CHILDHOOD

By Leo Tolstoy

Translated by C. J. Hogarth

I -- THE TUTOR, KARL IVANITCH

On the 12th of August, 18-- (just three days after my tenth birthday, when I had been given such wonderful presents), I was awakened at seveno'clock in the morning by Karl Ivanitch slapping the wall close to myhead with a fly-flap made of sugar paper and a stick. He did this soroughly that he hit the image of my patron saint suspended to the oakenback of my bed, and the dead fly fell down on my curls. I peeped outfrom under the coverlet, steadied the still shaking image with my hand, flicked the dead fly on to the floor, and gazed at Karl Ivanitch withsleepy, wrathful eyes. He, in a parti-coloured wadded dressing-gownfastened about the waist with a wide belt of the same material, a redknitted cap adorned with a tassel, and soft slippers of goat skin, wenton walking round the walls and taking aim at, and slapping, flies. 

"Suppose, " I thought to myself, "that I am only a small boy, yet whyshould he disturb me? Why does he not go killing flies around Woloda'sbed? No; Woloda is older than I, and I am the youngest of the family, sohe torments me. That is what he thinks of all day long--how to teaseme. He knows very well that he has woken me up and frightened me, but hepretends not to notice it. Disgusting brute! And his dressing-gown andcap and tassel too--they are all of them disgusting. "

While I was thus inwardly venting my wrath upon Karl Ivanitch, he hadpassed to his own bedstead, looked at his watch (which hung suspended ina little shoe sewn with bugles), and deposited the fly-flap on a nail, then, evidently in the most cheerful mood possible, he turned round tous. 

"Get up, children! It is quite time, and your mother is already in thedrawing-room, " he exclaimed in his strong German accent. Then he crossedover to me, sat down at my feet, and took his snuff-box out of hispocket. I pretended to be asleep. Karl Ivanitch sneezed, wiped hisnose, flicked his fingers, and began amusing himself by teasing me andtickling my toes as he said with a smile, "Well, well, little lazy one!"

For all my dread of being tickled, I determined not to get out of bedor to answer him, but hid my head deeper in the pillow, kicked out withall my strength, and strained every nerve to keep from laughing. 

"How kind he is, and how fond of us!" I thought to myself. "Yet to thinkthat I could be hating him so just now!"

I felt angry, both with myself and with Karl Ivanitch, I wanted to laughand to cry at the same time, for my nerves were all on edge. 

"Leave me alone, Karl!" I exclaimed at length, with tears in my eyes, asI raised my head from beneath the bed-clothes. 

Karl Ivanitch was taken aback, He left off tickling my feet, and askedme kindly what the matter was, Had I had a disagreeable dream? His goodGerman face and the sympathy with which he sought to know the causeof my tears made them flow the faster. I felt conscience-stricken, andcould not understand how, only a minute ago, I had been hating Karl, and thinking his dressing-gown and cap and tassel disgusting. On thecontrary, they looked eminently lovable now. Even the tassel seemedanother token of his goodness. I replied that I was crying because I hadhad a bad dream, and had seen Mamma dead and being buried. Of course itwas a mere invention, since I did not remember having dreamt anythingat all that night, but the truth was that Karl's sympathy as he tried tocomfort and reassure me had gradually made me believe that I HAD dreamtsuch a horrible dream, and so weep the more--though from a differentcause to the one he imagined. 

When Karl Ivanitch had left me, I sat up in bed and proceeded to drawmy stockings over my little feet. The tears had quite dried now, yet themournful thought of the invented dream was still haunting me a little. Presently Uncle [This term is often applied by children to old servantsin Russia] Nicola came in--a neat little man who was always grave, methodical, and respectful, as well as a great friend of Karl's, Hebrought with him our clothes and boots--at least, boots for Woloda, andfor myself the old detestable, be-ribanded shoes. In his presence Ifelt ashamed to cry, and, moreover, the morning sun was shining so gailythrough the window, and Woloda, standing at the washstand as he mimickedMaria Ivanovna (my sister's governess), was laughing so loud and solong, that even the serious Nicola--a towel over his shoulder, the soapin one hand, and the basin in the other--could not help smiling as hesaid, "Will you please let me wash you, Vladimir Petrovitch?" I hadcheered up completely. 

"Are you nearly ready?" came Karl's voice from the schoolroom. The toneof that voice sounded stern now, and had nothing in it of the kindnesswhich had just touched me so much. In fact, in the schoolroom Karl wasaltogether a different man from what he was at other times. There he wasthe tutor. I washed and dressed myself hurriedly, and, a brush stillin my hand as I smoothed my wet hair, answered to his call. Karl, with spectacles on nose and a book in his hand, was sitting, as usual, between the door and one of the windows. To the left of the door weretwo shelves--one of them the children's (that is to say, ours), and theother one Karl's own. Upon ours were heaped all sorts of books--lessonbooks and play books--some standing up and some lying down. The onlytwo standing decorously against the wall were two large volumes of aHistoire des Voyages, in red binding. On that shelf could be seen booksthick and thin and books large and small, as well as covers withoutbooks and books without covers, since everything got crammed up togetheranyhow when play time arrived and we were told to put the "library" (asKarl called these shelves) in order The collection of books on his ownshelf was, if not so numerous as ours, at least more varied. Three ofthem in particular I remember, namely, a German pamphlet (minus a cover)on Manuring Cabbages in Kitchen-Gardens, a History of the Seven Years'War (bound in parchment and burnt at one corner), and a Course ofHydrostatics. Though Karl passed so much of his time in reading that hehad injured his sight by doing so, he never read anything beyond thesebooks and The Northern Bee. 

Another article on Karl's shelf I remember well. This was a round pieceof cardboard fastened by a screw to a wooden stand, with a sort of comicpicture of a lady and a hairdresser glued to the cardboard. Karl wasvery clever at fixing pieces of cardboard together, and had devised thiscontrivance for shielding his weak eyes from any very strong light. 

I can see him before me now--the tall figure in its wadded dressing-gownand red cap (a few grey hairs visible beneath the latter) sitting besidethe table; the screen with the hairdresser shading his face; one handholding a book, and the other one resting on the arm of the chair. Before him lie his watch, with a huntsman painted on the dial, acheck cotton handkerchief, a round black snuff-box, and a greenspectacle-case, The neatness and orderliness of all these articles showclearly that Karl Ivanitch has a clear conscience and a quiet mind. 

Sometimes, when tired of running about the salon downstairs, I wouldsteal on tiptoe to the schoolroom and find Karl sitting alone in hisarmchair as, with a grave and quiet expression on his face, he perusedone of his favourite books. Yet sometimes, also, there were moments whenhe was not reading, and when the spectacles had slipped down his largeaquiline nose, and the blue, half-closed eyes and faintly smiling lipsseemed to be gazing before them with a curious expression, All would bequiet in the room--not a sound being audible save his regular breathingand the ticking of the watch with the hunter painted on the dial. Hewould not see me, and I would stand at the door and think: "Poor, poorold man! There are many of us, and we can play together and be happy, but he sits there all alone, and has nobody to be fond of him. Surelyhe speaks truth when he says that he is an orphan. And the story of hislife, too--how terrible it is! I remember him telling it to Nicola, Howdreadful to be in his position!" Then I would feel so sorry for him thatI would go to him, and take his hand, and say, "Dear Karl Ivanitch!"and he would be visibly delighted whenever I spoke to him like this, andwould look much brighter. 

On the second wall of the schoolroom hung some maps--mostly torn, butglued together again by Karl's hand. On the third wall (in the middle ofwhich stood the door) hung, on one side of the door, a couple of rulers(one of them ours--much bescratched, and the other one his--quite a newone), with, on the further side of the door, a blackboard on which ourmore serious faults were marked by circles and our lesser faults bycrosses. To the left of the blackboard was the corner in which we had tokneel when naughty. How well I remember that corner--the shutter on thestove, the ventilator above it, and the noise which it made when turned!Sometimes I would be made to stay in that corner till my back and kneeswere aching all over, and I would think to myself. "Has Karl Ivanitchforgotten me? He goes on sitting quietly in his arm-chair and readinghis Hydrostatics, while I--!" Then, to remind him of my presence, Iwould begin gently turning the ventilator round. Or scratching someplaster off the wall; but if by chance an extra large piece fell uponthe floor, the fright of it was worse than any punishment. I wouldglance round at Karl, but he would still be sitting there quietly, bookin hand, and pretending that he had noticed nothing. 

In the middle of the room stood a table, covered with a torn blackoilcloth so much cut about with penknives that the edge of the tableshowed through. Round the table stood unpainted chairs which, throughuse, had attained a high degree of polish. The fourth and last wallcontained three windows, from the first of which the view was asfollows, Immediately beneath it there ran a high road on which everyirregularity, every pebble, every rut was known and dear to me. Besidethe road stretched a row of lime-trees, through which glimpses could becaught of a wattled fence, with a meadow with farm buildings on one sideof it and a wood on the other--the whole bounded by the keeper's hut atthe further end of the meadow, The next window to the right overlookedthe part of the terrace where the "grownups" of the family used to sitbefore luncheon. Sometimes, when Karl was correcting our exercises, Iwould look out of that window and see Mamma's dark hair and the backsof some persons with her, and hear the murmur of their talking andlaughter. Then I would feel vexed that I could not be there too, andthink to myself, "When am I going to be grown up, and to have no morelessons, but sit with the people whom I love instead of with thesehorrid dialogues in my hand?" Then my anger would change to sadness, andI would fall into such a reverie that I never heard Karl when he scoldedme for my mistakes. 

At last, on the morning of which I am speaking, Karl Ivanitch tookoff his dressing-gown, put on his blue frockcoat with its creased andcrumpled shoulders, adjusted his tie before the looking-glass, and tookus down to greet Mamma. 

II -- MAMMA

Mamma was sitting in the drawing-room and making tea. In one hand shewas holding the tea-pot, while with the other one she was drawing waterfrom the urn and letting it drip into the tray. Yet though she appearedto be noticing what she doing, in reality she noted neither this factnor our entry. 

However vivid be one's recollection of the past, any attempt to recallthe features of a beloved being shows them to one's vision as througha mist of tears--dim and blurred. Those tears are the tears of theimagination. When I try to recall Mamma as she was then, I see, true, her brown eyes, expressive always of love and kindness, the small moleon her neck below where the small hairs grow, her white embroideredcollar, and the delicate, fresh hand which so often caressed me, and which I so often kissed; but her general appearance escapes mealtogether. 

To the left of the sofa stood an English piano, at which my dark-hairedsister Lubotshka was sitting and playing with manifest effort (forher hands were rosy from a recent washing in cold water) Clementi's"Etudes. " Then eleven years old, she was dressed in a short cotton frockand white lace-frilled trousers, and could take her octaves only inarpeggio. Beside her was sitting Maria Ivanovna, in a cap adornedwith pink ribbons and a blue shawl, Her face was red and cross, and itassumed an expression even more severe when Karl Ivanitch entered theroom. Looking angrily at him without answering his bow, she went onbeating time with her foot and counting, "One, two, three--one, two, three, " more loudly and commandingly than ever. 

Karl Ivanitch paid no attention to this rudeness, but went, as usual, with German politeness to kiss Mamma's hand, She drew herself up, shookher head as though by the movement to chase away sad thoughts from her, and gave Karl her hand, kissing him on his wrinkled temple as he benthis head in salutation. 

"I thank you, dear Karl Ivanitch, " she said in German, and then, stillusing the same language asked him how we (the children) had slept. Karl Ivanitch was deaf in one ear, and the added noise of the piano nowprevented him from hearing anything at all. He moved nearer to the sofa, and, leaning one hand upon the table and lifting his cap above hishead, said with, a smile which in those days always seemed to me theperfection of politeness: "You, will excuse me, will you not, NataliaNicolaevna?"

The reason for this was that, to avoid catching cold, Karl never tookoff his red cap, but invariably asked permission, on entering thedrawing-room, to retain it on his head. 

"Yes, pray replace it, Karl Ivanitch, " said Mamma, bending towards himand raising her voice, "But I asked you whether the children had sleptwell?"

Still he did not hear, but, covering his bald head again with the redcap, went on smiling more than ever. 

"Stop a moment, Mimi. " said Mamma (now smiling also) to Maria Ivanovna. "It is impossible to hear anything. "

How beautiful Mamma's face was when she smiled! It made her soinfinitely more charming, and everything around her seemed to growbrighter! If in the more painful moments of my life I could have seenthat smile before my eyes, I should never have known what grief is. Inmy opinion, it is in the smile of a face that the essence of what wecall beauty lies. If the smile heightens the charm of the face, then theface is a beautiful one. If the smile does not alter the face, then theface is an ordinary one. But if the smile spoils the face, then the faceis an ugly one indeed. 

Mamma took my head between her hands, bent it gently backwards, lookedat me gravely, and said: "You have been crying this morning?"

I did not answer. She kissed my eyes, and said again in German: "Why didyou cry?"

When talking to us with particular intimacy she always used thislanguage, which she knew to perfection. 

"I cried about a dream, Mamma" I replied, remembering the inventedvision, and trembling involuntarily at the recollection. 

Karl Ivanitch confirmed my words, but said nothing as to the subject ofthe dream. Then, after a little conversation on the weather, in whichMimi also took part, Mamma laid some lumps of sugar on the tray forone or two of the more privileged servants, and crossed over to herembroidery frame, which stood near one of the windows. 

"Go to Papa now, children, " she said, "and ask him to come to me beforehe goes to the home farm. "

Then the music, the counting, and the wrathful looks from Mimi beganagain, and we went off to see Papa. Passing through the room which hadbeen known ever since Grandpapa's time as "the pantry, " we entered thestudy. 

III -- PAPA

He was standing near his writing-table, and pointing angrily to someenvelopes, papers, and little piles of coin upon it as he addressed someobservations to the bailiff, Jakoff Michaelovitch, who was standing inhis usual place (that is to say, between the door and the barometer)and rapidly closing and unclosing the fingers of the hand which he heldbehind his back, The more angry Papa grew, the more rapidly did thosefingers twirl, and when Papa ceased speaking they came to rest also. Yet, as soon as ever Jakoff himself began to talk, they flew here, there, and everywhere with lightning rapidity. These movements alwaysappeared to me an index of Jakoff's secret thoughts, though his face wasinvariably placid, and expressive alike of dignity and submissiveness, as who should say, "I am right, yet let it be as you wish. " On seeingus, Papa said, "Directly--wait a moment, " and looked towards the door asa hint for it to be shut. 

"Gracious heavens! What can be the matter with you to-day, Jakoff?" hewent on with a hitch of one shoulder (a habit of his). "This envelopehere with the 800 roubles enclosed, "--Jacob took out a set of tablets, put down "800" and remained looking at the figures while he waitedfor what was to come next--"is for expenses during my absence. Do youunderstand? From the mill you ought to receive 1000 roubles. Is notthat so? And from the Treasury mortgage you ought to receive some 8000roubles. From the hay--of which, according to your calculations, weshall be able to sell 7000 poods [The pood = 40 lbs. ]at 45 copecks apiece there should come in 3000, Consequently the sum-total that youought to have in hand soon is--how much?--12, 000 roubles. Is thatright?"

"Precisely, " answered Jakoff, Yet by the extreme rapidity with whichhis fingers were twitching I could see that he had an objection to make. Papa went on:

"Well, of this money you will send 10, 000 roubles to the Petrovskoelocal council, As for the money already at the office, you will remit itto me, and enter it as spent on this present date. " Jakoff turned overthe tablet marked "12, 000, " and put down "21, 000"--seeming, by hisaction, to imply that 12, 000 roubles had been turned over in thesame fashion as he had turned the tablet. "And this envelope with theenclosed money, " concluded Papa, "you will deliver for me to the personto whom it is addressed. "

I was standing close to the table, and could see the address. It was "ToKarl Ivanitch Mayer. " Perhaps Papa had an idea that I had read somethingwhich I ought not, for he touched my shoulder with his hand and made meaware, by a slight movement, that I must withdraw from the table. Notsure whether the movement was meant for a caress or a command, I kissedthe large, sinewy hand which rested upon my shoulder. 

"Very well, " said Jakoff. "And what are your orders about the accountsfor the money from Chabarovska?" (Chabarovska was Mamma's village. )

"Only that they are to remain in my office, and not to be taken thencewithout my express instructions. "

For a minute or two Jakoff was silent. Then his fingers began to twitchwith extraordinary rapidity, and, changing the expression of deferentialvacancy with which he had listened to his orders for one of shrewdintelligence, he turned his tablets back and spoke. 

"Will you allow me to inform you, Peter Alexandritch, " he said, withfrequent pauses between his words, "that, however much you wish it, itis out of the question to repay the local council now. You enumeratedsome items, I think, as to what ought to come in from the mortgage, themill, and the hay (he jotted down each of these items on his tabletsagain as he spoke). Yet I fear that we must have made a mistakesomewhere in the accounts. " Here he paused a while, and looked gravelyat Papa. 

"How so?"

"Well, will you be good enough to look for yourself? There is theaccount for the mill. The miller has been to me twice to ask for time, and I am afraid that he has no money whatever in hand. He is here now. Would you like to speak to him?"

"No. Tell me what he says, " replied Papa, showing by a movement of hishead that he had no desire to have speech with the miller. 

"Well, it is easy enough to guess what he says. He declares that thereis no grinding to be got now, and that his last remaining money has goneto pay for the dam. What good would it do for us to turn him out? As towhat you were pleased to say about the mortgage, you yourself are awarethat your money there is locked up and cannot be recovered at a moment'snotice. I was sending a load of flour to Ivan Afanovitch to-day, andsent him a letter as well, to which he replies that he would have beenglad to oblige you, Peter Alexandritch, were it not that the matter isout of his hands now, and that all the circumstances show that it wouldtake you at least two months to withdraw the money. From the hay Iunderstood you to estimate a return of 3000 roubles?" (Here Jakoffjotted down "3000" on his tablets, and then looked for a moment from thefigures to Papa with a peculiar expression on his face. ) "Well, surelyyou see for yourself how little that is? And even then we should lose ifwe were to sell the stuff now, for you must know that--"

It was clear that he would have had many other arguments to adduce hadnot Papa interrupted him. 

"I cannot make any change in my arrangements, " said Papa. "Yet if thereshould REALLY have to be any delay in the recovery of these sums, wecould borrow what we wanted from the Chabarovska funds. "

"Very well, sir. " The expression of Jakoff's face and the way in whichhe twitched his fingers showed that this order had given him greatsatisfaction. He was a serf, and a most zealous, devoted one, but, like all good bailiffs, exacting and parsimonious to a degree in theinterests of his master. Moreover, he had some queer notions of his own. He was forever endeavouring to increase his master's property at theexpense of his mistress's, and to prove that it would be impossible toavoid using the rents from her estates for the benefit of Petrovskoe (myfather's village, and the place where we lived). This point he had nowgained and was delighted in consequence. 

Papa then greeted ourselves, and said that if we stayed much longer inthe country we should become lazy boys; that we were growing quite bignow, and must set about doing lessons in earnest, "I suppose you know that I am starting for Moscow to-night?" he went on, "and that I am going to take you with me? You will live with Grandmamma, but Mamma and the girls will remain here. You know, too, I am sure, thatMamma's one consolation will be to hear that you are doing your lessonswell and pleasing every one around you. "

The preparations which had been in progress for some days past hadmade us expect some unusual event, but this news left us thunderstruck, Woloda turned red, and, with a shaking voice, delivered Mamma's messageto Papa. 

"So this was what my dream foreboded!" I thought to myself. "God sendthat there come nothing worse!" I felt terribly sorry to have to leaveMamma, but at the same rejoiced to think that I should soon be grown up, "If we are going to-day, we shall probably have no lessons to do, andthat will be splendid, However, I am sorry for Karl Ivanitch, for hewill certainly be dismissed now. That was why that envelope had beenprepared for him. I think I would almost rather stay and do lessons herethan leave Mamma or hurt poor Karl. He is miserable enough already. "

As these thoughts crossed my mind I stood looking sadly at the blackribbons on my shoes, After a few words to Karl Ivanitch about thedepression of the barometer and an injunction to Jakoff not to feedthe hounds, since a farewell meet was to be held after luncheon, Papadisappointed my hopes by sending us off to lessons--though he alsoconsoled us by promising to take us out hunting later. 

On my way upstairs I made a digression to the terrace. Near the doorleading on to it Papa's favourite hound, Milka, was lying in the sun andblinking her eyes. 

"Miloshka, " I cried as I caressed her and kissed her nose, "we are goingaway today. Good-bye. Perhaps we shall never see each other again. " Iwas crying and laughing at the same time. 

IV -- LESSONS

Karl Ivanitch was in a bad temper, This was clear from his contractedbrows, and from the way in which he flung his frockcoat into a drawer, angrily donned his old dressing-gown again, and made deep dints withhis nails to mark the place in the book of dialogues to which we wereto learn by heart. Woloda began working diligently, but I was toodistracted to do anything at all. For a long while I stared vacantlyat the book; but tears at the thought of the impending separation keptrushing to my eyes and preventing me from reading a single word. When atlength the time came to repeat the dialogues to Karl (who listened to uswith blinking eyes--a very bad sign), I had no sooner reached the placewhere some one asks, "Wo kommen Sie her?" ("Where do you come from?")and some one else answers him, "Ich komme vom Kaffeehaus" ("I come fromthe coffee-house"), than I burst into tears and, for sobbing, could notpronounce, "Haben Sie die Zeitung nicht gelesen?" ("Have you not read thenewspaper?") at all. Next, when we came to our writing lesson, the tearskept falling from my eyes and, making a mess on the paper, as thoughsome one had written on blotting-paper with water, Karl was veryangry. He ordered me to go down upon my knees, declared that it was allobstinacy and "puppet-comedy playing" (a favourite expression of his)on my part, threatened me with the ruler, and commanded me to say thatI was sorry. Yet for sobbing and crying I could not get a word out. Atlast--conscious, perhaps, that he was unjust--he departed to Nicola'spantry, and slammed the door behind him. Nevertheless their conversationthere carried to the schoolroom. 

"Have you heard that the children are going to Moscow, Nicola?" saidKarl. 

