 and help him with your advice.’ 
 
 ‘ Indeed, he has passed splendidly,’ replied I, 
 casting a look at Iliinka, who, feeling that I was 
 looking at him, blushed and ceased moving his 
 lips. 
 
 ‘ And may he spend the day with you ?’ said the 
 
I PREPARE TO MAKE SEVERAL CALLS. 331 
 
 old man with a timid smile, as if he were very much 
 afraid of me, and yet following me so closely wherever I 
 went, and keeping so near me, that the smell of wine 
 and tobacco, in which he was entirely steeped, did not 
 leave me for a second. I felt vexed with him, both 
 for having placed me in a false position towards his 
 son, and for having drawn my attention from a most 
 important item in my estimation — viz., my dressing ; 
 but the chief reason was that the smell of wine and 
 smoke, with which his whole person seemed im- 
 pregnated, put me out, and I answered, coldly, that I 
 could not ask Iliinka to stay, as I was going out for 
 the whole day. 
 
 ‘ But you wanted to go and see my sister, father/ 
 said Iliinka, smiling and not looking at me ; ‘and I 
 have something to do, too.’ I felt still more angry, 
 still more ashamed of myself, and as if to soften my 
 refusal, hastily said that I could not be at home, be- 
 cause I had to call upon Prince Ivan Ivanovitch, 
 Princess Kornakofif, Mr. Ivin, who held an important 
 office in the state, and that I should probably dine at 
 the Princess Neklioudoff’s. I supposed, on hearing 
 what grand people I was going to see, my visitors 
 could not take umbrage at my leaving them. When 
 they were going away, I asked Iliinka to come and 
 see me some other day, but he only muttered a few 
 inaudible words with a constrained smile. It was 
 evident to me that he would never darken my doors 
 again. 
 
 As soon as they were gone, I started on my rounds. 
 I had that morning asked Volodja to come with me ; 
 I should then have felt much more at my ease, but he 
 
332 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 refused, under the pretext that it would be much too 
 touching a thing for two brothers to go driving together 
 in the same gig. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 THE VALAHINS. 
 
 So I set off alone. The first visit that lay in my route 
 was to the Valahins, in Sivtzy-Vrajek. I had not 
 seen Sonitchka for the last three years, and my love 
 for her had, of course, ceased long ago, yet there was 
 still in my heart a lively and feeling remembrance of 
 my past, childish love. It had happened more than 
 once, in the course of these three years, that thoughts 
 of her had returned to me with such force and clear- 
 ness that I had actually shed tears, and felt that 
 again I loved her ; but the feeling had been but a 
 transitory one, and did not often recur. 
 
 I had heard that Sonitchka had been abroad with 
 her mother ; that they had spent about two years 
 there ; that a stage-coach had been overturned as they 
 were travelling, and the glass of the window-pane had 
 cut Sonitchka’s face, so that she was not as pretty as 
 she had been. As I was driving along, I thought of 
 Sonitchka such as she had been when last I saw her, 
 and how I should find her looking now. I do not 
 know why I expected, after her two years’ residence 
 abroad, to find her extremely tall, with a fine figure, 
 a grave and stately manner, but with something 
 wonderfully attractive about her. My imagination 
 refused to picture her to myself with disfiguring scars 
 
THE V A LA H INS. 
 
 333 
 
 on her face ; or, rather, having heard somewhere of a 
 passionate lover who had remained faithful to his love 
 after she had been all scarred by small-pox, I tried to 
 persuade myself that I was still in love with Sonitchka, 
 in order to have the merit of being faithful to her in 
 spite of her scars. Driving to the house, though not 
 in love, I tried hard to rouse my former feelings — was 
 ready to love her again and longed to do so ; the 
 more so as I felt very much ashamed of being behind- 
 hand with my friends, who had each some attachment 
 of the kind. 
 
 The Valahins lived in a small, clean-looking 
 wooden house in a court-yard. When I had rung 
 the bell, a rarity in Moscow in those days, the door 
 was opened by a tiny, neatly-dressed boy. He did 
 not know, or he would not tell me, whether his mistress 
 was at home, and leaving me alone in the dark 
 entrance hall, he ran into a still darker passage. 
 
 I remained for some time in the dark hall, in which, 
 besides the street-door and the one leading into the 
 passage, there was another door, which was closed, 
 and partly wondering at the gloomy appearance of 
 the house, partly supposing that it was just what it 
 ought to be in the dwellings of people who had been 
 abroad. About five minutes had elapsed, when the 
 door of the principal hall was opened from the inside 
 by the same boy, and he led me into a tidy, though 
 not richly furnished, reception-room, where I found 
 Sonitchka. 
 
 She 'was seventeen. She was short of stature, very 
 thin, and her complexion was sallow and sickly. 
 There were no scars to be seen on her face, but the 
 
334 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 beautiful large eyes and the bright, kind-hearted, 
 cheerful smile were the same I had known and loved 
 in my boyhood. I had not expected to find her as 
 she was, and therefore I was by no means able to 
 pour out the feelings which I had prepared on my 
 way. She offered me her hand in the English way, 
 which at that time was just as rare as the bell, pressed 
 my hand frankly, and offered me a $eat beside her. 
 
 ‘ Oh, how glad I am to see you, dear Nicolas !’ 
 said she, looking into my face with such a sincere ex- 
 pression of joy, that in the words ‘dear Nicolas’ I 
 noticed a friendly, and not a patronizing, tone. 
 
 I was amazed to find that after her travels abroad 
 she had become still more simple, more amiable, and 
 more friendly in her manners than before. I noticed 
 two slight scars about her nose and on one eyebrow ; 
 but the charming eyes and the smile were just as I 
 remembered them, and they were as bright as they 
 had been. 
 
 ‘ How you have altered !’ said she ; ‘ you are quite 
 grown up. But I — how do you find me ?’ 
 
 ‘ Oh, I shouldn’t have recognised you !’ answerd I, 
 thinking at the same time that I should always have 
 recognised her. 
 
 I was again in the carelessly-jovial humour of five 
 years ago, when I had danced with her at the ball 
 given by her grandmother. 
 
 ‘ Have I grown so very ugly, then ?’ asked she, 
 shaking her head. 
 
 ‘ No, not at all ; you have grown a little, you are 
 older,’ I hastened to reply. ‘ But, on the contrary . . . 
 and even . . .’ 
 
THE VALAHINS. 
 
 335 
 
 * Well, never mind. But do you recollect our 
 dances and games — St. Jerome, Madame Dorat?’ (I did 
 not recollect any Madame Dorat ; she was evidently 
 carried away by the delight of her recollections of our 
 childhood, and had confused them). ‘Oh, it was a 
 glorious time !’ continued she, and I saw the same 
 smile, even more charming than the one I had kept in 
 my memory, and the same eyes were shining brightly 
 before me. 
 
 While she was talking, I had time to realize the 
 state I was in at that minute, and I settled in 
 my mind that I was in love. The very moment I felt 
 convinced of that, my happy, careless spirits left me ; 
 a mist spread over all — even over her eyes and her 
 smile — and I felt somewhat ashamed ; I blushed, and 
 was unable to utter a word. 
 
 ‘ Now times are changed,’ continued she, sighing, 
 and raising her eyebrows a little ; c everything is worse, 
 and we are worse ourselves — are we not, Nicolas ?’ 
 I could not answer, and looked at her in silence. 
 ‘ Where are now the Ivins, the Kornakoffs ? Do you 
 remember?’ continued she, looking with some curiosity 
 at my blushing, frightened face. ‘ It was a fine time !’ 
 
 I was unable to answer a word. 
 
 From this depressed state I was relieved for a time 
 by old Mrs. Valahin, who entered the room. I rose, 
 bowed, and recovered the use of my tongue ; but, on 
 the other hand, upon the entrance of her mother, a 
 strange change took place in Sonitchka. All her 
 cheerfulness and familiarity vanished suddenly, even 
 her smile changed, and all at once she changed into the 
 dignified, stately young lady who had arrived from 
 
336 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 abroad — just what I had expected to find her. It 
 seemed impossible to account for such a sudden 
 change, for her mother was smiling pleasantly, and 
 her manners were just as kind as they had been. 
 Mrs. Valahin took a seat on the big armchair, and 
 motioned me to take a seat near her. She said 
 something in English to her daughter, and Sonitchka 
 left the room ; this made me feel more at my ease. 
 Mrs. Valahin inquired after my relations, my brother, 
 my father ; then she told me about her grief — the 
 loss of her husband ; then at last, seeing there was 
 nothing else to talk about, she silently looked at me, 
 as if to say, ‘ It would be a good thing if you were 
 now to rise, say good-bye, and go.’ But a strange cir- 
 cumstance happened just then. Sonitchka had re- 
 entered the room with some needlework, and had 
 taken a seat in the other corner of the reception-room, 
 so that I felt her eyes upon me. While Mrs. Vala- 
 hin was telling me about the loss of her husband, I 
 remembered once more that I was in love, and 
 thought that the mother very likely guessed it too ; 
 and I again fell into such a fit of bashfulness, that I 
 felt unable to move any one of my limbs naturally. 
 I knew that in order to rise and to leave I should 
 have to think where I was to put my feet, what I was 
 to do with my head, with my hands — in short, I felt 
 almost as I had done the day before, after having 
 drunk half a bottle of champagne. I saw clearly that 
 I should be unable to get out of the room without 
 awkwardness, and therefore did not rise — in fact, I 
 could not rise. Mrs. Valahin was probably wonder- 
 ing why I did not go, while looking at my red face 
 
THE VALAHINS 
 
 337 
 
 and my immovability. But I resolved to remain in 
 that absurd position, rather than risk rising awk- 
 wardly. I remained in this position pretty long, ex- 
 pecting some unforeseen circumstance to help me out 
 of the dilemma. The circumstance presented itself in 
 the personage of a very plain young man, who 
 familiarly entered the room and bowed politely to 
 me. Mrs. Valahin rose, apologizing that she had to 
 speak with her ‘ homme d’affairs,’ and looked at me 
 with a perplexed expression, as much as to say, 
 
 ‘ Well, if you are inclined to sit for ever, I cannot turn 
 you out.’ I rose at last with a great effort, but was 
 perfectly unable to make my bow, and walking out, 
 followed by the pitying looks of both mother and 
 daughter, I stumbled against a chair which did not 
 stand in my way at all, simply because all my atten- 
 tion was directed towards the carpet, being afraid to 
 catch my feet in it. In the fresh air, however, after 
 giving myself a shake, and groaning so loud that 
 even Kousma asked me several times, ‘ What were you 
 pleased to say, sir ?’ the feeling was dispelled, and I 
 began to think more calmly of my love for Sonitchka, 
 and of the terms on which she seemed to stand with 
 her mother, and which appeared rather strange to me. 
 When I afterwards told my father what I thought of 
 the bad terms on which Mrs. Valahin and her daughter 
 were, he said : 
 
 ‘Yes, she torments the poor girl by her dreadful 
 stinginess ; and how strange it is !’ added he, with 
 more feeling than could have been excited by a senti- 
 ment of relationship alone. ‘ What a charming, 
 amiable, beautiful woman she used to be ! I cannot 
 
 22 
 
338 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 make out why she has changed thus. Have you seen 
 a secretary of hers there ? And what an idea for a 
 Russian lady to have a secretary !’ said he, angrily 
 turning away from me. 
 
 ‘ I have seen him/ replied I. 
 
 ‘ And is he handsome, at any rate ?’ 
 
 ‘No, not even good-looking.’ 
 
 ‘ It is incomprehensible/ said father angrily, shrug- 
 ging his shoulders. 
 
 ‘ There, now I am in love also/ thought I, driving 
 along in my droshki. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE KORNAKOFFS. 
 
 The second visit was to the Kornakoffs. They 
 lived on the first-floor of a large house on the Arbat.* 
 The entrance was extremely grand, and in the greatest 
 order, though not very rich. There were narrow 
 strips of carpeting everywhere, all fastened with 
 cleanly polished stair-wires, but no flowers or look- 
 ing-glasses. The large hall with its brightly polished 
 floor, which I crossed in order to get to the reception- 
 room, was also strictly, coldly and tidily furnished ; 
 everything glittered and seemed solid, though not 
 quite new ; but there were no pictures, no curtains, 
 no ornaments to be seen anywhere. Some of the 
 daughters were sitting in the reception-room. They 
 sat so upright, and looked so stately, that one could 
 
 * A street in Moscow. 
 
THE KORNAKOFFS. 
 
 339 
 
 not help noticing it and thinking that they did not sit 
 thus when they had no visitors to entertain. 
 
 ‘Mamma will be here presently,’ said the eldest; 
 seating herself closer to me. For about a quarter of 
 an hour the young princess entertained me with 
 her conversation, very freely, and so well that the 
 talk did not flag for a second. But it was too 
 evident that she was entertaining me, and, therefore, 
 I did not like her. She told me, by the way, that 
 their brother Stephen, whom they called Etienne, and 
 who had been sent two years ago to a military school, 
 had already become an officer. When she told me 
 about her brother, and especially about his having 
 entered the hussar regiment against his mother’s 
 will, her face wore a startled look, and all the younger 
 princesses, who were sitting silently by, looked 
 startled too; when she spoke of the death of their 
 grandmother, she made a mournful face, and all the 
 younger princesses did the same ; when she recollected 
 how I once hit St. Jerome and was led out, she began 
 to laugh, thereby showing her ugly teeth, and all 
 the younger princesses began to laugh too, and showed 
 their ugly teeth. 
 
 The princess-mother entered ; the same short, thin 
 woman, with restless eyes, which always used to look 
 at others while she was talking to you. She shook 
 hands with me, and then raised her hand to my lips 
 in order to let me kiss it, a thing I should otherwise 
 never have done, finding it quite unnecessary. 
 
 ‘ How pleased I am to see you !’ said she, in her 
 usual way, looking at her daughter. ‘ Oh, how like 
 his mamma he is ! Isn’t he, Lise ?’ 
 
 22—2 
 
340 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 Lise acquiesced, though I knew perfectly well that 
 there was not the slightest likeness between my 
 mother and myself. 
 
 ‘ So now you are a grown-up man already ! And 
 my Etienne, do you remember him ? but he is your 
 second cousin . . . no, not exactly a second cousin ; 
 how is it, Lise ? My mother was Varvara Dimitrievna, 
 the daughter of Dimitri Nicolaevitch, and your grand- 
 mother was Natalia Nicolaevna.’ 
 
 ‘ Third cousin then, mamma/ said the eldest 
 daughter. 
 
 ‘ Oh, you are always contusing things !’ exclaimed 
 the mother angrily ; ‘ not second cousin at all, but 
 “ issu de germain ” — that is how you are related to 
 my Etienne. He is already an officer, you know? 
 It is a pity that he has too much liberty already. 
 You young people ought to be kept in check, so. . . . 
 You are not angry with me, your old aunt, for telling 
 you the truth ? I was very strict with Etienne, and 
 find that strictness is absolutely necessary. 
 
 ‘ Yes, that is how we are relations/ continued she ; 
 ‘ Prince Ivan Ivanovitch is my uncle, and was your 
 mother’s uncle. Consequently your mother and 
 myself were cousins — no, second cousins ; yes, that is 
 it. But pray tell me, my young friend, have you 
 called upon Prince Ivan ?’ 
 
 I said that I had not, but that I was going to do 
 so that very day. 
 
 ‘ Oh !’ exclaimed she, £ your first visit ought to 
 have been to him. Do you not know that Prince 
 Ivan is the same as a father to you ? He has no 
 children, and consequently you and my children are 
 
THE KORNAKOFFS. 
 
 341 
 
 his only heirs. You must respect him for his age, 
 his position in the world, and for everything in general. 
 I know you young people of the present age ; you 
 think nothing of kindred ties, and do not care for old 
 people ; but listen to me, to your old aunt, for I love 
 you and loved your mamma, and your grandmother 
 too — I loved and esteemed her very much indeed. 
 Call upon him by all means ; mind you do.’ 
 
 I said I should do so without fail, and as I found 
 my visit had lasted long enough, I rose and was 
 about to leave when she stopped me. 
 
 ‘No, wait a minute. Where is your father, Lise? 
 ask him to come here ; he will be so glad to see you/ 
 continued she, addressing me. 
 
 Two minutes afterwards Prince Michael entered. 
 He was a stout but not very tall man, his dress 
 slovenly, his beard unshaven, and with an expression 
 of indifference which made him look almost stupid. 
 He was not at all glad to see me — at least, he did not 
 seem to be. But the princess, of whom he was evi- 
 dently very much afraid, said to him, ‘ Isn’t Voldemar ’ 
 (she had forgotten my name) ‘ very like his mother ?’ 
 and made a sign with her eyes, so that the prince, 
 probably guessing what she meant, stepped up to 
 me, and with a most apathetic, even displeased ex- 
 pression in his face, turned his unshaved cheek for me 
 to kiss. 
 
 ‘You are not dressed yet, and you have to go out/ 
 then said the princess to him in an /angry tone, 
 which she evidently used in addressing everyone in 
 the family. ‘ You want people to be angry with you 
 again ; you want to set everybody against you again.’ 
 
342 
 
 YOUTH . 
 
 ‘ I shall be ready directly, directly, my dear,’ said 
 Prince Michael, and left the room. I made my bow 
 and left also. 
 
 I had heard for the first time that we were the heirs 
 of Prince Ivan Ivanovitch, and the news struck me 
 disagreeably. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE IVINS. 
 
 It became still more disagreeable to me to think that 
 I had absolutely to call upon the prince. But before 
 going there I had to visit the Ivins on my way. They 
 lived on the Tverskoje, in a large handsome house. 
 It was not without a tremor that I went up the state- 
 staircase, at the top of which stood a porter with a mace. 
 
 I asked him whether his master and mistress 
 were at home. 
 
 ‘ Whom do you wish to see ? My young master is 
 at home,’ said the porter. 
 
 ‘And the general himself?’ inquired I boldly. 
 
 ‘I will announce you. Your name?’ asked the 
 porter, as he rang a bell. 
 
 The feet of a servant in gaiters appeared on the 
 stair. I lost my courage entirely — I hardly know 
 why — and I told the servant not to announce me to the 
 general, that I would first go and see his son. When 
 I went up the wide stairs I felt as if I had grown very 
 small, not in the metaphorical, but in the true sense 
 of this word. I had experienced the same when my 
 droshki drove up to the fine entrance-door : it seemed 
 to me as if the droshki, the horse, and the coachman 
 
THE IVINS. 
 
 343 
 
 had decreased in size. The general’s son was lying 
 on a sofa with a book before him, and was asleep 
 when I entered the room. His tutor, Mr. Frost, who 
 was still in the house, walked boldly into the room 
 immediately after me and awoke his pupil. Ivin did 
 not show any particular pleasure on seeing me; and 
 I noticed that, while talking with me, he did not look 
 straight into my eyes, but looked at my eyebrows. 
 Although he was very polite, it seemed to me that he 
 also was trying to make talk for me, as the young 
 princess had done ; but that he did not feel any 
 particular liking for me, and that my acquaintance 
 was nothing to him, as he most probably had another 
 circle of friends. I seemed to understand all this, 
 especially by the way he looked at my eyebrows. 
 In short, he treated me, unpleasant as it is to confess 
 it, much the same as I treated Iliinka. My temper 
 began to rise ; I followed his every glance, and when- 
 ever his eyes met those of Frost, I interpreted the 
 look as conveying the question : ‘ What has he come 
 here for ?’ 
 
 After having talked a little with me, Ivin told me 
 that his father and mother were at home, and in- 
 quired if I would not like to come with him to see 
 them. 
 
 ‘ I shall dress immediately,’ added he, walking into 
 the next room, though he was already very well 
 dressed — he had on a new coat and a white waist- 
 coat. In a few minutes he re-entered the room, and 
 stood before me in his uniform buttoned up, and we 
 went downstairs together. The halls which we passed 
 were very large, high, and, it seemed, luxuriously fur- 
 
344 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 nished : there were several marble and gold works of 
 art, and looking-glasses, and some statues covered 
 with muslin. At the same time Mrs. Ivin entered the 
 small room next the reception-room, by another door. 
 She received me in a very friendly manner, offered 
 me a seat beside her, and inquired with much interest 
 about our whole family. 
 
 I had seen Mrs. Ivin once or twice before, but now 
 on looking attentively at her, I liked her appearance 
 very much. She was tall, thin, very white, and had a 
 sad, weary look about her. Her smile was mournful, 
 but exceedingly kind; there was a slight squint in her 
 large weary eyes, that gave her a sadder and more 
 attractive expression still. She was not exactly hunch- 
 backed, but her whole body was bent ; all her move- 
 ments expressed utter prostration of strength ; she 
 spoke indolently, but the sound of her voice and her 
 distinct pronunciation of r and / were very pleasant. 
 She did not try to entertain me. The answers I gave 
 her regarding my relations evidently saddened her, as 
 if, while listening to me, she recollected better times 
 with grief. Her son left the room ; for a few minutes 
 she sat looking silently at me, then began to weep. I 
 sat before her, and could by no means make up my 
 mind what I was to say or do. She went on weeping 
 without looking at me. At first I felt sorry for her ; 
 then I thought, * Should I not try to console her, but 
 how is it to be done ?’ and finally I began to feel 
 vexed at her putting me into such an awkward 
 position. ‘ Is it possible that I have such a piteous 
 look about me ?’ thought I ; ‘ or perhaps she does it 
 on purpose to see what I shall do.’ 
 
THE IVINS. 
 
 345 
 
 ‘ To take my leave now is awkward, it would appear 
 as if I were running away from her tears/ was my 
 inward comment. I moved on my seat, at least to 
 remind her of my presence. 
 
 ‘ Oh, how stupid I am !’ said she, looking at me, 
 and trying to smile ; 4 there are days when one weeps 
 without any reason.’ 
 
 She began to look for her handkerchief on the sofa, 
 and suddenly fell to weeping still more bitterly. 
 
 ‘ Oh dear me ! how ridiculous it is of me to weep 
 thus ! I loved your mother so much ; we were such 
 great friends . . . with . . . her . . . and . . .’ 
 
 She found her handkerchief, with which she covered 
 her face, and went on weeping. Again I found myself 
 in the same awkward position, and it lasted for a good 
 long time. I was vexed, and at the same time sorry 
 for her. Her tears seemed to be sincere, and yet I 
 kept thinking all the time that she was not weeping 
 over my mother's death, as much as because she was 
 feeling unhappy, and remembering that she had been 
 much happier before. I do not know how it would 
 have ended, if young Ivin had not come in and said 
 that his father had asked for her. She rose, and was 
 about to go, when Ivin himself entered the room. He 
 was a short, robust, gray-headed man, with bushy, 
 black eyebrows ; his hair was quite gray, and cut 
 quite short ; and the expression of his mouth ex- 
 tremely stern and firm. 
 
 I rose and bowed to him, but Ivin, with three stars 
 decorating his green dress-coat, not only did not 
 return my bow, but did not even look at me, which 
 made me suddenly feel as if I were not a human 
 
34-6 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 being, but something unworthy of attention — an arm- 
 chair or window ; or if I were a human being, then 
 one who did not differ in the least from an arm-chair 
 or window. 
 
 ‘ And you have not written to the countess all this 
 time, my dear ?’ said he to his wife in French, with 
 an apathetic but stern expression on his face. 
 
 ‘ Good-bye, Mr. Irtenjeff,’ said Mrs. Ivin to me, 
 suddenly nodding somewhat proudly to me, and 
 looking over my eyes at my eyebrows as her son had 
 done. I bowed once more to her and her husband ; 
 my bow to old Ivin again having no more effect upon 
 him than if a window had been opened or closed. 
 Young Ivin, however, accompanied me to the door, 
 and on the way told me that he was going to pass in 
 the St. Petersburg University, on account of his 
 father having got an appointment there (he named 
 some very important post). 
 
 ‘ Well, my father may say what he pleases,’ muttered 
 I to myself, getting on to my droshki ; ‘ but my foot 
 shall never enter their door again ; that lackadaisical 
 creature keeps weeping as she looks at me, just as if 
 I were some miserable wretch, and Ivin, the boor, 
 does not even return my bow ; I shall teach him 
 better manners . . .’ How I intended to do so I really 
 did not know, but I could not help saying so to 
 myself. 
 
 In after-days I had often to listen to my father’s 
 exhortations, that it was indispensable to cultivate 
 their acquaintance ; that I had no right to expect a 
 man in Ivin’s position to talk to a boy like me ; but I 
 kept to my resolution for some time. 
 
PRINCE IVAN IVANO VITCH. 
 
 347 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 PRINCE IVAN IVANOVITCH. 
 
 ‘ Well, now my last visit to the Nikitsky Street,’ 
 said I to Kousma, and we drove to the house of the 
 Prince Ivan Ivanovitch. 
 
 Having acquired more experience in paying visits, 
 I grew more self-possessed, and while driving to the 
 prince’s house I felt pretty cool, when I suddenly 
 recollected the Princess KornakofTs words, that I was 
 the heir ; besides which, I saw two carriages standing 
 at the door, and immediately grew quite bashful 
 again. 
 
 It seemed to me as if the old porter who opened 
 the door, and the man-servant who took my cloak, 
 and the three ladies and two gentlemen whom I 
 found in the reception-room, and especially Prince 
 Ivan Ivanovitch himself, who sat on the sofa, were all 
 looking at me as an heir of his — consequently, with ill- 
 will. The prince was very courteous to me ; he kissed 
 me — that is to say, he touched my cheek for a second 
 with his soft, dry, cold lips; inquired about my studies 
 and plans, uttered a few jokes, asking whether I still 
 wrote poems like those which I had written for my 
 grandmother’s name-day, and asked me to dinner. 
 But the more courteous he was, the more I fancied 
 that he only lavished his caresses upon me in order 
 to ccJnceal his displeasure at the idea that I was his 
 heir. He had a habit, on account of the false teeth 
 of which his mouth was full, of turning his lip up 
 towards his nose after speaking, thus producing a 
 
348 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 slight snuffling sound as if he were drawing the lips 
 into his nostrils ; and as he did so now, he seemed to me 
 to be saying to himself, ‘ Boy, boy . . . without your 
 telling me I know that you are my heir, my heir/ etc. 
 
 When we were children, we used to call Ivan 
 Ivanovitch grandfather; but now, as his heir, I could 
 not force my tongue to say * grandfather ’ to him ; on 
 the other hand, it seemed humiliating to me to say 
 ‘ your excellency/ as a gentleman who was present did, 
 so that during the whole time of the conversation I 
 tried to avoid addressing him by any name or title. 
 But I was rendered still more confused by an old un- 
 married princess who was also his heir, and who lived 
 at his house. During the whole dinner, at which I 
 sat beside the princess, I supposed that the latter did 
 not speak to me because she hated me for being the 
 prince’s heir, and that the prince did not pay any 
 attention to our side of the table, because we — I and 
 the princess — being both his heirs, were equally hateful 
 to him. 
 
 * Yes ; thou canst not believe how unpleasant it was,’ 
 said I on the evening of the same day to Dimitri, 
 prompted by a wish to show him how I hated the 
 idea of being the heir (I thought the feeling a very 
 laudable one) — how unpleasant it was for me to spend 
 fully two hours with the prince. ‘ He is an excellent 
 man, and was very kind to me/ continued I, wishing 
 by the way to make my friend fully comprehend that 
 I said it not because I had felt humiliated by the 
 prince’s treatment of me, but because the idea that 
 people might look down upon me as they did upon 
 the princess, who lives in his house, and truckles to 
 
PRINCE IVAN IV ANOVITCH. 
 
 349 
 
 him in everything, was distasteful to me. He is a 
 splendid old man, extremely kind and gentle to every- 
 one, but it is sad to see how he ill-treats the princess. 
 That hateful money spoils all. 
 
 ‘ Dost thou know, I think it would be much better 
 to speak to the prince frankly,’ said I : ‘ to tell him that 
 I esteem him as a man, but do not think of his in- 
 heritance, and ask him not to leave me anything, and 
 that it is on that condition alone that I shall continue 
 to visit at his house.’ 
 
 Dimitri did not burst out laughing when I said this, 
 but, on the contrary, sank into thought, and after a 
 few minutes' silence, he said to me : 
 
 ‘ Well, I think thou art wrong. Thou must not 
 suppose that people think of thee in the same way 
 as the^ do of the princess, or if thou dost suppose it, 
 carry thy supposition further ; that is to say, thou 
 mayst suppose thou knowest what they think of thee, 
 but their thoughts are so far from thine, that thou 
 despisest them and needest not to pay any attention 
 to them. Thou supposest that they suppose that 
 thou supposest . . . but, in short,’ added he, seeing 
 that he had got into a mess, ‘ it is much better not to 
 suppose anything at all.’ 
 