"Yes. How could I help hearing it?"

At this point Nicola seemed to get up for Karl said, "Sit down, Nicola, "and then locked the door. However, I came out of my corner and crept tothe door to listen. 

"However much you may do for people, and however fond of them you maybe, never expect any gratitude, Nicola, " said Karl warmly. Nicola, whowas shoe-cobbling by the window, nodded his head in assent. 

"Twelve years have I lived in this house, " went on Karl, lifting hiseyes and his snuff-box towards the ceiling, "and before God I can saythat I have loved them, and worked for them, even more than if they hadbeen my own children. You recollect, Nicola, when Woloda had the fever?You recollect how, for nine days and nights, I never closed my eyes asI sat beside his bed? Yes, at that time I was 'the dear, good KarlIvanitch'--I was wanted then; but now"--and he smiled ironically--"thechildren are growing up, and must go to study in earnest. Perhaps theynever learnt anything with me, Nicola? Eh?"

"I am sure they did, " replied Nicola, laying his awl down andstraightening a piece of thread with his hands. 

"No, I am wanted no longer, and am to be turned out. What good arepromises and gratitude? Natalia Nicolaevna"--here he laid his hand uponhis heart--"I love and revere, but what can SHE I do here? Her will ispowerless in this house. "

He flung a strip of leather on the floor with an angry gesture. "Yet Iknow who has been playing tricks here, and why I am no longer wanted. Itis because I do not flatter and toady as certain people do. I am inthe habit of speaking the truth in all places and to all persons, " hecontinued proudly, "God be with these children, for my leaving them willbenefit them little, whereas I--well, by God's help I may be able toearn a crust of bread somewhere. Nicola, eh?"

Nicola raised his head and looked at Karl as though to consider whetherhe would indeed be able to earn a crust of bread, but he said nothing. Karl said a great deal more of the same kind--in particular how muchbetter his services had been appreciated at a certain general's wherehe had formerly lived (I regretted to hear that). Likewise he spoke ofSaxony, his parents, his friend the tailor, Schonheit (beauty), and soon. 

I sympathised with his distress, and felt dreadfully sorry that he andPapa (both of whom I loved about equally) had had a difference. Then Ireturned to my corner, crouched down upon my heels, and fell to thinkinghow a reconciliation between them might be effected. 

Returning to the study, Karl ordered me to get up and prepare to writefrom dictation. When I was ready he sat down with a dignified air inhis arm-chair, and in a voice which seemed to come from a profound abyssbegan to dictate: "Von al-len Lei-den-shaf-ten die grau-samste ist. Haveyou written that?" He paused, took a pinch of snuff, and began again:"Die grausamste ist die Un-dank-bar-keit [The most cruel of all passionsis ingratitude. ] a capital U, mind. "

The last word written, I looked at him, for him to go on. 

"Punctum" (stop), he concluded, with a faintly perceptible smile, as hesigned to us to hand him our copy-books. 

Several times, and in several different tones, and always with anexpression of the greatest satisfaction, did he read out that sentence, which expressed his predominant thought at the moment, Then he set usto learn a lesson in history, and sat down near the window. His face didnot look so depressed now, but, on the contrary, expressed eloquentlythe satisfaction of a man who had avenged himself for an injury dealthim. 

By this time it was a quarter to one o'clock, but Karl Ivanitch neverthought of releasing us, He merely set us a new lesson to learn. Myfatigue and hunger were increasing in equal proportions, so that Ieagerly followed every sign of the approach of luncheon. First came thehousemaid with a cloth to wipe the plates, Next, the sound of crockeryresounded in the dining-room, as the table was moved and chairs placedround it, After that, Mimi, Lubotshka, and Katenka. (Katenka was Mimi'sdaughter, and twelve years old) came in from the garden, but Foka (theservant who always used to come and announce luncheon) was not yet to beseen. Only when he entered was it lawful to throw one's books aside andrun downstairs. 

Hark! Steps resounded on the staircase, but they were not Foka's. Foka'sI had learnt to study, and knew the creaking of his boots well. The dooropened, and a figure unknown to me made its appearance. 

V -- THE IDIOT

The man who now entered the room was about fifty years old, with a pale, attenuated face pitted with smallpox, long grey hair, and a scanty beardof a reddish hue. Likewise he was so tall that, on coming through thedoorway, he was forced not only to bend his head, but to incline hiswhole body forward. He was dressed in a sort of smock that was muchtorn, and held in his hand a stout staff. As he entered he smote thisstaff upon the floor, and, contracting his brows and opening his mouthto its fullest extent, laughed in a dreadful, unnatural way. He had lostthe sight of one eye, and its colourless pupil kept rolling about andimparting to his hideous face an even more repellent expression than itotherwise bore. 

"Hullo, you are caught!" he exclaimed as he ran to Woloda with littleshort steps and, seizing him round the head, looked at it searchingly. Next he left him, went to the table, and, with a perfectly seriousexpression on his face, began to blow under the oil-cloth, and to makethe sign of the cross over it, "O-oh, what a pity! O-oh, how it hurts!They are angry! They fly from me!" he exclaimed in a tearful chokingvoice as he glared at Woloda and wiped away the streaming tears with hissleeve, His voice was harsh and rough, all his movements hysterical andspasmodic, and his words devoid of sense or connection (for he used noconjunctions). Yet the tone of that voice was so heartrending, and hisyellow, deformed face at times so sincere and pitiful in its expression, that, as one listened to him, it was impossible to repress a mingledsensation of pity, grief, and fear. 

This was the idiot Grisha. Whence he had come, or who were his parents, or what had induced him to choose the strange life which he led, noone ever knew. All that I myself knew was that from his fifteenth yearupwards he had been known as an imbecile who went barefooted both inwinter and summer, visited convents, gave little images to any one whocared to take them, and spoke meaningless words which some people tookfor prophecies; that nobody remembered him as being different; that at, rare intervals he used to call at Grandmamma's house; and that by somepeople he was said to be the outcast son of rich parents and a pure, saintly soul, while others averred that he was a mere peasant and anidler. 

At last the punctual and wished-for Foka arrived, and we wentdownstairs. Grisha followed us sobbing and continuing to talk nonsense, and knocking his staff on each step of the staircase. When we enteredthe drawing-room we found Papa and Mamma walking up and down there, withtheir hands clasped in each other's, and talking in low tones. MariaIvanovna was sitting bolt upright in an arm-chair placed at tight anglesto the sofa, and giving some sort of a lesson to the two girls sittingbeside her. When Karl Ivanitch entered the room she looked at him for amoment, and then turned her eyes away with an expression which seemed tosay, "You are beneath my notice, Karl Ivanitch. " It was easy to see fromthe girls' eyes that they had important news to communicate to us assoon as an opportunity occurred (for to leave their seats and approachus first was contrary to Mimi's rules). It was for us to go to herand say, "Bon jour, Mimi, " and then make her a low bow; after which weshould possibly be permitted to enter into conversation with the girls. 

What an intolerable creature that Mimi was! One could hardly say a wordin her presence without being found fault with. Also whenever we wantedto speak in Russian, she would say, "Parlez, donc, francais, " as thoughon purpose to annoy us, while, if there was any particularly nicedish at luncheon which we wished to enjoy in peace, she would keep onejaculating, "Mangez, donc, avec du pain!" or, "Comment est-ce que voustenez votre fourchette?" "What has SHE got to do with us?" I used tothink to myself. "Let her teach the girls. WE have our Karl Ivanitch. " Ishared to the full his dislike of "certain people. "

"Ask Mamma to let us go hunting too, " Katenka whispered to me, as shecaught me by the sleeve just when the elders of the family were making amove towards the dining-room. 

"Very well. I will try. "

Grisha likewise took a seat in the dining-room, but at a little tableapart from the rest. He never lifted his eyes from his plate, but kepton sighing and making horrible grimaces, as he muttered to himself:"What a pity! It has flown away! The dove is flying to heaven! The stonelies on the tomb!" and so forth. 

Ever since the morning Mamma had been absent-minded, and Grisha'spresence, words, and actions seemed to make her more so. 

"By the way, there is something I forgot to ask you, " she said, as shehanded Papa a plate of soup. 

"What is it?"

"That you will have those dreadful dogs of yours tied up, They nearlyworried poor Grisha to death when he entered the courtyard, and I amsure they will bite the children some day. "

No sooner did Grisha hear himself mentioned that he turned towards ourtable and showed us his torn clothes. Then, as he went on with his meal, he said: "He would have let them tear me in pieces, but God would notallow it! What a sin to let the dogs loose--a great sin! But do not beathim, master; do not beat him! It is for God to forgive! It is past now!"

"What does he say?" said Papa, looking at him gravely and sternly. "Icannot understand him at all. "

"I think he is saying, " replied Mamma, "that one of the huntsmen setthe dogs on him, but that God would not allow him to be torn in pieces, Therefore he begs you not to punish the man. "

"Oh, is that it?" said Papa, "How does he know that I intended topunish the huntsman? You know, I am not very fond of fellows like this, "he added in French, "and this one offends me particularly. Should itever happen that--"

"Oh, don't say so, " interrupted Mamma, as if frightened by some thought. "How can you know what he is?"

"I think I have plenty of opportunities for doing so, since no lack ofthem come to see you--all of them the same sort, and probably all withthe same story. "

I could see that Mamma's opinion differed from his, but that she did notmean to quarrel about it. 

"Please hand me the cakes, " she said to him, "Are they good to-day ornot?"

"Yes, I AM angry, " he went on as he took the cakes and put them whereMamma could not reach them, "very angry at seeing supposedly reasonableand educated people let themselves be deceived, " and he struck the tablewith his fork. 

"I asked you to hand me the cakes, " she repeated with outstretched hand. 

"And it is a good thing, " Papa continued as he put the hand aside, "thatthe police run such vagabonds in. All they are good for is to play uponthe nerves of certain people who are already not over-strong inthat respect, " and he smiled, observing that Mamma did not like theconversation at all. However, he handed her the cakes. 

"All that I have to say, " she replied, "is that one can hardly believethat a man who, though sixty years of age, goes barefooted winter andsummer, and always wears chains of two pounds' weight, and neveraccepts the offers made to him to live a quiet, comfortable life--it isdifficult to believe that such a man should act thus out of laziness. "Pausing a moment, she added with a sigh: "As to predictions, je suispayee pour y croire, I told you, I think, that Grisha prophesied thevery day and hour of poor Papa's death?"

"Oh, what HAVE you gone and done?" said Papa, laughing and putting hishand to his cheek (whenever he did this I used to look for somethingparticularly comical from him). "Why did you call my attention to hisfeet? I looked at them, and now can eat nothing more. "

Luncheon was over now, and Lubotshka and Katenka were winking at us, fidgeting about in their chairs, and showing great restlessness. Thewinking, of course, signified, "Why don't you ask whether we too may goto the hunt?" I nudged Woloda, and Woloda nudged me back, until at lastI took heart of grace, and began (at first shyly, but gradually withmore assurance) to ask if it would matter much if the girls too wereallowed to enjoy the sport. Thereupon a consultation was held among theelder folks, and eventually leave was granted--Mamma, to make thingsstill more delightful, saying that she would come too. 

VI -- PREPARATIONS FOR THE CHASE

During dessert Jakoff had been sent for, and orders given him to haveready the carriage, the hounds, and the saddle-horses--every detailbeing minutely specified, and every horse called by its own particularname. As Woloda's usual mount was lame, Papa ordered a "hunter" to besaddled for him; which term, "hunter" so horrified Mamma's ears, thatshe imagined it to be some kind of an animal which would at once runaway and bring about Woloda's death. Consequently, in spite of allPapa's and Woloda's assurances (the latter glibly affirming that it wasnothing, and that he liked his horse to go fast), poor Mamma continuedto exclaim that her pleasure would be quite spoilt for her. 

When luncheon was over, the grown-ups had coffee in the study, whilewe younger ones ran into the garden and went chattering along theundulating paths with their carpet of yellow leaves. We talked aboutWoloda's riding a hunter and said what a shame it was that Lubotshka, could not run as fast as Katenka, and what fun it would be if we couldsee Grisha's chains, and so forth; but of the impending separationwe said not a word. Our chatter was interrupted by the sound of thecarriage driving up, with a village urchin perched on each of itssprings. Behind the carriage rode the huntsmen with the hounds, andthey, again, were followed by the groom Ignat on the steed intendedfor Woloda, with my old horse trotting alongside. After running tothe garden fence to get a sight of all these interesting objects, andindulging in a chorus of whistling and hallooing, we rushed upstairs todress--our one aim being to make ourselves look as like the huntsmen aspossible. The obvious way to do this was to tuck one's breeches insideone's boots. We lost no time over it all, for we were in a hurry to runto the entrance steps again there to feast our eyes upon the horses andhounds, and to have a chat with the huntsmen. The day was exceedinglywarm while, though clouds of fantastic shape had been gathering on thehorizon since morning and driving before a light breeze across the sun, it was clear that, for all their menacing blackness, they did notreally intend to form a thunderstorm and spoil our last day's pleasure. Moreover, towards afternoon some of them broke, grew pale and elongated, and sank to the horizon again, while others of them changed to thelikeness of white transparent fish-scales. In the east, over Maslovska, a single lurid mass was louring, but Karl Ivanitch (who always seemed toknow the ways of the heavens) said that the weather would still continueto be fair and dry. 

In spite of his advanced years, it was in quite a sprightly manner thatFoka came out to the entrance steps, to give the order "Drive up. "In fact, as he planted his legs firmly apart and took up his stationbetween the lowest step and the spot where the coachman was to halt, his mien was that of a man who knew his duties and had no need to bereminded of them by anybody. Presently the ladies, also came out, andafter a little discussions as to seats and the safety of the girls (allof which seemed to me wholly superfluous), they settled themselves inthe vehicle, opened their parasols, and started. As the carriage was, driving away, Mamma pointed to the hunter and asked nervously "Is thatthe horse intended for Vladimir Petrovitch?" On the groom answeringin the affirmative, she raised her hands in horror and turned her headaway. As for myself, I was burning with impatience. Clambering on tothe back of my steed (I was just tall enough to see between its ears), Iproceeded to perform evolutions in the courtyard. 

"Mind you don't ride over the hounds, sir, " said one of the huntsmen. 

"Hold your tongue, It is not the first time I have been one of theparty. " I retorted with dignity. 

Although Woloda had plenty of pluck, he was not altogether free fromapprehensions as he sat on the hunter. Indeed, he more than once askedas he patted it, "Is he quiet?" He looked very well on horseback--almosta grown-up young man, and held himself so upright in the saddle that Ienvied him since my shadow seemed to show that I could not compare withhim in looks. 

Presently Papa's footsteps sounded on the flagstones, the whip collectedthe hounds, and the huntsmen mounted their steeds. Papa's horse came upin charge of a groom, the hounds of his particular leash sprang up fromtheir picturesque attitudes to fawn upon him, and Milka, in a collarstudded with beads, came bounding joyfully from behind his heels togreet and sport with the other dogs. Finally, as soon as Papa hadmounted we rode away. 

VII -- THE HUNT

AT the head of the cavalcade rode Turka, on a hog-backed roan. On hishead he wore a shaggy cap, while, with a magnificent horn slung acrosshis shoulders and a knife at his belt, he looked so cruel and inexorablethat one would have thought he was going to engage in bloody strife withhis fellow men rather than to hunt a small animal. Around the hind legsof his horse the hounds gambolled like a cluster of checkered, restlessballs. If one of them wished to stop, it was only with the greatestdifficulty that it could do so, since not only had its leash-fellowalso to be induced to halt, but at once one of the huntsmen would wheelround, crack his whip, and shout to the delinquent, "Back to the pack, there!"

Arrived at a gate, Papa told us and the huntsmen to continue our wayalong the road, and then rode off across a cornfield. The harvest was atits height. On the further side of a large, shining, yellow stretch ofcornland lay a high purple belt of forest which always figured in myeyes as a distant, mysterious region behind which either the world endedor an uninhabited waste began. This expanse of corn-land was dotted withswathes and reapers, while along the lanes where the sickle had passedcould be seen the backs of women as they stooped among the tall, thickgrain or lifted armfuls of corn and rested them against the shocks. Inone corner a woman was bending over a cradle, and the whole stubble wasstudded with sheaves and cornflowers. In another direction shirt-sleevedmen were standing on waggons, shaking the soil from the stalks ofsheaves, and stacking them for carrying. As soon as the foreman (dressedin a blouse and high boots, and carrying a tally-stick) caught sight ofPapa, he hastened to take off his lamb's-wool cap and, wiping his redhead, told the women to get up. Papa's chestnut horse went trottingalong with a prancing gait as it tossed its head and swished its tailto and fro to drive away the gadflies and countless other insects whichtormented its flanks, while his two greyhounds--their tails curved likesickles--went springing gracefully over the stubble. Milka was alwaysfirst, but every now and then she would halt with a shake of her headto await the whipper-in. The chatter of the peasants; the rumbling ofhorses and waggons; the joyous cries of quails; the hum of insects asthey hung suspended in the motionless air; the smell of the soil andgrain and steam from our horses; the thousand different lights andshadows which the burning sun cast upon the yellowish-white cornland;the purple forest in the distance; the white gossamer threads which werefloating in the air or resting on the soil-all these things I observedand heard and felt to the core. 

Arrived at the Kalinovo wood, we found the carriage awaiting usthere, with, beside it, a one-horse waggonette driven by the butler--awaggonette in which were a tea-urn, some apparatus for making ices, andmany other attractive boxes and bundles, all packed in straw! There wasno mistaking these signs, for they meant that we were going to have tea, fruit, and ices in the open air. This afforded us intense delight, sinceto drink tea in a wood and on the grass and where none else had everdrunk tea before seemed to us a treat beyond expressing. 

When Turka arrived at the little clearing where the carriage washalted he took Papa's detailed instructions as to how we were to divideourselves and where each of us was to go (though, as a matter of fact, he never acted according to such instructions, but always followed hisown devices). Then he unleashed the hounds, fastened the leashes tohis saddle, whistled to the pack, and disappeared among the young birchtrees the liberated hounds jumping about him in high delight, waggingtheir tails, and sniffing and gambolling with one another as theydispersed themselves in different directions. 

"Has anyone a pocket-handkerchief to spare?" asked Papa. I took minefrom my pocket and offered it to him. 

"Very well, Fasten it to this greyhound here. "

"Gizana?" I asked, with the air of a connoisseur. 

"Yes. Then run him along the road with you. When you come to a littleclearing in the wood stop and look about you, and don't come back to mewithout a hare. "

Accordingly I tied my handkerchief round Gizana's soft neck, and set offrunning at full speed towards the appointed spot, Papa laughing as heshouted after me, "Hurry up, hurry up or you'll be late!"

Every now and then Gizana kept stopping, pricking up his ears, andlistening to the hallooing of the beaters. Whenever he did this I wasnot strong enough to move him, and could do no more than shout, "Comeon, come on!" Presently he set off so fast that I could not restrainhim, and I encountered more than one fall before we reached ourdestination. Selecting there a level, shady spot near the roots of agreat oak-tree, I lay down on the turf, made Gizana crouch beside me, and waited. As usual, my imagination far outstripped reality. I fanciedthat I was pursuing at least my third hare when, as a matter of fact, the first hound was only just giving tongue. Presently, however, Turka'svoice began to sound through the wood in louder and more excited tones, the baying of a hound came nearer and nearer, and then another, and thena third, and then a fourth, deep throat joined in the rising and fallingcadences of a chorus, until the whole had united their voices in onecontinuous, tumultuous burst of melody. As the Russian proverb expressesit, "The forest had found a tongue, and the hounds were burning as withfire. "

My excitement was so great that I nearly swooned where I stood. My lipsparted themselves as though smiling, the perspiration poured from me instreams, and, in spite of the tickling sensation caused by the drops asthey trickled over my chin, I never thought of wiping them away. I feltthat a crisis was approaching. Yet the tension was too unnatural tolast. Soon the hounds came tearing along the edge of the wood, andthen--behold, they were racing away from me again, and of hares therewas not a sign to be seen! I looked in every direction and Gizana didthe same--pulling at his leash at first and whining. Then he lay downagain by my side, rested his muzzle on my knees, and resigned himself todisappointment. Among the naked roots of the oak-tree under which I wassitting. I could see countless ants swarming over the parched grey earthand winding among the acorns, withered oak-leaves, dry twigs, russetmoss, and slender, scanty blades of grass. In serried files they keptpressing forward on the level track they had made for themselves--somecarrying burdens, some not. I took a piece of twig and barred their way. Instantly it was curious to see how they made light of the obstacle. Some got past it by creeping underneath, and some by climbing over it. Afew, however, there were (especially those weighted with loads) who werenonplussed what to do. They either halted and searched for a way round, or returned whence they had come, or climbed the adjacent herbage, withthe evident intention of reaching my hand and going up the sleeve of myjacket. From this interesting spectacle my attention was distracted bythe yellow wings of a butterfly which was fluttering alluringly beforeme. Yet I had scarcely noticed it before it flew away to a littledistance and, circling over some half-faded blossoms of white clover, settled on one of them. Whether it was the sun's warmth that delightedit, or whether it was busy sucking nectar from the flower, at all eventsit seemed thoroughly comfortable. It scarcely moved its wings at all, and pressed itself down into the clover until I could hardly seeits body. I sat with my chin on my hands and watched it with intenseinterest. 

Suddenly Gizana sprang up and gave me such a violent jerk that I nearlyrolled over. I looked round. At the edge of the wood a hare had justcome into view, with one ear bent down and the other one sharplypricked, The blood rushed to my head, and I forgot everything else asI shouted, slipped the dog, and rushed towards the spot. Yet all was invain. The hare stopped, made a rush, and was lost to view. 

How confused I felt when at that moment Turka stepped from theundergrowth (he had been following the hounds as they ran along theedges of the wood)! He had seen my mistake (which had consisted in mynot biding my time), and now threw me a contemptuous look as he said, "Ah, master!" And you should have heard the tone in which he said it! Itwould have been a relief to me if he had then and there suspended me tohis saddle instead of the hare. For a while I could only stand miserablywhere I was, without attempting to recall the dog, and ejaculate as Islapped my knees, "Good heavens! What a fool I was!" I could hear thehounds retreating into the distance, and baying along the further sideof the wood as they pursued the hare, while Turka rallied them withblasts on his gorgeous horn: yet I did not stir. 

VIII -- WE PLAY GAMES

THE hunt was over, a cloth had been spread in the shade of some youngbirch-trees, and the whole party was disposed around it. The butler, Gabriel, had stamped down the surrounding grass, wiped the plates inreadiness, and unpacked from a basket a quantity of plums and peacheswrapped in leaves. 

Through the green branches of the young birch-trees the sun glitteredand threw little glancing balls of light upon the pattern of my napkin, my legs, and the bald moist head of Gabriel. A soft breeze played inthe leaves of the trees above us, and, breathing softly upon my hair andheated face, refreshed me beyond measure, When we had finished thefruit and ices, nothing remained to be done around the empty cloth, so, despite the oblique, scorching rays of the sun, we rose and proceeded toplay. 

"Well, what shall it be?" said Lubotshka, blinking in the sunlight andskipping about the grass, "Suppose we play Robinson?"

"No, that's a tiresome game, " objected Woloda, stretching himself lazilyon the turf and gnawing some leaves, "Always Robinson! If you want toplay at something, play at building a summerhouse. "

Woloda was giving himself tremendous airs. Probably he was proud ofhaving ridden the hunter, and so pretended to be very tired. Perhaps, also, he had too much hard-headedness and too little imaginationfully to enjoy the game of Robinson. It was a game which consisted ofperforming various scenes from The Swiss Family Robinson, a book whichwe had recently been reading. 

"Well, but be a good boy. Why not try and please us this time?" thegirls answered. "You may be Charles or Ernest or the father, whicheveryou like best, " added Katenka as she tried to raise him from the groundby pulling at his sleeve. 

"No, I'm not going to; it's a tiresome game, " said Woloda again, thoughsmiling as if secretly pleased. 

"It would be better to sit at home than not to play at ANYTHING, "murmured Lubotshka, with tears in her eyes. She was a great weeper. 

"Well, go on, then. Only, DON'T cry; I can't stand that sort of thing. "

Woloda's condescension did not please us much. On the contrary, hislazy, tired expression took away all the fun of the game. When we saton the ground and imagined that we were sitting in a boat and eitherfishing or rowing with all our might, Woloda persisted in sitting withfolded hands or in anything but a fisherman's posture. I made a remarkabout it, but he replied that, whether we moved our hands or not, weshould neither gain nor lose ground--certainly not advance at all, and Iwas forced to agree with him. Again, when I pretended to go out hunting, and, with a stick over my shoulder, set off into the wood, Woloda onlylay down on his back with his hands under his head, and said that hesupposed it was all the same whether he went or not. Such behaviour andspeeches cooled our ardour for the game and were very disagreeable--themore so since it was impossible not to confess to oneself that Wolodawas right, I myself knew that it was not only impossible to kill birdswith a stick, but to shoot at all with such a weapon. Still, it wasthe game, and if we were once to begin reasoning thus, it would becomeequally impossible for us to go for drives on chairs. I think that evenWoloda himself cannot at that moment have forgotten how, in the longwinter evenings, we had been used to cover an arm-chair with a shawland make a carriage of it--one of us being the coachman, another one thefootman, the two girls the passengers, and three other chairs the trioof horses abreast. With what ceremony we used to set out, and with whatadventures we used to meet on the way! How gaily and quickly those longwinter evenings used to pass! If we were always to judge from reality, games would be nonsense; but if games were nonsense, what else wouldthere be left to do?

IX -- A FIRST ESSAY IN LOVE

PRETENDING to gather some "American fruit" from a tree, Lubotshkasuddenly plucked a leaf upon which was a huge caterpillar, and throwingthe insect with horror to the ground, lifted her hands and sprang awayas though afraid it would spit at her. The game stopped, and we crowdedour heads together as we stooped to look at the curiosity. 

I peeped over Katenka's shoulder as she was trying to lift thecaterpillar by placing another leaf in its way. I had observed beforethat the girls had a way of shrugging their shoulders whenever they weretrying to put a loose garment straight on their bare necks, as well asthat Mimi always grew angry on witnessing this manoeuvre and declaredit to be a chambermaid's trick. As Katenka bent over the caterpillar shemade that very movement, while at the same instant the breeze lifted thefichu on her white neck. Her shoulder was close to my lips, I looked atit and kissed it, She did not turn round, but Woloda remarked withoutraising his head, "What spooniness!" I felt the tears rising to my eyes, and could not take my gaze from Katenka. I had long been used to herfair, fresh face, and had always been fond of her, but now I looked ather more closely, and felt more fond of her, than I had ever done orfelt before. 

When we returned to the grown-ups, Papa informed us, to our great joy, that, at Mamma's entreaties, our departure was to be postponed untilthe following morning. We rode home beside the carriage--Woloda andI galloping near it, and vieing with one another in our exhibition ofhorsemanship and daring. My shadow looked longer now than it had donebefore, and from that I judged that I had grown into a fine rider. Yetmy complacency was soon marred by an unfortunate occurrence, Desiringto outdo Woloda before the audience in the carriage, I dropped a littlebehind. Then with whip and spur I urged my steed forward, and at thesame time assumed a natural, graceful attitude, with the intention ofwhooting past the carriage on the side on which Katenka was seated. Myonly doubt was whether to halloo or not as I did so. In the event, myinfernal horse stopped so abruptly when just level with the carriagehorses that I was pitched forward on to its neck and cut a very sorryfigure!

X -- THE SORT OF MAN MY FATHER WAS

Papa was a gentleman of the last century, with all the chivalrouscharacter, self-reliance, and gallantry of the youth of that time. Uponthe men of the present day he looked with a contempt arising partly frominborn pride and partly from a secret feeling of vexation that, in thisage of ours, he could no longer enjoy the influence and success whichhad been his in his youth. His two principal failings were gambling andgallantry, and he had won or lost, in the course of his career, severalmillions of roubles. 

Tall and of imposing figure, he walked with a curiously quick, mincinggait, as well as had a habit of hitching one of his shoulders. His eyeswere small and perpetually twinkling, his nose large and aquiline, hislips irregular and rather oddly (though pleasantly) compressed, hisarticulation slightly defective and lisping, and his head quite bald. Such was my father's exterior from the days of my earliest recollection. It was an exterior which not only brought him success and made him aman a bonnes fortunes but one which pleased people of all ranks andstations. Especially did it please those whom he desired to please. 

At all junctures he knew how to take the lead, for, though not derivingfrom the highest circles of society, he had always mixed with them, andknew how to win their respect. He possessed in the highest degree thatmeasure of pride and self-confidence which, without giving offence, maintains a man in the opinion of the world. He had much originality, as well as the ability to use it in such a way that it benefited him asmuch as actual worldly position or fortune could have done. Nothing inthe universe could surprise him, and though not of eminent attainmentsin life, he seemed born to have acquired them. He understood soperfectly how to make both himself and others forget and keep ata distance the seamy side of life, with all its petty troublesand vicissitudes, that it was impossible not to envy him. He was aconnoisseur in everything which could give ease and pleasure, as wellas knew how to make use of such knowledge. Likewise he prided himself onthe brilliant connections which he had formed through my mother's familyor through friends of his youth, and was secretly jealous of any one ofa higher rank than himself--any one, that is to say, of a rank higherthan a retired lieutenant of the Guards. Moreover, like all ex-officers, he refused to dress himself in the prevailing fashion, though he attiredhimself both originally and artistically--his invariable wear beinglight, loose-fitting suits, very fine shirts, and large collars andcuffs. Everything seemed to suit his upright figure and quiet, assuredair. He was sensitive to the pitch of sentimentality, and, when readinga pathetic passage, his voice would begin to tremble and the tears tocome into his eyes, until he had to lay the book aside. Likewise he wasfond of music, and could accompany himself on the piano as he sang thelove songs of his friend A-- or gipsy songs or themes from operas;but he had no love for serious music, and would frankly flout receivedopinion by declaring that, whereas Beethoven's sonatas wearied him andsent him to sleep, his ideal of beauty was "Do not wake me, youth"as Semenoff sang it, or "Not one" as the gipsy Taninsha rendered thatditty. His nature was essentially one of those which follow publicopinion concerning what is good, and consider only that good which thepublic declares to be so. [It may be noted that the author has saidearlier in the chapter that his father possessed "much originality. "]God only knows whether he had any moral convictions. His life was sofull of amusement that probably he never had time to form any, and wastoo successful ever to feel the lack of them. 

As he grew to old age he looked at things always from a fixed pointof view, and cultivated fixed rules--but only so long as that point orthose rules coincided with expediency, The mode of life which offeredsome passing degree of interest--that, in his opinion, was the rightone and the only one that men ought to affect. He had great fluency ofargument; and this, I think, increased the adaptability of his moralsand enabled him to speak of one and the same act, now as good, and now, with abuse, as abominable. 

XI -- IN THE DRAWING-ROOM AND THE STUDY

Twilight had set in when we reached home. Mamma sat down to the piano, and we to a table, there to paint and draw in colours and pencil. ThoughI had only one cake of colour, and it was blue, I determined to draw apicture of the hunt. In exceedingly vivid fashion I painted a blue boyon a blue horse, and--but here I stopped, for I was uncertain whetherit was possible also to paint a blue HARE. I ran to the study to consultPapa, and as he was busy reading he never lifted his eyes from his bookwhen I asked, "Can there be blue hares?" but at once replied, "Therecan, my boy, there can. " Returning to the table I painted in my bluehare, but subsequently thought it better to change it into a blue bush. Yet the blue bush did not wholly please me, so I changed it into a tree, and then into a rick, until, the whole paper having now become one blurof blue, I tore it angrily in pieces, and went off to meditate in thelarge arm-chair. 

Mamma was playing Field's second concerto. Field, it may be said, hadbeen her master. As I dozed, the music brought up before my imaginationa kind of luminosity, with transparent dream-shapes. Next she played the"Sonate Pathetique" of Beethoven, and I at once felt heavy, depressed, and apprehensive. Mamma often played those two pieces, and therefore Iwell recollect the feelings they awakened in me. Those feelings were areminiscence--of what? Somehow I seemed to remember something which hadnever been. 

Opposite to me lay the study door, and presently I saw Jakoff enter it, accompanied by several long-bearded men in kaftans. Then the door shutagain. 

"Now they are going to begin some business or other, " I thought. Ibelieved the affairs transacted in that study to be the most importantones on earth. This opinion was confirmed by the fact that people onlyapproached the door of that room on tiptoe and speaking in whispers. Presently Papa's resonant voice sounded within, and I also scentedcigar smoke--always a very attractive thing to me. Next, as I dozed, Isuddenly heard a creaking of boots that I knew, and, sure enough, saw Karl Ivanitch go on tiptoe, and with a depressed, but resolute, expression on his face and a written document in his hand, to the studydoor and knock softly. It opened, and then shut again behind him. 

"I hope nothing is going to happen, " I mused. "Karl Ivanitch isoffended, and might be capable of anything--" and again I dozed off. 

Nevertheless something DID happen. An hour later I was disturbed bythe same creaking of boots, and saw Karl come out, and disappear upthe stairs, wiping away a few tears from his cheeks with his pockethandkerchief as he went and muttering something between his teeth. Papacame out behind him and turned aside into the drawing-room. 

"Do you know what I have just decided to do?" he asked gaily as he laida hand upon Mamma's shoulder. 

"What, my love?"

"To take Karl Ivanitch with the children. There will be room enough forhim in the carriage. They are used to him, and he seems greatly attachedto them. Seven hundred roubles a year cannot make much difference to us, and the poor devil is not at all a bad sort of a fellow. " I could notunderstand why Papa should speak of him so disrespectfully. 

"I am delighted, " said Mamma, "and as much for the children's sake ashis own. He is a worthy old man. "

"I wish you could have seen how moved he was when I told him that hemight look upon the 500 roubles as a present! But the most amusing thingof all is this bill which he has just handed me. It is worthseeing, " and with a smile Papa gave Mamma a paper inscribed in Karl'shandwriting. "Is it not capital?" he concluded. 

The contents of the paper were as follows: [The joke of this billconsists chiefly in its being written in very bad Russian, withcontinual mistakes as to plural and singular, prepositions and soforth. ]

"Two book for the children--70 copeck. Coloured paper, gold frames, anda pop-guns, blockheads [This word has a double meaning in Russian. ] forcutting out several box for presents--6 roubles, 55 copecks. Severalbook and a bows, presents for the childrens--8 roubles, 16 copecks. Agold watches promised to me by Peter Alexandrovitch out of Moscow, inthe years 18-- for 140 roubles. Consequently Karl Mayer have to receive139 rouble, 79 copecks, beside his wage. "

If people were to judge only by this bill (in which Karl Ivanitchdemanded repayment of all the money he had spent on presents, as well asthe value of a present promised to himself), they would take him to havebeen a callous, avaricious egotist yet they would be wrong. 

It appears that he had entered the study with the paper in his hand anda set speech in his head, for the purpose of declaiming eloquently toPapa on the subject of the wrongs which he believed himself to havesuffered in our house, but that, as soon as ever he began to speak inthe vibratory voice and with the expressive intonations which he used indictating to us, his eloquence wrought upon himself more than upon Papa;with the result that, when he came to the point where he had to say, "however sad it will be for me to part with the children, " he lost hisself-command utterly, his articulation became choked, and he was obligedto draw his coloured pocket-handkerchief from his pocket. 

"Yes, Peter Alexandrovitch, " he said, weeping (this formed no part ofthe prepared speech), "I am grown so used to the children that I cannotthink what I should do without them. I would rather serve you withoutsalary than not at all, " and with one hand he wiped his eyes, while withthe other he presented the bill. 

Although I am convinced that at that moment Karl Ivanitch was speakingwith absolute sincerity (for I know how good his heart was), I confessthat never to this day have I been able quite to reconcile his wordswith the bill. 

"Well, if the idea of leaving us grieves you, you may be sure that theidea of dismissing you grieves me equally, " said Papa, tapping him onthe shoulder. Then, after a pause, he added, "But I have changed mymind, and you shall not leave us. "

Just before supper Grisha entered the room. Ever since he had enteredthe house that day he had never ceased to sigh and weep--a portent, according to those who believed in his prophetic powers, that misfortunewas impending for the household. He had now come to take leave of us, for to-morrow (so he said) he must be moving on. I nudged Woloda, and wemoved towards the door. 

"What is the matter?" he said. 

"This--that if we want to see Grisha's chains we must go upstairs atonce to the men-servants' rooms. Grisha is to sleep in the second one, so we can sit in the store-room and see everything. "

"All right. Wait here, and I'll tell the girls. "

The girls came at once, and we ascended the stairs, though the questionas to which of us should first enter the store-room gave us some littletrouble. Then we cowered down and waited. 

XII -- GRISHA

WE all felt a little uneasy in the thick darkness, so we pressed closeto one another and said nothing. Before long Grisha arrived with hissoft tread, carrying in one hand his staff and in the other a tallowcandle set in a brass candlestick. We scarcely ventured to breathe. 

"Our Lord Jesus Christ! Holy Mother of God! Father, Son, and HolyGhost!" he kept repeating, with the different intonations andabbreviations which gradually become peculiar to persons who areaccustomed to pronounce the words with great frequency. 

Still praying, he placed his staff in a corner and looked at the bed;after which he began to undress. Unfastening his old black girdle, heslowly divested himself of his torn nankeen kaftan, and depositedit carefully on the back of a chair. His face had now lost its usualdisquietude and idiocy. On the contrary, it had in it something restful, thoughtful, and even grand, while all his movements were deliberate andintelligent. 

Next, he lay down quietly in his shirt on the bed, made the sign of thecross towards every side of him, and adjusted his chains beneath hisshirt--an operation which, as we could see from his face, occasioned himconsiderable pain. Then he sat up again, looked gravely at his raggedshirt, and rising and taking the candle, lifted the latter towards theshrine where the images of the saints stood. That done, he made the signof the cross again, and turned the candle upside down, when it went outwith a hissing noise. 

Through the window (which overlooked the wood) the moon (nearly full)was shining in such a way that one side of the tall white figure of theidiot stood out in the pale, silvery moonlight, while the other side waslost in the dark shadow which covered the floor, walls, and ceiling. Inthe courtyard the watchman was tapping at intervals upon his brass alarmplate. For a while Grisha stood silently before the images and, withhis large hands pressed to his breast and his head bent forward, gaveoccasional sighs. Then with difficulty he knelt down and began to pray. 

At first he repeated some well-known prayers, and only accented a wordhere and there. Next, he repeated thee same prayers, but louder andwith increased accentuation. Lastly he repeated them again and with evengreater emphasis, as well as with an evident effort to pronounce them inthe old Slavonic Church dialect. Though disconnected, his prayers werevery touching. He prayed for all his benefactors (so he called every onewho had received him hospitably), with, among them, Mamma and ourselves. Next he prayed for himself, and besought God to forgive him his sins, at the same time repeating, "God forgive also my enemies!" Then, moaningwith the effort, he rose from his knees--only to fall to the floor againand repeat his phrases afresh. At last he regained his feet, despitethe weight of the chains, which rattled loudly whenever they struck thefloor. 

Woloda pinched me rudely in the leg, but I took no notice of that(except that I involuntarily touched the place with my hand), as Iobserved with a feeling of childish astonishment, pity, and respectthe words and gestures of Grisha. Instead of the laughter and amusementwhich I had expected on entering the store-room, I felt my heart beatingand overcome. 

Grisha continued for some time in this state of religious ecstasy as heimprovised prayers and repeated again and yet again, "Lord, have mercyupon me!" Each time that he said, "Pardon me, Lord, and teach me todo what Thou wouldst have done, " he pronounced the words with addedearnestness and emphasis, as though he expected an immediate answer tohis petition, and then fell to sobbing and moaning once more. Finally, he went down on his knees again, folded his arms upon his breast, andremained silent. I ventured to put my head round the door (holding mybreath as I did so), but Grisha still made no movement except for theheavy sighs which heaved his breast. In the moonlight I could see a tearglistening on the white patch of his blind eye. 

"Yes, Thy will be done!" he exclaimed suddenly, with an expression whichI cannot describe, as, prostrating himself with his forehead on thefloor, he fell to sobbing like a child. 

Much sand has run out since then, many recollections of the past havefaded from my memory or become blurred in indistinct visions, and poorGrisha himself has long since reached the end of his pilgrimage; but theimpression which he produced upon me, and the feelings which he arousedin my breast, will never leave my mind. O truly Christian Grisha, yourfaith was so strong that you could feel the actual presence of God; yourlove so great that the words fell of themselves from your lips. You hadno reason to prove them, for you did so with your earnest praises of Hismajesty as you fell to the ground speechless and in tears!

Nevertheless the sense of awe with which I had listened to Grisha couldnot last for ever. I had now satisfied my curiosity, and, being crampedwith sitting in one position so long, desired to join in the titteringand fun which I could hear going on in the dark store-room behind me. Some one took my hand and whispered, "Whose hand is this?" Despite thedarkness, I knew by the touch and the low voice in my ear that it wasKatenka. I took her by the arm, but she withdrew it, and, in doing so, pushed a cane chair which was standing near. Grisha lifted his headlooked quietly about him, and, muttering a prayer, rose and made thesign of the cross towards each of the four corners of the room. 

XIII -- NATALIA SAVISHNA

In days gone by there used to run about the seignorial courtyard of thecountry-house at Chabarovska a girl called Natashka. She always wore acotton dress, went barefooted, and was rosy, plump, and gay. It was atthe request and entreaties of her father, the clarionet player Savi, that my grandfather had "taken her upstairs"--that is to say, madeher one of his wife's female servants. As chamber-maid, Natashka sodistinguished herself by her zeal and amiable temper that when Mammaarrived as a baby and required a nurse Natashka was honoured with thecharge of her. In this new office the girl earned still further praisesand rewards for her activity, trustworthiness, and devotion to her youngmistress. Soon, however, the powdered head and buckled shoes of theyoung and active footman Foka (who had frequent opportunities ofcourting her, since they were in the same service) captivated herunsophisticated, but loving, heart. At last she ventured to go and askmy grandfather if she might marry Foka, but her master took the requestin bad part, flew into a passion, and punished poor Natashka by exilingher to a farm which he owned in a remote quarter of the Steppes. Atlength, when she had been gone six months and nobody could be found toreplace her, she was recalled to her former duties. Returned, and withher dress in rags, she fell at Grandpapa's feet, and besought him torestore her his favour and kindness, and to forget the folly of whichshe had been guilty--folly which, she assured him, should never recuragain. And she kept her word. 

From that time forth she called herself, not Natashka, but NataliaSavishna, and took to wearing a cap, All the love in her heart was nowbestowed upon her young charge. When Mamma had a governess appointedfor her education, Natalia was awarded the keys as housekeeper, andhenceforth had the linen and provisions under her care. These new dutiesshe fulfilled with equal fidelity and zeal. She lived only for hermaster's advantage. Everything in which she could detect fraud, extravagance, or waste she endeavoured to remedy to the best of herpower. When Mamma married and wished in some way to reward NataliaSavishna for her twenty years of care and labour, she sent for her and, voicing in the tenderest terms her attachment and love, presentedher with a stamped charter of her (Natalia's) freedom, [It will beremembered that this was in the days of serfdom] telling her at the sametime that, whether she continued to serve in the household or not, sheshould always receive an annual pension Of 300 roubles. Natalia listenedin silence to this. Then, taking the document in her hands and regardingit with a frown, she muttered something between her teeth, and dartedfrom the room, slamming the door behind her. Not understanding thereason for such strange conduct, Mamma followed her presently to herroom, and found her sitting with streaming eyes on her trunk, crushingher pocket-handkerchief between her fingers, and looking mournfullyat the remains of the document, which was lying torn to pieces on thefloor. 

"What is the matter, dear Natalia Savishna?" said Mamma, taking herhand. 

"Nothing, ma'am, " she replied; "only--only I must have displeased yousomehow, since you wish to dismiss me from the house. Well, I will go. "

She withdrew her hand and, with difficulty restraining her tears, roseto leave the room, but Mamma stopped her, and they wept a while in oneanother's arms. 