 My friend was quite right ; it was only long, long 
 after that I became convinced by personal experience 
 how wrong it is to think, and still worse to speak, of 
 many things which may seem very noble, but which 
 ought to be for ever concealed in the heart of every 
 man, and that noble speeches do not always agree 
 with noble deeds. I feel convinced that a noble 
 purpose once talked about becomes difficult, nay, 
 
350 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 almost impossible of fulfilment, for that very reason. 
 Yet how is it possible for a youth, conscious of high 
 and noble impulses, to abstain from talking of them ? 
 It is only in after years that the remembrance of them 
 recurs to the rrpnd, filling it with pity, as for a flower 
 that has been heedlessly plucked in the bud, and is 
 found ruthlessly trodden under foot. 
 
 On the very next morning after I had talked to my 
 friend Dimitri about the way friendly feeling was often 
 destroyed by money, I found, before leaving town, 
 that I had lavishly spent all my money on pictures 
 and pipes, and borrowed twenty-five roubles of my 
 friend upon his offering to lend me the sum. I did 
 not repay him till long afterwards. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 AN INTIMATE CONVERSATION WITH MY FRIEND. 
 
 The present conversation took place in the phaeton, 
 while we were on the way to Kunzovo* Dimitri 
 advised me not to pay his mother a visit in the 
 morning, but came to fetch me after dinner in order 
 to take me to spend the evening, and even to stay 
 over-night, at the country-house where his parents 
 were living. It was only when we had left the town 
 behind us, with its muddy streets, and the unbearably 
 deafening rattling of vehicles along the roads had 
 given place to a view of spacious fields, and the soft 
 creaking of the wheels along the dusty country road. 
 
 * Kunzovo, a country seat in the environs of Moscow. 
 
AN INTIMATE CONVERSATION. 
 
 35i 
 
 when the fragrant spring air and the open space sur- 
 rounded me on all sides, that I recovered from the 
 various new impressions, and the feeling of entire 
 freedom which had so perplexed me for the last two 
 days. Dimitri was sociable, and in his meek mood 
 he did not adjust his necktie, did not wink nervously 
 nor close his eyes. I was pleased with the noble 
 feelings which I had expressed, thinking that now he 
 could quite excuse the shameful affair with Kolpikoff, 
 and would cease to despise me for it ; and we began 
 a friendly talk about many intimate matters which 
 are seldom made the topics of general conversation 
 (except amongst friends). Dimitri told me about his 
 family, which I did not yet know — about his mother, 
 his aunt, his sister, and about one with whom Volodja 
 and Doubkoff thought him in love, and whom they 
 called ‘ the red-haired girl.’ He spoke about his 
 mother with rather cool and solemn praise, as if to 
 put a stop to any argument on the point ; he spoke 
 with ecstasy of his aunt, but at the same time rather 
 condescendingly ; spoke very little about his sister, as 
 if he were ashamed to say anything about her to me ; 
 but about the red-haired lady, whose actual name was 
 Lioubov Sergeievna, and who was an elderly spinster 
 living in NeklioudofFs house because she was a rela- 
 tion of theirs, he spoke with great animation. 
 
 ‘Yes, she is a wonderful girl/ said he, blushing 
 bashfully, but at the same time looking boldly into 
 my face ; ‘ she is not young, in fact rather elderly, and 
 not even good-looking ; but then what folly, what 
 nonsense, it is to love beauty ! I cannot understand 
 it ; it is so stupid.’ (He said it as if he had only just 
 
352 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 discovered a new and most unusual fact.) ‘ But what a 
 soul, what a heart she has, and what principles ! . . . 
 I am sure thou wilt never find anybody like that girl in 
 this world/ (I do not know from whom Dimitri had 
 caught the habit of saying that everything that was 
 good was scarce in this world ; he liked the expres- 
 sion, and it suited him somehow.) 
 
 ‘ I am only afraid/ continued he calmly, having in 
 his argument already entirely demolished all those 
 who were silly enough to love beauty — ‘ I am afraid 
 thou wilt not understand her, or get to know her soon ; 
 she is modest and reserved ; she does not like to show 
 her good, her excellent qualities. There is my 
 mother, who, as thou wilt see, is an excellent and 
 clever woman ; she has known Lioubov Sergeievna for 
 years, and cannot and will not understand her. 
 Even yesterday I ... I will tell thee why I was out 
 of sorts when thou askedst me. On the day before 
 yesterday, Lioubov Sergeievna wished me to go with 
 her to visit Ivan Jacovlevitch.* Thou hast probably 
 heard about Ivan Jacovlevitch, who is said to be crack- 
 brained, but is, in fact, a remarkable man. Lioubov 
 Sergeievna, I must tell thee, is extremely pious, and 
 quite understands Ivan Jacovlevitch. She often visits 
 him, talks with him, and gives him money for the poor 
 from her own earnings. She is a wonderful woman, 
 thou wilt see. Well, so I went with her to Ivan 
 Jacovlevitch’s, and feel very much obliged to her for 
 having persuaded me to go and see this remarkable 
 
 * A sort of madman, who was supposed to foretell the future 
 fate of those who came to consult him. He died about eighteen 
 years ago. 
 
AN INTIMATE CONVERSATION. 
 
 353 
 
 man. But my mother does not choose to understand 
 it, and considers it all superstition. And yesterday, 
 for the first time in my life, I had a dispute with 
 mother, and we both grew pretty warm about it too/ 
 said he, spasmodically moving his neck, as if at the 
 recollection of the feeling which he had experienced 
 during the dispute. 
 
 ‘Well, and what dost thou intend ? that is to say, 
 have you ever thought how all this is to end ? 
 
 . . . Dost thou speak with her of the future, and 
 what your love or friendship are to lead to ?’ asked 
 I, wishing to dispel his unpleasant recollections. 
 
 ‘You mean, whether I think of marrying her?’ 
 said he to me, again blushing, but boldly turning 
 towards me and looking me full in the face. 
 
 ‘ Well/ thought I, ‘ there is no harm in my asking 
 him ; we are quite grown-up, we are friends taking a 
 drive together in a phaeton and talking about our 
 future. Anybody would like to overhear us, and look 
 at us.’ 
 
 ‘ And why not?’ continued he ; ‘ my aim is that of 
 every sensible man, to be happy and good, as far as 
 possible ; and with her, if she wish it, when I am 
 quite independent, I should be happier and better 
 than I should be with the greatest beauty in the 
 world.’ 
 
 While conversing thus, we had not noticed that we 
 were already approaching Kunzovo, neither did we 
 notice that the sky had become overcast, and it was 
 beginning to rain. The sun did not stand high above 
 the old trees in the garden of Kunzovo any more — 
 one half of the glittering red circle was covered with a 
 
 23 
 
354 
 
 YOUTH . 
 
 gray, faintly-transparent cloud, while fiery beams, 
 seeming to be split asunder, emanated from the other 
 half, throwing a wonderfully brilliant light on the old 
 trees, whose green, bushy tops stood motionless against 
 the clear blue sky. The brightness and light of this 
 part of the sky formed a striking contrast to the heavy 
 purple cloud above the grand forest of birch-trees 
 visible on the horizon. 
 
 A little to the right, between the bushes and trees, 
 peeped the different-coloured roofs of the country 
 houses ; some of these houses reflected the brilliant 
 sunbeams, some assumed the gloomy character of the 
 other part of the sky. On the left lay a bluish pond, 
 overshadowed by pale -green cytisus, which were 
 dimly reflected on its dull and seemingly convex 
 surface. Beyond the pond, on a rising ground, 
 lay the dark, fallow land, and a straight line of 
 bright green which ran across it disappeared in the 
 distance, lost in the gloomy, leaden horizon. On 
 both sides of the soft road, which the phaeton jolted 
 slowly along, bright- green, rank, sappy rye- fields 
 were visible, the rye here and there breaking into 
 ripe ears. Perfect calmness reigned in the air, and 
 freshness breathed around ; the leaves of the trees 
 and the rye seemed motionless, and unusually clear 
 and bright. It appeared as if every leaf, every blade 
 of grass, had its own complete and happy life. By 
 the roadside I noticed a footpath winding through 
 the dark-green rye, which had already grown about 
 seven inches high, and it somehow reminded me 
 vividly of the country ; and this remembrance in its 
 turn, by some strange complication of thought, re- 
 
AN INTIMATE CONVERSATION. 
 
 355 
 
 minded me vividly of Sonitchka, and of my love for 
 her. 
 
 Notwithstanding all my friendship for Dimitri, and 
 the pleasure I experienced in his frankness, I did not 
 feel inclined to know anything more about his feelings 
 and his intentions regarding Lioubov Sergeievna, and 
 I longed to tell him about my love for Sonitchka, 
 which seemed to me to be a much higher kind of 
 love ; but for some reason or other I could not make 
 up my mind to tell him frankly about my hopes, of 
 the happy life I should lead when, having married 
 Sonitchka, I should live in the country, should have 
 little children crawling about on the floor who would 
 call me papa, and how glad I should be when he, 
 with his wife Lioubov Sergeievna, would come to us in 
 their travelling-dresses. . . . Instead of all this, I 
 said, pointing to the setting sun : 
 
 ‘ Dimitri, just look how beautiful!’ 
 
 Dimitri said nothing to me, evidently displeased at 
 my answering his confession, which it had probably 
 cost him a great effort to make, by calling his atten- 
 tion to nature, which he, generally speaking, looked 
 at rather indifferently. Nature had a different effect 
 upon him from that which it had upon me ; it did not 
 affect him as much by its beauty as by the interest it 
 excited in him ; he liked it with his mind rather than 
 his heart. 
 
 ‘ I am very happy,’ continued I, without paying 
 any attention to his being evidently full of his own 
 thoughts, and quite indifferent to what I might say to 
 him. * Dost thou remember my telling thee about a 
 young lady with whom I was in love in my child - 
 
 23—2 
 
356 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 hood ? I have seen her to-day/ I went on passion- 
 ately, ‘ and now I am quite in love with her. . . / 
 
 And I went on telling him, notwithstanding the 
 expression of indifference which his face wore, about 
 my love and all my plans for our future conjugal 
 happiness. And, strange to say, while I was minutely 
 describing the force of my feelings, I felt that the 
 feeling itself began to decrease. 
 
 We were overtaken by a shower as we were turning 
 into the birch-avenue leading to the country house, 
 but we did not get wet. I knew it was raining, only 
 by a few drops having fallen on my nose and on my 
 hand, and by the rain-drops pattering on the sticky 
 young leaves of the birch-trees, which hung their 
 bushy branches, seeming to enjoy those clear, bright 
 drops, their delight expressing itself by the fragrance 
 which pervaded the air all through the avenue. 
 We left the carriage in order to reach the house 
 quicker by running through the garden, but at the 
 very entrance to the house we met four ladies, of 
 whom two had some kind of needlework in their 
 hands, one carried a book, and the other a little dog ; 
 they were walking very fast from an opposite direc- 
 tion. Dimitri introduced me to his mother, his sister, 
 his aunt, and to Lioubov Sergeievna. They stopped 
 for a second, but the rain coming down faster and 
 faster, the lady whom I took for Dimitri’s mother 
 said : 
 
 ‘ Let us go to the gallery ; there thou wilt intro- 
 duce him to us once more and we all went up the 
 stairs. 
 
THE NEKLIOUDOFFS. 
 
 357 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 THE NEKLIOUDOFFS. 
 
 At first, amongst the whole company, I was most 
 struck by Lioubov Sergeievna, who, with the lap-dog 
 in her arms, was walking up the stairs last of all in 
 thick knitted shoes, and, stopping twice, looked round 
 at me and then kissed her dog. She was very ugly, 
 red-haired, thin, not tall, a little bent on one side. 
 What made her ugly face still uglier was the peculiar 
 style in which she wore her hair, the parting being 
 on the side (one of the ways of dressing the hair 
 which are adopted by bald-headed women). Despite 
 all my efforts to gratify my friend, I failed to find a 
 single handsome feature in her ; even her brown eyes, 
 although expressing kind-heartedness, were too small 
 and dim, and decidedly ugly ; even her hands, those 
 characteristic points, although not large and not badly 
 formed, were red and rough. 
 
 When, following my friend, I came to the terrace, 
 each of the ladies, before taking up her work again, 
 addressed a few words to me, except Varinka, 
 Dimitri’s sister, who looked attentively at me with 
 her large dark-gray eyes, and then began to read 
 aloud from a book which she held on her knees, keep- 
 ing one finger amidst the leaves. 
 
 The Princess Maria Ivanovna was a tall, well-shaped 
 woman of about forty. One might have thought her 
 older, judging by the locks of gray hair protruding 
 from underneath her cap without any effort at con- 
 
358 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 cealment. Her fresh, extremely soft face, with hardly 
 a wrinkle, and particularly her lively, cheerful, large 
 bright eyes, made her appear much younger. She 
 had brown eyes, very open ; her lips were too thin, a 
 little stern ; the nose was fairly regular, and a little 
 turned to the left. She wore no rings on her hand, 
 which was large, almost like a man’s hand, with fine 
 oblong fingers. She wore a close-fitting dark-blue 
 dress, which set off her well-shaped figure, which still 
 looked young, and which she evidently liked to show 
 off. She was sitting straight up, and was sewing 
 some article of dress. When I entered the gallery 
 she took my hand, drew me towards her, as if desiring 
 to look at me closer, and said, gazing at me with the 
 same somewhat cold, frank look which characterized 
 her son, that she had known me long, as Dimitri had 
 been telling her about me, and in order to get better 
 acquainted, she invited me to spend the whole day 
 with them. ‘ Do whatever you please ; pray do not 
 let us hinder you in the least, and we shall be as free 
 with you — go for a walk, read, listen, or sleep, if you 
 like it better,’ added she. 
 
 Sophia Ivanovna was an old maid, a younger sister 
 of the princess, but seeming to be older. She had 
 that extraordinarily full figure which is to be met 
 with only in short and very stout old maids who wear 
 stays. She looked as if all her health had come up 
 with such force that it threatened every minute to 
 choke her. Her short stout arms could not join 
 lower than the curved peak of her dress, nor could 
 she see that same peak of her very tight dress. 
 
 Though the Princess Maria Ivanovna was dark, and 
 
THE NEKLIOUDOFFS. 
 
 359 
 
 had dark eyes, and Sophia Ivanovna was very fair, 
 and had large, bright, and at the same time (a great 
 rarity) calm blue eyes, there was a great family like- 
 ness between the two sisters : the same expression, 
 the same nose, the same lips ; only Sophia Ivanovna’s 
 lips were a little fuller, and her nose turned to the 
 right when she smiled, while the princess’s turned to 
 the left. Sophia Ivanovna, as far as could be judged 
 by her dress, and by the way she wore her hair, 
 evidently liked to make herself look young, and 
 wouldn’t have exposed her gray locks, if she had 
 any. Her looks and the way she behaved towards 
 me appeared proud at first, and confused me ; while 
 with the princess, on the contrary, I felt myself 
 quite at my ease. It was perhaps her stoutness, and 
 her striking resemblance to the portrait of Katherine 
 the Great, which gave her, in my eyes, that grand 
 appearance; but I grew still more confused when, 
 looking fixedly at me, she said to me, ‘ Our friend’s 
 friends are our friends.’ I grew calmer, and changed 
 my opinion about her only when, after saying these 
 words, she grew silent and, opening her mouth, took 
 a deep breath. It was probably on account of her 
 stoutness that she had the habit, after saying a few 
 words, of taking a deep breath by opening her mouth 
 a little, and turning up her large blue eyes. This 
 habit, in some way, expressed such pleasing kind- 
 heartedness that, directly after she sighed, I lost all 
 my awe of her, and even felt a great liking for her. 
 Her eyes were charming, her voice sonorous and 
 pleasant ; even the full lines of her figure did not 
 seem, to my great youth, to be devoid of beauty. 
 
360 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 I expected Lioubov Sergeievna, being my friend’s 
 friend, to say something very friendly and intimate to 
 me on the spot; she even looked at me for some time 
 silently, as if hesitating whether what she intended to 
 say to me would not be too friendly, but she broke 
 the silence only by asking me what course I was 
 reading for. Then she looked fixedly at me again 
 for some time, as if hesitating whether she should 
 sayan intimate friendly word to me or not. Noticing 
 her hesitation, my face mutely entreated her to speak 
 openly to me, but she only said, ‘Nowadays, young 
 men at the university do not study the sciences much / 
 and then she called her little dog Susette. 
 
 During the whole evening Lioubov Sergeievna 
 talked on in the same way, at random ; but I believed 
 Dimitri ; and he looked so anxiously, first at me, 
 then at her all the evening, as if asking my opinion of 
 her, so that, as is often the' case, though feeling per- 
 fectly convinced that there was nothing particular in 
 Lioubov Sergeievna, I was extremely far from ex- 
 pressing the thought even to myself. 
 
 The last person of the family, Varinka, was a 
 buxom girl of about sixteen. Her large dark-gray 
 eyes, expressing cheerfulness combined with calm 
 attention, were very like her aunt’s ; her dark hair, 
 hanging down her neck in a long tress, and her ex- 
 tremely soft and pretty hands, were her chief beauties. 
 
 ‘ I am afraid you will find it dull, Mr. Nicolas, to 
 hear the middle of the story without knowing the 
 beginning/ said Sophia Ivanovna, with her kind- 
 hearted sigh, turning over some pieces of the dress 
 she was sewing. 
 
THE NEKLIOUDOFFS. 
 
 361 
 
 The reading had stopped at the time, for Dimitri 
 had gone out of the room. 
 
 ‘ But you have perhaps already read “ Rob Roy ” ?’ 
 
 Ever since I had begun to wear a student’s uniform 
 I considered it my duty, whenever I was in the com- 
 pany of people with whom I was not very closely 
 acquainted, to try and give some clever and original 
 answer to the simplest question, and I thought it a 
 great shame to give short and plain answers, as, for 
 instance, ‘ Yes,’ ‘No,’ ‘Dull,’ ‘Pleasant/ and so on. 
 Throwing a glance at my fashionable trousers and 
 the shining buttons of my coat, I said that I had not 
 read ‘ Rob Roy,’ but that I was much interested in 
 listening, for I liked better to read books from the 
 middle than from the beginning. 
 
 ‘ It is twice as interesting. You have to guess what 
 has gone on before and what is going to happen,’ 
 added I, with a self-conceited smile. 
 
 The princess laughed — a forced laugh, as it seemed 
 to me. (I afterwards noticed that she always laughed 
 thus.) 
 
 ‘Very likely,’ said she. ‘ Will you stay here long, 
 Nicolas ? You are not offended at my calling you 
 by your name without adding “ Mr.” ? When are 
 you going ?’ 
 
 ‘I do not know. Perhaps to-morrow; perhaps we 
 shall stay some time longer,’ said I, though we were 
 to start for certain the next day. 
 
 ‘ I should like you to stay on your own account, 
 and on that of my Dimitri/ said the princess, with a 
 far-away look in her eyes. ‘ In our days friendship is 
 a fine thing.’ 
 
362 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 I felt that all were looking at me and expecting to 
 hear what I should say, though Varinka pretended to 
 be looking at the work of her aunt. I felt as if I 
 were to a certain degree undergoing an examination, 
 and that I had to show myself to the best advantage. 
 
 * Yes/ said I ; 4 the friendship of Dimitri is of use 
 to me, but I am unable to be of any service to him. 
 He is a thousand times better than I am. (Dimitri 
 could not hear what I was saying, otherwise I should 
 have been afraid that he would perceive the insincerity 
 of my words.) 
 
 The princess again began to laugh an unnatural 
 laugh — natural to her, however. 
 
 ‘There, and according to him,’ said she, ‘c’est 
 vous qui etes un petit monstre de perfection/ 
 
 ‘ Monstre de perfection — an excellent expression — 
 I must remember it/ thought I. 
 
 ‘ But, altogether, he is a clever man in this respect,’ 
 continued she, lowering her voice (which was par- 
 ticularly pleasant to me), and nodding her head in 
 the direction of Lioubov Sergeievna ; ‘ he has dis- 
 covered in poor auntie 3 (as they used to call Lioubov 
 Sergeievna), ‘ whom I have known for twenty years, 
 with her Susette, accomplishments which I never 
 suspected. . . . Varja, order a glass of water to be. 
 brought to me/ added she, again with the same far- 
 away look in her eyes, probably considering it too 
 soon to acquaint me with their family affairs ; ‘ or, 
 rather, let him go. He has nothing to do, and you 
 can go on with your reading. Go, my friend, 
 straight to the door, and call out, “ Peter, let Maria 
 Ivanovna have a glass of water with some ice in it,” ’ 
 
LOVE. 363 
 
 said she to me, and again laughed her unnatural 
 laugh. 
 
 ‘ I suppose she wants to talk about me/ thought I, 
 on leaving the room. ‘ I suppose she wants to say 
 that she has observed that I am a very, very clever 
 young man.’ I had not had time to go many steps 
 from the door when the stout Sophia Ivanovna, 
 huffing and puffing, overtook me. 
 
 ‘Merci, mon cher !’ said she. ‘I have to go there> 
 so I shall tell the man/ 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 LOVE. 
 
 As I afterwards grew to know Sophia Ivanovna, I 
 found she was one of those rare elderly women who 
 are born for family life, but whom fate has deprived 
 of that happiness, and who, in consequence of this 
 deprivation, resolve to pour out on some chosen per- 
 sons all that amount of love which had long been 
 growing stronger and stronger in their hearts for 
 children and a husband. And that amount of love 
 in these old maids is usually so inexhaustible, that 
 in spite of there being a great number of chosen 
 friends, there still remains plenty of love, which they 
 breathe on everyone surrounding them ; on all, both 
 good and bad, whoever they may happen to come 
 across in their lives. 
 
 There are three kinds of love : 
 
 1. Love of beauty, 
 
 2. Self-denying love, and 
 
 3. Active love. 
 
364 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 I am not speaking about the love of a young man 
 for a young girl, or vice versa ; I feel afraid of such 
 tender feelings, and I have been unfortunate enough in 
 my life never to have seen a single spark of truth in 
 that kind of love, nothing but falsehood, in which the 
 senses, conjugal ties, money, the desire to bind or 
 unbind one’s self, had so complicated the feeling 
 itself that there was no making anything out of it. 
 I speak about the love for humanity ; about love 
 which is either concentrated on one or on many, 
 according to the greater or lesser power of the heart ; 
 about love for our mother, father, brother, children, 
 friends, comrades, companions, countrymen ; about 
 love for our fellow-creatures. 
 
 Love of beauty is love for the sake of the feelings 
 excited by it alone. People who love thus, find in 
 the beloved object pleasure only to the extent to 
 which the latter excites that pleasant consciousness, 
 the expression of which they enjoy. People who 
 love thus, trouble themselves very little about their 
 love being returned, which is a matter that has no 
 influence whatever over the beauty and the charm of 
 the feeling. They often change the objects of their 
 love, as their principal aim is simply that the pleasant 
 sensation of love should be constantly excited. In 
 order to keep up this pleasant feeling, they always 
 talk about their love in the most exquisite language 
 to their beloved object, as well as to all, even to those 
 who have nothing at all to do with it. In our country 
 there are people of a certain class who love beauty, 
 and not only tell everybody about their love, but are 
 sure to speak of it in French. It is ridiculous and 
 
LOVE. 
 
 365 
 
 strange to say so, but I am convinced that there were 
 formerly, and still are at present, many people be- 
 longing to a certain class of society, especially ladies? 
 whose love of their friends, husbands, children, would 
 instantly be crushed if they were not permitted to 
 speak about it in French. 
 
 The second kind of love — self-denying love — is love 
 of the process of self-sacrifice for the beloved object, 
 without considering whether the sacrifices do any 
 good or harm to the latter. There is nothing, how- 
 ever disagreeable it may be, that I should not be 
 ready to do to myself for the purpose of assuring the 
 whole world, and him or her, of my devotion. This 
 is a formula of this kind of love. People who love 
 thus do not believe in love being returned (for it is a 
 still greater merit to sacrifice one’s self for a person who 
 does not understand one) ; they are sickly, which also 
 increases the merit of their sacrifices ; they are for the 
 most part constant, for it would be hard for them to 
 lose the merit of the sacrifices they have made for the 
 beloved object ; they are always ready *to die for the 
 purpose of proving their devotion to him or her, but, 
 at the same time, they despise the little daily proofs 
 of love which do not require any particular amount of 
 self-denial. It is all the same to them whether you 
 eat well or sleep well, whether you enjoy yourself, 
 whether you are well, and they will never do anything 
 to provide for your comfort if it be in their power to 
 do so ; but they are always ready to face a bullet, to 
 throw themselves into the water, the fire, to consume 
 away with love, if an opportunity arise. Besides, 
 people inclined to self-denying love, as a rule, are 
 
366 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 proud of their love ; they are jealous, suspicious, and, 
 strange to say, they wish the objects of their affection 
 to be in danger, in order to be able to save them and 
 relieve them, or to be wicked even, in order that they 
 may amend them. 
 
 You live alone in the country with your wife, who 
 loves you with self-denying love. You enjoy good 
 health, you are comfortable, you have occupations you 
 love, your loving wife is so weak that she is unable to 
 do the house-work, which rests with the servants, or 
 to occupy herself with the children, who are in the 
 hands of nurses, or even to care for any kind of work, 
 because she does not love anything but you. She is 
 evidently unwell, but, for fear of grieving you, she says 
 nothing about it ; she is evidently weary, but she does 
 not mind being weary all her life for your sake. Your 
 giving yourself up so zealously to your work (what- 
 ever it may be — hunting, books, husbandry, service) is 
 evidently killing her ; she sees that those occupations 
 will ruin you, but she is silent and suffers. But now 
 you fall ill : your loving wife forgets her illness, and 
 sits at your bedside without moving from the spot, in 
 spite of your entreaties not to harass herself to no 
 purpose ; and every second you feel her pitying look 
 resting upon you, as if the look said, 4 All the same, I 
 shall never leave you.’ The next morning you feel 
 a little better — you walk into the next room. The 
 room has not been heated nor set in order ; soup, the 
 only food you can take, has not been ordered in the 
 kitchen; the medicine has not been sent for; but 
 your loving wife, worn out from her night’s watch, 
 stills keeps looking at you with the same expression 
 
LOVE . 
 
 367 
 
 of pity, walks on tiptoe, and in a whisper gives con- 
 fused orders to servants. You want to read ; your 
 loving wife says, with a sigh, that she knows you will 
 not listen to her, you will be angry with her, but she 
 is already used to it — it is better for you not to read ; 
 you want to walk about the room — you had better not 
 do that either ; you want to talk to some friend who 
 calls upon you — you had better not talk. In the 
 night you are again feverish, you wish to doze, but 
 your loving wife, thin, wan, and sighing every now 
 and then, sits in the pale light of the night-lamp, 
 opposite you, in an armchair, and her slightest move- 
 ment, the slightest sound that escapes her lips, excites 
 a feeling of vexation and impatience in you. You 
 have a servant who has been in your service for the 
 las,t twenty years ; you are accustomed to him ; he 
 attends to you with pleasure, and does it well, because 
 he has rested during the day, and gets paid for his 
 service ; but she will not let him attend to you. She 
 does everything herself, with her weak, unaccustomed 
 fingers, whose motions you cannot help following with 
 reserved animosity when they vainly try to open the 
 flask, put the light out, spill the medicine, or touch 
 you. If you happen to be an impatient, violent man, 
 you ask her to leave your room, and your excited, 
 sickly ear hears her humbly sighing, weeping, and 
 whispering some silly remark to your servant outside 
 the door. At last, if you do not die, your loving wife, 
 who has not slept for twenty nights during your 
 illness (this she repeats to you incessantly), falls ill, 
 pines away, suffers, and becomes still more unfit for 
 anything, and by the time you are quite well again, 
 
368 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 she expresses her self-denying love only by a meek 
 weariness, which involuntarily passes over to you and 
 to all around you. 
 
 The third kind of love — active love — is an aspira- 
 tion to satisfy every want, every wish, every caprice, 
 even every fault of the beloved object. People who 
 love thus love for their whole lives, because the more 
 they love, the better they learn to know their beloved } 
 and the easier it becomes for them to love — that is, to 
 satisfy all the wishes of him or her they love. Their 
 attachment is rarely expressed in words, and never 
 either self-sufficiently or eloquently, but always 
 modestly awkwardly, because they are always afraid 
 that they do not love enough. Such people even love 
 the faults of their beloved, because those faults give 
 them a chance of satisfying every new fancy. They 
 long for mutual love — even willingly deceive them- 
 selves, believing in their love being returned, and are 
 happy ; but they can go on loving all the same, even 
 if their feelings are not reciprocated, and not only 
 wish their beloved to be happy, but by all the moral 
 and material means, whether great or small, which are 
 in their power, they constantly try to make those they 
 love happy. 
 