Ever since I can remember anything I can remember Natalia Savishna andher love and tenderness; yet only now have I learnt to appreciate themat their full value. In early days it never occurred to me to think whata rare and wonderful being this old domestic was. Not only did she nevertalk, but she seemed never even to think, of herself. Her whole lifewas compounded of love and self-sacrifice. Yet so used was I to heraffection and singleness of heart that I could not picture thingsotherwise. I never thought of thanking her, or of asking myself, "Is shealso happy? Is she also contented?" Often on some pretext or another Iwould leave my lessons and run to her room, where, sitting down, Iwould begin to muse aloud as though she were not there. She was forevermending something, or tidying the shelves which lined her room, or marking linen, so that she took no heed of the nonsense which Italked--how that I meant to become a general, to marry a beautifulwoman, to buy a chestnut horse, to, build myself a house of glass, toinvite Karl Ivanitch's relatives to come and visit me from Saxony, andso forth; to all of which she would only reply, "Yes, my love, yes. "Then, on my rising, and preparing to go, she would open a blue trunkwhich had pasted on the inside of its lid a coloured picture of a hussarwhich had once adorned a pomade bottle and a sketch made by Woloda, andtake from it a fumigation pastille, which she would light and shake formy benefit, saying:

"These, dear, are the pastilles which your grandfather (now in Heaven)brought back from Otchakov after fighting against the Turks. " Then shewould add with a sigh: "But this is nearly the last one. "

The trunks which filled her room seemed to contain almost everything inthe world. Whenever anything was wanted, people said, "Oh, go and askNatalia Savishna for it, " and, sure enough, it was seldom that she didnot produce the object required and say, "See what comes of taking careof everything!" Her trunks contained thousands of things which nobody inthe house but herself would have thought of preserving. 

Once I lost my temper with her. This was how it happened. 

One day after luncheon I poured myself out a glass of kvass, and thendropped the decanter, and so stained the tablecloth. 

"Go and call Natalia, that she may come and see what her darling hasdone, " said Mamma. 

Natalia arrived, and shook her head at me when she saw the damage I haddone; but Mamma whispered something in her car, threw a look at myself, and then left the room. 

I was just skipping away, in the sprightliest mood possible, whenNatalia darted out upon me from behind the door with the tablecloth inher hand, and, catching hold of me, rubbed my face hard with the stainedpart of it, repeating, "Don't thou go and spoil tablecloths any more!"

I struggled hard, and roared with temper. 

"What?" I said to myself as I fled to the drawing-room in a mist oftears, "To think that Natalia Savishna-just plain Natalia-should say'THOU' to me and rub my face with a wet tablecloth as though I were amere servant-boy! It is abominable!"

Seeing my fury, Natalia departed, while I continued to strut about andplan how to punish the bold woman for her offence. Yet not more than afew moments had passed when Natalia returned and, stealing to my side, began to comfort me, "Hush, then, my love. Do not cry. Forgive me my rudeness. It was wrongof me. You WILL pardon me, my darling, will you not? There, there, that's a dear, " and she took from her handkerchief a cornet of pinkpaper containing two little cakes and a grape, and offered it me witha trembling hand. I could not look the kind old woman in the face, but, turning aside, took the paper, while my tears flowed the faster--thoughfrom love and shame now, not from anger. 

XIV -- THE PARTING

ON the day after the events described, the carriage and the luggage-cartdrew up to the door at noon. Nicola, dressed for the journey, with hisbreeches tucked into his boots and an old overcoat belted tightly abouthim with a girdle, got into the cart and arranged cloaks and cushions onthe seats. When he thought that they were piled high enough he sat downon them, but finding them still unsatisfactory, jumped up and arrangedthem once more. 

"Nicola Dimitvitch, would you be so good as to take master'sdressing-case with you?" said Papa's valet, suddenly standing up in thecarriage, "It won't take up much room. "

"You should have told me before, Michael Ivanitch, " answered Nicolasnappishly as he hurled a bundle with all his might to the floor of thecart. "Good gracious! Why, when my head is going round like a whirlpool, there you come along with your dressing-case!" and he lifted his cap towipe away the drops of perspiration from his sunburnt brow. 

The courtyard was full of bareheaded peasants in kaftans or simpleshirts, women clad in the national dress and wearing stripedhandkerchiefs, and barefooted little ones--the latter holding theirmothers' hands or crowding round the entrance-steps. All were chatteringamong themselves as they stared at the carriage. One of the postillions, an old man dressed in a winter cap and cloak, took hold of the pole ofthe carriage and tried it carefully, while the other postillion (ayoung man in a white blouse with pink gussets on the sleeves and a blacklamb's-wool cap which he kept cocking first on one side and then on theother as he arranged his flaxen hair) laid his overcoat upon the box, slung the reins over it, and cracked his thonged whip as he looked nowat his boots and now at the other drivers where they stood greasing thewheels of the cart--one driver lifting up each wheel in turn and theother driver applying the grease. Tired post-horses of various huesstood lashing away flies with their tails near the gate--some stampingtheir great hairy legs, blinking their eyes, and dozing, some leaningwearily against their neighbours, and others cropping the leaves andstalks of dark-green fern which grew near the entrance-steps. Some ofthe dogs were lying panting in the sun, while others were slinking underthe vehicles to lick the grease from the wheels. The air was filled witha sort of dusty mist, and the horizon was lilac-grey in colour, thoughno clouds were to be seen, A strong wind from the south was raisingvolumes of dust from the roads and fields, shaking the poplars andbirch-trees in the garden, and whirling their yellow leaves away. Imyself was sitting at a window and waiting impatiently for these variouspreparations to come to an end. 

As we sat together by the drawing-room table, to pass the last fewmoments en famille, it never occurred to me that a sad moment wasimpending. On the contrary, the most trivial thoughts were filling mybrain. Which driver was going to drive the carriage and which the cart?Which of us would sit with Papa, and which with Karl Ivanitch? Why mustI be kept forever muffled up in a scarf and padded boots?

"Am I so delicate? Am I likely to be frozen?" I thought to myself. "I wish it would all come to an end, and we could take our seats andstart. "

"To whom shall I give the list of the children's linen?" asked NataliaSavishna of Mamma as she entered the room with a paper in her hand andher eyes red with weeping. 

"Give it to Nicola, and then return to say good-bye to them, " repliedMamma. The old woman seemed about to say something more, but suddenlystopped short, covered her face with her handkerchief, and left theroom. Something seemed to prick at my heart when I saw that gesture ofhers, but impatience to be off soon drowned all other feeling, andI continued to listen indifferently to Papa and Mamma as they talkedtogether. They were discussing subjects which evidently interestedneither of them. What must be bought for the house? What would PrincessSophia or Madame Julie say? Would the roads be good?--and so forth. 

Foka entered, and in the same tone and with the same air as though hewere announcing luncheon said, "The carriages are ready. " I saw Mammatremble and turn pale at the announcement, just as though it weresomething unexpected. 

Next, Foka was ordered to shut all the doors of the room. This amusedme highly. As though we needed to be concealed from some one! Whenevery one else was seated, Foka took the last remaining chair. Scarcely, however, had he done so when the door creaked and every one looked thatway. Natalia Savishna entered hastily, and, without raising her eyes, sat own on the same chair as Foka. I can see them before me now-Foka'sbald head and wrinkled, set face, and, beside him, a bent, kind figurein a cap from beneath which a few grey hairs were straggling. The pairsettled themselves together on the chair, but neither of them lookedcomfortable. 

I continued preoccupied and impatient. In fact, the ten minutes duringwhich we sat there with closed doors seemed to me an hour. At last everyone rose, made the sign of the cross, and began to say good-bye. Papaembraced Mamma, and kissed her again and again. 

"But enough, " he said presently. "We are not parting for ever. "

"No, but it is-so-so sad!" replied Mamma, her voice trembling withemotion. 

When I heard that faltering voice, and saw those quivering lips andtear-filled eyes, I forgot everything else in the world. I felt so illand miserable that I would gladly have run away rather than bidher farewell. I felt, too, that when she was embracing Papa she wasembracing us all. She clasped Woloda to her several times, and made thesign of the cross over him; after which I approached her, thinking thatit was my turn. Nevertheless she took him again and again to her heart, and blessed him. Finally I caught hold of her, and, clinging to her, wept--wept, thinking of nothing in the world but my grief. 

As we passed out to take our seats, other servants pressed round us inthe hall to say good-bye. Yet their requests to shake hands withus, their resounding kisses on our shoulders, [The fashion in whichinferiors salute their superiors in Russia. ] and the odour of theirgreasy heads only excited in me a feeling akin to impatience with thesetiresome people. The same feeling made me bestow nothing more than avery cross kiss upon Natalia's cap when she approached to take leave ofme. It is strange that I should still retain a perfect recollection ofthese servants' faces, and be able to draw them with the most minuteaccuracy in my mind, while Mamma's face and attitude escape me entirely. It may be that it is because at that moment I had not the heart to lookat her closely. I felt that if I did so our mutual grief would burstforth too unrestrainedly. 

I was the first to jump into the carriage and to take one of the hinderseats. The high back of the carriage prevented me from actually seeingher, yet I knew by instinct that Mamma was still there. 

"Shall I look at her again or not?" I said to myself. "Well, just forthe last time, " and I peeped out towards the entrance-steps. Exactly atthat moment Mamma moved by the same impulse, came to the opposite sideof the carriage, and called me by name. Hearing her voice behind me. Iturned round, but so hastily that our heads knocked together. She gave asad smile, and kissed me convulsively for the last time. 

When we had driven away a few paces I determined to look at her oncemore. The wind was lifting the blue handkerchief from her head as, bentforward and her face buried in her hands, she moved slowly up the steps. Foka was supporting her. Papa said nothing as he sat beside me. I feltbreathless with tears--felt a sensation in my throat as though I weregoing to choke, just as we came out on to the open road I saw a whitehandkerchief waving from the terrace. I waved mine in return, and theaction of so doing calmed me a little. I still went on crying, but thethought that my tears were a proof of my affection helped to soothe andcomfort me. 

After a little while I began to recover, and to look with interest atobjects which we passed and at the hind-quarters of the led horse whichwas trotting on my side. I watched how it would swish its tail, how itwould lift one hoof after the other, how the driver's thong would fallupon its back, and how all its legs would then seem to jump together andthe back-band, with the rings on it, to jump too--the whole covered withthe horse's foam. Then I would look at the rolling stretches of ripecorn, at the dark ploughed fields where ploughs and peasants and horseswith foals were working, at their footprints, and at the box of thecarriage to see who was driving us; until, though my face was still wetwith tears, my thoughts had strayed far from her with whom I had justparted--parted, perhaps, for ever. Yet ever and again something wouldrecall her to my memory. I remembered too how, the evening before, Ihad found a mushroom under the birch-trees, how Lubotshka had quarrelledwith Katenka as to whose it should be, and how they had both of themwept when taking leave of us. I felt sorry to be parted from them, andfrom Natalia Savishna, and from the birch-tree avenue, and from Foka. Yes, even the horrid Mimi I longed for. I longed for everything at home. And poor Mamma!--The tears rushed to my eyes again. Yet even this moodpassed away before long. 

XV -- CHILDHOOD

HAPPY, happy, never-returning time of childhood! How can we help lovingand dwelling upon its recollections? They cheer and elevate the soul, and become to one a source of higher joys. 

Sometimes, when dreaming of bygone days, I fancy that, tired out withrunning about, I have sat down, as of old, in my high arm-chair by thetea-table. It is late, and I have long since drunk my cup of milk. Myeyes are heavy with sleep as I sit there and listen. How could I notlisten, seeing that Mamma is speaking to somebody, and that the soundof her voice is so melodious and kind? How much its echoes recall tomy heart! With my eyes veiled with drowsiness I gaze at her wistfully. Suddenly she seems to grow smaller and smaller, and her face vanishesto a point; yet I can still see it--can still see her as she looks at meand smiles. Somehow it pleases me to see her grown so small. I blink andblink, yet she looks no larger than a boy reflected in the pupil of aneye. Then I rouse myself, and the picture fades. Once more I half-closemy eyes, and cast about to try and recall the dream, but it has gone. 

I rise to my feet, only to fall back comfortably into the armchair. 

"There! You are failing asleep again, little Nicolas, " says Mamma. "Youhad better go to by-by. "

"No, I won't go to sleep, Mamma, " I reply, though almost inaudibly, forpleasant dreams are filling all my soul. The sound sleep of childhood isweighing my eyelids down, and for a few moments I sink into slumber andoblivion until awakened by some one. I feel in my sleep as though asoft hand were caressing me. I know it by the touch, and, though stilldreaming, I seize hold of it and press it to my lips. Every one else hasgone to bed, and only one candle remains burning in the drawing-room. Mamma has said that she herself will wake me. She sits down on the armof the chair in which I am asleep, with her soft hand stroking my hair, and I hear her beloved, well-known voice say in my ear:

"Get up, my darling. It is time to go by-by. "

No envious gaze sees her now. She is not afraid to shed upon me thewhole of her tenderness and love. I do not wake up, yet I kiss and kissher hand. 

"Get up, then, my angel. "

She passes her other arm round my neck, and her fingers tickle me asthey move across it. The room is quiet and in half-darkness, but thetickling has touched my nerves and I begin to awake. Mamma is sittingnear me--that I can tell--and touching me; I can hear her voice andfeel her presence. This at last rouses me to spring up, to throw my armsaround her neck, to hide my head in her bosom, and to say with a sigh:

"Ah, dear, darling Mamma, how much I love you!"

She smiles her sad, enchanting smile, takes my head between her twohands, kisses me on the forehead, and lifts me on to her lap. 

"Do you love me so much, then?" she says. Then, after a few moments'silence, she continues: "And you must love me always, and never forgetme. If your Mamma should no longer be here, will you promise never toforget her--never, Nicolinka? and she kisses me more fondly than ever. 

"Oh, but you must not speak so, darling Mamma, my own darling Mamma!"I exclaim as I clasp her knees, and tears of joy and love fall from myeyes. 

How, after scenes like this, I would go upstairs, and stand before theikons, and say with a rapturous feeling, "God bless Papa and Mamma!" andrepeat a prayer for my beloved mother which my childish lips had learntto lisp-the love of God and of her blending strangely in a singleemotion!

After saying my prayers I would wrap myself up in the bedclothes. Myheart would feel light, peaceful, and happy, and one dream would followanother. Dreams of what? They were all of them vague, but all of themfull of pure love and of a sort of expectation of happiness. I remember, too, that I used to think about Karl Ivanitch and his sad lot. He wasthe only unhappy being whom I knew, and so sorry would I feel for him, and so much did I love him, that tears would fall from my eyes as Ithought, "May God give him happiness, and enable me to help him and tolessen his sorrow. I could make any sacrifice for him!" Usually, also, there would be some favourite toy--a china dog or hare--stuck into thebed-corner behind the pillow, and it would please me to think how warmand comfortable and well cared-for it was there. Also, I would pray Godto make every one happy, so that every one might be contented, and alsoto send fine weather to-morrow for our walk. Then I would turn myselfover on to the other side, and thoughts and dreams would become jumbledand entangled together until at last I slept soundly and peacefully, though with a face wet with tears. 

Do in after life the freshness and light-heartedness, the craving forlove and for strength of faith, ever return which we experience in ourchildhood's years? What better time is there in our lives than whenthe two best of virtues--innocent gaiety and a boundless yearning foraffection--are our sole objects of pursuit?

Where now are our ardent prayers? Where now are our best gifts--the puretears of emotion which a guardian angel dries with a smile as he shedsupon us lovely dreams of ineffable childish joy? Can it be that life hasleft such heavy traces upon one's heart that those tears and ecstasiesare for ever vanished? Can it be that there remains to us only therecollection of them?

XVI -- VERSE-MAKING

RATHER less than a month after our arrival in Moscow I was sittingupstairs in my Grandmamma's house and doing some writing at a largetable. Opposite to me sat the drawing master, who was giving a fewfinishing touches to the head of a turbaned Turk, executed in blackpencil. Woloda, with out-stretched neck, was standing behind the drawingmaster and looking over his shoulder. The head was Woloda's firstproduction in pencil and to-day--Grandmamma's name-day--the masterpiecewas to be presented to her. 

"Aren't you going to put a little more shadow there?" said Woloda tothe master as he raised himself on tiptoe and pointed to the Turk'sneck. 

"No, it is not necessary, " the master replied as he put pencil anddrawing-pen into a japanned folding box. "It is just right now, andyou need not do anything more to it. As for you, Nicolinka, " he added, rising and glancing askew at the Turk, "won't you tell us your greatsecret at last? What are you going to give your Grandmamma? I thinkanother head would be your best gift. But good-bye, gentlemen, " andtaking his hat and cardboard he departed. 

I too had thought that another head than the one at which I had beenworking would be a better gift; so, when we were told that Grandmamma'sname-day was soon to come round and that we must each of us have apresent ready for her, I had taken it into my head to write someverses in honour of the occasion, and had forthwith composed two rhymedcouplets, hoping that the rest would soon materialise. I really do notknow how the idea--one so peculiar for a child--came to occur to me, butI know that I liked it vastly, and answered all questions on the subjectof my gift by declaring that I should soon have something ready forGrandmamma, but was not going to say what it was. 

Contrary to my expectation, I found that, after the first two coupletsexecuted in the initial heat of enthusiasm, even my most strenuousefforts refused to produce another one. I began to read different poemsin our books, but neither Dimitrieff nor Derzhavin could help me. Onthe contrary, they only confirmed my sense of incompetence. Knowing, however, that Karl Ivanitch was fond of writing verses, I stole softlyupstairs to burrow among his papers, and found, among a number of Germanverses, some in the Russian language which seemed to have come from hisown pen. 

 To L

 Remember near Remember far, Remember me. To-day be faithful, and for ever-- Aye, still beyond the grave--remember That I have well loved thee. 

 "KARL MAYER. "

These verses (which were written in a fine, round hand on thinletter-paper) pleased me with the touching sentiment with which theyseemed to be inspired. I learnt them by heart, and decided to take themas a model. The thing was much easier now. By the time the name-day hadarrived I had completed a twelve-couplet congratulatory ode, and satdown to the table in our school-room to copy them out on vellum. 

Two sheets were soon spoiled--not because I found it necessary to alteranything (the verses seemed to me perfect), but because, after the thirdline, the tail-end of each successive one would go curving upward andmaking it plain to all the world that the whole thing had been writtenwith a want of adherence to the horizontal--a thing which I could notbear to see. 

The third sheet also came out crooked, but I determined to make it do. In my verses I congratulated Grandmamma, wished her many happy returns, and concluded thus:

 "Endeavouring you to please and cheer, We love you like our Mother dear. "

This seemed to me not bad, yet it offended my ear somehow. 

"Lo-ve you li-ike our Mo-ther dear, " I repeated to myself. "What otherrhyme could I use instead of 'dear'? Fear? Steer? Well, it must go atthat. At least the verses are better than Karl Ivanitch's. "

Accordingly I added the last verse to the rest. Then I went intoour bedroom and recited the whole poem aloud with much feeling andgesticulation. The verses were altogether guiltless of metre, but Idid not stop to consider that. Yet the last one displeased me more thanever. As I sat on my bed I thought:

"Why on earth did I write 'like our Mother dear'? She is not here, andtherefore she need never have been mentioned. True, I love and respectGrandmamma, but she is not quite the same as--Why DID I write that?What did I go and tell a lie for? They may be verses only, yet I needn'tquite have done that. "

At that moment the tailor arrived with some new clothes for us. 

"Well, so be it!" I said in much vexation as I crammed the verseshastily under my pillow and ran down to adorn myself in the new Moscowgarments. 

They fitted marvellously-both the brown jacket with yellow buttons (agarment made skin-tight and not "to allow room for growth, " as inthe country) and the black trousers (also close-fitting so that theydisplayed the figure and lay smoothly over the boots). 

"At last I have real trousers on!" I thought as I looked at my legs withthe utmost satisfaction. I concealed from every one the fact that thenew clothes were horribly tight and uncomfortable, but, on the contrary, said that, if there were a fault, it was that they were not tightenough. For a long while I stood before the looking-glass as I combedmy elaborately pomaded head, but, try as I would, I could not reduce thetopmost hairs on the crown to order. As soon as ever I left off combingthem, they sprang up again and radiated in different directions, thusgiving my face a ridiculous expression. 

Karl Ivanitch was dressing in another room, and I heard some onebring him his blue frockcoat and under-linen. Then at the door leadingdownstairs I heard a maid-servant's voice, and went to see what shewanted. In her hand she held a well-starched shirt which she said shehad been sitting up all night to get ready. I took it, and asked ifGrandmamma was up yet. 

"Oh yes, she has had her coffee, and the priest has come. My word, butyou look a fine little fellow!" added the girl with a smile at my newclothes. 

This observation made me blush, so I whirled round on one leg, snappedmy fingers, and went skipping away, in the hope that by these manoeuvresI should make her sensible that even yet she had not realised quite whata fine fellow I was. 

However, when I took the shirt to Karl I found that he did not need it, having taken another one. Standing before a small looking-glass, he tiedhis cravat with both hands--trying, by various motions of his head, tosee whether it fitted him comfortably or not--and then took us down tosee Grandmamma. To this day I cannot help laughing when I remember whata smell of pomade the three of us left behind us on the staircase as wedescended. 

Karl was carrying a box which he had made himself, Woloda, his drawing, and I my verses, while each of us also had a form of words ready withwhich to present his gift. Just as Karl opened the door, the priest puton his vestment and began to say prayers. 

During the ceremony Grandmamma stood leaning over the back of a chair, with her head bent down. Near her stood Papa. He turned and smiled at usas we hurriedly thrust our presents behind our backs and tried to remainunobserved by the door. The whole effect of a surprise, upon which wehad been counting, was entirely lost. When at last every one had madethe sign of the cross I became intolerably oppressed with a sudden, invincible, and deadly attack of shyness, so that the courage to, offermy present completely failed me. I hid myself behind Karl Ivanitch, whosolemnly congratulated Grandmamma and, transferring his box from hisright hand to his left, presented it to her. Then he withdrew a fewsteps to make way for Woloda. Grandmamma seemed highly pleased withthe box (which was adorned with a gold border), and smiled in the mostfriendly manner in order to express her gratitude. Yet it was evidentthat, she did not know where to set the box down, and this probablyaccounts for the fact that she handed it to Papa, at the same timebidding him observe how beautifully it was made. 

His curiosity satisfied, Papa handed the box to the priest, who alsoseemed particularly delighted with it, and looked with astonishment, first at the article itself, and then at the artist who could makesuch wonderful things. Then Woloda presented his Turk, and received asimilarly flattering ovation on all sides. 

It was my turn now, and Grandmamma turned to me with her kindest smile. Those who have experienced what embarrassment is know that it is afeeling which grows in direct proportion to delay, while decisiondecreases in similar measure. In other words the longer the conditionlasts, the more invincible does it become, and the smaller does thepower of decision come to be. 

My last remnants of nerve and energy had forsaken me while Karl andWoloda had been offering their presents, and my shyness now reached itsculminating point, I felt the blood rushing from my heart to my head, one blush succeeding another across my face, and drops of perspirationbeginning to stand out on my brow and nose. My ears were burning, Itrembled from head to foot, and, though I kept changing from one foot tothe other, I remained rooted where I stood. 

"Well, Nicolinka, tell us what you have brought?" said Papa. "Is it abox or a drawing?"

There was nothing else to be done. With a trembling hand held out thefolded, fatal paper, but my voiced failed me completely and I stoodbefore Grandmamma in silence. I could not get rid of the dreadful ideathat, instead of a display of the expected drawing, some bad verses ofmine were about to be read aloud before every one, and that the words"our Mother dear" would clearly prove that I had never loved, but hadonly forgotten, her. How shall I express my sufferings when Grandmammabegan to read my poetry aloud?--when, unable to decipher it, she stoppedhalf-way and looked at Papa with a smile (which I took to be one ofridicule)?--when she did not pronounce it as I had meant it to bepronounced?--and when her weak sight not allowing her to finish it, shehanded the paper to Papa and requested him to read it all over againfrom the beginning? I fancied that she must have done this last becauseshe did not like to read such a lot of stupid, crookedly written stuffherself, yet wanted to point out to Papa my utter lack of feeling. Iexpected him to slap me in the face with the verses and say, "You badboy! So you have forgotten your Mamma! Take that for it!" Yet nothingof the sort happened. On the contrary, when the whole had been read, Grandmamma said, "Charming!" and kissed me on the forehead. Then ourpresents, together with two cambric pocket-handkerchiefs and a snuff-boxengraved with Mamma's portrait, were laid on the table attached to thegreat Voltairian arm-chair in which Grandmamma always sat. 

"The Princess Barbara Ilinitsha!" announced one of the two footmen whoused to stand behind Grandmamma's carriage, but Grandmamma was lookingthoughtfully at the portrait on the snuff-box, and returned no answer. 

"Shall I show her in, madam?" repeated the footman. 

XVII -- THE PRINCESS KORNAKOFF

"Yes, show her in, " said Grandmamma, settling herself as far back inher arm-chair as possible. The Princess was a woman of aboutforty-five, small and delicate, with a shrivelled skin and disagreeable, greyish-green eyes, the expression of which contradicted the unnaturallysuave look of the rest of her face. Underneath her velvet bonnet, adorned with an ostrich feather, was visible some reddish hair, whileagainst the unhealthy colour of her skin her eyebrows and eyelasheslooked even lighter and redder that they would other wise have done. Yet, for all that, her animated movements, small hands, and peculiarlydry features communicated something aristocratic and energetic to hergeneral appearance. She talked a great deal, and, to judge from hereloquence, belonged to that class of persons who always speak as thoughsome one were contradicting them, even though no one else may be sayinga word. First she would raise her voice, then lower it and then take ona fresh access of vivacity as she looked at the persons present, but notparticipating in the conversation, with an air of endeavouring to drawthem into it. 

Although the Princess kissed Grandmamma's hand and repeatedly called her"my good Aunt, " I could see that Grandmamma did not care much about her, for she kept raising her eyebrows in a peculiar way while listeningto the Princess's excuses why Prince Michael had been prevented fromcalling, and congratulating Grandmamma "as he would like so-much tohave done. " At length, however, she answered the Princess's French withRussian, and with a sharp accentuation of certain words. 

"I am much obliged to you for your kindness, " she said. "As for PrinceMichael's absence, pray do not mention it. He has so much else to do. Besides, what pleasure could he find in coming to see an old woman likeme?" Then, without allowing the Princess time to reply, she went on:"How are your children my dear?"

"Well, thank God, Aunt, they grow and do their lessons andplay--particularly my eldest one, Etienne, who is so wild that itis almost impossible to keep him in order. Still, he is a clever andpromising boy. Would you believe it, cousin, " (this last to Papa, sinceGrandmamma altogether uninterested in the Princess's children, hadturned to us, taken my verses out from beneath the presentation box, andunfolded them again), "would you believe it, but one day not long ago--"and leaning over towards Papa, the Princess related something or otherwith great vivacity. Then, her tale concluded, she laughed, and, with aquestioning look at Papa, went on:

"What a boy, cousin! He ought to have been whipped, but the trick wasso spirited and amusing that I let him off. " Then the Princess looked atGrandmamma and laughed again. 

"Ah! So you WHIP your children, do you" said Grandmamma, with asignificant lift of her eyebrows, and laying a peculiar stress on theword "WHIP. "

"Alas, my good Aunt, " replied the Princess in a sort of tolerant toneand with another glance at Papa, "I know your views on the subject, butmust beg to be allowed to differ with them. However much I have thoughtover and read and talked about the matter, I have always been forced tocome to the conclusion that children must be ruled through FEAR. To makesomething of a child, you must make it FEAR something. Is it not so, cousin? And what, pray, do children fear so much as a rod?"

As she spoke she seemed, to look inquiringly at Woloda and myself, and Iconfess that I did not feel altogether comfortable. 

"Whatever you may say, " she went on, "a boy of twelve, or even offourteen, is still a child and should be whipped as such; but withgirls, perhaps, it is another matter. "

"How lucky it is that I am not her son!" I thought to myself. 

"Oh, very well, " said Grandmamma, folding up my verses and replacingthem beneath the box (as though, after that exposition of views, thePrincess was unworthy of the honour of listening to such a production). "Very well, my dear, " she repeated "But please tell me how, in return, you can look for any delicate sensibility from your children?"

Evidently Grandmamma thought this argument unanswerable, for she cut thesubject short by adding:

"However, it is a point on which people must follow their own opinions. "

The Princess did not choose to reply, but smiled condescendingly, and asthough out of indulgence to the strange prejudices of a person whom sheonly PRETENDED to revere. 

"Oh, by the way, pray introduce me to your young people, " she went onpresently as she threw us another gracious smile. 

Thereupon we rose and stood looking at the Princess, without in theleast knowing what we ought to do to show that we were being introduced. 

"Kiss the Princess's hand, " said Papa. 

"Well, I hope you will love your old aunt, " she said to Woloda, kissinghis hair, "even though we are not near relatives. But I value friendshipfar more than I do degrees of relationship, " she added to Grandmamma, who nevertheless, remained hostile, and replied:

"Eh, my dear? Is that what they think of relationships nowadays?"

"Here is my man of the world, " put in Papa, indicating Woloda; "and hereis my poet, " he added as I kissed the small, dry hand of the Princess, with a vivid picture in my mind of that same hand holding a rod andapplying it vigorously. 

"WHICH one is the poet?" asked the Princess. 

"This little one, " replied Papa, smiling; "the one with the tuft of hairon his top-knot. "

"Why need he bother about my tuft?" I thought to myself as I retiredinto a corner. "Is there nothing else for him to talk about?"

I had strange ideas on manly beauty. I considered Karl Ivanitch one ofthe handsomest men in the world, and myself so ugly that I had no needto deceive myself on that point. Therefore any remark on the subject ofmy exterior offended me extremely. I well remember how, one day afterluncheon (I was then six years of age), the talk fell upon my personalappearance, and how Mamma tried to find good features in my face, andsaid that I had clever eyes and a charming smile; how, nevertheless, when Papa had examined me, and proved the contrary, she was obliged toconfess that I was ugly; and how, when the meal was over and I wentto pay her my respects, she said as she patted my cheek; "You know, Nicolinka, nobody will ever love you for your face alone, so you musttry all the more to be a good and clever boy. "

Although these words of hers confirmed in me my conviction that I wasnot handsome, they also confirmed in me an ambition to be just sucha boy as she had indicated. Yet I had my moments of despair at myugliness, for I thought that no human being with such a large nose, suchthick lips, and such small grey eyes as mine could ever hope to attainhappiness on this earth. I used to ask God to perform a miracle bychanging me into a beauty, and would have given all that I possessed, orever hoped to possess, to have a handsome face. 

XVIII -- PRINCE IVAN IVANOVITCH

When the Princess had heard my verses and overwhelmed the writer of themwith praise, Grandmamma softened to her a little. She began to addressher in French and to cease calling her "my dear. " Likewise she invitedher to return that evening with her children. This invitation havingbeen accepted, the Princess took her leave. After that, so many othercallers came to congratulate Grandmamma that the courtyard was crowdedall day long with carriages. 

"Good morning, my dear cousin, " was the greeting of one guest inparticular as he entered the room and kissed Grandmamma's hand, He wasa man of seventy, with a stately figure clad in a military uniform andadorned with large epaulettes, an embroidered collar, and a white crossround the neck. His face, with its quiet and open expression, as wellas the simplicity and ease of his manners, greatly pleased me, for, inspite of the thin half-circle of hair which was all that was now leftto him, and the want of teeth disclosed by the set of his upper lip, hisface was a remarkably handsome one. 

Thanks to his fine character, handsome exterior, remarkable valour, influential relatives, and, above all, good fortune, Prince, IvanIvanovitch had early made himself a career. As that career progressed, his ambition had met with a success which left nothing more to be soughtfor in that direction. From his earliest youth upward he had preparedhimself to fill the exalted station in the world to which fate actuallycalled him later; wherefore, although in his prosperous life (as in thelives of all) there had been failures, misfortunes, and cares, he hadnever lost his quietness of character, his elevated tone of thought, orhis peculiarly moral, religious bent of mind. Consequently, though hehad won the universal esteem of his fellows, he had done so less throughhis important position than through his perseverance and integrity. While not of specially distinguished intellect, the eminence of hisstation (whence he could afford to look down upon all petty questions)had caused him to adopt high points of view. Though in reality he waskind and sympathetic, in manner he appeared cold and haughty--probablyfor the reason that he had forever to be on his guard against theendless claims and petitions of people who wished to profit throughhis influence. Yet even then his coldness was mitigated by the politecondescension of a man well accustomed to move in the highest circlesof society. Well-educated, his culture was that of a youth of the end ofthe last century. He had read everything, whether philosophy or belleslettres, which that age had produced in France, and loved to quote fromRacine, Corneille, Boileau, Moliere, Montaigne, and Fenelon. Likewise hehad gleaned much history from Segur, and much of the old classics fromFrench translations of them; but for mathematics, natural philosophy, orcontemporary literature he cared nothing whatever. However, he knew howto be silent in conversation, as well as when to make general remarkson authors whom he had never read--such as Goethe, Schiller, and Byron. Moreover, despite his exclusively French education, he was simple inspeech and hated originality (which he called the mark of an untutorednature). Wherever he lived, society was a necessity to him, and, both inMoscow and the country he had his reception days, on which practically"all the town" called upon him. An introduction from him was a passportto every drawing-room; few young and pretty ladies in society objectedto offering him their rosy cheeks for a paternal salute; and people evenin the highest positions felt flattered by invitations to his parties. 

The Prince had few friends left now like Grandmamma--that is to say, fewfriends who were of the same standing as himself, who had had the samesort of education, and who saw things from the same point of view:wherefore he greatly valued his intimate, long-standing friendship withher, and always showed her the highest respect. 

I hardly dared to look at the Prince, since the honour paid him on allsides, the huge epaulettes, the peculiar pleasure with which Grandmammareceived him, and the fact that he alone, seemed in no way afraid ofher, but addressed her with perfect freedom (even being so daring as tocall her "cousin"), awakened in me a feeling of reverence for his personalmost equal to that which I felt for Grandmamma herself. 

On being shown my verses, he called me to his side, and said:

"Who knows, my cousin, but that he may prove to be a second Derzhavin?"Nevertheless he pinched my cheek so hard that I was only prevented fromcrying by the thought that it must be meant for a caress. 

Gradually the other guests dispersed, and with them Papa and Woloda. Thus only Grandmamma, the Prince, and myself were left in thedrawing-room. 

"Why has our dear Natalia Nicolaevna not come to-day" asked the Princeafter a silence. 

"Ah, my friend, " replied Grandmamma, lowering her voice and laying ahand upon the sleeve of his uniform, "she would certainly have come ifshe had been at liberty to do what she likes. She wrote to me that Peterhad proposed bringing her with him to town, but that she had refused, since their income had not been good this year, and she could seeno real reason why the whole family need come to Moscow, seeing thatLubotshka was as yet very young and that the boys were living with me--afact, she said, which made her feel as safe about them as though she hadbeen living with them herself. "

"True, it is good for the boys to be here, " went on Grandmamma, yet ina tone which showed clearly that she did not think it was so very good, "since it was more than time that they should be sent to Moscow tostudy, as well as to learn how to comport themselves in society. Whatsort of an education could they have got in the country? The eldest boywill soon be thirteen, and the second one eleven. As yet, my cousin, they are quite untaught, and do not know even how to enter a room. "

"Nevertheless" said the Prince, "I cannot understand these complaintsof ruined fortunes. He has a very handsome income, and Natalia hasChabarovska, where we used to act plays, and which I know as well asI do my own hand. It is a splendid property, and ought to bring in anexcellent return. "

"Well, " said Grandmamma with a sad expression on her face, "I do notmind telling you, as my most intimate friend, that all this seems to mea mere pretext on his part for living alone, for strolling about fromclub to club, for attending dinner-parties, and for resorting to--well, who knows what? She suspects nothing; you know her angelic sweetness andher implicit trust of him in everything. He had only to tell her thatthe children must go to Moscow and that she must be left behind in thecountry with a stupid governess for company, for her to believe him! Ialmost think that if he were to say that the children must be whippedjust as the Princess Barbara whips hers, she would believe even that!"and Grandmamma leant back in her arm-chair with an expression ofcontempt. Then, after a moment of silence, during which she took herhandkerchief out of her pocket to wipe away a few tears which had stolendown her cheeks, she went, on:

"Yes, my friend, I often think that he cannot value and understandher properly, and that, for all her goodness and love of him and herendeavours to conceal her grief (which, however as I know only too well, exists). She cannot really be happy with him. Mark my words if he doesnot--" Here Grandmamma buried her face in the handkerchief. 

"Ah, my dear old friend, " said the Prince reproachfully. "I think youare unreasonable. Why grieve and weep over imagined evils? That isnot right. I have known him a long time, and feel sure that he is anattentive, kind, and excellent husband, as well as (which is the chiefthing of all) a perfectly honourable man. "

At this point, having been an involuntary auditor of a conversationnot meant for my ears, I stole on tiptoe out of the room, in a state ofgreat distress. 

XIX -- THE IWINS

"Woloda, Woloda! The Iwins are just coming. " I shouted on seeing fromthe window three boys in blue overcoats, and followed by a young tutor, advancing along the pavement opposite our house. 

The Iwins were related to us, and of about the same age as ourselves. Wehad made their acquaintance soon after our arrival in Moscow. The secondbrother, Seriosha, had dark curly hair, a turned-up, strongly pronouncednose, very bright red lips (which, never being quite shut, showed arow of white teeth), beautiful dark-blue eyes, and an uncommonly boldexpression of face. He never smiled but was either wholly serious orlaughing a clear, merry, agreeable laugh. His striking good looks hadcaptivated me from the first, and I felt an irresistible attractiontowards him. Only to see him filled me with pleasure, and at one time mywhole mental faculties used to be concentrated in the wish that Imight do so. If three or four days passed without my seeing him I feltlistless and ready to cry. Awake or asleep, I was forever dreaming ofhim. On going to bed I used to see him in my dreams, and when I hadshut my eyes and called up a picture of him I hugged the vision asmy choicest delight. So much store did I set upon this feeling for myfriend that I never mentioned it to any one. Nevertheless, it must haveannoyed him to see my admiring eyes constantly fixed upon him, or elsehe must have felt no reciprocal attraction, for he always preferred toplay and talk with Woloda. Still, even with that I felt satisfied, andwished and asked for nothing better than to be ready at any time to makeany sacrifice for him. Likewise, over and above the strange fascinationwhich he exercised upon me, I always felt another sensation, namely, a dread of making him angry, of offending him, of displeasing him. Wasthis because his face bore such a haughty expression, or because I, despising my own exterior, over-rated the beautiful in others, or, lastly (and most probably), because it is a common sign of affection?At all events, I felt as much fear, of him as I did love. The first timethat he spoke to me I was so overwhelmed with sudden happiness that Iturned pale, then red, and could not utter a word. He had an ugly habitof blinking when considering anything seriously, as well as of twitchinghis nose and eyebrows. Consequently every one thought that this habitmarred his face. Yet I thought it such a nice one that I involuntarilyadopted it for myself, until, a few days after I had made hisacquaintance, Grandmamma suddenly asked me whether my eyes were hurtingme, since I was winking like an owl! Never a word of affection passedbetween us, yet he felt his power over me, and unconsciously buttyrannically, exercised it in all our childish intercourse. I used tolong to tell him all that was in my heart, yet was too much afraid ofhim to be frank in any way, and, while submitting myself to his will, tried to appear merely careless and indifferent. Although at times hisinfluence seemed irksome and intolerable, to throw it off was beyond mystrength. 

I often think with regret of that fresh, beautiful feeling of boundless, disinterested love which came to an end without having ever foundself-expression or return. It is strange how, when a child, I alwayslonged to be like grown-up people, and yet how I have often longed, since childhood's days, for those days to come back to me! Many times, in my relations with Seriosha, this wish to resemble grown-up peopleput a rude check upon the love that was waiting to expand, and made merepress it. Not only was I afraid of kissing him, or of taking his handand saying how glad I was to see him, but I even dreaded calling him"Seriosha" and always said "Sergius" as every one else did in ourhouse. Any expression of affection would have seemed like evidence ofchildishness, and any one who indulged in it, a baby. Not having yetpassed through those bitter experiences which enforce upon older yearscircumspection and coldness, I deprived myself of the pure delight ofa fresh, childish instinct for the absurd purpose of trying to resemblegrown-up people. 

I met the Iwins in the ante-room, welcomed them, and then ran to tellGrandmamma of their arrival with an expression as happy as though shewere certain to be equally delighted. Then, never taking my eyes offSeriosha, I conducted the visitors to the drawing-room, and eagerlyfollowed every movement of my favourite. When Grandmamma spoke toand fixed her penetrating glance upon him, I experienced that mingledsensation of pride and solicitude which an artist might feel whenwaiting for revered lips to pronounce a judgment upon his work. 

With Grandmamma's permission, the Iwins' young tutor, Herr Frost, accompanied us into the little back garden, where he seated himselfupon a bench, arranged his legs in a tasteful attitude, rested hisbrass-knobbed cane between them, lighted a cigar, and assumed the airof a man well-pleased with himself. He was a German, but of a verydifferent sort to our good Karl Ivanitch. In the first place, he spokeboth Russian and French correctly, though with a hard accent Indeed, he enjoyed--especially among the ladies--the reputation of being a veryaccomplished fellow. In the second place, he wore a reddish moustache, a large gold pin set with a ruby, a black satin tie, and a veryfashionable suit. Lastly, he was young, with a handsome, self-satisfiedface and fine muscular legs. It was clear that he set the greatest storeupon the latter, and thought them beyond compare, especially as regardsthe favour of the ladies. Consequently, whether sitting or standing, healways tried to exhibit them in the most favourable light. In short, he was a type of the young German-Russian whose main desire is to bethought perfectly gallant and gentlemanly. 

In the little garden merriment reigned. In fact, the game of "robbers"never went better. Yet an incident occurred which came near to spoilingit. Seriosha was the robber, and in pouncing upon some travellers hefell down and knocked his leg so badly against a tree that I thoughtthe leg must be broken. Consequently, though I was the gendarme andtherefore bound to apprehend him, I only asked him anxiously, when Ireached him, if he had hurt himself very much. Nevertheless this threwhim into a passion, and made him exclaim with fists clenched and in avoice which showed by its faltering what pain he was enduring, "Why, whatever is the matter? Is this playing the game properly? You oughtto arrest me. Why on earth don't you do so?" This he repeated severaltimes, and then, seeing Woloda and the elder Iwin (who were taking thepart of the travellers) jumping and running about the path, he suddenlythrew himself upon them with a shout and loud laughter to effecttheir capture. I cannot express my wonder and delight at this valiantbehaviour of my hero. In spite of the severe pain, he had not onlyrefrained from crying, but had repressed the least symptom of sufferingand kept his eye fixed upon the game! Shortly after this occurrenceanother boy, Ilinka Grap, joined our party. We went upstairs, andSeriosha gave me an opportunity of still further appreciating and takingdelight in his manly bravery and fortitude. This was how it was. 

Ilinka was the son of a poor foreigner who had been under certainobligations to my Grandpapa, and now thought it incumbent upon him tosend his son to us as frequently as possible. Yet if he thought that theacquaintance would procure his son any advancement or pleasure, he wasentirely mistaken, for not only were we anything but friendly to Ilinka, but it was seldom that we noticed him at all except to laugh at him. Hewas a boy of thirteen, tall and thin, with a pale, birdlike face, anda quiet, good-tempered expression. Though poorly dressed, he always hadhis head so thickly pomaded that we used to declare that on warm daysit melted and ran down his neck. When I think of him now, it seems tome that he was a very quiet, obliging, and good-tempered boy, but atthe time I thought him a creature so contemptible that he was not wortheither attention or pity. 

Upstairs we set ourselves to astonish each other with gymnastic tours deforce. Ilinka watched us with a faint smile of admiration, but refusedan invitation to attempt a similar feat, saying that he had no strength. 