 And thus this active love of Sophia Ivanovna to 
 her nephew, her niece, her sister, to Lioubov Ser- 
 geievna, and even to myself, because I was loved by 
 Dimitri, might be seen in her eyes, in her every word 
 and motion. 
 
 It was only a considerable time afterwards that I 
 learnt fully to appreciate Sophia Ivanovna ; but even 
 then the question struck me how it was that Dimitri, 
 
LOVE. 
 
 369 
 
 who endeavoured to understand love very differently 
 to what young people generally do, and who had 
 always had before his eyes that dear, loving Sophia 
 Ivanovna, had suddenly fallen passionately in love 
 with that enigmatical personage, Lioubov Sergeievna, 
 and only admitted that his aunt had many good 
 qualities too. It justifies the saying, ‘No man is a 
 prophet in his own country/ It must have been 
 either because there are in every man more bad 
 qualities than good ones, or because a man is more 
 impressed by bad qualities than by good ones. He 
 had only known Lioubov Sergeievna for a short time, 
 while his aunt’s love had never failed him since his 
 birth. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 I BECOME BETTER ACQUAINTED WITH THE FAMILY. 
 
 When I returned to the gallery they were not talking 
 about me at all, as I had expected ; but Varinka had 
 left off reading, and having put the book aside, she 
 was earnestly discussing something with Dimitri ; 
 who was walking up and down the room, adjusting 
 his necktie and half closing his eyes. The discussion 
 seemed to be about Ivan Jacovlevitch and superstition 
 in general ; but it was so eager that it evidently had 
 a bearing upon the family. The princess and Lioubov 
 Sergeievna sat silent, attentively listening to every 
 word, evidently wishing from time to time to take 
 part in the discussion, but refraining from doing so, 
 and leaving it to the others to speak for them — one to 
 
 24 
 
37o 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 Varinka, the other to Dimitri. When I entered, 
 Varinka looked at me with an expression of indiffer- 
 ence which showed how deeply she was carried away 
 by the dispute, and that it was a matter of indiffer- 
 ence to her whether I heard what she said or not. 
 The princess’s face wore the same expression ; she 
 evidently took part with Varinka in the discussion. 
 But Dimitri went on talking still more eagerly in my 
 presence, while Lioubov Sergeievna, as if very much 
 startled at my coming, said, without addressing her- 
 herself to anyone in particular, ‘ The old adage is 
 very true : “ Si jeunesse savait, si vieillesse pou- 
 vait, rien ne se perdrait.” 3 
 
 But this sentence did not break off the discussion, 
 but only made me think that Lioubov Sergeievna and 
 my friend were in the wrong. Although I felt it 
 rather awkward to be present at this little family 
 quarrel, it was pleasant to see the relations of the 
 family to each other, which showed themselves during 
 the dispute in their true light, and to feel that my 
 presence did not prevent them from speaking out. 
 
 How often do you see a family for years under the 
 same false veil, keeping within the rules of decorum, 
 and the true terms on which the members stand are 
 unknown to you ! (I have noticed that the more im- 
 permeable, and therefore more sightly the veil is, 
 the more serious are the real terms concealed from 
 you.) Sometimes it happens, quite unexpectedly, 
 that in this family circle some question is raised 
 which at first seems quite insignificant, as, for instance, 
 about some blond-lace, or about a visit, or about the 
 husband’s horses, and without any obvious cause the 
 
BETTER ACQUAINTED WITH THE FAMILY. 371 
 
 discussion get warmer and warmer ; the veil does not 
 leave room enough for the contentious argument, and 
 suddenly, to the horror of the disputants themselves, 
 and to the astonishment of the bystanders, all the 
 true terms on which the family stand towards each 
 other are disclosed, the veil is raised, only waving 
 lightly about between the belligerent parties, remind- 
 ing you how long you have been deceived. Very 
 often it is less painful to knock one’s head with all 
 one’s might against the lintel of a door than lightly to 
 touch a sore spot like this. And such a sore spot is 
 to be found in almost every family. In the family of 
 Neklioudoff’s the sore spot was the strange love of 
 Dimitri for Lioubov Sergeievna, which excited in his 
 sister and mother a feeling not exactly of envy, but 
 of wounded family feeling. This is why the dispute 
 about Ivan Jacovlevitch and superstition was for all 
 of them a subject of such grave importance. 
 
 * Thou always triest to see something extraordinary 
 in what others laugh at, and everybody despises,’ said 
 Varinka, with her sonorous voice and distinct enuncia- 
 tion ; ‘ precisely in such things dost thou try to find 
 something unusually good.’ 
 
 ‘ In the first place, only a silly person can talk 
 about despising a remarkable man like Ivan Jacovle- 
 vitch/ replied Dimitri, convulsively turning his head 
 away from his sister ; ‘ and in the second, thou, on the 
 contrary, purposely triest never to see the good that 
 is before thee.’ 
 
 On re-entering the room, Sophia Ivanovna cast a 
 frightened glance, first at her nephew, then at her 
 niece, then at me, and twice, as if she were saying 
 
 24 — 2 
 
372 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 something mentally, opened her mouth and uttered a 
 deep sigh. 
 
 ‘ Varja, please go on reading,’ said she, handing her 
 the book, and tapping her hand gently ; ‘ I am ex- 
 tremely anxious to know whether he found her 
 again/ (I think that in the novel there was nothing 
 about anybody’s being lost.) ‘ And you, Mitja, had 
 better put a bandage round your cheek, my boy, for 
 it is cool, and your teeth will begin to ache again,’ 
 said she to her nephew, in spite of the angry look 
 which he threw her, probably because she had inter- 
 rupted the logical course of his argument. 
 
 The reading went on. 
 
 This little dispute did not in the least disturb the 
 family peace and concord which reigned in that 
 female circle. 
 
 The family circle, which was evidently directed and 
 led by the Princess Maria Ivanovna, was peculiarly 
 attractive in my eyes, on account of the good sense, 
 combined with frankness and elegance, which pervaded 
 it. I could see this characteristic in the good taste, 
 cleanliness, and durability of all the things in the 
 room — the bell, the binding of the books, the arm- 
 chairs, tables ; in the straight, tightly-laced figure 
 of the princess, the unconcealed gray hair, and in 
 her calling me, upon my first visit, simply Nicolas ; 
 in their occupations, in the way of reading, in the 
 way they were sewing, and in the extraordinary 
 whiteness of the ladies’ hands. (They all possessed 
 one general family feature — in their hands — the soft 
 part of the palm of the hand being pink, and dis- 
 tinctly separated by a straight line from the extraor- 
 
BETTER ACQUAINTED WITH THE FAMILY. 373 
 
 dinary whiteness of the upper part of the hand.) 
 But this character showed itself most of all in the 
 way they all three spoke Russian and French, dis- 
 tinctly pronouncing every letter, finishing every word 
 and sentence with pedantic exactness. I was, as yet, 
 so little used to being treated without any ceremony, 
 and, at the same time, like a grown-up man, as they 
 treated me, telling me their opinions and listening to 
 mine — for, in spite of shining buttons and the blue 
 cuffs of my student’s coat, I always expected and 
 feared to hear people say to me, ‘ Do you really think 
 that we are talking seriously to you ? Go along, and 
 study your lessons.’ But amidst their circle I did not 
 feel the least bashful. I got up and changed my seat, 
 and boldly spoke with everyone except Varinka, 
 whom I did not think it proper, for some reason or 
 other, or right, to speak to, as I saw her for the first 
 time. 
 
 During the reading, while listening to her pleasant 
 sonorous voice, I looked at her, then at the sandy 
 path in the flower-garden, on which there appeared 
 round dark patches from the rain, at the lime-trees, 
 on the leaves of which the little drops of rain kept 
 splashing down from the pale, transparent, bluish 
 cloud, then at the last purple beams of the setting sun, 
 which illuminated the bushy old birches, all wet with 
 rain, and then again at Varinka. I thought she was 
 not at all as ugly as she had at first seemed to me to 
 be. ‘ It is a pity that I am already in love/ thought 
 I, ‘and that Varinka is not Sonitchka. How nice it 
 would be to become a member of the family ! I 
 should thus find a mother, an aunt, and a wife all at 
 
374 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 once !.’ While I was thinking thus, I looked fixedly 
 at Varinka, who was still reading, and thought that I 
 was magnetizing her, and that she was bound to look 
 at me. Varinka raised her head from the book, 
 looked at me, and, meeting my eyes, turned away. 
 
 ‘ However, the rain doesn’t cease,’ said she. 
 
 And suddenly a strange feeling came over me ; I 
 remembered that what occurred to me now was an 
 exact repetition of what had occurred to me once 
 before ; that then, too, exactly as at present, it was 
 raining slightly, and the sun was setting behind the 
 birch-trees, when I looked at her , while she read, and I 
 magnetized her, and she looked up, and that I had 
 even remembered that this had occurred to me once 
 before. 
 
 ‘ Is it possible that she is she V thought I. ‘ Is it 
 possible that it is beginning?’ But I soon decided 
 that she was not she , and that it was not beginning 
 yet. ‘ First of all, she is not pretty,’ thought I ; 
 ‘ besides, she is simply a young lady, and I made her 
 acquaintance in the most usual way, while the other 
 is to be something extraordinary — I shall meet her 
 in some extraordinary place. And, then, the only reason 
 why I like this family so much is because I have not 
 seen anybody else yet,’ reasoned I ; ‘ and there are pro- 
 bably many such families, and I shall meet many of 
 them in my life.’ 
 
/ SHOW MYSELF TO THE BEST ADVANTAGE. 375 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 I SHOW MYSELF TO THE BEST ADVANTAGE. 
 
 When tea was served, the reading was interrupted, 
 and the ladies began a conversation about persons 
 and circumstances unknown to me, and, as it seemed 
 to me, that, notwithstanding the friendly reception 
 they had given me, it was only done in order to make 
 me feel the difference there was in our ages and 
 positions. But in the general conversation which 
 ensued, and in which I could take part and thus make 
 up for my former silence, I tried to show my extra- 
 ordinary cleverness and originality of mind, consider- 
 ing myself bound to do so on account of my uniform. 
 When the conversation turned upon country houses, 
 I told them that Prince Ivan Ivanovitch possessed so 
 fine a country-house that people came from London 
 and Paris to look at it ; that there was a railing which 
 had cost 380,000 roubles;* and that Prince Ivan Ivano- 
 vitch was a near relation of mine ; that I had dined 
 that day at his house, and that he had invited me to 
 come and spend the summer with him at his country- 
 seat, but that I had refused, because I knew the house 
 well, having been there several times, and that all 
 those fences and bridges did not interest me in the 
 least, for I could not endure pomp, especially in the 
 country ; that I, indeed, liked the country to be 
 quite the country. 
 
 After having told this awfully complicated lie, I 
 * About ,£40,000. 
 
376 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 got confused, and blushed, so that all most likely 
 noticed that I was telling a lie. Varinka, who just 
 then handed me a cup of tea, and Sophia Ivanovna, 
 who looked at me at the time, turned away from me, 
 and started another topic, with an expression on their 
 faces which I afterwards often saw on the faces of 
 kind people, when any very young man would begin 
 to say what was evidently untrue, an expression which 
 seems to say, ‘ We know that all this is untrue — why 
 does he tell such stories, poor fellow !’ . . . 
 
 The reason why I told them about Prince Ivan 
 Ivanovitch possessing a country-house was that I 
 could not find any better pretext to tell them about 
 my being a relation of Prince Ivan Ivanovitch, and 
 that I had that day been dining at his house ; but 
 why I told them about the fence which cost 380,000 
 roubles, and about my having so often been at his 
 country-house, when I had never been there at all 
 — could never have been at Prince Ivan Ivanovitch’s, 
 for he was always either in Moscow or Naples, and 
 this the Neklioudoffs knew very well — why I said this 
 I really cannot even now account for. Neither in my 
 childhood, my boyhood, nor afterwards, in my more 
 mature age, have I ever noticed myself to be addicted 
 to falsehood ; on the contrary, I have always been rather 
 too frank and open-hearted ; but in this first period 
 of youth the desire often arose in me to tell the most 
 desperate lies without any obvious reason. I pur- 
 posely use the expression 4 desperate lies,’ for I told 
 them in matters in which I could very easily be 
 detected. It seems to me that an ostentatious wish 
 to show myself other than I really was, combined 
 
I SHOW MYSELF TO THE BEST ADVANTAGE. 377 
 
 with the unfeasible hope of telling lies without being 
 detected, was the principal cause of that strange taste. 
 
 After tea, as the rain had ceased and the weather 
 in the evening twilight was calm and clear, the 
 princess proposed to us to go out for a walk to the 
 back-garden, in order to show us her favourite spot. 
 According to my rule always to do something out of 
 the usual way, and considering such clever people as 
 the princess and myself bound always to stand above 
 the trivial rules of good breeding, I replied, ‘ That I 
 could not bear to go out for a walk without some 
 definite purpose in view, and that if I did care to take 
 a walk it was — quite alone.’ I did not at all consider 
 that what I was saying was simply rude ; but it 
 seemed to me, at that period of my life, that there 
 was nothing more shameful than to pay common- 
 place compliments ; that there was nothing more 
 pleasing and original than frankness, even if it were 
 rude. However, feeling very well satisfied with my 
 reply, I nevertheless went for a walk with the whole 
 party. 
 
 The princess’s favourite spot was quite at the foot 
 of the garden, in the very thickest part of it, on a 
 small bridge thrown over a narrow marsh. The 
 view was very limited, but melancholy and graceful. 
 We have become so used to see no difference between 
 art and nature that very often those very phenomena in 
 nature which we never meet with in pictures seem 
 unnatural to us ; and vice versa , those which are often 
 repeated in pictures seem commonplace to us, while 
 others again, too full of one idea and one feeling, 
 which we meet with in nature, seem to us too 
 
378 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 elaborately refined. The princess’s favourite spot 
 was in this style. It consisted of a small pond, its 
 banks overgrown with grass ; behind it rose a steep 
 hill covered with gigantic old trees and bushes, 
 whose varied foliage all mingled into one entangled 
 mass ; at the foot of the hill was an old birch-tree, 
 which lay across the pond, its thick roots clinging to 
 the damp bank of the pond, its summit leaning 
 against a tall, slender aspen tree, and its bushy 
 branches overhanging the smooth surface of the pond, 
 in which these hanging branches and the surrounding 
 foliage were reflected. 
 
 * How lovely !’ said the princess, shaking her head 
 and addressing herself to no one in particular. 
 
 ‘ Yes, beautiful ; but it seems to me to be too like a 
 stage-effect,’ said I, wishing to show that I had my 
 own opinion on all subjects. 
 
 As if she had not heard my remark, the princess 
 kept on admiring the landscape, and, addressing her- 
 self to her sister and Lioubov Sergeievna, pointed out 
 some details to them — the curved branches overhang- 
 ing the pond and reflected in the water, which she 
 found particularly pretty. Sophia Ivanovna said 
 that it was most lovely, and that her sister used to 
 pass hours here ; but it was evident she only said it 
 in order to please the princess. I have noticed that 
 people endowed with a loving disposition are seldom 
 greatly impressed by the charms of nature. Lioubov 
 Sergeievna was also in raptures, and asked, by the 
 way, ‘How the birch-tree stood thus? How long it 
 would stand thus ?’ and looked continually at her lap- 
 dog Susette, which ran up and down the bridge, with 
 
I SHOW MYSELF TO THE BEST ADVANTAGE. 37 9 
 
 her bandy legs, wagging her woolly tail, and looking 
 as delighted as if she were out-of-doors for the first 
 time. Dimitri began a very logical argument with 
 his mother to prove that there could by no means be 
 a fine view when the horizon was limited. Varinka 
 did not say anything. When I looked at her she 
 was leaning upon the railing and gazing straight 
 before her, so that I saw only her profile. She was 
 evidently deep in thought and even moved by some- 
 thing, and was obviously not thinking of herself ; nor 
 did she notice that I was looking at her. The 
 expression of her large eyes showed such fixed 
 attention and such calm bright thought ; her pose was 
 so natural, and, notwithstanding her short stature, 
 even stately, that I was again struck with the idea 
 that I had seen her before, and again asked myself, 
 
 ‘ Is it not beginning ?’ And again I answered myself, 
 
 ‘ That I was already in love with Sonitchka, and that 
 Varinka was simply a young lady, my friend’s sister/ 
 But I felt a liking for her at that moment, and there- 
 fore felt an inexplicable longing to say something 
 slightly unpleasant to her. 
 
 ‘ Do you know, Dimitri,’ said I to my friend, 
 stepping nearer to Varinka, so as to enable her to 
 hear what I was saying, ‘ I find that even if there 
 were no gnats here there would be nothing particular 
 about it ; but as it is/ added I, slapping myself on my 
 forehead and really crushing a gnat, ‘ it is an ugly 
 place/ 
 
 ‘ It seems you are not an admirer of the beauties of 
 nature,’ said Varinka to me, without turning her 
 head. 
 
3 Bo 
 
 YOUTH . 
 
 ‘I find it an idle, useless occupation/ replied I, 
 greatly pleased to have said something rather un- 
 pleasant and original at the same time to her. 
 
 Varinka slightly raised her eyebrows for an instant, 
 with an expression of pity, and then went on, looking 
 calmly forwards. 
 
 I began to feel vexed with her, but, nevertheless, 
 the gray, faded railing of the bridge upon which she 
 was leaning, the reflection in the dark pond of the 
 overhanging branches of the old birch-tree, which 
 seemed to wish to unite its branches with those that 
 overhung it, the marshy smell, the consciousness of 
 having a crushed gnat on my forehead, and her pensive 
 look and stately pose, often unexpectedly recurred to 
 my fancy in after-times. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 DIMITRI. 
 
 When we returned home from our walk, Varinka 
 declined to sing, as she usually did in the evening, 
 and I was presumptuous enough to suppose it was on 
 account of what I had said to her on the bridge. 
 The Neklioudoffs never had supper, and went to bed 
 early, but that day Dimitri, as Sophia Ivanovna had 
 predicted, had a toothache, so we went up to his room 
 earlier than usual. Thinking that I had fulfilled 
 everything that my blue collar and silver buttons 
 required, and that I had pleased everybody, I was in 
 a most pleasant, self-sufficient state of mind, while 
 
DIMITRI. 
 
 38i 
 
 Dimitri, on the contrary, on account of his dispute 
 and the toothache, was silent and gloomy. He 
 seated himself at the table, got out his writing — a 
 diary and a writing-book, in which he used every 
 evening to enter his past and future studies — and, 
 incessantly frowning and rubbing his cheek with his 
 hand, sat writing for some time. 
 
 ‘ Oh, leave me alone !’ shouted he to the servant- 
 maid, who was sent by Sophia Ivanovna to inquire 
 how his toothache was, and whether he would like to 
 have a poultice made. After this, saying that a bed 
 would be made for me directly, and he would be back 
 immediately, he went to Lioubov Sergeievna. 
 
 ‘What a pity that Varinka is not pretty, and is not 
 Sonitchka !’ thought I, when I was left alone in the 
 room. ‘ How nice it would be, after finishing my 
 studies at the university, to return to them and to ask 
 for her hand ! I should say, “ Princess, I am no 
 longer young — I cannot love passionately, but shall 
 always love you as a dear sister. I have the greatest 
 respect for you,” I should say to the mother, “ and for 
 you too, Sophia Ivanovna, believe me. So tell me 
 plainly and straightforwardly,” I will add, addressing 
 Varinka, “ will you be my wife ?” Yes ; and she will 
 give me her hand, I shall press it slightly in mine, 
 and say : “ I love not in words, but in deed.” ’ And 
 then it suddenly flashed across my mind, ‘ What if 
 Dimitri were to fall in love with Lubotchka and want 
 to marry her ? — I know Lubotchka is in love with 
 him. But in that case one of us could not marry* — 
 
 * In Russia a marriage between a brother-in-law and sister- 
 in-law is forbidden by the Church. 
 
3^2 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 and that would be famous ! Then I should act thus : 
 I should notice it immediately, should go to Dimitri, 
 and should say to him, ‘ My friend, why should we 
 try to conceal our feelings from each other? You 
 know that my love for your sister will only cease with 
 my life ; but I know all. You have crushed my hopes 
 — you have made me miserable — but do you know 
 how Nicolas Irtenjeff avenges the misery entailed 
 upon him for his whole life ? Take my sister ’ — and 
 I should put Lubotchka’s hand in his. He would 
 say, ‘ No, for nothing in the world !’ But I should 
 say in reply, ‘ Prince Neklioudoff, it is in vain that you 
 endeavour to outdo Nicolas Irtenjeff in magnanimity. 
 There is no man in the world more magnanimous 
 than he is. I should then make my bow and leave 
 the room. Dimitri and Lubotchka would follow me 
 with tears in their eyes, and entreat me to accept their 
 sacrifice ; and then I would perhaps accept it, and be 
 very happy, supposing only that I were in love with 
 Varinka. 
 
 These dreams were so pleasant that I felt desirous 
 to communicate them to my friend, but, notwith- 
 standing our promises of mutual frankness, I some- 
 how felt that there was no physical possibility of 
 telling him about them. 
 
 Dimitri returned from Lioubov Sergeievna with 
 some drops which she had given him to apply to his 
 tooth. The pain still grew worse, and he was there- 
 fore still more gloomy. My bed was not made yet, 
 and Dimitri’s attendant — a young boy — came to ask 
 him where I was to sleep. 
 
 ‘ Go to the devil !’ shouted Dimitri, stamping his 
 
DIMITRI. 
 
 383 
 
 foot. ‘Vasjka! Vasjka ! Vasjka!’ shouted he, when 
 the boy had gone ; ‘Vasjka ! make up my bed on the 
 floor.’ 
 
 ‘ No ; I had rather sleep on the floor,’ said I. 
 
 ‘ Well, never mind, make it up anywhere,’ continued 
 Dimitri in the same angry tone. ‘Vasjka! why art 
 thou not making the bed ?’ 
 
 But Vasjka evidently did not know what he was to 
 do, and stood motionless. 
 
 ‘Now then, what is it ? Make the bed, make the 
 bed ! Vasjka ! Vasjka !’ shouted Dimitri, suddenly 
 getting into a rage. 
 
 But still Vasjka did not know what to do, and 
 stood motionless as before, and looked quite be- 
 wildered. 
 
 ‘ So you have sworn to rui to drive me mad ?’ 
 
 And Dimitri, suddenly rising from his seat and 
 running up to the boy, struck Vasjka’s head with his 
 fist several times as hard as he could, and the boy ran 
 headlong out of the room. 
 
 At the door Dimitri stopped, looked round at me, 
 and the expression of rage and harshness which for a 
 second had appeared on his face, was followed by 
 such a meek, shamed, and loving, childlike expression, 
 that I felt full of pity for him, and, much as I wished 
 to turn away, I could not make up my mind to do so. 
 He did not say anything to me, but kept walking up 
 and down the room for a long time, now and then 
 looking at me, with the same apologizing expression ; 
 then he got his diary out of the table-drawer, made 
 some entry in it, took off his coat, folded it carefully 
 up, approached the corner where the image of a saint 
 
384 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 was hanging, folded his large white hands over his 
 breast, and began to say his prayers. He prayed so 
 long that Vasjka had time to bring in the bed and lay 
 it out on the floor, as I told him to do in a whisper. 
 
 I undressed and lay down on the bed on the floor ; 
 Dimitri still went on praying. Looking at Dimitri’s 
 somewhat round-shouldered back, and the soles of his 
 feet, which exhibited themselves to me in a somewhat 
 submissive manner when he prostrated himself before 
 the image, I felt as if I loved him more than before, 
 and the thoughts kept recurring to my mind, ‘ Shall 
 I tell him or not about my day-dreams concerning 
 our sisters ? When he had finished his prayer, 
 Dimitri lay down on my bed, and leaning his head 
 upon his elbow, looked at me for a long time in 
 silence, with a meek and shamed look. It was 
 evidently a trial to him, but he forced himself to do 
 so as a punishment. I smiled as I looked up at him ; 
 he smiled too. 
 
 ‘ Why dost thou not tell me,’ said he, ‘ that I have 
 acted badly ? Do not you think so ?’ 
 
 * Yes,’ replied I, ‘although I was thinking of some- 
 thing quite different ; but it seemed to me that I had 
 really been thinking about it. Well, it was very 
 wrong of thee ; I did not expect it of thee/ said I, 
 finding at this moment particular pleasure in address- 
 ing him as thou. ‘ And how are thy teeth ?’ added I. 
 
 ‘ They do not ache any more. Oh, Nicolinka, my 
 friend/ resumed Dimitri in a gentle tone, and his 
 bright eyes seemed to be full of tears ; ‘ I know — I 
 feel, how wicked I have been, and God sees how I 
 long to be better and pray for help ; but what am I to 
 
DIMITRI. 
 
 385 
 
 do, with my unfortunate, horrid disposition ? What 
 am I to do ? I try to check myself, to amend my 
 faults, but it is impossible to do so at once, and im- 
 possible to do it by myself. It requires somebody to 
 support, to assist me. There is Lioubov Sergeievna — 
 she understands me, and has helped me much. I 
 know by my fliary that in the course of a year I have 
 already become much better. Oh, Nicolinka, love V 
 continued he, with extraordinary, unusual gentleness, 
 and already in a calmer tone after his confession, 
 ‘how great is the influence of a woman such as she 
 is ! My God, what a blessing it will be when I am 
 free to act as I please, to have such a friend ! With 
 her I am quite a different being/ 
 
 And thereupon Dimitri began to develop his plans 
 of marriage, of a life in the country, and his continual 
 efforts for improvement. 
 
 ‘ I shall live in the country ; thou wilt come to my 
 place ; it may be by that time thou wilt be married to 
 Sonitchka/ said he. ‘ Our children will play together. 
 It does seem ridiculous and absurd ; but is it not a 
 thing that may happen some day V 
 
 ‘ I should think so ! And very easily/ said I, 
 smiling, and at the same time thinking that it would 
 be better still if I married his sister. 
 
 ‘ Dost thou know/ said he to me after a few 
 moments’ silence, ‘ I suspect thou only fanciest that 
 thou art in love with Sonitchka. As far as I can 
 judge it is all nonsense, and thou dost not yet know 
 what the real feeling is/ 
 
 I did not say a word, because I almost agreed with 
 him. We were both silent for some time. 
 
 25 
 
386 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 ‘ Of course thou hast noticed that I was in a nasty 
 temper again to-day, and I was not even gentle- 
 manly in my dispute with Varia. I afterwards felt 
 extremely sorry myself, especially as it took place in 
 your presence. Although she has many false notions 
 about things and what really ought to be, she is a 
 splendid girl ; a very good girl, as thou wilt see 
 as soon as thou gettest to know her better.’ 
 
 His passing in his speech from the topic of my not 
 being in love with Sonitchka, to praises of his sister, 
 gave me great pleasure and made me blush ; but I 
 did not say anything to him about his sister, and our 
 conversation turned upon other matters. 
 
 So we passed the time in chatting till sunrise, and 
 the faint dawn of day had burst in through the window 
 before Dimitri went to his bed and put the light 
 out. 
 
 4 Well, now to sleep,’ said he. 
 
 ‘ Yes/ was my answer — only one word. 
 
 ‘ Well !’ 
 
 ‘ How pleasant life is said I. 
 
 ‘Yes, it is,’ replied he in a voice which made me 
 fancy that I saw in the dark the expression of his 
 happy, loving eyes and childlike smile. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 IN THE COUNTRY. 
 
 The next day Volodja and myself went in a stage- 
 coach to the country. On the way, thinking over 
 my various recollections of Moscow, I remembered 
 
IN THE COUNTRY. 
 
 38 7 
 
 Sonitchka Valahin ; but that was only in the even- 
 ing, after we had left five stages behind us. ‘ It is 
 strange that, being in love, I have forgotten all about 
 it ; I must think of her,’ said I to myself. And I 
 began to think of her as well as one can think while 
 travelling, that is without any consciousness, though 
 vividly ; and my thoughts carried me so far away that 
 when I arrived at our country-seat I considered it 
 for some reason or other necessary during two days 
 to be gloomy and thoughtful before everybody, and 
 especially before Katenka, whom I considered a com- 
 petent judge in such matters, and to whom I had 
 given a few hints about the state of my heart But 
 notwithstanding all my efforts to deceive both myself 
 and others into the belief that I was love-sick, not- 
 withstanding my having purposely appropriated all 
 the characteristic signs of love which I had noticed in 
 others, I only remembered that I was in love for two 
 days, and not always even during that time, but 
 mostly in the evenings, and at last, as soon as I had 
 got into our new routine of country life and occupa- 
 tions, I quite forgot all about my love for Sonitchka. 
 
 We came to Petrovskoje at night, and I was so 
 sound asleep that I did not see the house, nor the 
 birch-tree avenue, nor any of the family, for they had 
 all gone to their respective rooms for the night and 
 were fast asleep already. Hunch-backed Foka, bare- 
 foot, and wrapped up in a wadded jacket of his wife's, 
 came with a candle in his hand to unbolt the door. 
 When he saw us he quite trembled with joy, kissed 
 our shoulders, hastily took away the mat on which he 
 usually slept, and dressed himself. As I went up the 
 
 25 — 2 
 
388 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 staircase I was still half asleep, but in the entrance- 
 hall the lock of the door, the bolt, the irregular floor, 
 the chest, the old candlestick, besmeared with tallow, 
 just as it had been before ; the shadows thrown by 
 the irregular flicker of the tallow-candle, which just 
 lighted the double window, dusty from never having 
 been taken out, and behind which, as I recollected, 
 there grew a sorb-tree — were all so familiar to me, so 
 full of recollections, so thoroughly linked together, 
 as if united by one thought, that I felt as if the dear 
 old home lovingly welcomed me back. The question 
 involuntarily arose in my mind : ‘ How could I and 
 my home have been parted from each other so long ?’ 
 And I hastily ran to see whether the other rooms 
 had remained the same as they had been. Every- 
 thing was the same, only everything had become 
 smaller, in width and height, and I seemed to have 
 grown taller, heavier and stouter ; but even such as I 
 was, the house received me joyously into its embrace, 
 and every window, every step of the stairs, every 
 sound, recalled to my mind the faces, feelings, and 
 events of the irrevocable, happy past. We entered 
 our nursery bedroom : all the old childish terrors 
 again lurked in the dark corners and behind the 
 doors ; we passed through the drawing-room — the 
 same gentle, tender motherly love breathed over 
 everything in the room ; we crossed the hall — noisy, 
 careless, childish joy seemed to have come to a stand- 
 still there, waiting to be once more brought to life. 
 In the parlour into which we were taken by Foka, 
 and where he had made our beds, everything — the 
 mirror, the screens, the old image of a saint framed 
 
IN THE COUNTRY. 
 
 389 
 
 in wood, every irregularity of the white-papered wall — 
 spoke to us of suffering, of death, and of her who 
 would never return to us. 
 
 We went to bed, and Foka left us, wishing us 
 good-night. 
 
 ‘ This is the room where mamma died, is it not ?’ 
 said Volodja. 
 
 I did not give him any answer, and pretended to 
 be asleep. Had I endeavoured to say a word, I 
 should have burst into tears. When I awoke the 
 next morning, papa, still undressed, in Torjock* 
 boots and a morning-gown, sat, with a cigar in his 
 mouth, on Volodja’s bed, talking and laughing. 
 With a joyous twitching of the lips he left Volodja, 
 came up to me, and slapping my back with his large 
 hand, put his cheek to my lips and pressed it against 
 them. 
 
 t Well, that is splendid ; thank you, diplomatist,’ 
 said he, in his peculiar half-joking, half-caressing way, 
 looking at me with his little sparkling eyes. J Volodja 
 says thou hast passed famously. Well done ! If 
 thou dost not get any nonsense into thy head, thou 
 wilt be a splendid fellow too. Thank thee, my boy. 
 Now we shall live here splendidly, and for the winter 
 shall perhaps go to St. Petersburg. It is a pity that 
 the hunting season is over ; otherwise I should have 
 given thee a treat. Well, art thou a pretty good 
 sportsman, Voldemar? There is abundance of game 
 here ; I shouldn’t mind going with you myself one of 
 these days. And in the winter, so God will, we shall 
 
 * Torjock, a town in Russia famous for its manufactories of 
 soft boots. 
 
390 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 remove to St. Petersburg. You will get into society, 
 form good connections. You are no longer children. 
 
 I was just now telling Volodja that now your paths 
 in life lie before you, and my duty is done. You 
 can go on alone ; but whenever you like to ask 
 my advice, do so. I am not your tutor, but your 
 friend ; at least, I will be your friend and companion 
 and adviser wherever I can, and that’s all. How 
 does thy philosophy agree with this plan ? Eh, Coco ? 
 Is it good or bad, eh ?’ 
 
 Of course I said it was splendid, and I really thought 
 so. Papa’s face had a peculiarly attractive, cheer- 
 ful, and happy expression that day ; and the new 
 relations between him and myself, as if we were equals 
 or comrades, made me love him still more. 
 
 ‘ Now, tell me, didst thou call upon all our friends ? 
 hast thou been to Ivin’s ? Didst thou see old Ivin ? 
 What^did he say to thee ?’ he went on. ‘ Hast thou 
 been to see Prince Ivan Ivanovitch ?’ 
 
 We were such a long time talking without dress- 
 ing ourselves, that the sun had already receded from 
 the windows ' of the drawing-room, and Jacoff (as 
 old as ever, twisting his fingers behind his back just 
 as he used to do, and repeating in bis funny way, 
 ‘ And then again ’) entered our room and announced 
 that the small carriage was ready. 
 
 ‘Where art^tliou going?’ asked I. 
 
 ‘ Alas ! I had almost forgotten,’ said papa, accom- 
 panying his words with a vexed twitching of the face, 
 and coughing ; £ I promised to call upon the Epifanoffs 
 to-day. Do you remember Mrs. Epifanoff — la belle 
 Flamande? She used to visit your mamma. They 
 
IN THE COUNTRY. 
 
 39i 
 
 are nice people.’ And, shrugging his shoulders, papa 
 left the room reluctantly, as it seemed to me. 
 
 Lubotchka had already come up to the door several 
 times during our chat, asking, ‘ May I come in ?’ and 
 every time papa had called out through the door that 
 it was quite impossible, as we were undressed. 
 
 ‘What does it matter ? Haven’t I seen you before 
 in your dressing-gowns ?’ 
 
 ‘ You cannot see your brothers without their in- 
 expressibles !’ cried he ; ‘ but there, each of them will 
 tap the door. Will that do in the meantime ? But 
 even for them to talk with thee when they are in such 
 a neglige is improper.’ 
 
 ‘ Oh, how tiresome ! There, make haste, and come 
 into the drawing-room ; Mimi is so anxious to see 
 you !’ shouted Lubotchka, still standing outside the 
 door. 
 
 As soon as papa had left, I dressed as fast as I 
 could, put on my student’s coat, and went into the 
 drawing-room ; but Volodja, on the contrary, did not 
 hurry, and remained upstairs for a long time, talking 
 with Jacofif about the places where snipe or other 
 game was to be found. As I have already mentioned, 
 he hated nothing so much as ‘ being tender with his 
 beloved brother, father, or sister,’ as he used to express 
 himself ; and avoiding every expression of feeling, he 
 sank into the opposite extreme, and was cold in his 
 manners, which was often taken amiss by people who 
 did not understand the cause. In the entrance-hall I 
 met papa, going nimbly down to take his seat in the 
 carriage. He wore his new fashionable coat from 
 Moscow, and he smelt of perfume. Seeing me, he 
 
392 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 cheerfully nodded his head, as if to say, * You see, am 
 I not splendid ?’ and I was again struck by the happy 
 expression of his eyes, that I had already noticed in 
 the morning. 
 
 The drawing-room was still the same high, light 
 room, with a yellow English piano in it, and large 
 open windows, looking out upon the green trees and 
 bright, reddish paths of the garden. After having 
 kissed Mimi and Lubotchka, I was approaching 
 Katenka, when it suddenly occurred to me that it was 
 not proper for me to kiss her, and I stopped silent 
 and blushing. Katenka, not in the least abashed, 
 gave me her white hand, and wished me joy at having 
 entered the university. When Volodja entered the 
 drawing-room, his meeting with Katenka was the 
 same as mine had been. It was, indeed, difficult to 
 decide how we were to meet now cfter our first 
 separation, after we had grown up together, and 
 during that whole period had seen each other every 
 day. Katenka grew much redder than any of us ; 
 Volodja was not in the least confused, and bowing 
 slightly to her, went to Lubotchka, with whom he 
 also talked a little, and then went out for a walk by 
 himself. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 THE TERMS ON WHICH WE STOOD WITH THE 
 GIRLS. 
 
 VOLODJA looked upon the girls in a strange light ; it 
 would interest him to know whether they were not 
 hungry, whether they had slept well ; he liked them 
 
THE TERMS ON WHICH WE STOOD. 
 
 393 
 
 to be properly dressed, to make no mistakes in 
 speaking French, for which he would have to feel 
 ashamed of them before other people ; but he would 
 not admit the idea that they could have any human 
 feelings or thoughts, and still less did he admit the 
 possibility of arguing with them upon any subject. 
 Whenever they happened to address any serious 
 question to him (a thing they used to avoid doing as 
 much as possible), when they asked him for his opinion 
 about some novel, or about his occupations at the 
 university, he used to make faces at them and walk 
 away in silence, or else he would answer by some dis- 
 torted French phrase, Comme si, Tres joli , etc., or 
 make a grave, intensely stupid face, and utter some 
 word that had no sense whatever in it, and had 
 nothing to do with the matter in question ; suddenly 
 making his eyes look quite dull, he would utter words 
 such as ‘white loaf/ or ‘going/ or ‘cabbage/ or some- 
 thing of the kind. When 1 happened to repeat to 
 him what Lubotcha or Katenka had said, he always 
 replied : 
 
 ‘ H’m ! so thou still undertakest to argue with 
 them ? I see thou art still far behind.’ 
 
 And it was necessary to hear and see him at the 
 time in order to understand the deep, unchangeable 
 contempt which those words expressed. Volodja 
 had been already considered as grown-up for upwards 
 of two years. He was incessantly falling in love with 
 all the pretty women whom he happened to meet 
 with, but though he saw Katenka every day, and 
 though she had begun to wear long dresses two years 
 ago, and grew handsomer every day, he did not even 
 
394 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 think of the possibility of falling in love with her. 
 Perhaps it was because the prosaic recollections of 
 infancy, of the ruler of our punishments, of all her 
 childish whims and caprices, etc., were still too fresh 
 in his mind ; perhaps it arose from the repugnance 
 which is often found in very young men for every- 
 thing at home, or through the general weakness of us 
 all, on meeting with anything good or beautiful, to 
 pass it over with the words, ‘ Well, I shall come 
 across many such in my life !’ — and then, Volodja did 
 not consider Katenka a woman yet. 
 
 Volodja evidently felt time hang heavily on his 
 hands all the summer ; it proceeded from his despising 
 us, a thing he never tried to conceal, as I have just 
 said. The constant expression of his face seemed to 
 say, ‘ Pooh ! what a nuisance there is nobody to talk 
 to ! In the morning he would sometimes go out with 
 his gun, or sit undressed in his room till dinner-time 
 reading. When papa happened to be out, he would 
 even come to dinner with his book, and go on reading 
 at table without talking to any one of us, so that we 
 all felt somehow in the wrong in his presence. In 
 the evenings, too, he used to lie full length on the 
 sofa, fall asleep leaning his head on his elbow, or say 
 the most nonsensical things with a very serious face ; 
 sometimes he would even say things that were not 
 quite proper, so that Mimi would get vexed, and her 
 face grow quite red, while we nearly choked with 
 laughter, but he never deigned to talk seriously with 
 any of the family, except with papa and now and then 
 with me. I involuntarily began to imitate my 
 brother, and to look upon the girls in the same light 
 
THE TERMS ON WHICH WE STOOD. 
 
 395 
 
 as he did, though I was not as afraid of ‘ tenderness * 
 as he was, and my contempt for the girls was far less 
 steadfast and less deep. During the summer I even 
 sometimes tried to be on more friendly terms with 
 Lubotchka and Katenka, and to chat with them in 
 order to beguile the tedium of the day ; but I every 
 time found in them such an absence of all ability to 
 think logically, and such ignorance about the most 
 simple, every-day matters — as, for instance, what 
 money was, what we studied at the university, what 
 war was, etc. — and such an indifference to any 
 explanation about all, that these attempts only 
 strengthened my unfavourable opinion concerning 
 them. 
 
 I remember, one evening, Lubotchka was exer- 
 cising for the hundredth time some intolerably tedious 
 passage on the piano, Volodja was lying on the sofa 
 in the drawing-room and was half asleep, muttering 
 from time to time in a cross, ironical tone, without 
 addressing anybody in particular, ‘ How she is going 
 on ! .... A musician, indeed ! . . . . Bee-t-hoven !' 
 .... (he pronounced the latter word with peculiar 
 irony) .... famous .... now once more .... so !’ 
 etc. Katenka and myself remained sitting at the 
 tea-table, and I do not remember how it was that 
 Katenka brought the conversation to bear upon her 
 favourite topic — love. I was in a philosophical mood 
 that day, and began to describe love as being a wish 
 to obtain in a person what one does not possess one's 
 self, etc. But Katenka replied that, on the contrary, 
 it was not love if a girl only thought of getting 
 married to a wealthy man, and that, in her opinion, 
 
396 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 wealth was of no importance, and that true love was 
 a feeling that could stand the test of separation. (I 
 understood this as a hint about her love for Doub- 
 koff.) Volodja, who, it seems, had heard our conver- 
 sation, suddenly rose, and, leaning on his elbow, called 
 out in a tone of inquiry : ‘ Katenka — Russians?’ 
 
 ‘ Nonsense !’ said Katenka. 
 
 ‘ Pepperpot ?’ continued Volodja, accentuating each 
 vowel. And I could not help thinking that Volodja 
 was quite right. 
 
 Apart from the general faculties, which are more or 
 less developed in every human being of intellect, 
 feeling, artistic sentiment, there is another faculty 
 more or less developed in different circles of society, 
 and especially in families, which I shall call the 
 faculty of ‘ comprehension.’ The essential point of 
 this faculty lies in a conventional feeling of the greater 
 or lesser weight of each other’s actions, and a mutual 
 conventional outlook upon things. Two members of 
 the same circle or the same family possessing that 
 faculty never allow any expression of feeling to go 
 beyond a certain point ; if it do go beyond, they both 
 immediately know it to be nothing but talk. They 
 both see simultaneously where praise ends and irony 
 begins ; where enthusiasm ceases and pretence takes 
 its place, while the same things may seem to out- 
 siders to be very different. People whose outlook is 
 the same invariably see exactly the same degree of 
 absurdity, beauty, or even nastiness, in everything 
 they come across. To facilitate a mutual understand- 
 ing, the members of a circle or a family often have a 
 language of their own, expressions peculiar to them 
 
THE TERMS ON WHICH WE STOOD. 
 
 397 
 
 alone, or even words which define these various 
 shades of expression which are incomprehensible to 
 others. In our family that sort of mutual understand- 
 ing was developed to the highest degree between my 
 father and us boys. Doubkoff, too, fitted into our 
 family circle pretty well, and understood us ; but 
 though Dimitri was a great deal cleverer than Doub- 
 koff, he was backward in that. But between none 
 was the mutual understanding as greatly developed 
 as it was between Volodja and me. Papa was behind- 
 hand with us, and many things that were as clear and 
 plain to us as that twice two is four were incompre- 
 hensible to him. For instance, Volodja and I had 
 adopted — I hardly know how it came about — certain 
 words to which we attached some peculiar meaning : 
 raisins signified an ostentatious desire to show that a 
 man was in possession of money ; shishka , a cone 
 (in saying which the speaker was required to press his 
 fingers close together and lay a particular stress on 
 both letters ^ and A), signified something fresh, 
 healthy, elegant, but not flaunting ; a substantive 
 used in the plural signified an unjustifiable passion 
 for that respective thing, etc. However, the meaning 
 depended more on the expression of the face, on the 
 general conversation, so that, whatever new expression 
 signifying any new meaning one of us happened to 
 invent, the other would understand it just the same 
 at a hint. The girls lacked the mutual understanding 
 which existed between us, and that was the principal 
 cause of our moral disunion and of the contempt 
 which we felt for them. 
 
 They had, it may be, their own way of understand- 
 
398 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 ing things, but it did not come up to ours, so that 
 where we saw but empty talk, they saw feeling ; they 
 took our irony for truth, etc. But at the time I did 
 not understand that it was not their fault, and that a 
 lack of mutual understanding between us in no way 
 prevented their being nice and clever girls, and I 
 despised them. Besides, once having conceived the 
 idea of entire frankness, and carrying out the idea to 
 the highest degree myself, I accused the quiet, con- 
 fiding Lubotchka of concealment and hypocrisy, 
 because she did not find it necessary to examine and 
 investigate all her thoughts and the feelings of her 
 heart. For instance, it seemed to me to be nothing 
 but great hypocrisy in Lubotchka to make the sign 
 of the cross over papa every evening before going to 
 bed, or in both her and Katenka’s weeping in the 
 chapel when they went to attend a Mass said for the 
 repose of our dead mother’s soul, or, again, Katenka’s 
 way of sighing and turning up her eyeballs when 
 playing the piano, and I asked myself where they 
 could have learned to feign thus, like grown-up 
 people, and how it was they were not ashamed of 
 doing so. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 MY OCCUPATIONS. 
 
 The present summer, however, brought me nearer to 
 our young ladies than before, on account of my having 
 grown passionately fond of music. In the spring a 
 visit was paid us by one of our neighbours, who came 
 to introduce himself. He was a young gentleman, 
 
MY OCCUPATIONS. 
 
 399 
 
 and as soon as he entered the reception-room he kept 
 looking at the piano and by slow degrees drew his 
 chair up to it, talking with Mimi and Katenka all the 
 time. After having talked about the weather and 
 the advantages of a country life, he skilfully led the 
 conversation to tuners, then to music, to the piano, 
 and finally declared that he played the piano, and 
 had very soon given us three waltzes, during which 
 time Lubotchka, Mimi, and Katenka stood beside the 
 piano looking at him. The young gentleman never 
 came to see us again after that day ; but I liked his 
 playing, his pose at the piano, his way of throwing 
 back his hair, and especially the way he took octaves 
 with his left hand, rapidly turning over the little 
 finger and the thumb to the width of an octave, and 
 then slowly bringing them together and again stretch- 
 ing them out quickly. That graceful gesture, his 
 negligent pose, the throwing back his hair and the 
 attention paid to his talent by the ladies, instilled 
 into me a wish to play the piano. Thanks to this 
 idea, I felt convinced that I possessed talent and love 
 of music. I took to study. In that respect I acted 
 just like millions of people of the male, and especially 
 the female sex, who learn without having a good 
 teacher, without any real vocation, and without the 
 slightest idea what art can give, and how to set about 
 it in order to make it lead to something. For me 
 music, or, rather, playing on the piano, was a means 
 to captivate the girls by my feelings. With the 
 assistance of Katenka, after having learned to read 
 music, and having to a certain degree broken in my 
 thick fingers, which, however, cost me about two 
 
4oo 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 months of such zealous work that I exercised my 
 disobedient fourth finger even at the dinner-table on 
 my knee and in bed on the pillow. I undertook to 
 play musical pieces , and played them, of course, with 
 feeling — avec ame — as even Katenka admitted, but 
 without keeping time at all. 
 
 My choice of pieces was of the well-known order — 
 waltzes, galops, romances, arrangements for the piano, 
 etc. — all the productions of those sweet composers 
 whose compositions every person of good taste would 
 pick out of a heap of beautiful things in a music-shop, 
 and would say, ‘This is what one ought never to 
 play, because nothing worse, nothing more tasteless, 
 and nothing more absurd, has ever been written on 
 music-paper.’ Yet it is just this music that you will 
 find on the piano of every Russian young lady. It is 
 true we had also a few unfortunate pieces, as, for 
 instance, ‘ Sonate Pathetique,’ and Bis-moll Sonate 
 of Beethoven, which the girls mutilated (Lubotchka 
 used to play them in remembrance of mamma), and 
 other good music, given her by her teacher in Moscow ; 
 but there were likewise the compositions of that same 
 teacher, consisting of the most absurd marches and 
 galops, which Lubotchka also played. Katenka and 
 myself, on the other hand, did not like serious 1 pieces, 
 and preferred ‘ Le Fou ’ and ‘ The Nightingale.’ 
 Katenka played the latter so well that one could not 
 see her fingers move, and I had already learnt to play 
 it pretty loudly and fluently. I had adopted the gesture 
 of the young gentleman, and often regretted that 
 there was no stranger to see me play. But Liszt and 
 Kalkbrenner appeared beyond my strength, and I saw 
 
MY OCCUPATIONS. 
 
 401 
 
 it was impossible for me to overtake Katenka. Con- 
 sequently, fancying classical music to be easier, and 
 partly for the sake of eccentricity, I suddenly decided 
 that I loved German scientific music, fell into raptures 
 when Lubotchka played ‘ Sonate Path^tique,’ though, 
 to tell the truth, I had long been heartily sick of it — 
 and I myself began to play Beethoven, and to pro- 
 nounce the name thus — Baathoven. In spite of all 
 this nonsense and pretence, however, as far as I now 
 remember, I did possess musical talent to a certain 
 degree. Music often used to make a deep impression 
 upon me, calling tears to my eyes, and the tunes 
 which I took a liking to I could always manage to 
 play without seeing the music-book ; so that, if any- 
 body had at that time taught me to consider music as 
 a purpose in life, or as an independent pleasure, and 
 not as means of captivating girls by the quickness 
 and the feeling of my play, perhaps I should really 
 have become a fairly good musician. 
 
 Another occupation of mine during the summer 
 was the reading of French novels, of which Volodja 
 had brought a great number with him. At that time 
 such novels as ‘ Monte Cristo * and various Mysteries 
 had only just begun to appear, and I devoured volume 
 after volume of Sue, Dumas and Paul de Coq. All 
 the most unnatural characters and adventures ap- 
 peared to me true to life. I not only never dared to 
 suspect the author of a lie, but even forgot the exist- 
 ence of the author himself, and saw but real living 
 people, and events which really took place, in the 
 printed pages of the book. Although I had never 
 happened to come across persons similar to those I 
 
 26 
 
402 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 read about, I never doubted for a second that they 
 would appear before me in the future. 
 
 I detected in myself all the passions described in 
 the book, and a resemblance to all the characters — 
 both heroes and evildoers — in every novel I read, just 
 as a nervous man, on reading some medical book, 
 thinks he feels the symptoms of all possible diseases. 
 I liked the cunning thoughts and the ardent feelings I 
 found in these novels — the wonderful facts, and the 
 uniform characters of the heroes ; the good characters 
 — wholly good ; the wicked — wholly wicked, pre- 
 cisely as in my early youth I had imagined people to 
 be. I liked very much indeed, too, their being written 
 in French, and I tried to remember all the noble 
 sayings of those noble heroes, so as to make use ot 
 them when an opportunity of performing some noble 
 deed presented itself. How many different French 
 phrases did I find out with the assistance of these 
 novels, and store up in my mind for Kolpikoff if I 
 should happen to meet him anywhere, and for her, 
 when I should at last see her and confess my love ! 
 I had prepared such fine sayings for each of them as 
 would quite stun them. I even formed new ideals of 
 moral merit, based on the novels I read. First of all 
 I wished to be ‘ noble ’ in all my deeds and actions (I 
 mean ‘ noble/ and not well-born — because the French 
 word noble has quite another meaning ; I use it in the 
 sense of the German word nobel , which they do not 
 confound with ehrlich :), then to be passionate , and 
 finally to be as comme il faut as possible. The last 
 was a taste I had long possessed. I tried, even in my 
 appearance and my habits, to resemble the heroes 
 
MY OCCUPATIONS. 
 
 403 
 
 who were described as possessing any of these merits. 
 I remember, in one of the hundred novels which I had 
 been reading during the summer, there was one ex- 
 tremely passionate hero with bushy eyebrows, and I 
 wished so much to resemble him in appearance 
 (morally I felt I was quite like him) that, when I 
 looked at my eyebrows in the looking-glass, I took it 
 into my head to cut them a little shorter, so as to 
 make them grow thicker ; but when I began to cut 
 them, I happened to cut more in one place than 
 in another ; then it had to be made even, and the end 
 was that, to my horror, I beheld myself in the look- 
 ing-glass without any eyebrows at all, and, conse- 
 quently, looking very ugly. However, hoping that in 
 a short time I should have bushy eyebrows like the 
 passionate hero, I felt comforted, and only troubled 
 about what I was to say to all at home when they 
 saw me without eyebrows. I took some of Volodja’s 
 gunpowder, rubbed it on my brows, and lit it. 
 Although the powder did not take fire, I looked suffi- 
 ciently as if I had scorched my face. The cunning 
 trick was not found out by anyone, and, indeed, by 
 the time I had already forgotten all about the 
 passionate man, my eyebrows came out much thicker. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 COMME IL FAUT. 
 
 I HAVE referred several times already in this tale to 
 the idea of the French words I place at the head of 
 this chapter, and now feel it necessary to devote a 
 whole chapter to that subject, which has been during 
 
 26 — 2 
 
4°4 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 my whole life one of the most pernicious, most 
 erroneous notions inculcated into me by the way in 
 which I was brought up, and the society in which I 
 was placed. 
 
 The human race may be divided into a multitude 
 of classes — into rich and poor, good and bad, military 
 and civil, clever and stupid, etc. ; but every man, 
 at all events, possesses a pet subdivision of his own, 
 under which he unconsciously places each new person 
 he meets. My favourite and principal subdivision 
 of people at the time I am writing about was into 
 two classes, into people comme il faut and people 
 not comme il faut. The second class was again 
 subdivided into people who were properly speaking 
 not comme il faut, and into common people. I 
 esteemed people that were comme il faut and con- 
 sidered them as worthy of being on equal terms with 
 me ; the second I pretended to despise, but, in fact, 
 simply detested them, having a sort of injured per- 
 sonal feeling towards them ; I ignored the third alto- 
 gether, and utterly despised them. My comme il 
 faut consisted, first of all, and chiefly, in speaking 
 French well, and especially in a correct pronunciation 
 of the language. A man who spoke French with a 
 bad accent immediately awoke a feeling of detesta- 
 tion in me. ‘ Why do you want to speak as we do if 
 you do not know how to do so ?’ I used ill-naturedly 
 to ask him in my thoughts. The second condition of 
 comme il faut was to wear the nails long, well-shaped 
 and clean ; the third was to know how to bow, to 
 dance, and to converse ; the fourth, and a very 
 important one, was a perfect indifference to every- 
 
COM ME IL FA UT. 
 
 405 
 
 thing, and a constant expression of a certain exquisite 
 contemptuous weariness. Besides all this there were 
 general signs by which, without speaking to the 
 person, I used to determine to which class that person 
 belonged. Except the decoration of the room, the 
 gloves, the handwriting, the carriage, the principal 
 signs were the feet. The shape of the boots imme- 
 diately stamped a person’s position in my opinion 
 Boots without heels, with sharp points, and the 
 trousers narrow towards the feet, and without straps, 
 showed a man to be ‘ common,’ vulgar ; a boot with 
 a narrow round toe, with heels and pantaloons narrow 
 at the foot, with straps to them encircling the foot, or 
 wide pantaloons with straps, nearly covering the toe, 
 denoted a man mauvais genre, etc. 
 
 It is strange that this notion went to such an 
 extent in me, who had positively no disposition to be 
 comme il faut. But perhaps it was just because I 
 had an immense difficulty in attaining to that degree 
 myself that it took such a deep root in me. It is 
 awful to think what an amount of inestimable time — 
 the best part of my life, at the age of sixteen — I 
 spent in attaining this quality. All those whom I 
 used to imitate — Volodja, Doubkoff, and the greater 
 part of my acquaintances — seemed to have attained it 
 very easily. I looked at them with jealousy and 
 secretly studied French, cultivated the science of 
 bowing without looking at the person I was bowing 
 to ; studied conversation, dancing, cultivated indiffer- 
 ence towards all around me, and pretended weariness ; 
 I worked at my nails, cutting the flesh around with 
 scissors, and yet I felt that there was still a great deal 
 
406 
 
 YOUTH . 
 
 left to do in order to attain my purpose. As to my 
 room, my writing-table, my carriage, I did not in the 
 least know how to manage to give them an air of 
 comme il faut, although I tried hard, in spite of my 
 hatred for practical work of any kind. Everything 
 seemed to go right with others without any trouble at 
 all, as if it could not be otherwise. I remember 
 once, after much useless exertion over my nails, I 
 asked Doubkoff, who had wonderfully good nails, 
 how long he had possessed such nice nails, and how 
 he managed to keep them so. Doubkoff answered, 
 ‘ I never remember to have had them otherwise, and 
 never did anything to make them so. I cannot 
 understand how well-bred people can have them 
 otherwise.’ His answer vexed me considerably. I 
 did not know at that time that one of the principal 
 conditions of comme il faut was the concealing all 
 the difficulty with which that same comme il faut was 
 attained. I considered comme il faut not merely a 
 very important item, a great quality, a perfection 
 which I was anxious to attain, but an indispensable 
 condition of life, without which there could be no 
 happiness, no reputation, nothing good in the world. 
 I should not have esteemed either an eminent artist, 
 a learned man, or a benefactor of the human race 5 
 unless he had been comme il faut. A man who was 
 comme il faut was incomparably superior to all other 
 men in my eyes ; he left it to others to paint pictures, 
 to write music, books, to do good — he even admired 
 them for doing so. Why should he not admire good 
 qualities in any who may possess them ; but he could 
 never place himself on a level with them, for he was 
 
COM ME IL FA UT. 
 