Seriosha was extremely captivating. His face and eyes glowed withlaughter as he surprised us with tricks which we had never seen before. He jumped over three chairs put together, turned somersaults rightacross the room, and finally stood on his head on a pyramid ofTatistchev's dictionaries, moving his legs about with such comicalrapidity that it was impossible not to help bursting with merriment. 

After this last trick he pondered for a moment (blinking his eyes asusual), and then went up to Ilinka with a very serious face. 

"Try and do that, " he said. "It is not really difficult. "

Ilinka, observing that the general attention was fixed upon him, blushed, and said in an almost inaudible voice that he could not do thefeat. 

"Well, what does he mean by doing nothing at all? What a girl the fellowis! He has just GOT to stand on his head, " and Seriosha, took him by thehand. 

"Yes, on your head at once! This instant, this instant!" every oneshouted as we ran upon Ilinka and dragged him to the dictionaries, despite his being visibly pale and frightened. 

"Leave me alone! You are tearing my jacket!" cried the unhappy victim, but his exclamations of despair only encouraged us the more. We weredying with laughter, while the green jacket was bursting at every seam. 

Woloda and the eldest Iwin took his head and placed it on thedictionaries, while Seriosha, and I seized his poor, thin legs (hisstruggles had stripped them upwards to the knees), and with boisterous, laughter held them uptight--the youngest Iwin superintending his generalequilibrium. 

Suddenly a moment of silence occurred amid our boisterous laughter--amoment during which nothing was to be heard in the room but the pantingof the miserable Ilinka. It occurred to me at that moment that, afterall, there was nothing so very comical and pleasant in all this. 

"Now, THAT'S a boy!" cried Seriosha, giving Ilinka a smack with hishand. Ilinka said nothing, but made such desperate movements with hislegs to free himself that his foot suddenly kicked Seriosha in theeye: with the result that, letting go of Ilinka's leg and covering thewounded member with one hand, Seriosha hit out at him with all his mightwith the other one. Of course Ilinka's legs slipped down as, sinkingexhausted to the floor and half-suffocated with tears, he stammered out:

"Why should you bully me so?"

The poor fellow's miserable figure, with its streaming tears, ruffledhair, and crumpled trousers revealing dirty boots, touched us a little, and we stood silent and trying to smile. 

Seriosha was the first to recover himself. 

"What a girl! What a gaby!" he said, giving Ilinka a slight kick. "Hecan't take things in fun a bit. Well, get up, then. "

"You are an utter beast! That's what YOU are!" said Ilinka, turningmiserably away and sobbing. 

"Oh, oh! Would it still kick and show temper, then?" cried Seriosha, seizing a dictionary and throwing it at the unfortunate boy's head. Apparently it never occurred to Ilinka to take refuge from the missile;he merely guarded his head with his hands. 

"Well, that's enough now, " added Seriosha, with a forced laugh. "YouDESERVE to be hurt if you can't take things in fun. Now let's godownstairs. "

I could not help looking with some compassion at the miserable creatureon the floor as, his face buried in the dictionary, he lay there sobbingalmost as though he were in a fit. 

"Oh, Sergius!" I said. "Why have you done this?"

"Well, you did it too! Besides, I did not cry this afternoon when Iknocked my leg and nearly broke it. "

"True enough, " I thought. "Ilinka is a poor whining sort of a chap, while Seriosha is a boy--a REAL boy. "

It never occurred to my mind that possibly poor Ilinka was sufferingfar less from bodily pain than from the thought that five companionsfor whom he may have felt a genuine liking had, for no reason at all, combined to hurt and humiliate him. 

I cannot explain my cruelty on this occasion. Why did I not step forwardto comfort and protect him? Where was the pitifulness which often mademe burst into tears at the sight of a young bird fallen from its nest, or of a puppy being thrown over a wall, or of a chicken being killed bythe cook for soup?

Can it be that the better instinct in me was overshadowed by myaffection for Seriosha and the desire to shine before so brave a boy? Ifso, how contemptible were both the affection and the desire! They aloneform dark spots on the pages of my youthful recollections. 

XX -- PREPARATIONS FOR THE PARTY

To judge from the extraordinary activity in the pantry, the shiningcleanliness which imparted such a new and festal guise to certainarticles in the salon and drawing-room which I had long known asanything but resplendent, and the arrival of some musicians whom PrinceIvan would certainly not have sent for nothing, no small amount ofcompany was to be expected that evening. 

At the sound of every vehicle which chanced to pass the house I ranto the window, leaned my head upon my arms, and peered with impatientcuriosity into the street. 

At last a carriage stopped at our door, and, in the full belief thatthis must be the Iwins, who had promised to come early, I at once randownstairs to meet them in the hall. 

But, instead of the Iwins, I beheld from behind the figure of thefootman who opened the door two female figures-one tall and wrapped in ablue cloak trimmed with marten, and the other one short and wrapped ina green shawl from beneath which a pair of little feet, stuck into furboots, peeped forth. 

Without paying any attention to my presence in the hall (although Ithought it my duty, on the appearance of these persons to salute them), the shorter one moved towards the taller, and stood silently in front ofher. Thereupon the tall lady untied the shawl which enveloped the headof the little one, and unbuttoned the cloak which hid her form; until, by the time that the footmen had taken charge of these articles andremoved the fur boots, there stood forth from the amorphous chrysalisa charming girl of twelve, dressed in a short muslin frock, whitepantaloons, and smart black satin shoes. Around her, white neck she worea narrow black velvet ribbon, while her head was covered with flaxencurls which so perfectly suited her beautiful face in front and her bareneck and shoulders behind that I, would have believed nobody, not evenKarl Ivanitch, if he, or she had told me that they only hung so nicelybecause, ever since the morning, they had been screwed up in fragmentsof a Moscow newspaper and then warmed with a hot iron. To me it seemedas though she must have been born with those curls. 

The most prominent feature in her face was a pair of unusually largehalf-veiled eyes, which formed a strange, but pleasing, contrast to thesmall mouth. Her lips were closed, while her eyes looked so grave thatthe general expression of her face gave one the impression that a smilewas never to be looked for from her: wherefore, when a smile did come, it was all the more pleasing. 

Trying to escape notice, I slipped through the door of the salon, and then thought it necessary to be seen pacing to and fro, seeminglyengaged in thought, as though unconscious of the arrival of guests. 

BY the time, however, that the ladies had advanced to the middle ofthe salon I seemed suddenly to awake from my reverie and told them thatGrandmamma was in the drawing room, Madame Valakhin, whose face pleasedme extremely (especially since it bore a great resemblance to herdaughter's), stroked my head kindly. 

Grandmamma seemed delighted to see Sonetchka, She invited her to cometo her, put back a curl which had fallen over her brow, and lookingearnestly at her said, "What a charming child!"

Sonetchka blushed, smiled, and, indeed, looked so charming that I myselfblushed as I looked at her. 

"I hope you are going to enjoy yourself here, my love, " saidGrandmamma. "Pray be as merry and dance as much as ever you can. See, wehave two beaux for her already, " she added, turning to Madame Valakhin, and stretching out her hand to me. 

This coupling of Sonetchka and myself pleased me so much that I blushedagain. 

Feeling, presently, that, my embarrassment was increasing, and hearingthe sound of carriages approaching, I thought it wise to retire. In thehall I encountered the Princess Kornakoff, her son, and an incrediblenumber of daughters. They had all of them the same face as their mother, and were very ugly. None of them arrested my attention. They talked inshrill tones as they took off their cloaks and boas, and laughed as theybustled about--probably at the fact that there were so many of them!

Etienne was a boy of fifteen, tall and plump, with a sharp face, deep-set bluish eyes, and very large hands and feet for his age. Likewise he was awkward, and had a nervous, unpleasing voice. Nevertheless he seemed very pleased with himself, and was, in myopinion, a boy who could well bear being beaten with rods. 

For a long time we confronted one another without speaking as we tookstock of each other. When the flood of dresses had swept past I madeshift to begin a conversation by asking him whether it had not been veryclose in the carriage. 

"I don't know, " he answered indifferently. "I never ride inside it, forit makes me feel sick directly, and Mamma knows that. Whenever we aredriving anywhere at night-time I always sit on the box. I like that, forthen one sees everything. Philip gives me the reins, and sometimes thewhip too, and then the people inside get a regular--well, you know, " headded with a significant gesture "It's splendid then. "

"Master Etienne, " said a footman, entering the hall, "Philip wishes meto ask you where you put the whip. "

"Where I put it? Why, I gave it back to him. "

"But he says that you did not. "

"Well, I laid it across the carriage-lamps!"

"No, sir, he says that you did not do that either. You had betterconfess that you took it and lashed it to shreds. I suppose poor Philipwill have to make good your mischief out of his own pocket. " The footman(who looked a grave and honest man) seemed much put out by the affair, and determined to sift it to the bottom on Philip's behalf. 

Out of delicacy I pretended to notice nothing and turned aside, but theother footmen present gathered round and looked approvingly at the oldservant. 

"Hm--well, I DID tear it in pieces, " at length confessed Etienne, shrinking from further explanations. "However, I will pay for it. Didyou ever hear anything so absurd?" he added to me as he drew me towardsthe drawing-room. 

"But excuse me, sir; HOW are you going to pay for it? I know your waysof paying. You have owed Maria Valericana twenty copecks these eightmonths now, and you have owed me something for two years, and Peterfor--"

"Hold your tongue, will you!" shouted the young fellow, pale with rage, "I shall report you for this. "

"Oh, you may do so, " said the footman. "Yet it is not fair, yourhighness, " he added, with a peculiar stress on the title, as he departedwith the ladies' wraps to the cloak-room. We ourselves entered thesalon. 

"Quite right, footman, " remarked someone approvingly from the ballbehind us. 

Grandmamma had a peculiar way of employing, now the second personsingular, now the second person plural, in order to indicate her opinionof people. When the young Prince Etienne went up to her she addressedhim as "YOU, " and altogether looked at him with such an expressionof contempt that, had I been in his place, I should have been utterlycrestfallen. Etienne, however, was evidently not a boy of that sort, for he not only took no notice of her reception of him, but none of herperson either. In fact, he bowed to the company at large in a way which, though not graceful, was at least free from embarrassment. 

Sonetchka now claimed my whole attention. I remember that, as I stoodin the salon with Etienne and Woloda, at a spot whence we could bothsee and be seen by Sonetchka, I took great pleasure in talking very loud(and all my utterances seemed to me both bold and comical) and glancingtowards the door of the drawing-room, but that, as soon as ever wehappened to move to another spot whence we could neither see nor be seenby her, I became dumb, and thought the conversation had ceased to beenjoyable. The rooms were now full of people--among them (as at allchildren's parties) a number of elder children who wished to dance andenjoy themselves very much, but who pretended to do everything merely inorder to give pleasure to the mistress of the house. 

When the Iwins arrived I found that, instead of being as delighted asusual to meet Seriosha, I felt a kind of vexation that he should see andbe seen by Sonetchka. 

XXI -- BEFORE THE MAZURKA

"HULLO, Woloda! So we are going to dance to-night, " said Seriosha, issuing from the drawing-room and taking out of his pocket a brand newpair of gloves. "I suppose it IS necessary to put on gloves?"

"Goodness! What shall I do? We have no gloves, " I thought to myself. "I must go upstairs and search about. " Yet though I rummaged in everydrawer, I only found, in one of them, my green travelling mittens, and, in another, a single lilac-coloured glove, a thing which could be of nouse to me, firstly, because it was very old and dirty, secondly, becauseit was much too large for me, and thirdly (and principally), because themiddle finger was wanting--Karl having long ago cut it off to wear overa sore nail. 

However, I put it on--not without some diffident contemplation of theblank left by the middle finger and of the ink-stained edges round thevacant space. 

"If only Natalia Savishna had been here, " I reflected, "we shouldcertainly have found some gloves. I can't go downstairs in thiscondition. Yet, if they ask me why I am not dancing, what am I to say?However, I can't remain here either, or they will be sending upstairs tofetch me. What on earth am I to do?" and I wrung my hands. 

"What are you up to here?" asked Woloda as he burst into the room. "Goand engage a partner. The dancing will be beginning directly. "

"Woloda, " I said despairingly, as I showed him my hand with two fingersthrust into a single finger of the dirty glove, "Woloda, you, neverthought of this. "

"Of what?" he said impatiently. "Oh, of gloves, " he added with acareless glance at my hand. "That's nothing. We can ask Grandmamma whatshe thinks about it, " and without further ado he departed downstairs. Ifelt a trifle relieved by the coolness with which he had met a situationwhich seemed to me so grave, and hastened back to the drawing-room, completely forgetful of the unfortunate glove which still adorned myleft hand. 

Cautiously approaching Grandmamma's arm-chair, I asked her in a whisper:

"Grandmamma, what are we to do? We have no gloves. "

"What, my love?"

"We have no gloves, " I repeated, at the same time bending over towardsher and laying both hands on the arm of her chair. 

"But what is that?" she cried as she caught hold of my left hand. "Look, my dear!" she continued, turning to Madame Valakhin. "See howsmart this young man has made himself to dance with your daughter!"

As Grandmamma persisted in retaining hold of my hand and gazing with amock air of gravity and interrogation at all around her, curiosity wassoon aroused, and a general roar of laughter ensued. 

I should have been infuriated at the thought that Seriosha was presentto see this, as I scowled with embarrassment and struggled hard to freemy hand, had it not been that somehow Sonetchka's laughter (and she waslaughing to such a degree that the tears were standing in her eyesand the curls dancing about her lovely face) took away my feelingof humiliation. I felt that her laughter was not satirical, but onlynatural and free; so that, as we laughed together and looked at oneanother, there seemed to begin a kind of sympathy between us. Insteadof turning out badly, therefore, the episode of the glove served onlyto set me at my ease among the dreaded circle of guests, and to makeme cease to feel oppressed with shyness. The sufferings of shy peopleproceed only from the doubts which they feel concerning the opinionsof their fellows. No sooner are those opinions expressed (whetherflattering or the reverse) than the agony disappears. 

How lovely Sonetchka looked when she was dancing a quadrille as myvis-a-vis, with, as her partner, the loutish Prince Etienne! Howcharmingly she smiled when, en chaine, she accorded me her hand! Howgracefully the curls, around her head nodded to the rhythm, and hownaively she executed the jete assemble with her little feet!

In the fifth figure, when my partner had to leave me for the otherside and I, counting the beats, was getting ready to dance my solo, shepursed her lips gravely and looked in another direction; but her fearsfor me were groundless. Boldly I performed the chasse en avant andchasse en arriere glissade, until, when it came to my turn to movetowards her and I, with a comic gesture, showed her the poor glove withits crumpled fingers, she laughed heartily, and seemed to move her tinyfeet more enchantingly than ever over the parquetted floor. 

How well I remember how we formed the circle, and how, withoutwithdrawing her hand from mine, she scratched her little nose withher glove! All this I can see before me still. Still can I hear thequadrille from "The Maids of the Danube" to which we danced that night. 

The second quadrille, I danced with Sonetchka herself; yet when we wentto sit down together during the interval, I felt overcome with shynessand as though I had nothing to say. At last, when my silence had lastedso long that I began to be afraid that she would think me a stupid boy, I decided at all hazards to counteract such a notion. 

"Vous etes une habitante de Moscou?" I began, and, on receiving anaffirmative answer, continued. "Et moi, je n'ai encore jamais frequentela capitale" (with a particular emphasis on the word "frequente"). Yet Ifelt that, brilliant though this introduction might be as evidence of myprofound knowledge of the French language, I could not long keep up theconversation in that manner. Our turn for dancing had not yet arrived, and silence again ensued between us. I kept looking anxiously at her inthe hope both of discerning what impression I had produced and of hercoming to my aid. 

"Where did you get that ridiculous glove of yours?" she asked me all ofa sudden, and the question afforded me immense satisfaction and relief. I replied that the glove belonged to Karl Ivanitch, and then went onto speak ironically of his appearance, and to describe how comical helooked in his red cap, and how he and his green coat had once fallenplump off a horse into a pond. 

The quadrille was soon over. Yet why had I spoken ironically of poorKarl Ivanitch? Should I, forsooth, have sunk in Sonetchka's esteem if, on the contrary, I had spoken of him with the love and respect which Iundoubtedly bore him?

The quadrille ended, Sonetchka said, "Thank you, " with as lovely anexpression on her face as though I had really conferred, upon her afavour. I was delighted. In fact I hardly knew myself for joy and couldnot think whence I derived such case and confidence and even daring. 

"Nothing in the world can abash me now, " I thought as I wanderedcarelessly about the salon. "I am ready for anything. "

Just then Seriosha came and requested me to be his vis-a-vis. 

"Very well, " I said. "I have no partner as yet, but I can soon findone. "

Glancing round the salon with a confident eye, I saw that every lady wasengaged save one--a tall girl standing near the drawing-room door. Yet agrown-up young man was approaching her-probably for the same purpose asmyself! He was but two steps from her, while I was at the further endof the salon. Doing a glissade over the polished floor, I covered theintervening space, and in a brave, firm voice asked the favour of herhand in the quadrille. Smiling with a protecting air, the young ladyaccorded me her hand, and the tall young man was left without a partner. I felt so conscious of my strength that I paid no attention to hisirritation, though I learnt later that he had asked somebody who theawkward, untidy boy was who, had taken away his lady from him. 

XXII -- THE MAZURKA

AFTERWARDS the same young man formed one of the first couple in amazurka. He sprang to his feet, took his partner's hand, and then, instead of executing the pas de Basques which Mimi had taught us, glidedforward till he arrived at a corner of the room, stopped, divided hisfeet, turned on his heels, and, with a spring, glided back again. I, whohad found no partner for this particular dance and was sitting on thearm of Grandmamma's chair, thought to myself:

"What on earth is he doing? That is not what Mimi taught us. And thereare the Iwins and Etienne all dancing in the same way-without the pas deBasques! Ah! and there is Woloda too! He too is adopting the new style, and not so badly either. And there is Sonetchka, the lovely one! Yes, there she comes!" I felt immensely happy at that moment. 

The mazurka came to an end, and already some of the guests were sayinggood-bye to Grandmamma. She was evidently tired, yet she assured themthat she felt vexed at their early departure. Servants were glidingabout with plates and trays among the dancers, and the musicians werecarelessly playing the same tune for about the thirteenth time insuccession, when the young lady whom I had danced with before, and whowas just about to join in another mazurka, caught sight of me, and, witha kindly smile, led me to Sonetchka And one of the innumerable Kornakoffprincesses, at the same time asking me, "Rose or Hortie?"

"Ah, so it's YOU!" said Grandmamma as she turned round in her armchair. "Go and dance, then, my boy. "

Although I would fain have taken refuge behind the armchair rather thanleave its shelter, I could not refuse; so I got up, said, "Rose, " andlooked at Sonetchka. Before I had time to realise it, however, a hand ina white glove laid itself on mine, and the Kornakoff girl stepped forthwith a pleased smile and evidently no suspicion that I was ignorant ofthe steps of the dance. I only knew that the pas de Basques (the onlyfigure of it which I had been taught) would be out of place. However, the strains of the mazurka falling upon my ears, and imparting theirusual impulse to my acoustic nerves (which, in their turn, impartedtheir usual impulse to my feet), I involuntarily, and to the amazementof the spectators, began executing on tiptoe the sole (and fatal) paswhich I had been taught. 

So long as we went straight ahead I kept fairly right, but when it cameto turning I saw that I must make preparations to arrest my course. Accordingly, to avoid any appearance of awkwardness, I stopped short, with the intention of imitating the "wheel about" which I had seen theyoung man perform so neatly. 

Unfortunately, just as I divided my feet and prepared to make a spring, the Princess Kornakoff looked sharply round at my legs with such anexpression of stupefied amazement and curiosity that the glance undidme. Instead of continuing to dance, I remained moving my legs up anddown on the same spot, in a sort of extraordinary fashion which boreno relation whatever either to form or rhythm. At last I stoppedaltogether. Every-one was looking at me--some with curiosity, some withastonishment, some with disdain, and some with compassion, Grandmammaalone seemed unmoved. 

"You should not dance if you don't know the step, " said Papa's angryvoice in my ear as, pushing me gently aside, he took my partner's hand, completed the figures with her to the admiration of every one, andfinally led her back to, her place. The mazurka was at an end. 

Ah me! What had I done to be punished so heavily?

*****

"Every one despises me, and will always despise me, " I thought tomyself. "The way is closed for me to friendship, love, and fame! All, all is lost!"

Why had Woloda made signs to me which every one saw, yet which could inno way help me? Why had that disgusting princess looked at my legs? Whyhad Sonetchka--she was a darling, of course!--yet why, oh why, had shesmiled at that moment?

Why had Papa turned red and taken my hand? Can it be that he was ashamedof me?

Oh, it was dreadful! Alas, if only Mamma had been there she would neverhave blushed for her Nicolinka!

How on the instant that dear image led my imagination captive! I seemedto see once more the meadow before our house, the tall lime-trees in thegarden, the clear pond where the ducks swain, the blue sky dappled withwhite clouds, the sweet-smelling ricks of hay. How those memories--aye, and many another quiet, beloved recollection--floated through my mind atthat time!

XXIII -- AFTER THE MAZURKA

At supper the young man whom I have mentioned seated himself besideme at the children's table, and treated me with an amount of attentionwhich would have flattered my self-esteem had I been able, after theoccurrence just related, to give a thought to anything beyond my failurein the mazurka. However, the young man seemed determined to cheer meup. He jested, called me "old boy, " and finally (since none of theelder folks were looking at us) began to help me to wine, first from onebottle and then from another and to force me to drink it off quickly. 

By the time (towards the end of supper) that a servant had poured me outa quarter of a glass of champagne, and the young man had straightway bidhim fill it up and urged me to drink the beverage off at a draught, Ihad begun to feel a grateful warmth diffusing itself through my body. I also felt well-disposed towards my kind patron, and began to laughheartily at everything. Suddenly the music of the Grosvater dance struckup, and every one rushed from the table. My friendship with the youngman had now outlived its day; so, whereas he joined a group of the olderfolks, I approached Madame Valakhin to hear what she and her daughter hadto say to one another. 