 407 
 
 com me il faut, and they were not — that was all. It 
 even seemed to me that if we had had a brother, a 
 mother, or a father who were not comme il faut, I 
 should have said it was a misfortune ; but in such a 
 case I could have nothing in common with them. 
 But it was not the loss of the precious time which I 
 spent in constant endeavours to observe all the hard 
 conditions of comme il faut, and which excluded all 
 serious enthusiasm, nor the detestation and scorn 
 with which I considered nine-tenths of the human 
 race, nor my indifference towards all that was beau- 
 tiful beyond the circle of comme il faut, that did me 
 most harm. The great evil lay in the conviction that 
 comme il faut was an independent position in society ; 
 that a man need not be a public functionary, a car- 
 riage-builder, a soldier, or a learned man, as long as 
 he is comme il faut ; that having attained that position 
 he had already fulfilled his purpose in life, and even 
 occupied a higher position than the great mass of 
 humanity. 
 
 At a certain period of one’s youth, after many 
 errors and mistakes, each man usually finds himself 
 under the necessity of taking an active part in social 
 life. He chooses some branch of work, and devotes 
 himself to the same ; but with a man who is comme 
 il faut this is seldom the case. I knew and know a 
 great many old people, proud, self-confident people, 
 harsh in their judgments, who if, in the next world, 
 they are asked, ‘ Who are you ? and what have you 
 done on earth ?’ would be unable to answer otherwise 
 than, ‘ Je fus un homme tres comme il faut !’ 
 
 This was the fate that awaited me. 
 
408 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 Notwithstanding the confusion of ideas which 
 existed in my head, I was, during that summer, 
 young, innocent, free, and therefore almost happy. 
 
 Sometimes, and not unfrequently, I used to rise 
 early in the morning. (I slept in the open air on the 
 terrace, and the glaring slanting beams of the morn- 
 ing sun often used to wake me.) I would dress 
 myself quickly, take a towel under my arm and a 
 French novel, and go to bathe in the river under the 
 shade of a birch wood, which was half a mile from our 
 house. There I used to lie down in the shade on 
 the grass and read, now and then taking my eyes off 
 the book in order to glance at the purple surface of 
 the shaded stream, rippling in the morning breeze ; at 
 the field cf ripening rye, on the other bank of the 
 river; at the morning light of the sun, still slightly 
 red, as he cast his rays lower and lower upon the 
 white trunks of the birch-trees, which, hiding them- 
 selves one behind the other, disappeared in the far 
 distance of the dense woods, and I rejoiced in the 
 consciousness of possessing the same fresh, young 
 strength of life with which all nature breathed around 
 me. When the sky was overcast by gray morning 
 clouds and I felt cold after bathing, I would frequently 
 take a long walk without aim or purpose among the 
 fields and woods, delighted to feel my feet wet with 
 the fresh dew. At such times I thought of the heroes 
 
YOUTH. 
 
 409 
 
 whom I had read about in the last novel, and fancied 
 myself either the chief of an army, a minister, some 
 extraordinary strong man, or a man passionately in 
 love, and would look round tremblingly, hoping to 
 meet her somewhere in the field or behind a tree. 
 When, during these walks, I happened to meet 
 peasants or peasant-girls at their work, although I 
 completely ignored common people , I always uncon- 
 sciously experienced great shyness, and tried to pass 
 without their seeing me. When it grew too warm 
 out of doors, and before the ladies had come down to 
 breakfast, I used frequently to go into the kitchen- 
 garden or fruit-garden to eat the ripe fruit and vege- 
 tables. That was one of my greatest pleasures. 
 Sometimes it would happen that I went into the 
 orchard and right into the middle of a high, densely 
 overgrown, bushy raspberry-shrub. Above my head 
 the bright glowing sky, around me the pale-green, 
 prickly foliage of the raspberry-bushes, intermixed 
 with weeds. Dark-green nettles, with thin blooming 
 crowns, rose gracefully upwards before me ; burdock, 
 with strange pinkish-blue prickly blossoms, grew higher 
 than the raspberry-bushes and higher than my head, 
 and here and there, intermixed with nettles, reached 
 even to the irregular, pale-green branches of the old 
 apple-trees, on the top of which, in spite of the burn- 
 ing sun, the round, unripe apples shone like little 
 ivory balls. Beneath grew a young raspberry-shrub) 
 almost dried up and without any foliage ; but it still 
 stretched its boughs towards the sun, and the green 
 prickly grass and young burdock, piercing through 
 last season’s dry leafage touched with dew, looked 
 
4>o 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 sa PPy and green in the shade, as if unconscious how 
 brightly the sunbeams played over the foliage of the 
 apple-tree. 
 
 Amid these bushes it is always damp ; there is a 
 smell of spiders' webs, of fallen apples, which lie 
 rotting on the damp ground ; of raspberries, and fre- 
 quently of chermes, which you sometimes happen to 
 swallow by accident together with a berry, and then , 
 quickly eat another berry to drive away the un- 
 pleasant taste. As you walk along you rouse the 
 sparrows that always live in this covert ; you hear 
 their busy twittering and the rustling of their little 
 wings against the twigs ; you hear in one direction 
 the humming of a drone-bee, and in another the 
 gardener’s footsteps resound along the pathway, or 
 those of Akim, the idiot, with his incessant mum- 
 bling. I say to myself, * No ! neither he nor anybody 
 in the world will ever find me out here.’ . . . With 
 both hands I pick the juicy berries right and left from 
 the white stalks, and swallow one after the other. 
 My feet are wet through ; my head is full of absurd 
 fancies ; my hands and legs smart from the nettles ; 
 the sunbeams straight above my head pierce through 
 the thicket and scorch it ; I can eat no more, but 
 still sit in the thicket looking, listening, thinking, 
 and unconsciously plucking and swallowing the best 
 berries. 
 
 By eleven o’clock I generally used to come into the 
 drawing-room, after tea, when the ladies were already 
 sitting at their work. Near the first window, with its 
 unbleached linen blinds drawn down, stand em- 
 broidery-frames, covered with white linen, on which 
 
YOUTH . 
 
 41 1 
 
 you see the flies walking drowsily ; the sun casts his 
 bright light through the chinks in the blinds upon 
 everything that happens to come in his way, forming 
 circles which make one’s eyes ache by their brilliancy. 
 Behind the embroidery-frames sits Mimi, angrily 
 shaking her head, and moving from one place to 
 another in order to get out of the sun, which, finding 
 some unexpected opening, throws a bright streak over 
 her face or hands. The other three windows cast 
 regular bright squares from the shadows of the 
 window-frames upon the unpainted floor in the draw- 
 ing-room. On one of them lies Milka — her usual 
 habit — and, pricking up her ears, watches the flies 
 that walk along the bright floor. Katenka knits or 
 reads, sitting on the sofa, and nervously fans herself 
 with her little white hands, which look transparent in 
 the bright sun, or, wrinkling up her face, shakes her 
 little head in order to drive away a fly, which has been 
 caught in her thick golden hair. Lubotchka either 
 walks up and down the room, her hands behind her, 
 waiting to go into the garden, or plays some tune 
 which has long been familiar to me. I take a seat 
 somewhere, listen to the music or the reading, and 
 wait till I, in my turn, can take possession of the seat 
 at the piano. After dinner I sometimes did the girls 
 the favour to accompany them in a ride (I considered 
 walking below my age and my social position). And 
 our rides used to be very pleasant. I often took the 
 party into out-of-the-way places and down ravines. 
 Sometimes we would meet with some adventure ; then 
 I would give proofs of manliness, and the ladies would 
 praise me for my riding and courage, and consider me 
 
412 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 their protector. In the evening, when we had no 
 visitors, after tea, which we took in the shady gallery, 
 and after a walk with papa over the estate, I would 
 take my old seat on the armchair, and listen to 
 Katenka or Lubotchka playing the piano, reading at 
 the same time, or dreaming in my old way. Some- 
 times, when alone in the drawing-room, and Lubotchka 
 played some old well-known tune, I would involun- 
 tarily drop my book and fix my gaze on the open 
 door of the balcony, on the curling branches of the 
 tall birch-trees, which were already growing dim in 
 the evening shade, and on the clear sky, where, on 
 looking fixedly at it, I would see a yellowish little 
 spot suddenly appear, and then disappear again ; and, 
 listening to the music in the sitting-room, to the 
 creaking of the gates, to the women’s voices outside, 
 and the noise of the herd returning to the village, I 
 would remember Natalia Savishna, mamma, Carl 
 Ivanovitch, and grow sad for a minute or two. But 
 my heart at that time was so full of life and hope, 
 that the remembrance would vanish as rapidly as it 
 came. 
 
 After supper, and after an evening walk with some- 
 body in the garden — I was afraid to walk alone in the 
 dark avenues — I would go to bed. I slept on the 
 floor in the veranda — a circumstance which afforded 
 me unbounded satisfaction, notwithstanding the 
 millions of gnats that stung me most unmercifully. 
 On moonlit nights I frequently passed hour after 
 hour sitting on my mattress, gazing fixedly at the 
 light and shadows, enjoying the perfect quietness 
 around, letting my fancy roam at will, dreaming of the 
 
YOUTH. 
 
 413 
 
 poetical happiness of passionate love, which then 
 seemed to me the greatest happiness in the world, 
 and grieving that up to that time I could only enjoy 
 it in fancy. It often happened that, when all had 
 retired for the night, when the lights had passed from 
 the sitting-room to the upper rooms, whence women’s 
 voices and the opening and shutting of windows 
 could be heard, I would go to the gallery and walk 
 up and down, eagerly listening to every sound as all 
 gradually sank to rest. As long as there is a little 
 even idle hope of happiness, even if not such entire 
 happiness as I longed for, I could not give way to 
 dreams of imaginary happiness. 
 
 At every sound of bare footsteps, at every cough 
 or sigh, at every closing of a window or rustling of a 
 dress, I would jump out of my bed, listen stealthily, 
 watch, and grow excited without any obvious reason. 
 And now the lights disappear from the upper windows, 
 the sounds of steps and talking are succeeded by 
 snoring, the watchman’s rattle is heard ; the garden 
 has become more gloomy and lighter at the same 
 time, as soon as streaks of red light thrown on it from 
 the windows have disappeared ; the last light from the 
 butler’s room passes into the entrance-hall, casting 
 rays of light along the dewy garden, and I can see 
 through the window the hunch-backed figure of Foka, 
 a candle in his hand, going up to bed. I very often 
 found an exciting pleasure in stealing along the damp 
 grass, under the dark shadow of the house, towards 
 the window of the entrance-hall, and standing there, 
 breathlessly listening to the snoring of the boy and 
 the grumbling of Foka, who thought himself un- 
 
414 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 heard, or the sound of his aged voice saying long, 
 long prayers. At last his candle is put out, the window 
 is closed ; I am left alone, and look timidly around to 
 see if there is not some ‘ woman in white ’ to be seen 
 near the flower-bed or at my bedside, then quickly 
 run back to the veranda. I then went to bed, with 
 my face towards the garden, and covering myself up 
 as well as possible to protect myself from the gnats 
 and the bats, I looked into the garden, listening to 
 the sounds of night and letting my fancy dwell upon 
 love and happiness. 
 
 Everything looked so different then — the old birch- 
 trees glistening on one side in the moonlit sky, with 
 their curly branches ; on the other, dimly sheathing 
 the shrubs and the pathway with their dark shades. 
 And the calm, stately trees, the glitter of the pond, 
 and the moonlit sparkle of the dewdrops on the 
 flowers in front of the veranda, which threw their 
 graceful shadows across the dark border of the flower- 
 bed ; the sound of a quail beyond the pond, a human 
 voice on the mainroad, and the calm, hushed creaking 
 of two old birch-trees standing close to each other; the 
 humming of a gnat over my ear under the blanket, 
 and the falling of an apple, after catching at a branch, 
 on the dry leaves ; the noise of the frogs, which 
 sometimes come close to the terrace, and looked so 
 mysteriously bright in the moonlight, with their 
 greenish backs — all assumed a strange character in 
 my eyes, a character of great beauty and of incom- 
 plete happiness. And now she would appear before 
 me with her long, dark tresses, her rounded shape, 
 pensive and beautiful with her bare arms and volup- 
 
YOUTH. 
 
 4i5 
 
 tuous embraces. She loved me, and for one minute 
 of her love I would sacrifice my whole life. But the 
 moon rose higher and higher, and became lighter and 
 lighter in the sky ; the grand glittering of the pond and 
 of the dewdrops grew clearer and clearer, the shadows 
 grew darker and darker, the light more and more 
 limpid, and while watching and listening to all this, a 
 voice whispered to me that even she , with her bare 
 arms and her passionate embraces, was not true 
 happiness, that love for her was not full bliss ; and the 
 more I looked at the high, full moon, the higher and 
 higher, purer and purer, did true beauty and bliss 
 appear, and nearer and nearer I drew to Him who is 
 the Source of all that is beautiful and good, and tears 
 of unsatisfied but agitating joy filled my eyes. 
 
 And still I was alone, and it seemed to me that 
 Nature, in her mysterious grandeur drawing towards 
 herself the bright light of the moon, which for some 
 reason remained in some distant vague spot in the 
 pale-blue sky, and yet was everywhere, and seemed to 
 fill the entire unbounded expanse, and I, an insignifi- 
 cant worm, already contaminated by all the littleness, 
 the foulness of human passions, but with unbounded 
 power of love — it seemed to me, I say, at that time as 
 if Nature, the moon and myself were one and the 
 same. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 NEIGHBOURS. 
 
 On the first day of our arrival I was greatly astonished 
 at papa’s calling our neighbours, the Epifanoffs, nice 
 people, and it surprised me still more to learn that he 
 
416 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 frequently went to see them. For a very long time 
 we had a lawsuit with the Epifanoffs about some land. 
 While quite a child I had more than once heard papa 
 angrily abusing the Epifanoffs, and he invited various 
 people, in order (as far as I could understand) that 
 they should defend him against them. I had heard 
 Jacob speak of them as ‘our enemies,’ and as ‘black 
 people;’* and I remember that mamma once re- 
 quested that in her house and in her presence their 
 names should never be mentioned. 
 
 From these facts I had during my childhood im- 
 bibed so firm and clear an idea that the Epifanoffs 
 were enemies, who were ready to murder not only 
 papa, but his son too, if he should happen to fall into 
 their hands, and that they were in a literal sense 
 black people , that when in the year of mother’s death I 
 saw Avdotja Vassilievna Epifanoff (la belle Flamande) 
 nursing my mother, I could hardly believe her to be 
 one of those black people, and still retained the worst 
 possible opinion of the family. Though we often saw 
 them during the summer I had a strange prejudice 
 against the whole family. However, I must tell the 
 reader who the Epifanoffs really were. The family 
 consisted of the mother, a widow of fifty, a fresh and 
 cheerful old lady ; the daughter, named Avdotja Vas- 
 silievna, who was very beautiful ; and a son, who stam- 
 mered in his speech, named Peter Vassilievitch : he 
 was unmarried, had left the army, with the grade of 
 lieutenant, and was of a very serious disposition. 
 
 Anna Dimitrievna Epifanoff, f for about twenty 
 years before her husband’s death, had lived apart 
 * Base, low people. t The old lady. 
 
NEIGHBOURS. 
 
 417 
 
 from him, at one time in St. Petersburg, where she 
 had relations, but mostly in the country on her own 
 estate of Mytistschi, which was two miles from us. 
 In the neighbourhood people gave such dreadful 
 accounts of her that Messalina seemed an innocent 
 child in comparison with her. That was why mamma 
 had requested the name of Epifanoff never to be even 
 mentioned in her house ; but to say the truth, no one 
 could believe even the tenth part of what the most 
 malicious of all gossips — the village-gossips of the 
 neighbourhood — said. When I knew Anna Dimi- 
 trievna I found that in spite of there being at her 
 house a clerk named Mitinska, a former serf of hers, 
 who, with his well-oiled curly hair and a coat like 
 those worn by Circassians, always stood behind her 
 chair during dinner, and to whom she often used to 
 call her guests’ attention, asking them in French to 
 admire his beautiful eyes and mouth, there was 
 nothing really so bad as the people reported. It is 
 true that for the last ten years, ever since Anna 
 Dimitrievna had recalled her son Petrousha from the 
 military service, she had entirely changed her mode 
 of life. Anna Dimitrievna’s estate was a small one ; 
 she possessed a little more than a hundred souls,* 
 and the sums she had spent during her gay life were 
 considerable, so that ten years ago the estate, which 
 was mortgaged twice, the interest being still unpaid, 
 was to be sold by auction. In these very urgent cir- 
 cumstances, thinking that the wardship, the taking 
 an inventory of the estate, the arrival of law authori- 
 ties, and similar disagreeables, were caused not so 
 * Serfs. 
 
 27 
 
4 1 B 
 
 YOUTH . 
 
 much by default of payment, as in consequence of her 
 being a woman, Anna Dimitrievna had written to her 
 son, asking him to come and save his mother. 
 
 Though Peter Vassilievitch’s career was going on 
 so satisfactory that he had hoped soon to be inde- 
 pendent, he threw up all his prospects, resigned the 
 service, and like a good son, thinking it his first duty 
 to comfort his aged mother (as he quite sincerely 
 wrote to her in his letter), came back to the 
 country. 
 
 Notwithstanding his unsightly appearance, his 
 clumsiness and his stuttering, Peter Vassilievitch was 
 a man of extremely firm principles and unusual 
 practical good sense. Somehow, by small loans, 
 transactions, entreaties and promises he succeeded in 
 retaining the land. Having become a landlord, Peter 
 Vassilievitch put on his father’s wadded great-coat, 
 which had been kept in the store-room, did away with 
 the carriages and horses, kept visitors away from 
 Mytistschi, enlarged the ground to be ploughed, 
 abated the peasants’ land, had the wood cut down 
 by his own peasants, and sold it profitably, thus 
 improving the state of affairs. Peter Vassilievitch 
 vowed, and kept his vow, not to wear anything but 
 his father’s wadded great-coat and a linen overcoat, 
 which he had made for himself, and not to drive 
 about otherwise than in a cart drawn by peasants’ 
 horses until all debts were paid. This stoical style 
 of life he tried to enforce on the whole family, as far 
 as his servile respect for his mother admitted of — 
 respect which he considered it his duty to pay. When 
 he was in the drawing-room he deferred in all things 
 
NEIGHBOURS. 
 
 419 
 
 to his mother, never denied a single request of hers, 
 and scolded the servants whenever they disobeyed 
 Anna Dimitrievna’s commands ; but in his working- 
 room or in the office he reprimanded sternly even if 
 a duck were killed for the dinner without his per- 
 mission, or if a man were sent to some neighbour’s 
 by Anna Dimitrievna’s order to inquire about the 
 state of the said neighbour’s health, or if a peasant 
 girl, instead of weeding in the kitchen-garden, were 
 sent into the woods to gather some raspberries. 
 
 In about four years all debts were paid, and Peter 
 Vassilievitch, having been to Moscow, returned thence 
 with new clothes and in a new chaise. But notwith- 
 standing this flourishing state of affairs he still con- 
 tinued the same stoical style of living, on which, it 
 seemed, he gloomily prided himself, and would often 
 stammer out, ‘ Whoever really cares to see me will be 
 just as glad to see me in the great wadded coat, and 
 will surely not refuse to partake of my cabbage-soup 
 and my gruel. Do not I eat it ?’ added he. In every 
 word and gesture he showed his pride, based on the 
 consciousness of having sacrificed himself for his 
 mother and having redeemed the land, and his scorn 
 for all those who had not accomplished a similar task. 
 
 The mother and daughter had entirely different 
 dispositions, and were in many respects very unlike 
 each other. The mother was one of the most 
 pleasant, kind-hearted, cheerful women in society. 
 She really enjoyed anything gay or pleasant, and 
 there was in her disposition a trait which is only to 
 be found in truly kind-hearted men and women — she 
 liked to see young people enjoy themselves. Her 
 
 27 — 2 
 
420 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 daughter, Avdotja Vassilievna was, on the contrary, 
 grave, or, rather, had that peculiarly cold, absent, 
 haughty disposition which is the general characteristic 
 of handsome unmarried women. When she tried to 
 be gay, her cheerfulness seemed forced, unnatural, as 
 if she were always either ridiculing herself or those 
 she was talking to, or the world in general. I often 
 wondered what she could mean by saying, as she 
 sometimes did, ‘ Oh yes, I am very beautiful ; every- 
 body is in love with me, of course/ and so on. 
 Anna Dimitrievna was always bustling about ; she 
 liked her house and garden to be neat and pretty ; 
 was passionately fond of flowers, birds, and all sorts 
 of pretty baubles. Her rooms and her garden were 
 small and very simple, but all looked so neat and 
 clean, all bore such an impress of cheerfulness, like 
 that inspired by the tune of some merry waltz or 
 polka — that the term ‘ a toy,’ often applied to her 
 house by her guests, suited it and the garden per- 
 fectly well. And Anna Dimitrievna, small and thin, 
 with a fresh complexion, pretty little hands, a cheer- 
 ful look, and always becomingly dressed, looked like 
 a toy herself. The dark, swollen veins on her little 
 hands were the only things that marred the attractive- 
 ness of her general appearance. Avdotja Vassilievna, 
 on the contrary, hardly ever did anything, cared 
 nothing about flowers, was negligent of her own per- 
 sonal appearance, and was always obliged to go up 
 and dress in order to be fit to be seen, when anybody 
 called upon them. But when she did come down, 
 after having changed her dress, she always looked 
 very handsome, in spite of the cold, passionless 
 
MY FATHER MARRIES AGAIN. 
 
 421 
 
 expression of eyes and lips, which always cha- 
 racterizes very handsome faces. Her classically 
 regular and beautiful features and her graceful figure 
 seemed to say, ‘ You are at liberty to admire 
 me.’ 
 
 Yet, in spite of the mother’s loneliness, and the 
 daughter’s cold, distant manner, you instinctively felt 
 that the former did not love, and never had loved, 
 anything except pretty trifles, and that Avdotja 
 Vassilievna was one of those with whom to love 
 once was to love for ever. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 MY FATHER MARRIES AGAIN. 
 
 My father was about forty-eight when he contracted 
 a second marriage with Avdotja Vassilievna Epi- 
 fanoff. 
 
 I suppose that when he came to his estate in the 
 spring with the girls, he was in that restlessly happy, 
 sociable state of mind which a man often experiences 
 when he has won largely at cards. He felt that he 
 was in luck — a luck which, if he did not choose to 
 expend it in card-playing, might help him to be suc- 
 cessful in other things. Besides, it was springtime, 
 he had more money than usual, he was quite alone, 
 and time hung heavily on his hands. In his talks 
 with Jacob that endless lawsuit with the Epifanofifs 
 must have been recalled to his mind, and with it the 
 remembrance of the beautiful Avdotja Vassilievna, 
 
422 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 whom he had not seen for some time ; and I can 
 fancy him saying to Jacob, ‘Well, you see, Jacob, 
 what is the use of going on with that lawsuit ? I 
 think I had better give up that accursed piece of land 
 to them. Eh ? what do you think ?’ 
 
 I can fancy the twitching of Jacob’s fingers behind 
 his back at the question, and his endeavours to con- 
 vince my father that ‘ After all, we are in the right, 
 Peter Alexandrovitch.’ 
 
 So, I suppose, papa ordered the horses to be har- 
 nessed, put on his fashionable olive-coloured coat, 
 brushed back his scanty hair, scented his pocket- 
 handkerchief, and in the best possible spirits, partly 
 because he felt that he was acting in a gentlemanly 
 way, but chiefly because he hoped to see a handsome 
 woman, drove off to call on his neighbours. 
 
 I only know that father did not find Peter Vassi- 
 lievitch at home when he called, and spent an hour or 
 two with the ladies. I can fancy how agreeable he 
 was, how he fascinated them as he sat tapping the 
 ground lightly with his soft boot, lisping as he looked 
 sweetly at them. I can fancy how fond the merry 
 little old lady immediately was of him, and how her 
 handsome daughter’s gravity gradually gave way to a 
 more cheerful manner. 
 
 When the household drudge came running breath- 
 lessly to tell Peter Vassilievitch that old Irtenjeff 
 himself had come to call upon him, I can fancy him 
 answering sullenly, ‘ Well, what of that ?’ I can fancy 
 how he walked home more slowly than usual, and, 
 perhaps, even first stepped iato his own room to put 
 on his dirtiest coat, and then sent a message to the 
 
MY FATHER MARRIES AGAIN. 
 
 423 
 
 cook strictly forbidding any addition to the usual 
 bill of fare, whatever orders the ladies might have 
 given to the contrary. 
 
 I have often seen my father and Epifanoff together 
 since, so I can easily picture to myself their first meet- 
 ing. I am sure that though papa proposed to him to 
 put an end to the lawsuit amicably, Peter Vassilie- 
 vitch kept his sullen look, and felt cross because he 
 had sacrificed his career for his mother’s sake, and 
 papa had not had to do anything of the kind. I feel 
 sure that papa seemed to be quite unconscious of his 
 host’s ill-temper, and was playful and merry, treating 
 him as a whimsical fellow — a term which seemed to 
 offend Peter Vassilievitch at times. Papa, in his 
 jesting way, would call Peter Vassilievitch ‘ colonel,’ 
 and though I myself once heard him say, stammering 
 more than ever, that he was not a co-lo-nel, but a 
 lieu-lieu-te-tenant, five minutes after papa agaiil 
 addressed him as ' colonel.’ 
 
 Lubotchka told me that before we returned from 
 town they had seen the Epifanoffs every day, and had 
 a very pleasant time. With the gift papa possessed 
 of doing things oddly and merrily, but simply and 
 elegantly at the same time, he organized hunting- 
 parties, fishing-parties, fireworks, etc., to all of which 
 the Epifanoffs were invited. ‘ It would have been 
 still more pleasant,’ added Lubotchka, ‘ if that tire- 
 some Peter Vassilievitch had not been present ; but 
 there he always was, sulking, stammering, and spoil- 
 ing all. 
 
 After our arrival the Epifanoffs only came to our 
 house twice, and we called upon them once. After 
 
424 
 
 YOUTH . 
 
 St. Peters Day, when they and a number of other 
 guests called, for it was papa’s birthday, we entirely 
 ceased seeing each other, and only papa visited them 
 occasionally. 
 
 During the short time that I saw papa in the society 
 of Dounitchka, as her mother called her, I noticed 
 that he was always in the same happy frame of mind 
 which had struck me on the first day of our arrival. 
 He was so gay, so youthful, so full of life and happi- 
 ness, that he shed a brightness all around which im- 
 parted itself to us all. He never left Avdotja Vassi- 
 lievna’s side when she was in the room, and paid her 
 such lackadaisical compliments that I felt ashamed 
 to hear him, or else he would sit staring at her in 
 silence, twitching his shoulders and hemming; or he 
 would talk to her in a low voice, smiling all the time. 
 Whatever he did was done in that half-jesting 
 manner peculiar to him even in the most serious 
 matters. 
 
 The look of happiness I had noticed on my father’s 
 face seemed to have imparted itself to Avdotja 
 Vassilievna’s as well, and shone in her large blue eyes, 
 except when, every now and then, such a fit of 
 shyness would suddenly come over her that I, who 
 knew the feeling well, would feel quite sorry and 
 pained for her. At such moments she evidently 
 feared to move or look up ; she seemed to feel as if 
 all were looking at her, thinking of her, and criticising 
 her behaviour. She would at such times cast a 
 frightened glance around, her colour would come and 
 go, and she would begin to talk very loudly, making 
 some foolish observation, and then blushing still 
 
MY FATHER MARRIES AGAIN. 425 
 
 deeper on seeing that papa and all the others that 
 were present had heard it. I noticed that these fits 
 of shyness often followed the mention of some young 
 and pretty woman’s name in papa’s hearing. Such 
 frequent changes from her habitual pensiveness to the 
 strange, forced gaiety I have mentioned, the way she 
 would repeat papa’s favourite words and sayings, 
 would have opened my eyes to the state of things 
 had the chief actor not been my father, or had I been 
 a little older ; as it was, I had no suspicions, even 
 when papa seemed greatly put out by a letter which 
 he received from Peter Vassilievitch, and did not go 
 to the Epifanoff’s any more till the end of August. 
 
 Towards the close of the month of August, how- 
 ever, papa again began to visit at our neighbours’, 
 and on the day before we (i.e., Volodja and I) left for 
 Moscow, he told us that Avdotja Vassilievna Epifanofif 
 and he were engaged. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 HOW WE RECEIVE THE NEWS. 
 
 On the eve of the formal announcement the whole 
 household knew already that father was going to con- 
 tract a second marriage, and many were the surmises 
 that the circumstance gave rise to. Mimi kept her 
 room all day and wept. Katenka stayed with her, 
 and only came down for dinner, wearing an expres- 
 sion of wounded feeling evidently caught from her 
 mother. Lubotchka was, on the contrary, in high 
 
426 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 spirits, and told us, as we sat at table, that she knew 
 such a nice secret, but that she would not tell us what 
 it was. 
 
 ‘ Thy secret is not a nice one at all,’ said Volodja, 
 who did not share her delight in the least. ‘ If thou 
 wert capable of any serious thought, thou wouldst see 
 thyself that it is, on the contrary, a very unpleasant 
 one.’ 
 
 Lubotchka glanced at him with surprise, but did 
 not answer. 
 
 After dinner Volodja was about to take me by the 
 hand, when he abruptly changed his mind, fearing, I 
 suppose, that his doing so would seem too ‘ tender,’ 
 and only signed to me to follow him into the hall. 
 
 4 Dost thou know the secret Lubotchka has been 
 talking about ?’ said he, as soon as we were alone. 
 
 We seldom had any private talks with Volodja on 
 any serious subject, so that when such a thing did 
 occur, we both felt awkward, and did not know 
 where to look. Now, however, in spite of the em- 
 barrassment he read in my eyes, he continued to gaze 
 fixedly at me, with a look which seemed to say, 
 c There is no need for thee to feel any embarrassment, 
 we are brothers, and it is our duty to consult together 
 upon important family affairs.’ I understood what 
 his look meant ; he continued : 
 
 ‘ Papa is going to make that Miss Epifanofif his 
 wife. Dost thou know it ?’ 
 
 I nodded assent, for I had already heard the 
 news. 
 
 ‘ It is a very unpleasant thing,’ continued Volodja. 
 
 ‘ Why so ?’ 
 
HOW WE RECEIVE THE NEWS. 4 27 
 
 ‘ Why,’ retorted he, ‘ dost thou think it very 
 pleasant to have that stammering colonel for an 
 uncle ? And then, she herself looks kind and nice 
 now, but how do we know what she may turn out to 
 be ? It matters but little to us, I grant, but Lubotchka 
 will soon “come out.” It will not be very pleasant 
 for her to go into society with a stepmother like that. 
 She is a poissarde , and nothing else. Even supposing 
 she be kind-hearted, still she is but a poissarde ,’ added 
 Volodja, evidently very well pleased to have found 
 that denomination for her. 
 
 It seemed a strange thing to hear Volodja criticising 
 papa’s choice in the matter, yet I could not help fully 
 agreeing with him. 
 
 * Why does papa want to marry?’ I asked. 
 
 ‘ Who knows ? There is something very mysterious 
 about the matter altogether. I only know that Peter 
 Vassilievitch tried to induce him to marry her, even 
 insisted upon his doing so, and papa refused at first, 
 then changed his mind, prompted by some chivalrous 
 fancy or other. It is a mysterious affair altogether. 
 It is only now that I begin to understand father’s 
 disposition.’ (It struck me disagreeably to hear him 
 say ‘ father ’ instead of saying ‘ papa,’ as he usually 
 did.) ‘ He is a downright good man, a kind and 
 clever man, but amazingly thoughtless and careless ! 
 He cannot see a pretty woman without losing his 
 head. I think thou knowest that there is not a single 
 woman amongst all his acquaintances that he has not 
 been in love with some time or other. Even Mimi — 
 only think !’ 
 
 ‘ Indeed !’ 
 
428 
 
 YOUTH . 
 
 ‘ I tell thee, I found out, a short time ago, that he 
 was in love with Mimi when she was young ; wrote 
 verses addressed to her, and all sorts of things went 
 on. Mimi is still heart-broken.’ 
 
 And Volodja burst out laughing. 
 
 ‘ Impossible !’ murmured I, in astonishment. 
 
 * But the chief thing,’ continued Volodja, growing 
 serious again, and suddenly beginning to speak 
 French, ‘ is that all our relations will be vexed. And 
 she will have children very likely.’ 
 
 I was struck dumb by Volodja’s forethought and 
 good sense. 
 
 Lubotchka came up to us at that moment and 
 exclaimed joyously, ‘ So you know it too !’ 
 
 ‘ Yes,’ said Volodja ; ‘and I am surprised at thee, 
 Lubotchka — thou art not a baby — to rejoice at papa’s 
 marrying such a horrid creature !’ 
 
 Lubotchka looked gravely and thoughtfully at us. 
 ‘Volodja! Why dost thou think her a horrid 
 creature ? How darest thou speak thus of Avdotja 
 Vassilievna ? If papa intends to make her his wife, 
 she cannot be a horrid creature !’ 
 
 ‘Well, perhaps not ; I certainly so called her, never- 
 theless . . .’ 
 
 ‘ There is no “ nevertheless ” in the case,’ exclaimed 
 Lubotchka angrily. ‘ I did not say that the girl thou 
 wast in love with was a horrid creature. How durst 
 thou speak thus of papa and that excellent lady ? 
 Thou art the eldest, I grant, but that does not make 
 it right for thee to speak thus. Thou oughtest not to 
 speak thus to me.’ 
 
 ‘ Why cannot we reason about . . .’ 
 
HOW WE RECEIVE THE NEWS. 
 
 ‘We have no right to reason,’ interrupted 
 Lubotchka. * We have no right to criticise the 
 actions of a father like ours. Let Mimi do so 
 if she chooses ; but not thou, not our elder brother.’ 
 
 ‘Thou dost not understand,’ said Volodja scorn- 
 fully. ‘ Think a little. Is it a pleasant thought that 
 Dounitchka will take the place of our dead mother ?’ 
 
 Lubotchka’s eyes filled with tears, and she was 
 silent for a moment. 
 
 ‘ I knew thou wast proud, but never thought thou 
 wast so ill-natured,’ said she, as she left the room. 
 
 ‘Bunny,’ said Volodja, with a comic grimace, but 
 with his eyes rather dim. ‘ What’s the use of talking 
 with them ?’ continued he, as if vexed with himself 
 for having condescended to enter into conversation 
 with Lubotchka. 
 
 The weather was bad, and neither papa nor the 
 ladies had come down to breakfast, when I entered 
 the parlour the next morning. A cold autumnal rain 
 had fallen all night ; the sky was covered with clouds, 
 through which the round ball of the sun might be 
 dimly seen high above our heads. It was a damp, 
 chill, windy day. The door which led into the garden 
 was open ; the pools made by the rain during the 
 night were gradually drying. The open door shook 
 in the wind in spite of the iron hook ; the gravel- 
 paths were damp and muddy ; the old birch-trees, 
 with their white, leafless branches ; the shrubs, the 
 grass, the nettles, currant-bushes, black-elder trees 
 shook as if they were being torn up by the roots ; 
 round yellow leaves chased each other and whirled 
 along the lime-tree avenue until, soaked through and 
 
430 
 
 YOUTH . 
 
 through, they lay still at last on the wet ground, or 
 on the dark verdure of the lawn. I thought of my 
 father’s approaching marriage, considering the event 
 from the same point of view as Volodja had done. 
 Neither the future of our sister, our father or ourselves 
 seemed to offer a pleasant prospect. I hated to think 
 that a stranger, and, above all, a young woman, was 
 going to take the place of . . . whom ? and that with- 
 out her having any right to do so ; a ‘ young lady * 
 was to occupy the place which had been my dead 
 mother’s ! I felt very sad, and the more I reflected 
 the more convinced I felt that my father was in the 
 wrong. At that very moment I heard him and 
 Volodja talking in the entrance-hall. Not wishing to 
 see my father just then, I stepped aside; but 
 Lubotchka soon came for me, saying that papa 
 wanted me. 
 
 He was standing in the drawing-room, leaning his 
 hand on the piano, and was looking impatiently and 
 very solemnly towards the door, through which 
 I entered. The look of youthfulness and happiness, 
 which I had lately noticed on his face, was no more. 
 He looked sad. Volodja was walking up and down 
 the room, smoking. I went up to my father and 
 wished him good-morning. 
 
 ‘ Well, my friends,’ said he, raising his head and 
 speaking rapidly, as people usually do when they 
 have to announce something unpleasant which is 
 irremediable, ‘you know, I suppose, that Avdotja 
 Vassilievna is going to be my wife.’ He was silent 
 for a moment, then went on : ‘ I never intended to 
 marry again, but ’ . . . another pause . . . * but . . . 
 
HOW WE RECEIVE THE NEWS. 
 
 43i 
 
 but fate has willed otherwise. Dounitchka is a kind- 
 hearted, good girl, and not very young. I hope you 
 will love her, children ; she already loves you ; she is a 
 good girl. Now/ added he, turning to Volodja and 
 me, and speaking hurriedly, as if to prevent our inter- 
 rupting him, f now it is time for you to return to 
 town. I shall remain here till the new year, and 
 shall then come up to town’ — he hesitated again — 
 * with my wife and Lubotchka.’ It pained me to see 
 father looking timid, as if he felt himself in the 
 wrong, and I drew nearer to him ; but Volodja did 
 not raise his head, and went on walking up and down 
 the room. 
 
 ‘ So, my friends, you see what the old man has 
 taken into his head/ continued papa, reddening, 
 coughing nervously, and holding, out his hands to 
 Volodja and me. There were tears in his eyes as he 
 spoke, and I noticed that the hand he held out to 
 Volodja, who was at that time at the other end of the 
 room, trembled slightly. The sight of that trembling 
 hand sent a thrill through me, and a strange thought 
 came into my mind and touched me — it was that 
 father had been in active service in 1812, and had 
 been, as I well knew, a very brave warrior. I took 
 his large, muscular hand in mine, and kissed it. He 
 squeezed mine hard, and with a sudden sob took 
 Lubotchka’s little black head with both his hands and 
 kissed her eyes over and over again. Volodja feigned 
 to have let his pipe fall, and while stooping as if he 
 were picking it up, stealthily wiped his eyes with 
 his fist, then, trying to be unobserved, left the 
 
 room. 
 
432 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY. 
 
 The wedding was to take place in a fortnight’s time, 
 but the lectures had begun at the university, so we 
 had to return to Moscow in the beginning of 
 September. The Neklioudoffs had also returned. 
 Dimitri (we had promised each other to write often, 
 and, of course, neither of us had done so) immediately 
 came to see me, and it was agreed between us that 
 he should call for me the next day, and we were to 
 go together to my first lecture at the university. 
 
 It was a bright, sunny day. 
 
 No sooner had I entered the auditorium than I felt 
 that my individuality sank into nothing in the midst 
 of that young, merry crowd, which noisily thronged 
 the doorways and spacious corridors, in the bright 
 sunshine which streamed through the spacious win- 
 dows. The consciousness of being now a member of 
 that large corporation was very pleasant. I had few 
 acquaintances amongst them, and knew even those 
 but slightly, so that our only intercourse was a care- 
 less nod and a ‘ Good-morning.’ Shaking of hands, 
 good-humoured pushes, friendly words, smiles and 
 jokes, passed around. I saw there was a friendly link 
 amongst all those young folks, and sadly felt that I 
 was out of it. It was but a momentary feeling, how- 
 ever. My vexation at being thus overlooked soon 
 made me find that it was better thus ; that I had 
 nothing in common with them ; that I ought to have 
 
THE UNIVERSITY. 
 
 433 
 
 a circle of my own, consisting of ‘genteel young men,’ 
 and I took my seat on the third bench, near Count B., 
 Baron Z., Prince R., young Ivin, and others of the 
 same rank. 
 
 I was acquainted with Ivin and Count B. But 
 all these young men looked at me in a way that 
 made me feel as if I were not one of them either. I 
 watched all that went on around me. Semenoff, with 
 his gray, matted hair and his white teeth, was sitting, 
 with his coat unbuttoned, at a little distance from 
 me, and was leaning back, biting his pen. The 
 student who had undergone his examination best 
 of all, sat in the front row, with a black silk kerchief 
 still bound over his cheek, and was dangling a little 
 silver watch-key that hung over his satin waistcoat. 
 Ikonine, who had been entered last of all, was sitting 
 on the first bench ; he wore blue pantaloons, which 
 entirely covered his boots, and was laughing loudly, 
 calling out that he was on Parnassus. Iliinka, who, 
 to my surprise, greeted me not only coldly, but even 
 scornfully, as if to remind me that here all were 
 equals, was sitting just in front of me, with his thin 
 legs on the bench opposite (on purpose to spite me, I 
 thought), and was talking with a fellow-student, every 
 now and then glancing at me. Near me sat Ivin and 
 his friends, all talking French. Every word they said, 
 as far as I could hear, seemed to me utterly devoid of 
 sense, incorrect, not French at all (‘ Ce n’est pas 
 frangais/ said I to myself), while the gestures, 
 sayings, and manners of Semenoff, Iliinka, and 
 others seemed to me to be vulgar, common, not 
 comme il faut. 
 
 28 
 
434 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 I did not belong to any party, and feeling lonely 
 and friendless, was in a bad humour. A student who 
 sat just in front of me was biting his nails, which were 
 all covered with agnails, and I felt so disgusted that I 
 changed my seat. I remember that I felt very sad at 
 heart that day. 
 
 When the professor entered, and all took their 
 seats, and all grew quite still, I remember that I 
 turned a satirical glance upon the professor, and was 
 amazed at his beginning his lecture by an incidental 
 sentence which, as I thought, had no sense in it at all. 
 I expected the lecture to be such a clever one from 
 beginning to end, that it should have been impossible 
 to leave out or to add a single word. Disappointed in 
 this, I began to draw in the neatly-bound book I had 
 brought with me, and under the heading ‘ Lecture the 
 First’ drew eighteen profiles, all uniting in a circle 
 like a flower, and only moved my hand along the 
 book every now and then in order that the professor 
 (who, I felt convinced, was very much interested in 
 me) should think that I was writing down what he 
 was saying. Coming to the conclusion, after the first 
 lecture, that it would be both foolish and useless to 
 make notes of what each professor said, I never after- 
 wards swerved from that line of conduct. 
 
 I felt less lonely at the next lecture, however, made 
 several new acquaintances, shook hands, talked, yet 
 there was no friendly intercourse between me and my 
 comrades. I could not be on good terms with Ivin 
 and the party denominated the 'aristocrats * because, as 
 I remember, I was unsociable, and even rude, in my 
 bearing towards them, only bowing to them when 
 
THE UNIVERSITY. 
 
 435 
 
 they bowed to me, and they seemed to care very little 
 for me. The coldness with which the majority of the 
 students treated me proceeded from a very different 
 cause. As soon as I found that any one of my fellow- 
 students had a liking for me, I would hint that I often 
 dined at Prince Ivan Ivanovitch’s, and that I had a 
 barouche of my own. I mentioned it in order to 
 appear under a more favourable aspect — I thought it 
 would make them respect me more ; it always turned 
 out, on the contrary, that any mention of my relation- 
 ship with Ivan Ivanovitch, or of my having a barouche 
 of my own, inevitably resulted in my comrades grow- 
 ing cold and distant in manner, to my great sur- 
 prise. 
 
 There was a poor student — Operoff — a modest, 
 clever, young fellow, who always shook hands with his 
 fingers stretched out and his hand as motionless as if 
 it were a wooden plank, so that his comrades would 
 often jestingly shake hands with him in the same 
 way, and called it ‘ giving a plank.’ I usually sat 
 near him, and we had many talks together. I liked 
 Operoff for the frankness with which he expressed his 
 liberal opinions concerning the professors. He de- 
 fined the merits and defects in each letter so clearly 
 and so justly, even made fun of them in his quiet 
 voice in a way that delighted me. Nevertheless, he 
 always carefully took notes of every lecture in his 
 small handwriting. We were beginning to feel quite 
 friendly, agreed to study together, and his little short- 
 sighted eyes beamed with pleasure when I took my 
 seat by his side. But one day I found it necessary 
 to tell him, in the course of conversation, that my 
 
 2 8 — 2 
 
436 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 mother on her death-bed had entreated my father 
 never to send us to any public or Government school, 
 that boys brought up in a Government school might 
 be very well informed, but that they were not fit com- 
 pany for me — ‘ Ce ne sont pas des gens comme il faut/ 
 added I, hesitating, and feeling myself growing very 
 red. Operoff said nothing, but the next time I came 
 did not wish to be the first to say £ Good-day/ did not 
 ‘ offer me his plank ’ or talk to me, and when I took 
 my seat beside him, looked at his book, as if he were 
 intent upon it. Operoff’s sudden coolness towards 
 me, for which I could discern no reason, surprised me; 
 but I considered it beneath the dignity of a jeune 
 homme de bonne maison to try and curry the friend- 
 ship of a poor student like Operoff, and took no 
 notice of his altered manner, though it grieved me, I 
 must confess. One day I happened to be there before 
 him, and as one of our favourite professors was to 
 read that morning, several students who seldom 
 attended were present, and the seats were all taken ; 
 so I sat down in Operoff’s usual place, put my book 
 on the desk before me, and then left my seat for a 
 few moments. When I returned to the auditorium, I 
 found my book had been laid on another desk at 
 the end of the room, and Operoff was in his usual 
 seat I told him that I had put my book there. 
 
 ‘ I know nothing about it,’ answered he, reddening, 
 and without raising his eyes to mine. 
 
 ‘ But I tell you that I put my book here,’ said I, 
 purposely speaking in an angry tone in order to 
 frighten him as I thought. ‘ Everybody saw me do 
 so,’ added I, glancing at the students ; but though 
 
THE UNIVERSITY. 
 
 437 
 
 many of them looked curiously at me, not one of 
 them uttered a word. 
 
 * The seats are not bought here — the one who 
 comes first sits down/ said Operoff, settling himself 
 angrily in his seat, and glancing indignantly at me. 
 
 ‘ That proves that you are an ill-bred fellow,’ 
 said I. 
 
 I think Operoff muttered something about my 
 being ‘ a silly boy,’ but I did not hear exactly what it 
 was. And even if I had, was I to quarrel like a 
 manant? I was very fond of the word manant ; it 
 often answered and solved many puzzling questions. 
 I should, perhaps, have said something to him, never- 
 theless, if the door had not opened just then, and the 
 professor in his blue coat entered, bowing, and striding 
 up to the desk. 
 
 However, when I was in want of notes for the 
 examination, Operoff remembered his promise, offered 
 me his, and proposed that we should study together. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 MY LOVE AFFAIRS. 
 
 I WAS pretty full of my love affairs during that winter. 
 I was in love three times. First I fell passionately in 
 love with a very stout lady whom I saw riding at 
 Freitag’s riding-school, and therefore I went regularly 
 every Tuesday and Friday (the days on which she 
 rode) to admire her ; but I was so afraid of her seeing 
 me that I always stood at some distance, always ran 
 away as soon as she drew near, and turned carelessly 
 
438 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 away every time she happened to glance my way, so 
 that I actually never saw her face, and do not know 
 at all if she was handsome or not. 
 
 Doubkoff, who was acquainted with her, saw me 
 one day standing behind the lackeys holding their 
 masters’ and mistresses’ fur cloaks. He had heard 
 about my passion from Dimitri, and put me into such 
 an awful fright by proposing to introduce me to my 
 unknown charmer that I took to my heels, and the 
 idea of his having spoken to her of me effectually 
 deterred me from ever setting foot in the riding-school 
 again, for fear of meeting her there. 
 
 Whenever I was in love with any lady whom I did 
 not know, and especially if she were a married 
 woman, I felt a thousand times more shy than I had 
 been with Sonitchka. I feared nothing so much as 
 that the lady with whom I was in love with should 
 have any inkling of the feeling I bore towards her, or 
 should even know that I existed. It seemed to me 
 that if she had suspected my feelings she would have 
 looked upon them as an insult which she could never 
 forgive. And indeed, if the lady I had seen at the 
 riding-school had known how, as I gazed at her from 
 behind the lackeys, I had fancied myself carrying her 
 off by force, living with her in the country, and doing 
 whatever I liked with her, she would have had every 
 right to have felt insulted. I did not realize that her 
 knowing me would not enable her to see into my 
 thoughts, and that there could, therefore, be no harm 
 in my being introduced to her. 
 
 Then I fell in love with Sonitchka once more, after 
 meeting her at my sister’s. I had already been in 
 
MY LOVE AFFAIRS. 
 
 439 
 
 love with her twice, and this was the third time, in 
 consequence of Lubotchka’s having shown me a book 
 full of pieces of poetry copied out by Sonitchka, in 
 which several gloomily passionate passages out of 
 Lermontofif’s ‘ Demon ’ were underlined with red ink, 
 and dried flowers put in to mark the pages. I re- 
 membered how, a year ago, Volodja had kissed a 
 purse which a young lady had given him, and I 
 thought I must do the same thing ; so, sitting all 
 alone in my room in the evening, I began to think of 
 Sonitchka, looked at the flowers, put them to my lips, 
 and felt a sort of tearful emotion — I was again in 
 love, or, at least, fancied for some days that I was. 
 
 Lastly, I fell in love with a young lady who visited 
 at our house, and with whom Volodja was in love too. 
 .As far as I can remember, there was nothing attrac- 
 tive about her ; at least, none of those qualities which 
 usually attracted me. She was the daughter of a 
 very clever, learned lady, was short, thin, with long 
 auburn curls, and a transparent profile. This young 
 lady was said to be cleverer and more learned than 
 her mother ; but of that I had no opportunity of 
 judging, for a feeling of awe at the idea of her clever- 
 ness and learning deterred me from speaking to her. 
 I only spoke to her once, and then with fear and 
 trembling. Volodja’s enthusiastic praises, which 
 never ceased, no matter who heard him, influenced 
 me to such a degree that I fell passionately in love 
 with her. I never spoke of this to Volodja, for I felt 
 sure he would not like to hear that ‘ two brothers 
 were in love with the same girl.’ What pleased me 
 most was the idea that our love was so pure that 
 
440 
 
 YOUTH . 
 
 though the object of it was the same lovely being, we 
 should always remain friends, and each would, if 
 necessary, be ready to sacrifice himself for the other. 
 However, I suspect that Volodja did not quite share 
 my feelings as to self-sacrifice. He was so deeply in 
 love that he was once on the point of boxing the ears 
 of a certain diplomatist, and sending a challenge to 
 him on hearing that she was engaged to him. I liked 
 to fancy myself sacrificing my love, perhaps because 
 it was no difficult matter for me to do so, as I had 
 only once spoken to the young lady about the merits 
 of classical music, and in spite of all my endeavours 
 to keep up my flame, it went out completely in a 
 week’s time. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 THE WORLD. 
 
 I SOON grew disgusted with the worldly pleasures 
 which I had longed to plunge into, in imitation of my 
 elder brother. Volodja often went to dancing- 
 parties and balls ; so did papa with his young wife. 
 I suppose I was still considered too young or too 
 awkward, for nobody ever thought of inviting me. 
 Notwithstanding the promise I had given Dimitri to 
 be perfectly open with him, I never told even him 
 how I longed to go to a ball, or how wounded and 
 vexed I felt at being overlooked, or perhaps being 
 considered too great a philosopher to care for dancing, 
 which I consequently pretended to be. 
 
 At last there was to be a party at Princess Korna- 
 koff’s that same winter. She called, invited us all, 
 
THE WORLD. 
 
 441 
 
 me too, and I was to go to a ball for the first time. 
 Before setting off, Volodja came into my room to see 
 how I was dressed. His doing so surprised me. I 
 had always thought it a shame to care about being 
 well dressed, but he seemed to consider it a very 
 necessary thing, and told me outright that he had felt 
 afraid that I was going to make a figure of myself. 
 He told me to be sure and put kid boots on, and 
 was horrified at my wanting to wear Swedish gloves ; 
 he made me wear my watch-chain in a queer way, 
 and then took me to a hairdresser’s on the Smith’s 
 Bridge.* My hair was curled. Volodja placed himself 
 at a little distance from me, and examined my general 
 appearance. 
 
 ‘ There, that's not bad ; but cannot you keep that 
 tuft of hair from sticking up ?’ said he, addressing the 
 hairdresser. 
 
 But though Mr. Charles smoothed it down with 
 some sort of sticky" stuff, it stuck up again as soon as 
 I put on my hat, and I found that my curled hair 
 made me look uglier than usual. The only thing left 
 me was to put on an air of affected indifference ; it 
 was the only way of making myself look presentable. 
 
 Volodja seemed to think so too, for he asked me to 
 brush away the curls, and when I had done so, and 
 did not look any handsomer, he looked at me no 
 more, and was quite cross and silent during the drive 
 to Kornakoffs. 
 
 I entered the drawing-room bravely, for Volodja 
 was with me, but when the princess asked me if I 
 danced, I answered that I did not (although, in fact, I 
 * Principal street in Moscow. 
 
442 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 had come for the express purpose of dancing as much 
 as possible), and stood amidst the crowd of strangers, 
 gazing timidly around, and rapidly falling into my 
 usual state of insurmountable, ever-increasing shy 
 ness. I stood on the same spot, in silence, almost all 
 the evening. 
 
 During a waltz one of the princesses came up to 
 me, and with the studied politeness that characterized 
 the whole family, asked me why I was not dancing. 
 I remember how frightened I felt, but, with a most 
 self-sufficient smile, answered in French, using the 
 most pompous language and talking so nonsensically 
 that even now I cannot recall it to mind without a 
 feeling of shame, though it happened so many, many 
 years ago. I suppose it was the music that had 
 excited my nerves, and I do hope it drowned part of 
 my incomprehensible speech. I said something about 
 high-life, about the futility of mankind, especially 
 women, and at last got into such a confused medley 
 of words that I was obliged to stop short, without 
 finding any possibility of ending the sentence. 
 
 The princess looked surprised, and, in spite of her 
 innate good manners, glanced reprovingly at me. At 
 this critical moment Volodja and Doubkoff came up 
 — the former had noticed how excitedly I was talking, 
 and wanted, I suppose, to see whether I was making 
 up for not dancing by talking well. On seeing my 
 smiling face and the puzzled looks of the princess> 
 and on hearing the rhodomontade I uttered in con- 
 clusion, he grew very red and walked away. The 
 princess rose likewise and left me. I sat smiling, 
 though I was in agonies at the thought of my silliness, 
 
THE WORLD. 
 
 443 
 
 and felt ready to sink into the ground at my feet, 
 while at the same time a desperate longing to move 
 away, or say something in order to afford some diver- 
 sion to my feelings, came over me. I went up to 
 Doubkoff, and asked him how many times he had 
 waltzed with ‘ her/ I flattered myself that I was 
 playful and merry, whilst I was, in reality, applying to 
 Doubkoff for help — to Doubkoff, to whom I had 
 roared out ‘ Silence’ during the dinner-party at Yar’s. 
 He pretended he did not hear me, and walked away. 
 I went up to Volodja and tried to say playfully, 
 
 ‘ Well, Volodja, thou art tired, art thou not?’ But 
 Volodja stared at me, as much as to say, ‘ Thou dost 
 not speak thus to me when we are alone,’ and silently 
 moved away, evidently fearful of my bothering him 
 with my talk. 
 
 ‘ My own brother has cast me off,’ thought I. 
 
 Yet I had not resolution enough to depart. I stood 
 on the same spot till the ball was over, and it was 
 only when the departing guests were crowding in the 
 antechamber, and the lackey, in helping me on with 
 my overcoat, inadvertently caught the brim of my hat, 
 and made it sit awry on my head, that I gave vent to 
 a half-sobbing laugh, and without addressing anyone 
 in particular, said, ‘ Comme c’est gracieux.’ 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 A FRANTIC REVEL. 
 