"Just HALF-an-hour more?" Sonetchka was imploring her. 

"Impossible, my dearest. "

"Yet, only to please me--just this ONCE?" Sonetchka went onpersuasively. 

"Well, what if I should be ill to-morrow through all this dissipation?"rejoined her mother, and was incautious enough to smile. 

"There! You DO consent, and we CAN stay after all!" exclaimed Sonetchka, jumping for joy. 

"What is to be done with such a girl?" said Madame. "Well, run away anddance. See, " she added on perceiving myself, "here is a cavalier readywaiting for you. "

Sonetchka gave me her hand, and we darted off to the salon, The wine, added to Sonetchka's presence and gaiety, had at once made me forgetall about the unfortunate end of the mazurka. I kept executing the mostsplendid feats with my legs--now imitating a horse as he throws out hishoofs in the trot, now stamping like a sheep infuriated at a dog, andall the while laughing regardless of appearances. 

Sonetchka also laughed unceasingly, whether we were whirling round ina circle or whether we stood still to watch an old lady whose painfulmovements with her feet showed the difficulty she had in walking. Finally Sonetchka nearly died of merriment when I jumped half-way to theceiling in proof of my skill. 

As I passed a mirror in Grandmamma's boudoir and glanced at myselfI could see that my face was all in a perspiration and my hairdishevelled--the top-knot, in particular, being more erect than ever. Yet my general appearance looked so happy, healthy, and good-temperedthat I felt wholly pleased with myself. 

"If I were always as I am now, " I thought, "I might yet be able toplease people with my looks. " Yet as soon as I glanced at my partner'sface again, and saw there not only the expression of happiness, health, and good temper which had just pleased me in my own, but also a freshand enchanting beauty besides, I felt dissatisfied with myself again. I understood how silly of me it was to hope to attract the attentionof such a wonderful being as Sonetchka. I could not hope forreciprocity--could not even think of it, yet my heart was overflowingwith happiness. I could not imagine that the feeling of love which wasfilling my soul so pleasantly could require any happiness still greater, or wish for more than that that happiness should never cease. I feltperfectly contented. My heart beat like that of a dove, with the bloodconstantly flowing back to it, and I almost wept for joy. 

As we passed through the hall and peered into a little dark store-roombeneath the staircase I thought: "What bliss it would be if I could passthe rest of my life with her in that dark corner, and never let anybodyknow that we were there!"

"It HAS been a delightful evening, hasn't it?" I asked her in a low, tremulous voice. Then I quickened my steps--as much out of fear of whatI had said as out of fear of what I had meant to imply. 

"Yes, VERY!" she answered, and turned her face to look at me with anexpression so kind that I ceased to be afraid. I went on:

"Particularly since supper. Yet if you could only know how I regret" (Ihad nearly said) "how miserable I am at your going, and to think thatwe shall see each other no more!"

"But why SHOULDN'T we?" she asked, looking gravely at the corner ofher pocket-handkerchief, and gliding her fingers over a latticed screenwhich we were passing. "Every Tuesday and Friday I go with Mamma to theIverskoi Prospect. I suppose you go for walks too sometimes?"

"Well, certainly I shall ask to go for one next Tuesday, and, if theywon't take me I shall go by myself--even without my hat, if necessary. Iknow the way all right. "

"Do you know what I have just thought of?" she went on. "You know, Icall some of the boys who come to see us THOU. Shall you and I call eachother THOU too? Wilt THOU?" she added, bending her head towards me andlooking me straight in the eyes. 

At this moment a more lively section of the Grosvater dance began. 

"Give me your hand, " I said, under the impression that the music and dinwould drown my exact words, but she smilingly replied, "THY hand, notYOUR hand. " Yet the dance was over before I had succeeded in sayingTHOU, even though I kept conning over phrases in which the pronoun couldbe employed--and employed more than once. All that I wanted was thecourage to say it. 

"Wilt THOU?" and "THY hand" sounded continually in my ears, and causedin me a kind of intoxication I could hear and see nothing but Sonetchka. I watched her mother take her curls, lay them flat behind her ears (thusdisclosing portions of her forehead and temples which I had not yetseen), and wrap her up so completely in the green shawl that nothing wasleft visible but the tip of her nose. Indeed, I could see that, if herlittle rosy fingers had not made a small, opening near her mouth, shewould have been unable to breathe. Finally I saw her leave her mother'sarm for an instant on the staircase, and turn and nod to us quicklybefore she disappeared through the doorway. 

Woloda, the Iwins, the young Prince Etienne, and myself were all of usin love with Sonetchka and all of us standing on the staircase to followher with our eyes. To whom in particular she had nodded I do not know, but at the moment I firmly believed it to be myself. In taking leaveof the Iwins, I spoke quite unconcernedly, and even coldly, to Serioshabefore I finally shook hands with him. Though he tried to appearabsolutely indifferent, I think that he understood that from that dayforth he had lost both my affection and his power over me, as well asthat he regretted it. 

XXIV -- IN BED

"How could I have managed to be so long and so passionately devoted toSeriosha?" I asked myself as I lay in bed that night. "He never eitherunderstood, appreciated, or deserved my love. But Sonetchka! What adarling SHE is! 'Wilt THOU?'--'THY hand'!"

I crept closer to the pillows, imagined to myself her lovely face, covered my head over with the bedclothes, tucked the counterpane in onall sides, and, thus snugly covered, lay quiet and enjoying the warmthuntil I became wholly absorbed in pleasant fancies and reminiscences. 

If I stared fixedly at the inside of the sheet above me I found that Icould see her as clearly as I had done an hour ago could talk to her inmy thoughts, and, though it was a conversation of irrational tenor, Iderived the greatest delight from it, seeing that "THOU" and "THINE" and"for THEE" and "to THEE" occurred in it incessantly. These fancies wereso vivid that I could not sleep for the sweetness of my emotion, andfelt as though I must communicate my superabundant happiness to someone. 

"The darling!" I said, half-aloud, as I turned over; then, "Woloda, areyou asleep?"

"No, " he replied in a sleepy voice. "What's the matter?"

"I am in love, Woloda--terribly in love with Sonetchka"

"Well? Anything else?" he replied, stretching himself. 

"Oh, but you cannot imagine what I feel just now, as I lay covered overwith the counterpane, I could see her and talk to her so clearly thatit was marvellous! And, do you know, while I was lying thinking abouther--I don't know why it was, but all at once I felt so sad that I couldhave cried. "

Woloda made a movement of some sort. 

"One thing only I wish for, " I continued; "and that is that I couldalways be with her and always be seeing her. Just that. You are in lovetoo, I believe. Confess that you are. "

It was strange, but somehow I wanted every one to be in love withSonetchka, and every one to tell me that they were so. 

"So that's how it is with you? " said Woloda, turning round to me. "Well, I can understand it. "

"I can see that you cannot sleep, " I remarked, observing by his brighteyes that he was anything but drowsy. "Well, cover yourself over SO"(and I pulled the bedclothes over him), "and then let us talk about her. Isn't she splendid? If she were to say to me, 'Nicolinka, jump out ofthe window, ' or 'jump into the fire, ' I should say, 'Yes, I will do itat once and rejoice in doing it. ' Oh, how glorious she is!"

I went on picturing her again and again to my imagination, and, to enjoythe vision the better, turned over on my side and buried my head in thepillows, murmuring, "Oh, I want to cry, Woloda. "

"What a fool you are!" he said with a slight laugh. Then, after amoment's silence he added: "I am not like you. I think I would rathersit and talk with her. "

"Ah! Then you ARE in love with her!" I interrupted. 

"And then, " went on Woloda, smiling tenderly, "kiss her fingers and eyesand lips and nose and feet--kiss all of her. "

"How absurd!" I exclaimed from beneath the pillows. 

"Ah, you don't understand things, " said Woloda with contempt. 

"I DO understand. It's you who don't understand things, and you talkrubbish, too, " I replied, half-crying. 

"Well, there is nothing to cry about, " he concluded. "She is only agirl. "

XXV -- THE LETTER

ON the 16th of April, nearly six months after the day just described, Papa entered our schoolroom and told us that that night we must startwith him for our country house. I felt a pang at my heart when I heardthe news, and my thoughts at once turned to Mamma, The cause of ourunexpected departure was the following letter:

"PETROVSKOE, 12th April. 

"Only this moment (i. E. At ten o'clock in the evening) have I receivedyour dear letter of the 3rd of April, but as usual, I answer it at once. Fedor brought it yesterday from town, but, as it was late, he did notgive it to Mimi till this morning, and Mimi (since I was unwell) keptit from me all day. I have been a little feverish. In fact, to tell thetruth, this is the fourth day that I have been in bed. 

"Yet do not be uneasy. I feel almost myself again now, and if IvanVassilitch should allow me, I think of getting up to-morrow. 

"On Friday last I took the girls for a drive, and, close to the littlebridge by the turning on to the high road (the place which always makesme nervous), the horses and carriage stuck fast in the mud. Well, theday being fine, I thought that we would walk a little up the road untilthe carriage should be extricated, but no sooner had we reached thechapel than I felt obliged to sit down, I was so tired, and in this wayhalf-an-hour passed while help was being sent for to get the carriagedug out. I felt cold, for I had only thin boots on, and they had beenwet through. After luncheon too, I had alternate cold and hot fits, yetstill continued to follow our ordinary routine. 

"When tea was over I sat down to the piano to play a duct withLubotshka, (you would be astonished to hear what progress she hasmade!), but imagine my surprise when I found that I could not count thebeats! Several times I began to do so, yet always felt confused inmy head, and kept hearing strange noises in my ears. I would begin'One-two-three--' and then suddenly go on '-eight-fifteen, ' and so on, as though I were talking nonsense and could not help it. At last Mimicame to my assistance and forced me to retire to bed. That was how myillness began, and it was all through my own fault. The next day I hada good deal of fever, and our good Ivan Vassilitch came. He has not leftus since, but promises soon to restore me to the world. 

"What a wonderful old man he is! While I was feverish and delirious hesat the whole night by my bedside without once closing his eyes; and atthis moment (since he knows I am busy writing) he is with the girls inthe divannaia, and I can hear him telling them German stories, and themlaughing as they listen to him. 

"'La Belle Flamande, ' as you call her, is now spending her second weekhere as my guest (her mother having gone to pay a visit somewhere), andshe is most attentive and attached to me, She even tells me her secretaffairs. Under different circumstances her beautiful face, good temper, and youth might have made a most excellent girl of her, but in thesociety in which according to her own account, she moves she will bewasted. The idea has more than once occurred to me that, had I not hadso many children of my own, it would have been a deed of mercy to haveadopted her. 

"Lubotshka had meant to write to you herself, but she has torn up threesheets of paper, saying: 'I know what a quizzer Papa always is. If hewere to find a single fault in my letter he would show it to everybody. 'Katenka is as charming as usual, and Mimi, too, is good, but tiresome. 

"Now let me speak of more serious matters. You write to me that youraffairs are not going well this winter, and that you wish to break intothe revenues of Chabarovska. It seems to me strange that you shouldthink it necessary to ask my consent. Surely what belongs to me belongsno less to you? You are so kind-hearted, dear, that, for fear ofworrying me, you conceal the real state of things, but I can guess thatyou have lost a great deal at cards, as also that you are afraid of mybeing angry at that. Yet, so long as you can tide over this crisis, Ishall not think much of it, and you need not be uneasy, I have grownaccustomed to no longer relying, so far as the children are concerned, upon your gains at play, nor yet--excuse me for saying so--upon yourincome. Therefore your losses cause me as little anxiety as your gainsgive me pleasure. What I really grieve over is your unhappy passionitself for gambling--a passion which bereaves me of part of your tenderaffection and obliges me to tell you such bitter truths as (God knowswith what pain) I am now telling you. I never cease to beseech Him thatHe may preserve us, not from poverty (for what is poverty?), but fromthe terrible juncture which would arise should the interests of thechildren, which I am called upon to protect, ever come into collisionwith our own. Hitherto God has listened to my prayers. You have neveryet overstepped the limit beyond which we should be obliged eitherto sacrifice property which would no longer belong to us, but to thechildren, or--It is terrible to think of, but the dreadful misfortuneat which I hint is forever hanging over our heads. Yes, it is the heavycross which God has given us both to carry. 

"Also, you write about the children, and come back to our old pointof difference by asking my consent to your placing them at aboarding-school. You know my objection to that kind of education. Ido not know, dear, whether you will accede to my request, but Inevertheless beseech you, by your love for me, to give me your promisethat never so long as I am alive, nor yet after my death (if God shouldsee fit to separate us), shall such a thing be done. 

"Also you write that our affairs render it indispensable for you tovisit St. Petersburg. The Lord go with you! Go and return as, soon aspossible. Without you we shall all of us be lonely. 

"Spring is coming in beautifully. We keep the door on to the terracealways open now, while the path to the orangery is dry and thepeach-trees are in full blossom. Only here and there is there a littlesnow remaining, The swallows are arriving, and to-day Lubotshka broughtme the first flowers. The doctor says that in about three days' time Ishall be well again and able to take the open air and to enjoy the Aprilsun. Now, au revoir, my dearest one. Do not be alarmed, I beg of you, either on account of my illness or on account of your losses at play. End the crisis as soon as possible, and then return here with thechildren for the summer. I am making wonderful plans for our passing ofit, and I only need your presence to realise them. "

The rest of the letter was written in French, as well as in a strange, uncertain hand, on another piece of paper. I transcribe it word forword:

"Do not believe what I have just written to you about my illness. It ismore serious than any one knows. I alone know that I shall never leavemy bed again. Do not, therefore, delay a minute in coming here with thechildren. Perhaps it may yet be permitted me to embrace and bless them. It is my last wish that it should be so. I know what a terrible blowthis will be to you, but you would have had to hear it sooner orlater--if not from me, at least from others. Let us try to, bear theCalamity with fortitude, and place our trust in the mercy of God. Letus submit ourselves to His will. Do not think that what I am writing issome delusion of my sick imagination. On the contrary, I am perfectlyclear at this moment, and absolutely calm. Nor must you comfort yourselfwith the false hope that these are the unreal, confused feelings of adespondent spirit, for I feel indeed, I know, since God has deigned toreveal it to me--that I have now but a very short time to live. Will mylove for you and the children cease with my life? I know that that cannever be. At this moment I am too full of that love to be capable ofbelieving that such a feeling (which constitutes a part of my veryexistence) can ever, perish. My soul can never lack its love for you;and I know that that love will exist for ever, since such a feelingcould never have been awakened if it were not to be eternal. I shall nolonger be with you, yet I firmly believe that my love will cleave toyou always, and from that thought I glean such comfort that I await theapproach of death calmly and without fear. Yes, I am calm, and God knowsthat I have ever looked, and do look now, upon death as no more than thepassage to a better life. Yet why do tears blind my eyes? Why should thechildren lose a mother's love? Why must you, my husband, experience sucha heavy and unlooked-for blow? Why must I die when your love was makinglife so inexpressibly happy for me?

"But His holy will be done!

"The tears prevent my writing more. It may be that I shall never see youagain. I thank you, my darling beyond all price, for all the felicitywith which you have surrounded me in this life. Soon I shall appearbefore God Himself to pray that He may reward you. Farewell, my dearest!Remember that, if I am no longer here, my love will none the less NEVERAND NOWHERE fail you. Farewell, Woloda--farewell, my pet! Farewell, myBenjamin, my little Nicolinka! Surely they will never forget me?"

With this letter had come also a French note from Mimi, in which thelatter said:

"The sad circumstances of which she has written to you are but toosurely confirmed by the words of the doctor. Yesterday evening sheordered the letter to be posted at once, but, thinking at she did so indelirium, I waited until this morning, with the intention of sealing andsending it then. Hardly had I done so when Natalia Nicolaevna askedme what I had done with the letter and told me to burn it if not yetdespatched. She is forever speaking of it, and saying that it will killyou. Do not delay your departure for an instant if you wish to see theangel before she leaves us. Pray excuse this scribble, but I have notslept now for three nights. You know how much I love her. "

Later I heard from Natalia Savishna (who passed the whole of the nightof the 11th April at Mamma's bedside) that, after writing the first partof the letter, Mamma laid it down upon the table beside her and went tosleep for a while. 

"I confess, " said Natalia Savishna, "that I too fell asleep in thearm-chair, and let my knitting slip from my hands. Suddenly, towards oneo'clock in the morning, I heard her saying something; whereupon I openedmy eyes and looked at her. My darling was sitting up in bed, with herhands clasped together and streams of tears gushing from her eyes. 

"'It is all over now, ' she said, and hid her face in her hands. 

"I sprang to my feet, and asked what the matter was. 

"'Ah, Natalia Savishna, if you could only know what I have justseen!' she said; yet, for all my asking, she would say no more, beyond commanding me to hand her the letter. To that letter she addedsomething, and then said that it must be sent off directly. From thatmoment she grew, rapidly worse. "

XXVI -- WHAT AWAITED US AT THE COUNTRY-HOUSE

On the 18th of April we descended from the carriage at the front doorof the house at Petrovskoe. All the way from Moscow Papa had beenpreoccupied, and when Woloda had asked him "whether Mamma was ill" hehad looked at him sadly and nodded an affirmative. Nevertheless he hadgrown more composed during the journey, and it was only when we wereactually approaching the house that his face again began to growanxious, until, as he leaped from the carriage and asked Foka (whohad run breathlessly to meet us), "How is Natalia Nicolaevna now?" hisvoice, was trembling, and his eyes had filled with tears. The good, oldFoka looked at us, and then lowered his gaze again. Finally he said ashe opened the hall-door and turned his head aside: "It is the sixth daysince she has not left her bed. "

Milka (who, as we afterwards learned, had never ceased to whine from theday when Mamma was taken ill) came leaping, joyfully to meet Papa, andbarking a welcome as she licked his hands, but Papa put her aside, andwent first to the drawing-room, and then into the divannaia, from whicha door led into the bedroom. The nearer he approached the latter, themore, did his movements express the agitation that he felt. Entering thedivannaia he crossed it on tiptoe, seeming to hold his breath. Even thenhe had to stop and make the sign of the cross before he could summon upcourage to turn the handle. At the same moment Mimi, with dishevelledhair and eyes red with weeping came hastily out of the corridor. 

"Ah, Peter Alexandritch!" she said in a whisper and with a markedexpression of despair. Then, observing that Papa was trying to open thedoor, she whispered again:

"Not here. This door is locked. Go round to the door on the other side. "

Oh, how terribly all this wrought upon my imagination, racked as it wasby grief and terrible forebodings!

So we went round to the other side. In the corridor we met the gardener, Akim, who had been wont to amuse us with his grimaces, but at thismoment I could see nothing comical in him. Indeed, the sight of histhoughtless, indifferent face struck me more painfully than anythingelse. In the maidservants' hall, through which we had to pass, two maidswere sitting at their work, but rose to salute us with an expression somournful that I felt completely overwhelmed. 

Passing also through Mimi's room, Papa opened the door of the bedroom, and we entered. The two windows on the right were curtained over, andclose to them was seated, Natalia Savishna, spectacles on nose andengaged in darning stockings. She did not approach us to kiss me as shehad been used to do, but just rose and looked at us, her tears beginningto flow afresh. Somehow it frightened me to see every one, on beholdingus, begin to cry, although they had been calm enough before. 

On the left stood the bed behind a screen, while in the great arm-chairthe doctor lay asleep. Beside the bed a young, fair-haired andremarkably beautiful girl in a white morning wrapper was applying ice toMamma's head, but Mamma herself I could not see. This girl was "LaBelle Flamande" of whom Mamma had written, and who afterwards played soimportant a part in our family life. As we entered she disengaged oneof her hands, straightened the pleats of her dress on her bosom, andwhispered, "She is insensible. " Though I was in an agony of grief, Iobserved at that moment every little detail. 

It was almost dark in the room, and very hot, while the air was heavywith the mingled, scent of mint, eau-de-cologne, camomile, and Hoffman'spastilles. The latter ingredient caught my attention so strongly thateven now I can never hear of it, or even think of it, without my memorycarrying me back to that dark, close room, and all the details of thatdreadful time. 

Mamma's eyes were wide open, but they could not see us. Never shall Iforget the terrible expression in them--the expression of agonies ofsuffering!

Then we were taken away. 

When, later, I was able to ask Natalia Savishna about Mamma's lastmoments she told me the following:

"After you were taken out of the room, my beloved one struggled for along time, as though some one were trying to strangle her. Then at lastshe laid her head back upon the pillow, and slept softly, peacefully, like an angel from Heaven. I went away for a moment to see about hermedicine, and just as I entered the room again my darling was throwingthe bedclothes from off her and calling for your Papa. He stooped overher, but strength failed her to say what she wanted to. All she coulddo was to open her lips and gasp, 'My God, my God! The children, thechildren!' I would have run to fetch you, but Ivan Vassilitch stoppedme, saying that it would only excite her--it were best not to do so. Then suddenly she stretched her arms out and dropped them again. Whatshe meant by that gesture the good God alone knows, but I think that init she was blessing you--you the children whom she could not see. Goddid not grant her to see her little ones before her death. Then sheraised herself up--did my love, my darling--yes, just so with her hands, and exclaimed in a voice which I cannot bear to remember, 'Mother ofGod, never forsake them!'"

"Then the pain mounted to her heart, and from her eyes it as, plain thatshe suffered terribly, my poor one! She sank back upon the pillows, torethe bedclothes with her teeth, and wept--wept--"

"Yes and what then?" I asked but Natalia Savishna could say no more. Sheturned away and cried bitterly. 

Mamma had expired in terrible agonies. 

XXVII -- GRIEF

LATE the following evening I thought I would like to look at her oncemore; so, conquering an involuntary sense of fear, I gently opened thedoor of the salon and entered on tiptoe. 

In the middle of the room, on a table, lay the coffin, with wax candlesburning all round it on tall silver candelabra. In the further cornersat the chanter, reading the Psalms in a low, monotonous voice. Istopped at the door and tried to look, but my eyes were so weak withcrying, and my nerves so terribly on edge, that I could distinguishnothing. Every object seemed to mingle together in a strange blur--thecandles, the brocade, the velvet, the great candelabra, the pink satincushion trimmed with lace, the chaplet of flowers, the ribboned cap, andsomething of a transparent, wax-like colour. I mounted a chair to seeher face, yet where it should have been I could see only that wax-like, transparent something. I could not believe it to be her face. Yet, asI stood grazing at it, I at last recognised the well-known, belovedfeatures. I shuddered with horror to realise that it WAS she. Why werethose eyes so sunken? What had laid that dreadful paleness upon hercheeks, and stamped the black spot beneath the transparent skin on oneof them? Why was the expression of the whole face so cold and severe?Why were the lips so white, and their outline so beautiful, so majestic, so expressive of an unnatural calm that, as I looked at them, a chillshudder ran through my hair and down my back?

Somehow, as I gazed, an irrepressible, incomprehensible power seemedto compel me to keep my eyes fixed upon that lifeless face. I could notturn away, and my imagination began to picture before me scenes of heractive life and happiness. I forgot that the corpse lying before menow--the THING at which I was gazing unconsciously as at an object whichhad nothing in common with my dreams--was SHE. I fancied I couldsee her--now here, now there, alive, happy, and smiling. Then somewell-known feature in the face at which I was gazing would suddenlyarrest my attention, and in a flash I would recall the terrible realityand shudder-though still unable to turn my eyes away. 

Then again the dreams would replace reality--then again the reality putto flight the dreams. At last the consciousness of both left me, and fora while I became insensible. 

How long I remained in that condition I do not know, nor yet how itoccurred. I only know that for a time I lost all sense of existence, andexperienced a kind of vague blissfulness which though grand and sweet, was also sad. It may be that, as it ascended to a better world, herbeautiful soul had looked down with longing at the world in which shehad left us--that it had seen my sorrow, and, pitying me, had returnedto earth on the wings of love to console and bless me with a heavenlysmile of compassion. 

The door creaked as the chanter entered who was to relieve hispredecessor. The noise awakened me, and my first thought was that, seeing me standing on the chair in a posture which had nothing touchingin its aspect, he might take me for an unfeeling boy who had climbedon to the chair out of mere curiosity: wherefore I hastened to make thesign of the cross, to bend down my head, and to burst out crying. As Irecall now my impressions of that episode I find that it was only duringmy moments of self-forgetfulness that my grief was wholehearted. True, both before and after the funeral I never ceased to cry and to lookmiserable, yet I feel conscience-stricken when I recall that griefof mine, seeing that always present in it there was an element ofconceit--of a desire to show that I was more grieved than any one else, of an interest which I took in observing the effect, produced uponothers by my tears, and of an idle curiosity leading me to remarkMimi's bonnet and the faces of all present. The mere circumstance thatI despised myself for not feeling grief to the exclusion of everythingelse, and that I endeavoured to conceal the fact, shows that my sadnesswas insincere and unnatural. I took a delight in feeling that I wasunhappy, and in trying to feel more so. Consequently this egotisticconsciousness completely annulled any element of sincerity in my woe. 

That night I slept calmly and soundly (as is usual after any greatemotion), and awoke with my tears dried and my nerves restored. At teno'clock we were summoned to attend the pre-funeral requiem. 

The room was full of weeping servants and peasants who had come to bidfarewell to their late mistress. During the service I myself wepta great deal, made frequent signs of the cross, and performed manygenuflections, but I did not pray with, my soul, and felt, if anything, almost indifferent, My thoughts were chiefly centred upon the new coatwhich I was wearing (a garment which was tight and uncomfortable) andupon how to avoid soiling my trousers at the knees. Also I took the mostminute notice of all present. 

Papa stood at the head of the coffin. He was as white as snow, andonly with difficulty restrained his tears. His tall figure in its blackfrockcoat, his pale, expressive face, the graceful, assured manner inwhich, as usual, he made the sign of the cross or bowed until he touchedthe floor with his hand [A custom of the Greek funeral rite. ] or tookthe candle from the priest or went to the coffin--all were exceedinglyeffective; yet for some reason or another I felt a grudge against himfor that very ability to appear effective at such a moment. Mimi stoodleaning against the wall as though scarcely able to support herself. Herdress was all awry and covered with feathers, and her cap cocked to oneside, while her eyes were red with weeping, her legs trembling underher, and she sobbed incessantly in a heartrending manner as ever andagain she buried her face in her handkerchief or her hands. I imaginethat she did this to check her continual sobbing without being seen bythe spectators. I remember, too, her telling Papa, the evening before, that Mamma's death had come upon her as a blow from which she couldnever hope to recover; that with Mamma she had lost everything; but that"the angel, " as she called my mother, had not forgotten her when at thepoint of death, since she had declared her wish to render her (Mimi's)and Katenka's fortunes secure for ever. Mimi had shed bitter tearswhile relating this, and very likely her sorrow, if not wholly pure anddisinterested, was in the main sincere. Lubotshka, in black garmentsand suffused with tears, stood with her head bowed upon her breast. Sherarely looked at the coffin, yet whenever she did so her face expresseda sort of childish fear. Katenka stood near her mother, and, despiteher lengthened face, looked as lovely as ever. Woloda's frank naturewas frank also in grief. He stood looking grave and as though he werestaring at some object with fixed eyes. Then suddenly his lips wouldbegin to quiver, and he would hastily make the sign of the cross, andbend his head again. 

Such of those present as were strangers I found intolerable. In fact, the phrases of condolence with which they addressed Papa (such, forinstance, as that "she is better off now" "she was too good for thisworld, " and so on) awakened in me something like fury. What right hadthey to weep over or to talk about her? Some of them, in referring toourselves, called us "orphans"--just as though it were not a matter ofcommon knowledge that children who have lost their mother are known asorphans! Probably (I thought) they liked to be the first to give us thatname, just as some people find pleasure in being the first to address anewly-married girl as "Madame. "

In a far corner of the room, and almost hidden by the open door, of thedining-room, stood a grey old woman with bent knees. With hands claspedtogether and eyes lifted to heaven, she prayed only--not wept. Her soulwas in the presence of God, and she was asking Him soon to reunite herto her whom she had loved beyond all beings on this earth, and whom shesteadfastly believed that she would very soon meet again. 

"There stands one who SINCERELY loved her, " I thought to myself, andfelt ashamed. 

The requiem was over. They uncovered the face of the deceased, and allpresent except ourselves went to the coffin to give her the kiss offarewell. 

One of the last to take leave of her departed mistress was a peasantwoman who was holding by the hand a pretty little girl of five whom shehad brought with her, God knows for what reason. Just at a moment whenI chanced to drop my wet handkerchief and was stooping to pick it upagain, a loud, piercing scream startled me, and filled me with suchterror that, were I to live a hundred years more, I should never forgetit. Even now the recollection always sends a cold shudder through myframe. I raised my head. Standing on the chair near the coffin was thepeasant woman, while struggling and fighting in her arms was thelittle girl, and it was this same poor child who had screamed with suchdreadful, desperate frenzy as, straining her terrified face away, shestill, continued to gaze with dilated eyes at the face of the corpse. I too screamed in a voice perhaps more dreadful still, and ran headlongfrom the room. 

Only now did I understand the source of the strong, oppressive smellwhich, mingling with the scent of the incense, filled the chamber, whilethe thought that the face which, but a few days ago, had been full offreshness and beauty--the face which I loved more than anything else inall the world--was now capable of inspiring horror at length revealed tome, as though for the first time, the terrible truth, and filled my soulwith despair. 

XXVIII -- SAD RECOLLECTIONS

Mamma was no longer with us, but our life went on as usual. We wentto bed and got up at the same times and in the same rooms; breakfast, luncheon, and supper continued to be at their usual hours; everythingremained standing in its accustomed place; nothing in the house or inour mode of life was altered: only, she was not there. 

Yet it seemed to me as though such a misfortune ought to have changedeverything. Our old mode of life appeared like an insult to her memory. It recalled too vividly her presence. 

The day before the funeral I felt as though I should like to rest alittle after luncheon, and accordingly went to Natalia Savishna's roomwith the intention of installing myself comfortably under the warm, softdown of the quilt on her bed. When I entered I found Natalia herselflying on the bed and apparently asleep, but, on hearing my footsteps, she raised herself up, removed the handkerchief which had beenprotecting her face from the flies, and, adjusting her cap, sat forwardon the edge of the bed. Since it frequently happened that I came to liedown in her room, she guessed my errand at once, and said:

"So you have come to rest here a little, have you? Lie down, then, mydearest. "

"Oh, but what is the matter with you, Natalia Savishna?" I exclaimedas I forced her back again. "I did not come for that. No, you are tiredyourself, so you LIE down. "

"I am quite rested now, darling, " she said (though I knew that it wasmany a night since she had closed her eyes). "Yes, I am indeed, and haveno wish to sleep again, " she added with a deep sigh. 

I felt as though I wanted to speak to her of our misfortune, since Iknew her sincerity and love, and thought that it would be a consolationto me to weep with her. 

"Natalia Savishna, " I said after a pause, as I seated myself upon thebed, "who would ever have thought of this?"

The old woman looked at me with astonishment, for she did not quiteunderstand my question. 

"Yes, who would ever have thought of it?" I repeated. 

"Ah, my darling, " she said with a glance of tender compassion, "it isnot only 'Who would ever have thought of it?' but 'Who, even now, wouldever believe it?' I am old, and my bones should long ago have gone torest rather than that I should have lived to see the old master, yourGrandpapa, of blessed memory, and Prince Nicola Michaelovitch, and histwo brothers, and your sister Amenka all buried before me, though allyounger than myself--and now my darling, to my never-ending sorrow, gonehome before me! Yet it has been God's will. He took her away because shewas worthy to be taken, and because He has need of the good ones. "

This simple thought seemed to me a consolation, and I pressed closer toNatalia, She laid her hands upon my head as she looked upward with eyesexpressive of a deep, but resigned, sorrow. In her soul was a sure andcertain hope that God would not long separate her from the one upon whomthe whole strength of her love had for many years been concentrated. 

"Yes, my dear, " she went on, "it is a long time now since I used tonurse and fondle her, and she used to call me Natasha. She used to comejumping upon me, and caressing and kissing me, and say, 'MY Nashik, MYdarling, MY ducky, ' and I used to answer jokingly, 'Well, my love, Idon't believe that you DO love me. You will be a grown-up younglady soon, and going away to be married, and will leave your Nashikforgotten. ' Then she would grow thoughtful and say, 'I think I hadbetter not marry if my Nashik cannot go with me, for I mean never toleave her. ' Yet, alas! She has left me now! Who was there in the worldshe did not love? Yes, my dearest, it must never be POSSIBLE for you toforget your Mamma. She was not a being of earth--she was an angel fromHeaven. When her soul has entered the heavenly kingdom she will continueto love you and to be proud of you even there. "

"But why do you say 'when her soul has entered the heavenly kingdom'?" Iasked. "I believe it is there now. "

"No, my dearest, " replied Natalia as she lowered her voice and pressedherself yet closer to me, "her soul is still here, " and she pointedupwards. She spoke in a whisper, but with such an intensity ofconviction that I too involuntarily raised my eyes and looked at theceiling, as though expecting to see something there. "Before the soulsof the just enter Paradise they have to undergo forty trials for fortydays, and during that time they hover around their earthly home. " [ARussian popular legend. ]

She went on speaking for some time in this strain--speaking with thesame simplicity and conviction as though she were relating common thingswhich she herself had witnessed, and to doubt which could never enterinto any one's head. I listened almost breathlessly, and though I didnot understand all she said, I never for a moment doubted her word. 

"Yes, my darling, she is here now, and perhaps looking at us andlistening to what we are saying, " concluded Natalia. Raising her head, she remained silent for a while. At length she wiped away the tearswhich were streaming from her eyes, looked me straight in the face, andsaid in a voice trembling with emotion:

"Ah, it is through many trials that God is leading me to Him. Why, indeed, am I still here? Whom have I to live for? Whom have I to love?"

"Do you not love US, then?" I asked sadly, and half-choking with mytears. 

"Yes, God knows that I love you, my darling; but to love any one as Iloved HER--that I cannot do. "

She could say no more, but turned her head aside and wept bitterly. Asfor me, I no longer thought of going to sleep, but sat silently with herand mingled my tears with hers. 

Presently Foka entered the room, but, on seeing our emotion and notwishing to disturb us, stopped short at the door. 

"Do you want anything, my good Foka?" asked Natalia as she wiped awayher tears. 

"If you please, half-a-pound of currants, four pounds of sugar, andthree pounds of rice for the kutia. " [Cakes partaken of by the mournersat a Russian funeral. ]

"Yes, in one moment, " said Natalia as she took a pinch of snuff andhastened to her drawers. All traces of the grief, aroused by ourconversation disappeared on, the instant that she had duties to fulfil, for she looked upon those duties as of paramount importance. 

"But why FOUR pounds?" she objected as she weighed the sugar on asteelyard. "Three and a half would be sufficient, " and she withdrew afew lumps. "How is it, too, that, though I weighed out eight pounds ofrice yesterday, more is wanted now? No offence to you, Foka, but I amnot going to waste rice like that. I suppose Vanka is glad that thereis confusion in the house just now, for he thinks that nothing will belooked after, but I am not going to have any careless extravagance withmy master's goods. Did one ever hear of such a thing? Eight pounds!"

"Well, I have nothing to do with it. He says it is all gone, that'sall. "

"Hm, hm! Well, there it is. Let him take it. "

I was struck by the sudden transition from the touching sensibilitywith which she had just been speaking to me to this petty reckoning andcaptiousness. Yet, thinking it over afterwards, I recognised that it wasmerely because, in spite of what was lying on her heart, she retainedthe habit of duty, and that it was the strength of that habit whichenabled her to pursue her functions as of old. Her grief was too strongand too true to require any pretence of being unable to fulfil trivialtasks, nor would she have understood that any one could so pretend. Vanity is a sentiment so entirely at variance with genuine grief, yeta sentiment so inherent in human nature, that even the most poignantsorrow does not always drive it wholly forth. Vanity mingled with griefshows itself in a desire to be recognised as unhappy or resigned;and this ignoble desire--an aspiration which, for all that we maynot acknowledge it is rarely absent, even in cases of the utmostaffliction--takes off greatly from the force, the dignity, and thesincerity of grief. Natalia Savishna had been so sorely smitten by hermisfortune that not a single wish of her own remained in her soul--shewent on living purely by habit. 

Having handed over the provisions to Foka, and reminded him of therefreshments which must be ready for the priests, she took up herknitting and seated herself by my side again. The conversation revertedto the old topic, and we once more mourned and shed tears together. These talks with Natalia I repeated every day, for her quiet tearsand words of devotion brought me relief and comfort. Soon, however, aparting came. Three days after the funeral we returned to Moscow, and Inever saw her again. 

Grandmamma received the sad tidings only on our return to her house, andher grief was extraordinary. At first we were not allowed to see her, since for a whole week she was out of her mind, and the doctors wereafraid for her life. Not only did she decline all medicine whatsoever, but she refused to speak to anybody or to take nourishment, and neverclosed her eyes in sleep. Sometimes, as she sat alone in the arm-chair inher room, she would begin laughing and crying at the same time, with asort of tearless grief, or else relapse into convulsions, and scream outdreadful, incoherent words in a horrible voice. It was the first diresorrow which she had known in her life, and it reduced her almostto distraction. She would begin accusing first one person, and thenanother, of bringing this misfortune upon her, and rail at and blamethem with the most extraordinary virulence, Finally she would rise fromher arm-chair, pace the room for a while, and end by falling senselessto the floor. 

Once, when I went to her room, she appeared to be sitting quietly in herchair, yet with an air which struck me as curious. Though her eyes werewide open, their glance was vacant and meaningless, and she seemed togaze in my direction without seeing me. Suddenly her lips parted slowlyin a smile, and she said in a touchingly, tender voice: "Come here, then, my dearest one; come here, my angel. " Thinking that it was myselfshe was addressing, I moved towards her, but it was not I whom she wasbeholding at that moment. "Oh, my love, " she went on, "if only you couldknow how distracted I have been, and how delighted I am to see you oncemore!" I understood then that she believed herself to be lookingupon Mamma, and halted where I was. "They told me you were gone, " sheconcluded with a frown; "but what nonsense! As if you could die beforeME!" and she laughed a terrible, hysterical laugh. 

Only those who can love strongly can experience an overwhelming grief. Yet their very need of loving sometimes serves to throw off their grieffrom them and to save them. The moral nature of man is more tenacious oflife than the physical, and grief never kills. 

After a time Grandmamma's power of weeping came back to her, and shebegan to recover. Her first thought when her reason returned was for uschildren, and her love for us was greater than ever. We never left herarm-chair, and she would talk of Mamma, and weep softly, and caress us. 

Nobody who saw her grief could say that it was consciously exaggerated, for its expression was too strong and touching; yet for some reason oranother my sympathy went out more to Natalia Savishna, and to this dayI am convinced that nobody loved and regretted Mamma so purely andsincerely as did that simple-hearted, affectionate being. 

With Mamma's death the happy time of my childhood came to an end, anda new epoch--the epoch of my boyhood--began; but since my memories ofNatalia Savishna (who exercised such a strong and beneficial influenceupon the bent of my mind and the development of my sensibility) belongrather to the first period, I will add a few words about her and herdeath before closing this portion of my life. 

I heard later from people in the village that, after our return toMoscow, she found time hang very heavy on her hands. Although thedrawers and shelves were still under her charge, and she never ceasedto arrange and rearrange them--to take things out and to dispose of themafresh--she sadly missed the din and bustle of the seignorial mansion towhich she had been accustomed from her childhood up. Consequentlygrief, the alteration in her mode of life, and her lack of activity sooncombined to develop in her a malady to which she had always been more orless subject. 

Scarcely more than a year after Mamma's death dropsy showed itself, andshe took to her bed. I can imagine how sad it must have been for herto go on living--still more, to die--alone in that great empty houseat Petrovskoe, with no relations or any one near her. Every one thereesteemed and loved her, but she had formed no intimate friendships inthe place, and was rather proud of the fact. That was because, enjoyingher master's confidence as she did, and having so much propertyunder her care, she considered that intimacies would lead to culpableindulgence and condescension, Consequently (and perhaps, also, becauseshe had nothing really in common with the other servants) she kept themall at a distance, and used to say that she "recognised neither kinsmannor godfather in the house, and would permit of no exceptions withregard to her master's property. "

Instead, she sought and found consolation in fervent prayers to God. Yetsometimes, in those moments of weakness to which all of us aresubject, and when man's best solace is the tears and compassion of hisfellow-creatures, she would take her old dog Moska on to her bed, andtalk to it, and weep softly over it as it answered her caresses bylicking her hands, with its yellow eyes fixed upon her. When Moskabegan to whine she would say as she quieted it: "Enough, enough! I knowwithout thy telling me that my time is near. " A month before her deathshe took out of her chest of drawers some fine white calico, whitecambric, and pink ribbon, and, with the help of the maidservants, fashioned the garments in which she wished to be buried. Next she puteverything on her shelves in order and handed the bailiff an inventorywhich she had made out with scrupulous accuracy. All that she keptback was a couple of silk gowns, an old shawl, and Grandpapa's militaryuniform--things which had been presented to her absolutely, and which, thanks to her care and orderliness, were in an excellent state ofpreservation--particularly the handsome gold embroidery on the uniform. 

Just before her death, again, she expressed a wish that one of the gowns(a pink one) should be made into a robe de chambre for Woloda; that theother one (a many-coloured gown) should be made into a similar garmentfor myself; and that the shawl should go to Lubotshka. As for theuniform, it was to devolve either to Woloda or to myself, according asthe one or the other of us should first become an officer. All the restof her property (save only forty roubles, which she set aside for hercommemorative rites and to defray the costs of her burial) was to passto her brother, a person with whom, since he lived a dissipated lifein a distant province, she had had no intercourse during her lifetime. When, eventually, he arrived to claim the inheritance, and found thatits sum-total only amounted to twenty-five roubles in notes, he refusedto believe it, and declared that it was impossible that his sister-awoman who for sixty years had had sole charge in a wealthy house, aswell as all her life had been penurious and averse to giving away eventhe smallest thing should have left no more: yet it was a fact. 

Though Natalia's last illness lasted for two months, she bore hersufferings with truly Christian fortitude. Never did she fret orcomplain, but, as usual, appealed continually to God. An hour beforethe end came she made her final confession, received the Sacrament withquiet joy, and was accorded extreme unction. Then she begged forgivenessof every one in the house for any wrong she might have done them, andrequested the priest to send us word of the number of times she hadblessed us for our love of her, as well as of how in her last momentsshe had implored our forgiveness if, in her ignorance, she had ever atany time given us offence. "Yet a thief have I never been. Never have Iused so much as a piece of thread that was not my own. " Such was the onequality which she valued in herself. 

Dressed in the cap and gown prepared so long beforehand, and with herhead resting, upon the cushion made for the purpose, she conversed withthe priest up to the very last moment, until, suddenly, recollectingthat she had left him nothing for the poor, she took out ten roubles, and asked him to distribute them in the parish. Lastly she made the signof the cross, lay down, and expired--pronouncing with a smile of joy thename of the Almighty. 

She quitted life without a pang, and, so far from fearing death, welcomed it as a blessing. How often do we hear that said, and howseldom is it a reality! Natalia Savishna had no reason to fear deathfor the simple reason that she died in a sure and certain faith and instrict obedience to the commands of the Gospel. Her whole life hadbeen one of pure, disinterested love, of utter self-negation. Had herconvictions been of a more enlightened order, her life directed to ahigher aim, would that pure soul have been the more worthy of love andreverence? She accomplished the highest and best achievement in thisworld: she died without fear and without repining. 

They buried her where she had wished to lie--near the little mausoleumwhich still covers Mamma's tomb. The little mound beneath which shesleeps is overgrown with nettles and burdock, and surrounded by a blackrailing, but I never forget, when leaving the mausoleum, to approachthat railing, and to salute the plot of earth within by bowingreverently to the ground. 

Sometimes, too, I stand thoughtfully between the railing and themausoleum, and sad memories pass through my mind. Once the idea came tome as I stood there: "Did Providence unite me to those two beings solelyin order to make me regret them my life long?"