 Thanks to the salutary influence of Dimitri, I had 
 never taken part, as yet, in any of the usual amuse- 
 ments of students, called ‘ orgies,’ but I was present at 
 
444 
 
 YOUTH . 
 
 one that winter, and did not like it. It happened 
 thus : 
 
 During one of the lectures, at the beginning of the 
 term, Baron Z., a tall, fair-haired man, with a very 
 grave face and regular features, invited all of us to 
 meet together at his house. By 4 all of us ’ I mean all 
 those of our fellow-students who were comme il faut, 
 which, of course, did not include either Grap, 
 Semenofif, Operoff, or any such ‘ nobodies.’ 
 
 Volodja smiled disdainfully when he heard that 
 I was going to a ‘ revel but I expected to find it 
 wonderfully pleasant, and punctually at eight o’clock 
 I was at Baron Z.’s. Baron Z., with his coat un- 
 buttoned and in a white waistcoat, received his guests 
 in a brilliantly-lighted hall and drawing-room of a 
 small house, where his parents lived ; they had given 
 up their best rooms to him for the occasion. The 
 heads of several inquisitive female servants might be 
 seen peeping out in the passage, and I even caught a 
 glimpse of a lady, whom I took for the baroness her- 
 self. There were about twenty of us — all students, 
 with the exception of Mr. Frost, who had come with 
 the Ivins, and a tall, red -faced gentleman, who seemed 
 to act as master of the ceremonies, and who was 
 introduced to each of us as a relation of the baron’s, 
 and as a former student of the University of Dorpat. 
 The brilliantly-lighted rooms and the stately elegance 
 of the house seemed at first to cast a chill upon all the 
 youthful assembly, and all sat quite still, with the excep- 
 tion of a few more daring ones and the Dorpat student, 
 who, with his waistcoat unbuttoned, seemed to be 
 everywhere at once, filling the rooms with his pleasant 
 
A FRANTIC REVEL . 
 
 445 
 
 sonorous tenor. My fellow-students were mostly 
 silent, or talked in whispers about the professors, the 
 examinations, and similar serious and interesting 
 topics. Each of them glanced more than once 
 towards the door of the butler’s room, and their faces 
 seemed to say : * Well, it is time to begin.’ I suppose 
 I, too, felt that it was time to begin, and awaited that 
 beginning with joyous impatience. 
 
 After tea, when the tea had been handed round, the 
 Dorpat student asked Frost in Russian : 
 
 ‘ Dost thou know how to make hot punch, Frost ?’ 
 
 ‘ Oh, yes !’ replied Frost, shaking the calves of his 
 legs ; but the Dorpat student went on in Russian : 
 
 ‘ Well, then, make it.’ 
 
 Frost began striding backwards and forwards from 
 the drawing-room to the butler’s room, and soon 
 a large soup-tureen stood on the table, with a loaf of 
 sugar, weighing about ten pounds, placed over it on 
 three swords laid crossways over the edge of the 
 tureen. In the meantime, Baron Z. went up to the 
 guests, who were all standing gazing at the dish, and 
 said in exactly the same words to each : ‘ Let us 
 drink a bowl, as a pledge of our mutual brotherhood ; 
 I find there is too little unity amongst us students ; 
 and pray unbutton your coats, or take them off, as he 
 has done.’ And, indeed, the Dorpat student had taken 
 off his coat, tucked up the white sleeves of his shirt 
 above his elbows, and was already lighting the rum in 
 the soup-tureen. 
 
 ‘ Gentlemen, put out the light,’ exclaimed the 
 Dorpat student in as loud a voice as if we had all 
 been shouting too. But we all stood gazing in silence 
 
446 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 at the soup-tureen, and at the white shirt of the 
 Dorpat student — we all felt that the solemn moment 
 was drawing near. 
 
 ‘ Loschen sie die Lichter aus, Frost !’ cried the 
 Dorpat student once more, in German this time, 
 because he was getting excited, I suppose. We all 
 began to extinguish the lights. It was soon quite 
 dark in the room, and the only things visible were the 
 white shirt-sleeves and the hands which upheld the 
 loaf of sugar on the sword over the bluish flame. 
 The loud tenor of the Dorpat student was not the 
 only voice that was heard now ; there was a buzz of 
 talking and laughter in every corner of the room. 
 Several of the guests took off their coats (those that 
 had nice clean shirts on, for the most part). I did the 
 same, and felt that ‘ it had begun.’ Though I did not 
 feel particularly merry as yet, I was sure that all would 
 be wonderfully pleasant as soon as we had each taken 
 a glass of the beverage. 
 
 It was ready at last. The Dorpat student poured 
 it out into tumblers, spilling a good deal on the table- 
 cloth, and shouted : ‘ Now, gentlemen !’ When we 
 had each taken one of the sticky tumblers, the Dorpat 
 student and Frost struck up a German song, in 
 which there was a frequent repetition of the exclama- 
 tion ‘ So ho !’ We all joined in the chorus, pledging 
 each other, shouting, extolling the excellence of the 
 beverage, and drinking the sweet, strong liquor with 
 our arms intertwined. Now, there was nothing more 
 to be expected — the revel was at its height. I had 
 already drunk a tumblerful of hot punch, a second 
 was poured out, my temples were throbbing, the 
 
A FRANTIC REVEL. 
 
 447 
 
 lights seemed dark-red, there was noise and loud 
 laughter around me, yet I did not feel merry in the 
 least, and was even convinced that the others found all 
 this quite as tiresome as I did, and, like myself, only 
 thought it incumbent on them to seem to be enjoying 
 themselves. The Dorpat student was, I think, the 
 only one that really did enjoy himself; he grew 
 redder and redder in the face, was more ubiquitous 
 than ever, filling up the tumblers and spilling the 
 punch all over the table, thereby making it quite 
 sticky. I cannot recall to mind all that went on, but 
 I remember that I loved the Dorpat student 
 passionately that evening, tried to learn one of their 
 German songs by heart, and kissed both him and 
 Frost. I remember that I hated the Dorpat student a 
 little later on, and wanted to throw a chair at his head, 
 but restrained myself. I remember that, besides the 
 same debility in my limbs which I had experienced at 
 Yar’s, my head ached so awfully, and I felt so 
 dizzy, that I began to fear I was going to die. I 
 remember, too, that at one time we all sat down on 
 the floor, moving our arms to and fro, as if we were in 
 the act of rowing, and sang : ‘ Along our own loved 
 Volga/ and that the idea occurred to me that we 
 might have sung it as well without sitting on the 
 floor. I remember myself lying on the floor, kicking 
 and wrestling in a gipsy sort of way, nearly breaking 
 somebody's neck, and thinking that it would not have 
 happened if my antagonist had not been drunk. I 
 remember that we had some supper and wine again, 
 that I went out to cool myself, and felt very cold about 
 the head, and then, on going home, I noticed how very 
 
448 
 
 YOUTH . 
 
 dark it was, and that the footstep of the cab was 
 slanting and slippery, and that I could not hold on to 
 Kousma, because he was weak, and shook like a reed. 
 
 I remember that during the whole of that evening 
 I never lost the consciousness that I was acting very 
 foolishly, pretending to be very merry, and to like 
 drinking, and felt quite sure that I was not drunk at 
 all. I felt convinced that all the rest were very 
 foolish, and that the enjoyment was all make-believe. 
 It seemed to me that each of those present disliked 
 the whole business as much as I did, but that each 
 thought himself the only one that experienced so un- 
 pleasant a feeling, and therefore considered himself 
 bound to feign merriment, for fear of spoiling the fun 
 for his comrades ; besides that, strange to say, I con- 
 sidered it my duty to pretend I was enjoying myself, 
 simply because three bottles of champagne, at ten 
 roubles each, and ten bottles of rum, at four roubles 
 each, had been poured into the soup-tureen, the whole 
 amounting to seventy roubles, without reckoning the 
 cost of the supper. I was so sure that all the others 
 felt precisely as I did in the matter, that I was 
 amazed to find, on attending the lecture the next day, 
 that the students who had been at Baron Z.’s the pre- 
 ceding evening did not seem ashamed of themselves 
 in the least, and talked loudly about the party, as if 
 they wanted the others to hear all about it. They 
 said it had been a famous revel, that the Dorpat 
 student knew how to manage such things, and that 
 forty bottles of rum had been drunk by twenty of us, 
 and that several had been left dead drunk under the 
 table. I could not make out why they said all that, 
 and even added several details that were entirely false. 
 
MY FRIENDSHIP WITH THE NEKLIOUDOFFS. 449 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 MY FRIENDSHIP WITH THE NEKLIOUDOFFS. 
 
 During that winter I often saw not only Dimitri, 
 who was a frequent visitor at our house, but also the 
 whole family of Neklioudoffs, and had begun to be on 
 friendly terms with all of them. 
 
 The mother, aunt, and daughter, always spent their 
 evenings at home, and the princess liked young 
 people to come without being specially invited, pro- 
 vided, she used to say, they were people capable of 
 spending an evening without card-playing or dancing. 
 It seems such young men were rather rare, for, though 
 I spent almost every evening at their house, I seldom 
 found any other visitor there. I had grown used to 
 the family, to their different dispositions, had a clearer 
 insight into the terms on which they stood towards 
 each other, had become accustomed even to the rooms 
 and the furniture, and, when there were no visitors, 
 felt quite at home there — except when I chanced to 
 be left alone with Varinka. I fancied that, as she 
 was by no means a pretty girl, she would have been 
 greatly flattered by my falling in love with her. How- 
 ever, in time, I began to feel at my ease with her too. 
 She talked to me as simply and frankly as she did to 
 her brother, or to Lioubov Sergeievna, so that I at 
 last grew into the habit of considering her simply as a 
 fellow-creature, and ceased to find it either embarrass- 
 ing or dangerous to show frankly that I found a 
 pleasure in her society. During all the time of our 
 acquaintance I hardly ever found her alike two days 
 
 29 
 
45o 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 running ; sometimes I would find her looking very- 
 ugly, at other times rather good-looking, but it never 
 once came into my head to ask myself whether I was 
 in love with her or not. I used to talk to her every 
 now and then, but would more often address my dis- 
 course to Lioubov Sergeievna, or to Dimitri, instead. 
 I preferred that way of talking to her. I liked her to 
 listen to my talk ; I liked to hear her sing, and to feel 
 her presence in the room ; but any thought of what 
 our future relations to each other might be, seldom 
 occurred to me. If any such thoughts did arise I 
 unconsciously strove to banish them, feeling perfectly 
 satisfied with the present. 
 
 But, in spite of the friendly terms on which we 
 stood, I considered it incumbent upon me to conceal 
 my true feelings and tastes from all the family, and 
 especially from Varinka. I tried to seem very 
 different to what I really was. I wanted to bethought 
 enthusiastic, used to fall into ecstasies and utter 
 sundry exclamations of delight ; fell into enthusiastic 
 attitudes whenever I wanted people to think that 
 anything pleased me, and at the same time strove to 
 seem perfectly indifferent to anything really extra- 
 ordinary that I chanced to see or hear. I tried to 
 seem an ill-natured critic, who spared nothing and 
 nobody, and at the same time wanted to be thought a 
 keen observer. I wanted to appear logical in all I 
 did, punctilious and cautious, and at the same time 
 pretended to disdain all that was of earth earthy. I 
 make bold to say that I was a much better man in 
 reality than that strange being I made myself out to be. 
 However, the Neklioudoffs all grew fond of me, even 
 
MY FRIENDSHIP WITH THE NEKLIOUDOFFS. 451 
 
 such as I appeared to them, and, luckily for me, saw 
 through my pretence. I think Lioubov Sergeievna was 
 the only one who disliked me, for she considered me a 
 great egotist, a heathen, and a scoffer; she would begin 
 some argument with me, become quite excited, and 
 defeat me by her abrupt, incoherent sayings. Dimitri 
 still continued to be on the same strange terms with 
 her — something closer than mere friendship — and 
 used to say that nobody appreciated her worth, and 
 that she had done him a world of good. Their 
 friendship was a cause of great grief to the whole 
 family. 
 
 One day Varinka, talking about that incomprehen- 
 sible friendship to me, explained it thus : 
 
 ‘ Dimitri is full of self-love. He is very proud, and, 
 in spite of his cleverness, likes to be praised and made 
 much of. He likes to stand high in the estimation of 
 others ; and “ auntie,” in her simplicity, admires 
 him greatly, and has not sufficient tact to conceal 
 her admiration, and so she flatters him uninten- 
 tionally.’ 
 
 I was struck by her reasoning, and on thinking it 
 over afterwards I could not help coming to the con- 
 clusion that Varinka was very clever, and, in conse- 
 quence, awarded her a higher place in my esteem. 
 She rose higher and higher in my opinion as I 
 gradually discovered how clever and how full of noble 
 qualities she was ; but though I was pleased to find 
 her such, my feelings for her never went beyond the 
 bounds of moderation, and never reached a pitch of 
 enthusiasm. Thus, when Sophia Ivanovna, who was 
 never weary of talking about her niece, once told me 
 
 29 — 2 
 
452 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 that when Varinka was a child of four, she had once 
 given away her dresses and shoes to some poor 
 peasants’ children without asking anybody’s leave to 
 do so, and that her parents had been obliged to send 
 and take them back, I did not consider it a praise- 
 worthy deed, but rather thought such conduct showed 
 a want of common-sense worthy of ridicule. 
 
 When the Neklioudoffs had visitors, and amongst 
 others Volodja and Doubkoff, I would remain in the 
 background, with a calm consciousness of being one 
 of the family, talking but little, and preferring to 
 listen to the conversation of the others. But all their 
 conversation seemed to me to be so very silly, and I 
 wondered how a clever, sensible woman like the 
 princess, and her clever family could bear to listen to 
 such nonsense, and even find anything to say in reply. 
 If it had ever occurred to me to compare what the 
 others said with what I often said myself when we 
 were alone, I should have wondered less. I should 
 have been less surprised if I had reflected that our 
 own family circle — Avdotja Vassilievna, Lubotchka, 
 and Katenka — were not sillier than the majority of 
 people, and had remembered the talk that went on 
 there, during whole evenings, between Doubkoff, 
 Avdotja Vassilievna, and Katenka, how the former 
 never lost an opportunity of declaiming, ‘ Au banquet 
 de la vie, infortune convive,’ or some fragment from 
 ‘The Demon,’ and the nonsense they would often talk 
 for hours. 
 
 Varenka naturally took much less notice of me 
 when other visitors were present, and we had none of 
 the reading and music that I liked so much. 
 
MY FRIENDSHIP WITH THE NEKLIOUDOFFS. 453 
 
 When she was conversing with any visitor she 
 always lost her greatest charm in my eyes, i.e., her 
 calm good-sense and simplicity. I remember how 
 strange it seemed to me to hear her talking about the 
 theatre and the weather with my brother Volodja. I 
 knew that he heartily disliked and despised idle chit- 
 chat ; Katenka, too, had often laughed at affected talk 
 about the weather, etc. — how was it, then, that when- 
 ever they met they never had any but the most trite 
 commonplace conversation together, looking quite 
 ashamed of themselves all the time ? After any con- 
 versation of that kind I always chafed inwardly 
 against Varinka, made fun of the departed guests the 
 next day, but found it pleasanter than ever to be 
 alone again in the family circle of the Neklioudoffs. 
 
 I now began to find more pleasure in Dimitri’s com- 
 pany when we were in his mother’s drawing-room 
 than when we were alone. 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 MY FRIENDSHIP WITH DIMITRI NEKLIOUDOFF. 
 
 At that time my friendship with Dimitri hung on a 
 thread. I had begun, long ago, to watch him too 
 closely not to have found sundry defects in him, 
 and in early youth we love passionately and expect 
 the loved one to be perfect. When the haze of 
 passion is dissipated by degrees, however, or when 
 the bright rays of reason pierce through it, and we see 
 the object of our love such as he really is, with his 
 virtues and his defects, the latter alone, being un- 
 
454 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 expected, strike us vividly ; we exaggerate them, and 
 a longing for something new, a hope that perfection 
 is not an impossibility, that we may find it yet in 
 another, leads, not only to coldness, but to a feeling 
 almost of dislike for our best-loved friend, and we 
 cast him off without any regret, and start off in search 
 of some more perfect being. If such were not pre- 
 cisely the case in this instance, it was owing to 
 Dimitri’s sturdy, pedantic, sensible, rather than fervent 
 attachment, which I felt ashamed to cast off. Another 
 bond of unity between us was our strange compact of 
 mutual frankness. We were both afraid of leaving 
 in each other’s power the knowledge of all the secret 
 thoughts we had confided to each other, and which 
 we were heartily ashamed of. However, our compact 
 of mutual frankness had long ceased to be followed 
 out, as we both saw clearly, and now only served to 
 make us feel strangely uncomfortable. 
 
 Whenever I came to see Dimitri that winter I was 
 sure to meet there a fellow-student of his, a certain 
 Besobiedoff, with whom he used to study. Besobiedoff 
 was a little wiry, pock-marked man, with small, 
 freckled hands, and an immense head of matted, un- 
 combed hair ; he was dirty, ragged, ill-bred, and not 
 even a hard worker. The friendship Dimitri bore 
 him seemed as incomprehensible to me as was the 
 friendship between the former and Lioubov Sergeievna. 
 The only reason that could have prompted Dimitri to 
 choose him out from amidst all his other comrades, 
 and strike up a friendship with him must have been 
 that there was not an uglier-looking fellow in the 
 whole university. I suppose that was the reason why 
 
FRIENDSHIP WITH DIMITRI NEKLIOUDOFF. 455 
 
 Dimitri chose to stand his friend. All his intercourse 
 with Besobiedoff betrayed but one feeling : ‘ Well, 
 now, you see I do not care a straw who you are — we 
 are all equals. I like the fellow, and that is sufficient 
 proof that there is good in him.’ 
 
 I wondered how he could bear to force his inclina- 
 tions in that way, and how that miserable Besobiedoff 
 did not get sick of being in such an awkward position. 
 It was a friendship that displeased me greatly. 
 
 One day I called upon Dimitri, intending to spend 
 the evening in his mother’s drawing-room, hearing 
 Varinka read or sing ; but Besobiedoff was upstairs, 
 and Dimitri replied, rather sharply, that he could not 
 go down to the drawing-room because, as I could see 
 for myself, he had a visitor in his room 
 
 * There is nothing peculiarly amusing there,’ added 
 he. ‘ Let us stay here and have a chat.’ Though 
 the idea of spending an hour or two with Besobiedoff 
 was far from being an amusing one, not liking to enter 
 the drawing-room alone, and greatly vexed at my 
 friend’s odd taste, I sat down in the rocking-chair and 
 began rocking myself in silence. I felt very cress 
 with Dimitri and Besobiedoff for depriving me of the 
 pleasure of going downstairs ; I waited with the 
 utmost impatience for Besobiedoff’s departure, and 
 sat listening to their conversation in silent vexation. 
 
 ‘ A fine visitor, truly ! Nice company he is !’ thought 
 I, when the servant, having brought in tea, Dimitri 
 was obliged to ask Besobiedoff four or five times to 
 take a glass, the shy guest seeming to think it incum- 
 bent on him to refuse at first, adding, ‘ Pray take it 
 yourself.’ Dimitri, evidently with an effort, kept up a 
 
456 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 conversation with his guest, and tried to draw me 
 into it, but in vain. I sat there in moody silence. 
 
 ‘ Well, I suppose nobody would dare even to suspect 
 me of feeling dull in such fine company/ said I to 
 myself, mentally addressing Dimitri, and still rocking 
 myself to and fro. It was with a kind of pleasurable 
 sensation that I endeavoured to kindle in my breast 
 a feeling of hatred towards my friend. ‘ What a fool 
 he is !’ thought I ; ‘ he might have spent a pleasant 
 evening downstairs, and there he sits with that 
 beastly fellow, and it will soon be too late for us to go 
 into the drawing-room/ and I glanced over the edge 
 of the rocking-chair at my friend. His hand, his 
 attitude, his neck, and especially the back of his head 
 and his knees, provoked me to such a degree that I 
 would have willingly done anything I could to vex 
 him — the more disagreeable it might be for him the 
 better. 
 
 At last Besobiedofif rose to go, but Dimitri could 
 not easily be induced to part with such an agreeable 
 guest, and asked him to pass the night at his house, 
 which, however, Besobiedoff declined to do, and de- 
 parted at last. 
 
 After having seen him off Dimitri returned, with a 
 self-satisfied smile on his lips, and began pacing up 
 and down the room, rubbing his hands together, 
 partly with pleasure at not having yielded to my 
 request, I suppose, and partly because he had, at last, 
 got rid of his tiresome guest. Every now and then 
 he glanced at me. I hated him more than ever. 
 ‘ How dare he go on smiling in that way ?’ said I to 
 myself. 
 
FRIENDSHIP WITH DIMITRI NEKLIOUDOFF. 457 
 
 *' Why art thou in such a rage ?’ said he, suddenly 
 stopping short opposite me. 
 
 ‘ I am not in a rage at all/ answered I, as people 
 usually do answer in such cases. ‘ It vexes me to 
 see thee dissemble before me, and before Besobiedoff, 
 and cheat thy own self/ 
 
 ‘ Nonsense ! I never dissemble/ 
 
 ‘ I have not forgotten our compact, and speak 
 openly to thee. I am quite sure/ added I, ‘ that thou 
 findest Besobiedoff a bore, as I do, because he is a 
 fool, and all that sort of thing; but thou likest to give 
 thyself airs by patronizing him.’ 
 
 ‘ I do not. In the first place, Besobiedoff is a very 
 good sort of fellow.’ 
 
 ‘ And I say thou dost. Nay, I tell thee that thy 
 friendship for Lioubov Sergeievna is likewise based 
 on the consciousness that thou art a god in her eyes/ 
 
 ‘ I tell thee it is not so/ 
 
 ‘ And I tell thee it is ! I know by my own experi- 
 ence,’ answered I eagerly, curbing my vexation, and 
 hoping to disarm him by my frankness. ‘ I tell thee 
 over and over again that we always fancy we love 
 those that say agreeable things to us, but if we examine 
 the matter closely we see that it is no true attach- 
 ment.’ 
 
 ‘ No,’ said Dimitri, angrily settling his necktie, 
 ‘ neither praise nor blame can influence me when I 
 love/ 
 
 ‘ That is not true. I confessed to thee once, that 
 when papa called me a horrid fellow one day, I hated 
 him for some time after, and wished he was dead, and 
 thou ’ 
 
453 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 ‘ Speak for thyself ; I am sorry to find thee such 
 a ’ 
 
 ‘ On the contrary,’ cried I, rising hastily and look- 
 ing fixedly at him with desperate courage, ‘ it is very 
 wrong of thee to say so. What didst thou tell me 
 about thy brother ? I shall not repeat it — it would be 
 dishonourable of me to do so — but didst not thou tell 
 me ? . . . . and I say that I know thee now for what 
 thou really art !’ 
 
 Trying to wound his feelings worse than he had 
 wounded mine, I endeavoured to prove to him that 
 he loved nobody, and heaped upon him all the re- 
 proaches I thought he deserved. I was glad to have 
 spoken out at last, entirely forgetting that the only 
 purpose I could have in view in doing so — viz., to 
 make him confess himself in the wrong — could not be 
 attained at a moment when he was excited and 
 angry. In calmer moments he might have con- 
 fessed it, but at such times I never spoke to him 
 about it. 
 
 Our argument was verging into a quarrel when 
 Dimitri suddenly grew quite still and went into the 
 next room. I followed him, still talking, but he 
 made no answer. I knew that his besetting sin was 
 a hasty temper, and that he was now trying to over- 
 come it. I inwardly cursed all the rules he had laid 
 down for himself. 
 
 So this was to what our compact — always to tell 
 each other all we felt , and never to speak of each other to 
 any third person — had brought us. Under the impulse 
 of being perfectly open, we had indulged in the most 
 shameless confidences, and, to our shame, taken sup- 
 
OUR STEPMOTHER. 
 
 459 
 
 positions for wishes, and fancies for feelings, as in the 
 instance I have just mentioned in the course of our 
 conversation. Not only did these confidences not 
 tend to strengthen the bond between us, they drew 
 us further apart. And now pride withheld him from 
 making the most trifling avowal, and in the heat of 
 our argument we both made use of the weapons we 
 had ourselves given each other, and which left deep 
 wounds in the minds of both. 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 OUR STEPMOTHER. 
 
 Papa had intended to come to Moscow with his wife, 
 after New Year’s Day, but he unexpectedly arrived in 
 the autumn, in October, just when the hunting-season 
 was at its height. He said he had altered his mind, 
 because a lawsuit of his was to be brought before the 
 Senate about that time, but Mimi told us that Avdotja 
 Vassilievna had found living in the country so tedious, 
 had so often talked about going to Moscow, and even 
 feigned sickness, that papa had at last resolved to 
 gratify her by setting off earlier. ‘ Avdotja Vassi- 
 lievna never loved him, but only dinned it in every- 
 body’s ears that she did because she had set her 
 heart on marrying a rich man,’ added Mimi with a 
 pensive sigh, which seemed to say, * some people would 
 not have acted thus if he had been capable of appre- 
 ciating them.’ 
 
 Some people were unjust towards Avdotja Vassi- 
 lievna. Her passionate devotion to papa was evident 
 
460 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 in every word, look, and gesture. Yet her love and 
 the wish never to leave her husband’s side did not in 
 the least prevent her from longing for a fine cap from 
 Madame Annette’s, for a bonnet with some wonder- 
 ful blue ostrich feather in it, or a gown of blue 
 Venetian velvet, which would set off her white neck 
 and arms to advantage, which had never yet been 
 seen by anyone except her husband and her maid. 
 Of course Katenka thought just as her mother did. 
 As to us, we fell into strange jesting terms from the 
 very first day of their arrival. As soon as she had 
 got out of the carriage Volodja went gravely up to 
 her, made a low bow, and, kissing her hand, said : 
 
 ‘ I have the honour to congratulate my dear mamma, 
 and to kiss her hand.’ 
 
 ‘ Ah, my dear little son !’ said Avdotja Vassilievna, 
 with her pretty, meaningless smile. 
 
 ‘ Pray do not overlook your second son,’ said I, 
 kissing her hand too and unwittingly imitating 
 Volodja’s manner and voice. 
 
 If we and our stepmother had been sure of each 
 other's feelings, that style of greeting might have 
 meant that we simply disliked all useless terms of 
 endearment ; if we had disliked each other, it might 
 have been taken for irony, a disinclination to appear 
 hypocritical, or, again, for a desire to conceal our 
 feelings from our father, and so on ; but in the present 
 instance it meant nothing at all, and only covered an 
 entire absence of all feeling. In after-years I have 
 often noticed similar jesting and unnatural terms to 
 exist between the members of some family when they 
 feel that those terms are not quite friendly ones. And 
 
OUR STEPMOTHER. 
 
 461 
 
 such were the relations between us and Avdotja 
 Vassilievna. They never varied ; we were always most 
 polite to her, spoke French, bowed and scraped, 
 calling her ‘ chere mamanj and she always answered 
 in the same half-jesting way, with the same uniform 
 smile. It was only that cry-baby Lubotchka, with 
 her ugly feet and silly talk, who loved our stepmother, 
 and would sometimes naively and awkwardly try to 
 engender more friendly feelings in us. She was the 
 only being that Avdotja Vassilievna cared for with 
 the exception of papa, of course, whom she loved 
 passionately. Avdotja Vassilievna even treated 
 Lubotchka with a shy respect that surprised me. 
 
 At first, Avdotja Vassilievna would often call herself 
 our stepmother, and would hint that a stepmother was 
 always unjustly disliked by the whole household, and 
 that consequently her position was not an easy one. 
 But though she foresaw all the disagreeables her 
 position entailed, she did nothing to avoid them. 
 She might have said a kind word to one, made a little 
 present to another, perhaps might have avoided 
 grumbling — it would not even have cost her an effort, 
 for she was kind and good-tempered by nature. 
 Instead of doing so, seeing what the difficulties of her 
 position might be, she stood on the defensive before 
 she was attacked, and supposing that the whole house- 
 hold wanted to wound her feelings and insult her, 
 suspected each of having some design against her ; 
 moreover, thinking it very dignified to bear all in 
 silence, she made no effort to gain anybody’s affection, 
 and was consequently disliked. She was, besides, 
 utterly devoid of that intuitive intelligence which I 
 
462 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 have already spoken of as being greatly developed 
 amongst us, and her habits were so entirely at 
 variance with those of all the family that it sufficed 
 to set us against her. She lived in our neat, orderly 
 home as if she were a new arrival. She would get up 
 at irregular hours, would sometimes come down to 
 dinner ; at other times she would remain in her room ; 
 one evening she would have supper, another evening 
 she would go without. Except when visitors were 
 present she was always only half dressed, and was not 
 ashamed of appearing before us or the servants in a 
 white petticoat, a shawl thrown over her shoulders, 
 and her arms bare. I was pleased at first to find her 
 so simple in her manners ; but soon that very sim- 
 plicity eradicated the last vestiges of respect. What 
 amazed us most of all was that she seemed quite 
 another being when strangers were present ; in the 
 presence of visitors she was a young, cold beauty, full 
 of health, very well-dressed, neither very clever nor 
 very witty, but always cheerful. When we were alone 
 you saw only a middle-aged, weary, careworn woman, 
 slatternly and bored, in spite of the smile on her lips. 
 When I used to see her return after calling upon 
 some friends, her cheeks flushed from the cold, happy 
 in the consciousness of her beauty, and casting her 
 beautiful but never-varying smile on all around, or 
 rustling along towards the carriage in her ball dress, 
 her neck and arms bare, looking both shy and proud ; 
 or, again, at some evening party at home, in her high 
 silk dress, with delicate lace round her white neck, I would 
 wonder what those who admired her then would say 
 if they saw her such as I often saw her at home, when 
 
OUR STEPMOTHER. 
 
 463 
 
 no strangers were present, when, waiting for her hus- 
 band’s return from his club after midnight, she would 
 wander like a ghost up and down the dimly-lighted 
 rooms. At such times she would go up to the piano 
 and play the only waltz she knew, or she would take 
 up a novel, read a few lines, then throw it aside ; or 
 else she would go to the pantry herself instead of 
 sending a servant, would get a cucumber and a bit 
 of cold veal, and eat them, standing by the pantry 
 window, then wander listlessly from room to room 
 again. But nothing caused us gradually to drift 
 asunder more and more as much as her utter want of 
 comprehension, betrayed by a peculiar air of con- 
 descending attention which she put on when the con- 
 versation turned on subjects she could not under- 
 stand. It was no fault of hers that she had uncon- 
 sciously fallen into the habit of smiling slightly and 
 inclining her head when the conversation was unin- 
 teresting (she took interest in nothing except in papa 
 and herself) ; but that oft-repeated smile and inclina- 
 tion of the head were intolerably repulsive. Her 
 cheerfulness, which seemed to lie in turning herself, 
 us, and everybody else into ridicule, did not com- 
 municate itself to anybody else ; her sensibility was 
 lackadaisical. But what provoked me most of all was 
 that she was continually talking about her love for 
 my father. It was no falsehood that she told when 
 she said that her whole life was absorbed in her love 
 for her husband, though she proved it to be so till her 
 death, but I found such constant reiteration of the 
 fact revolting ; we were more ashamed of her when 
 she spoke of her affection in the presence of strangers 
 than we were of her bad French. 
 
464 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 She did love her husband devotedly, and her 
 husband loved her, especially during the first years of 
 their marriage, when he saw that he was not the only 
 one who admired her. Her only aim in life was the 
 preservation of her husband’s love, yet she seemed 
 purposely to do whatever he disliked — just in order 
 to demonstrate her love and devotion. 
 
 She liked dress, and father liked her to look her 
 best, so as to excite admiration in society ; she gave 
 up her liking for finery, for father’s sake, and began 
 to get more and more into the way of sitting at home 
 in her gray morning-gown. Papa had always con- 
 sidered freedom and unconstraint as being essential 
 conditions of family happiness, and had hoped that 
 his pet daughter, Lubotchka, and his kind, young 
 wife would be good friends ; but Avdotja Vassilievna 
 again made a victim of herself, and found it incum- 
 bent on her to show ‘ the real mistress of the house/ 
 as she called Lubotchka, a respect which was not 
 her due, and which wounded papa’s feelings bitterly. 
 He often played cards that winter, and towards the 
 end of the season lost a good deal. As he did not 
 want his home circle to have anything to do with his 
 gains or losses at cards he never spoke of them. 
 Avdotja Vassilievna made a victim of herself again, 
 and though she was not quite well just then, she 
 thought it her duty to sit up, in her gray dressing- 
 gown, till four or five o’clock in the morning, and 
 when* he returned from his club, tired out, cross, and 
 ashamed of having had an eighth fine to pay* would 
 
 * A fine has to be paid in Russia for staying at the club after 
 twelve o’clock at night ; for every half-hour after the allotted 
 time the fine is doubled. 
 
OUR STEPMOTHER. 
 
 46 5 
 
 come waddling up to meet him. She would ask him, 
 in an absent sort of way, if he had been lucky, and 
 would listen with a smile of condescending attention 
 and a slight shake of the head when he told her what 
 he had done at the club, and repeated for the 
 hundredth time that he entreated her never to sit up 
 for him. And though papa’s winning or losing at 
 cards (though, by the way he played, our whole for- 
 tune was at stake) did not interest her in the least, 
 she continued to sit up for him every night, and was 
 the first to meet him when he came home. She was 
 prompted to act thus, not only by her passion for 
 making a victim of herself, but also by a secret feeling 
 of jealousy, which caused her the greatest torture. 
 Nothing in the world could ever have convinced her 
 that papa returned so late from the club, and not 
 from some mistress's house. She tried to read his 
 love secrets in his face, and seeing nothing there, she 
 would sigh as if enjoying her grief, and give herself up 
 to the contemplation of her misery. 
 
 In consequence of this, and sundry other instances 
 of her always considering herself a victim, towards 
 the close of the winter, during which papa had lost 
 considerable sums, and was consequently out of sorts, 
 a kind of intermittent feeling of calm dislike began to 
 be noticeable in his treatment of his wife — that 
 restrained dislike for the once-loved being which 
 betrays itself by an unconscious desire to say some- 
 thing disagreeable to him or her. 
 
 30 
 
466 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 MY NEW COMRADES. 
 
 The winter passed imperceptibly, and it was already 
 beginning to thaw. A list of the days on which the 
 examinations were to take place had already been 
 stuck up on the walls of the university, when it sud- 
 denly occurred to me that I should soon have to go 
 up for examination on eighteen different subjects, on 
 which I had attended lectures, but had heard nothing* 
 had taken down no notes, and was unprepared to 
 answer a single question. Strange to say, such a 
 simple question as ‘ How am I to undergo my examina- 
 tion ?’ had never once entered my mind. The fact is, 
 I had been in such a haze all that winter, so full of 
 delight at being a grown-up man, and so comme il 
 faut, that when the idea did cross my mind as to how 
 I should undergo my examination, I would draw a 
 comparison between my fellow-students and myself, 
 and say to myself, ‘ They will manage to do so, 
 though they are not comme il faut ; as I am better 
 than they are, I must pass.’ I only attended the 
 lectures because I had got into the habit of doing so, 
 and because papa would not let me stay at home. 
 Besides, I had many acquaintances there ; I found it 
 pleasant. I liked the noise, the talk, the laughter in 
 the auditorium ; liked to sit on one of the seats at the 
 back during a lecture, without heeding the measured 
 tones of the professor’s voice, and to give the reins to 
 my fancy or watch my comrades ; I liked to run over 
 to Mattern’s with one or other of them, to take a 
 
MY NEW COMRADES. 
 
 467 
 
 glass of brandy and a snack, knowing we should catch 
 it if seen, and sneak back into the auditorium to hear 
 the professor again, gently closing the door after us. 
 I liked to join in the fun, when all assembled in 
 the corridor after the lecture. That was all very 
 pleasant. 
 
 Just as all had begun to attend very regularly, the 
 professor of physics ended his lectures, and took leave 
 of us till the examination. The students then began 
 to study together, in separate groups, and I reflected 
 that it was time for me to set to work too. As I 
 have already said, Operoff and I were not on friendly 
 terms, and merely bowed coldly to each other when- 
 ever we met ; now, however, he not only offered to 
 lend me his manuscripts, but invited me to prepare 
 for my examination together with him and several 
 other students. I thanked him and accepted his pro- 
 posal, hoping that the honour I thus did him would 
 effectually put an end to the coolness that had existed 
 between us. I proposed that they should all come 
 to study at my house, as I had a nice lodging. 
 
 The answer was that they would study at the house 
 of each, in turn, preferring those that lived nearer. 
 We first assembled at Zoukin’s. He had a small 
 room, behind a partition wall, in a large house on the 
 Troubnoi Boulevard. I was rather late on the 
 appointed day, and the reading had already begun. 
 The room was full of the smoke of ‘ mahorca.’* On 
 the table there stood a bottle of brandy, a wineglass, 
 some bread and salt, and a leg of mutton. 
 
 Zoukin, without rising from his chair, asked me 
 to drink a glass of brandy and to take off my coat. 
 
 * A sort of tobacco of inferior quality. 
 
 30—2 
 
468 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 ‘ I suppose you are not used to such fare ?’ added 
 he. 
 
 All the students wore cotton-print shirts with fronts. 
 With an effort to conceal my disgust I took off my 
 coat and threw myself down unceremoniously on to 
 the sofa. Zoukin went on reading, referring to his 
 notes every now and then, and when there was any- 
 thing the others did not answer, giving brief, clear, 
 and accurate explanations. I began to listen more 
 attentively, but there were many things I could not 
 understand, and I stopped the reading to ask. 
 
 ‘ Oh, my dear fellow, it’s of no use your listening if 
 you do not know that/ said Zoukin. ‘ I’ll lend you 
 my manuscripts, and you can look them over by 
 to-morrow. What’s the use of stopping to explain 
 such a thing as that . . .?’ 
 
 I felt ashamed of my ignorance, but seeing, at the 
 same time, that Zoukin’s remark was just, left off 
 listening, and began to examine my comrades instead. 
 Taken according to my subdivision of people into 
 comme il faut and not comme il faut, they certainly 
 belonged to the second category, and therefore 
 excited, not only my scorn, but a feeling of personal 
 dislike, because, without being comme il faut, they 
 seemed to consider themselves my equals, and even 
 benevolently patronized me. Those feelings were 
 heightened by their legs, by their dirty hands, with 
 the nails bitten down to the skin, by the long nail on 
 Operoff’s little finger, by their pink shirts, by the 
 abusive terms they playfully addressed to each other, 
 by the dirty room, and the habit Zoukin had of 
 blowing his nose incessantly, pressing his finger 
 
MY NEW COMRADES. 
 
 469 
 
 against his nostril, and especially by the way they 
 spoke, using bookish terms, and accenting the syllables 
 incorrectly. 
 
 Yet, though there was much that was repulsive to 
 me, in their outward appearance, I was forced to con- 
 fess to myself that there was a great deal of good in 
 all these young men, and I envied their cheerful 
 unity, and should have liked to be on more friendly 
 terms with them. I was already well acquainted with 
 good-tempered, honest Operoff, and now began to 
 like that sturdy, wonderfully clever Zoukin, who was 
 evidently quite an authority in the little circle. He 
 was a short, stoutly-built, dark-complexioned man, 
 with a flabby, shining, but very clever, independent, 
 and animated physiognomy. It was especially his 
 low but rounded forehead, overshadowing his black 
 eyes, his short bushy hair and his thick black beard, 
 always looking as if it had not been shaved, which 
 gave him that look. He did not seem ever to be 
 thinking of himself (a trait I liked to see in people), 
 but it was evident his mind was always at work. 
 He had one of those expressive faces which seem to 
 alter completely when you have seen them a few 
 hours. At least it was the case with Zoukin’s face. 
 Towards the close of the evening I began to notice 
 wrinkles I had not noticed before ; his eyes seemed 
 more sunken, his smile was no longer the same, and 
 his whole face seemed so changed that I could hardly 
 believe it was the same. 
 
 After the reading Zoukin, several other students, 
 and myself drank off a glass of brandy each, as a 
 sign of good fellowship, and the bottle was nearly 
 empty. Zoukin asked if any of us had a twenty-five 
 
470 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 copeck-piece, in order to send an old woman, who 
 acted as his servant, to fetch another bottle of brandy. 
 I offered to give the money, but Zoukin, without 
 heeding me, turned to Operofif, who drew the required 
 sum from a netted bead-purse. 
 
 ‘ Mind thou dost not get into one of thy tippling 
 fits again,’ said Operoff, who never drank anything 
 himself. 
 
 ‘ Never fear,’ answered Zoukin, sucking the marrow 
 out of the mutton-bone, and smiling — his smile was 
 one you could not help noticing, and feeling grateful 
 for. ^ If I do begin to drink hard, there will be no 
 harm done, brother ; we’ll see whether the fumes of 
 brandy will get the better of me, or I of them,’ added 
 he, rapping his forehead boastfully ; ‘ but I am afraid 
 Semenoff will break down — how he does drink !’ 
 
 And, indeed, that same Semenoff, with the gray 
 hair, who, to my great satisfaction, had looked so 
 much uglier even than myself at our first examina- 
 tion, and who passed second best, had attended the 
 lectures very regularly during the first month, had 
 taken to drink some time before the first quarterly 
 repetition, and had never since made his appearance 
 at the university. 
 
 ‘ Where is he ?’ inquired one of the students. 
 
 ‘ I have quite lost sight of him,’ said Zoukin ; ‘ the 
 last time I saw him was when we broke Lisbon Hotel 
 down together. That was a grand affair ! He got 
 into a mess after that I heard. . . . What a head that 
 fellow has ! There’s energy for you, and what a 
 clever fellow he is ! It will be a pity if he goes to 
 the dogs — and he will, that’s as sure as day ; he is not 
 one to get on at the university, a fellow like that !’ 
 
MY NEW COMRADES. 
 
 471 
 
 After a little more talk, we all took leave of each 
 other, after having settled that we were to meet again 
 at Zoukin’s the next day, as he lived nearer. When 
 we had all come out into the courtyard, I felt some- 
 what ashamed to drive off, whilst all the rest had 
 to walk home, and bashfully offered Operoff a seat 
 in my gig. Zoukin came out, too, and having 
 borrowed a rouble off Operoff, went to spend the 
 night somewhere. As we drove along the streets 
 Operoff talked a good deal about Zoukin, his disposi- 
 tion, the life he led, etc. ; and on my return home I 
 lay awake for a long time, my thoughts full of the 
 new acquaintances I had made. And as I lay, I 
 hesitated between the esteem which their cleverness, 
 simplicity of manner, and all the poetry of their 
 youth and dashing boldness excited in me on the one 
 hand, and the disgust I felt for their ungenteel 
 appearance on the other. However much I might 
 wish to be on friendly terms with them, I felt that it 
 was utterly impossible. Our tastes and opinions 
 were too much at variance. There were so many 
 trifles, in which lay all the charm, all the chief aims of 
 my life, in my eyes, which were perfectly incompre- 
 hensible for them. But the principal reason why no 
 friendship could subsist between us was that my coat 
 was made of cloth, which cost thirty-seven roubles 
 per yard, that I had a gig of my own, and wore shirts 
 made of fine Holland linen. I considered all these 
 as important items; it seemed to me that they could 
 not* but consider all these signs of wealth almost 
 in the light of so many insults. I felt myself in the 
 wrong, and humiliated ; then, again, was vexed with 
 myself for such useless humility, after which, falling 
 
472 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 into the opposite extreme, could not by any means 
 get into simple, straightforward fellowship with them. 
 The coarse and vicious sides of Zoukin -, s disposition 
 were at that time so entirely thrown into the shade by 
 the charm of his bold, dashing manner in my eyes, 
 that they did not impress me disagreeably. 
 
 For about a fortnight I went to Zoukin’s every 
 evening. I did not study much, because, as I have 
 said already, I was behind them in my studies, and as 
 I had not sufficient energy to work alone, so as to 
 catch up with them, I only pretended to listen and 
 to understand. I rather suspect that my comrades 
 guessed how it was with me, for I noticed that they 
 often skipped over what they all knew, and that they 
 never asked me. 
 
 By degrees I grew more and more indulgent to the 
 ungenteel manners of that little circle, found their 
 way of life, which had a certain poetical charm in it 
 for me, more and more interesting. The promise I 
 had made Dimitri, never to take part in their orgies, 
 alone restrained me from sharing them. 
 
 One day, wishing to let them see how well read 
 I was in literature, especially in French literature, I 
 turned the conversation upon it. To my great 
 surprise, I found that, though they pronounced the 
 titles of the French works with a Russian accent, 
 they had read more than I had, were well acquainted 
 with the works of all the best English and Spanish 
 authors, and that they had all read Le Sage, whom I 
 had never even heard of. Pushkin’s and Joukovsky’s 
 works were literary works in their eyes, not merely 
 books in a yellow binding to be studied in childhood, 
 as they were in mine. They spoke slightingly of 
 
MY NEW COMRADES. 
 
 4 73 
 
 Dumas, Sue, and Feval, and I was soon obliged to 
 own to myself that their judgment was much sounder 
 than my own, especially that of Zoukin. Still more 
 amazed was I to discover that Operoff played the 
 violin, that another of the students played the violon- 
 cello and the piano too, and that both of them formed 
 part of the university orchestra, were really good 
 musicians, and could appreciate good music. In a 
 word, they knew everything I had expected to 
 astound them by a good deal better than I did my- 
 self, with the exception of the correct pronunciation 
 of the French and German languages, nor did they 
 seem to think there was anything to be proud of 
 in that. I might have boasted of being a man of the 
 world, but that I was not ; then, what was it that 
 made me look down upon them? My acquaintance 
 with Prince Ivan Ivanovitch ? My correct pronuncia- 
 tion of the French language ? My having my own 
 equipage ? My linen shirts ? My nails ? But is not 
 all that nonsense, after all ? thought I sometimes with 
 a feeling of envy at the sight of the good-fellowship 
 and the kind-hearted, youthful merriment around me. 
 They all said ‘ thou 3 to each other. The simplicity of 
 their manners towards each other almost amounted 
 to rudeness at times ; but under that rough exterior 
 there always lay a delicacy which made them avoid 
 saying anything that could wound each other’s 
 feelings ; the expressions, * thou rascal,’ * thou jeig,’ 
 used as terms of endearment, struck me disagreeably. 
 I found them ridiculous, but they were never con- 
 sidered as insulting by those to whom they were 
 addressed, and did not in the least prevent them from 
 being on a most friendly footing. They were as 
 
474 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 careful of each other’s feelings, as delicate, as only very 
 young and very poor men are. But what attracted 
 me most of all was, that I instinctively felt that there 
 was something wild, dissolute, and dashing in 
 Zoukin and his adventures in Lisbon Hotel. I felt 
 very sure that those revels were very different to that 
 sober piece of pretence with the hot punch and 
 champagne that I had taken part in at Baron Z.’s 
 house. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 ZOUKIN AND SEMENOFF. 
 
 I HAVE no idea what class of society Zoukin belonged 
 to; I only know that he was educated at the 
 
 gymnasium of S , was poor, and, I think, not of 
 
 noble birth. He was then about eighteen, though he 
 looked much older. He was wonderfully clever, and 
 very intelligent; itwas easier for him to embrace at once 
 the full meaning of some intricate subject, seeing all 
 the details and deductions at first sight, than to reason 
 upon the laws which led to these same deductions. 
 He knew he was clever, prided himself upon it, but 
 was always perfectly unaffected and kind in his 
 manners. He must have had a great deal to bear in 
 the course of his life. His ardent, receptive disposi- 
 tion had already taken in love, friendship, business, 
 and money. Though on a small scale, amidst the 
 lower classes of society, there was nothing he had not 
 tried, nothing that he did not look upon either with 
 disdain or indifference, proceeding from the too great 
 facility with which he had attained it. It seemed as if 
 he undertook anything new so eagerly, only to despise 
 
ZOUKIN AND SEMEN OFF. 
 
 475 
 
 it as soon as he had attained his purpose ; and his 
 great abilities always did enable him to attain his 
 purpose easily, thus giving him the right to despise it. 
 It was thus with every science ; he studied little, 
 never took notes, yet knew mathematics remarkably 
 well, and his saying that he could puzzle the professor 
 himself was no vain boast. He found that there was 
 a great deal of useless nonsense in the lectures, yet, 
 with the unconscious cunning inherent in him, he 
 always managed to say just what the professors 
 expected him to say, and they all liked him. He was 
 very straightforward in his dealings with all those who 
 were in authority over him, yet they all esteemed him. 
 Not only did he feel neither respect nor fondness for 
 science, but actually despised those who studied 
 hard at what came so very easily to him. Science, as he 
 understood it, did not require a tenth of his abilities ; 
 his student's career offered nothing that could satisfy 
 him, and his ardent, restless disposition, he used to 
 say, wanted ‘ life ’ ; that is why he gave himself up to 
 frantic revelry of all kinds, as often as his small 
 means would allow, with the greatest zest, hoping to 
 put an end to his life by living as hard as he could. 
 All happened just as Operoff had predicted. He 
 disappeared a week or two before the examination, so 
 that we had to meet at the house of another of the 
 students for our reading. On the day appointed for 
 the first examination, however, he made his ap- 
 pearance, looking pale and weak, his hands trembling, 
 and underwent his examination brilliantly. 
 
 At the beginning of the year there had been about 
 eight students in the group of habitual revellers, at 
 the head of which stood Zoukin. Two of them had 
 
476 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 been Ikonine and Semenoff, but the former soon 
 retired, being unable to continue the wild revelry ; the 
 latter left, on the contrary, because he found they 
 were not wild enough. At first we had all looked at 
 them with a kind of awe, often talking of all their wild 
 doings. 
 
 The chief heroes were Zoukin, and afterwards 
 Semenoff. We all really dreaded Semenoff, and 
 when he used to enter the lecture-room, a thing he 
 very rarely did, there was great excitement in the 
 auditorium. 
 
 Semenoff ended his wild career in a queer way just 
 a few days before the examination. I was present at 
 the time, at Zoukin’s house. It happened thus : one 
 evening we were all assembled at Zoukin’s, and 
 Operoff was leaning over his manuscripts, a tallow- 
 candle in a candlestick on one side of him, and a 
 second tallow-candle stuck into a bottle on the other, 
 and just beginning to read in his weak, cracked 
 voice, his closely-written notes on physics, when the 
 landlady entered the room, saying that somebody was 
 asking for Semenoff, and had brought a note. . . . 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 I BREAK DOWN AT THE EXAMINATION. 
 
 At last came the day appointed for our first examina- 
 tion on differentials and integrals. I was still in a 
 maze, and did not seem clearly to comprehend what 
 awaited me. In the evenings, on leaving Zoukin and 
 my other comrades, the idea had often occurred to 
 me that many of my convictions ought to be altered, 
 
I BREAK DOWN AT THE EXAMINATION . 477 
 
 that there was something wrong about them ; but in 
 the mornings I was always my own comme il faut self 
 again, perfectly self-satisfied, and seeing no need of 
 any change. 
 
 It was in such a state of mind that I went up for 
 my first examination. I took my seat in that part of 
 the room where the sons of princes, counts and barons 
 sat, entered into conversation with them in French, 
 and, strange to say, it never came into my head that 
 I should immediately be called up to answer questions 
 on a subject that I knew nothing about. I looked on 
 coolly as I saw the others go up one after the other, 
 and even made fun of some of them. 
 
 4 Well, Grap/ said I to Iliinka, as he was returning 
 to his seat, ‘you were in a terrible fright, I sup- 
 pose ?’ 
 
 ‘ We shall see how it will be with you,’ said Iliinka, 
 who, ever since he had entered the university, had 
 rebelled against my influence entirely, would never 
 smile when I spoke to him, and evidently disliked 
 me. 
 
 I smiled scornfully in answer, though the doubt 
 Iliinka’s words conveyed gave me a slight twinge. 
 But the feeling was short-lived, and I grew absent 
 and indifferent once more, and even promised Baron Z. 
 that, as soon as my examination was over (as if it 
 were the veriest trifle), I would go over to Mattern’s 
 with him to have lunch. When I was called up, 
 together with Ikonine, I smoothed down the skirts of 
 my uniform and walked coolly up to the table. 
 
 A slight tremor ran through me, however, when a 
 young professor — the very one who had examined me 
 when I first entered the university — looked me full in 
 
478 
 
 YOUTH . 
 
 the face, and then pointed to some paper tickets, on 
 which stood sundry questions. Ikonine took a ticket, 
 swaying his body backwards and forwards just as he 
 had done at the last year’s examination, and answered, 
 though very badly, while I did just what he had done 
 at the last year’s examination — nay, I did even worse, 
 for I took up a second ticket, and could not answer the 
 question on that one either. The professor cast a 
 glance of pity at me, and said calmly, but in a very 
 decided tone : 
 
 ‘ You cannot pass, Mr. Irtenjeff. You need not 
 continue your examination. Nor you either, Mr. 
 Ikonine,’ added he. 
 
 Ikonine begged hard to be allowed to undergo his 
 examination over again, but the professor replied that 
 he could not possibly do in two days what he had left 
 undone in the course of the whole year, and that he 
 could not pass by any means. Ikonine continued 
 begging and entreating very humbly, but received a 
 second refusal. 
 
 ‘You may go, gentlemen/ said the professor at 
 last, in the same low, firm voice. 
 
 It was only when he uttered these words that I 
 moved away, and I felt ashamed to think that by 
 standing there in silence I had seemed to take part in 
 the degrading supplications of Ikonine. I do not 
 remember how I crossed the hall, what answers I gave 
 my comrades, how I came out into the entrance-hall, 
 or how I reached home. I felt insulted, humiliated, 
 and most miserable. 
 
 For three days 1 did not leave my room, would see 
 nobody, and wept incessantly, finding a sort of childish 
 comfort in tears. I tried to find a pistol in order to 
 
I BREAK DOWN AT THE EXAMINATION. 479 
 
 have it in my power to shoot myself if I chose. I 
 thought Uiinka Grap would spit in my face when 
 next he saw me, and would be justified in doing so > 
 that Operoff enjoyed my discomfiture, and was telling 
 everybody about it ; that Kolpikoff had been quite 
 right when he had insulted me at Yar’s ; that my 
 foolish speeches at the Princess Kornakoff’s could not 
 have led to any other end ; and so on. Then I tried 
 to throw the blame on others ; thought that it had 
 been done on purpose to spite me ; imagined a whole 
 intrigue against myself ; murmured against the pro- 
 fessor, against my comrades, against Volodja and 
 Dimitri, against papa for having sent me to the 
 university, against Providence for having let me live 
 to be thus dishonoured. 
 
 At last, feeling that I was quite lost in the opinion 
 of all who knew me, I entreated papa to let me enter 
 the army going to the Caucasus, or to enlist as 
 ‘hussar.’ Papa was greatly displeased with me, but 
 when he saw my own despair he endeavoured to con- 
 sole me by telling me that though it was a bad job, 
 it might be remedied by my entering some other 
 faculty. 
 
 Volodja, who did not seem to consider the matter 
 as so very dreadful, said that, if I passed over to some 
 other branch of study I should at least not have to 
 feel ashamed in the presence of my new comrades. 
 
 The ladies either did not choose to understand, or 
 could not understand, what an examination was, or 
 what ‘ to break down ’ meant, and only pitied me 
 because they saw how distressed I was. 
 
 Dimitri came to see me every day, and was most 
 kind and affectionate ; yet that was just what made 
 
480 
 
 YOUTH . 
 
 me think that he cared for me less than he had done 
 before. It pained and offended me to find him coming 
 up to my room every day, and sitting by my side in 
 perfect silence, his face wearing an expression some- 
 what like that with which a physician might have sat 
 by the bedside of some patient who was dangerously 
 ill. Sophia Ivanovna and Varinka sent me some 
 books which I had once said I should like to read, 
 and asked me to come and see them ; but I saw in 
 their kindness only insulting pity for a man who had 
 fallen so very low. 
 
 I grew calmer in a few days, but did not once leave 
 the house till our departure to the country, and, giving 
 myself to my grief, would wander listlessly from room 
 to room, avoiding, even, all the members of the house- 
 hold. After long deliberation, one evening, as I was 
 sitting alone downstairs listening to Avdotja Vassi- 
 lievna’s waltz, I suddenly started up, ran upstairs, got 
 out the book on the title-page of which I had inscribed 
 the words ‘ Rules for Conduct,’ opened it, and a momen- 
 tary feeling of repentance came over me. I burst into 
 tears, but they were not tears of despair any more. 
 When I grew calm again I resolved to write down 
 several rules of conduct for my own guidance once more, 
 and felt sure that I should never do anything wrong 
 again, should never waste a single hour, and should 
 never swerve from the rules I had laid down for myself. 
 
 Whether that moral fit lasted long, what it really 
 was, and what new impetus it gave to my moral 
 development, will be seen in my account of the second 
 and happier part of my youth. 
 
 Elliot Stocky Paternoster Ro7u, London .