Produced by Martin Adamson and David Widger


BOYHOOD

By Leo Tolstoy


Translated by C.J. HOGARTH


I. A SLOW JOURNEY

Again two carriages stood at the front door of the house at Petrovskoe.
In one of them sat Mimi, the two girls, and their maid, with the
bailiff, Jakoff, on the box, while in the other - a britchka - sat Woloda,
myself, and our servant Vassili. Papa, who was to follow us to Moscow in
a few days, was standing bareheaded on the entrance-steps. He made the
sign of the cross at the windows of the carriages, and said:

"Christ go with you! Good-bye."

Jakoff and our coachman (for we had our own horses) lifted their caps in
answer, and also made the sign of the cross.

"Amen. God go with us!"

The carriages began to roll away, and the birch-trees of the great
avenue filed out of sight.

I was not in the least depressed on this occasion, for my mind was not
so much turned upon what I had left as upon what was awaiting me. In
proportion as the various objects connected with the sad recollections
which had recently filled my imagination receded behind me, those
recollections lost their power, and gave place to a consolatory feeling
of life, youthful vigour, freshness, and hope.

Seldom have I spent four days more - well, I will not say gaily, since
I should still have shrunk from appearing gay - but more agreeably and
pleasantly than those occupied by our journey.

No longer were my eyes confronted with the closed door of Mamma's room
(which I had never been able to pass without a pang), nor with the
covered piano (which nobody opened now, and at which I could never look
without trembling), nor with mourning dresses (we had each of us on our
ordinary travelling clothes), nor with all those other objects which
recalled to me so vividly our irreparable loss, and forced me to abstain
from any manifestation of merriment lest I should unwittingly offend
against HER memory.

On the contrary, a continual succession of new and exciting objects
and places now caught and held my attention, and the charms of spring
awakened in my soul a soothing sense of satisfaction with the present
and of blissful hope for the future.

Very early next morning the merciless Vassili (who had only just entered
our service, and was therefore, like most people in such a position,
zealous to a fault) came and stripped off my counterpane, affirming that
it was time for me to get up, since everything was in readiness for us
to continue our journey. Though I felt inclined to stretch myself and
rebel - though I would gladly have spent another quarter of an hour in
sweet enjoyment of my morning slumber - Vassili's inexorable face showed
that he would grant me no respite, but that he was ready to tear away
the counterpane twenty times more if necessary. Accordingly I submitted
myself to the inevitable and ran down into the courtyard to wash myself
at the fountain.

In the coffee-room, a tea-kettle was already surmounting the fire which
Milka the ostler, as red in the face as a crab, was blowing with a pair
of bellows. All was grey and misty in the courtyard, like steam from a
smoking dunghill, but in the eastern sky the sun was diffusing a clear,
cheerful radiance, and making the straw roofs of the sheds around the
courtyard sparkle with the night dew. Beneath them stood our horses,
tied to mangers, and I could hear the ceaseless sound of their chewing.
A curly-haired dog which had been spending the night on a dry dunghill
now rose in lazy fashion and, wagging its tail, walked slowly across the
courtyard.

The bustling landlady opened the creaking gates, turned her meditative
cows into the street (whence came the lowing and bellowing of other
cattle), and exchanged a word or two with a sleepy neighbour. Philip,
with his shirt-sleeves rolled up, was working the windlass of a
draw-well, and sending sparkling fresh water coursing into an oaken
trough, while in the pool beneath it some early-rising ducks were taking
a bath. It gave me pleasure to watch his strongly-marked, bearded face,
and the veins and muscles as they stood out upon his great powerful
hands whenever he made an extra effort. In the room behind the
partition-wall where Mimi and the girls had slept (yet so near to
ourselves that we had exchanged confidences overnight) movements now
became audible, their maid kept passing in and out with clothes, and, at
last the door opened and we were summoned to breakfast. Woloda, however,
remained in a state of bustle throughout as he ran to fetch first one
article and then another and urged the maid to hasten her preparations.

The horses were put to, and showed their impatience by tinkling their
bells. Parcels, trunks, dressing-cases, and boxes were replaced, and we
set about taking our seats. Yet, every time that we got in, the mountain
of luggage in the britchka seemed to have grown larger than before, and
we had much ado to understand how things had been arranged yesterday,
and how we should sit now. A tea-chest, in particular, greatly
inconvenienced me, but Vassili declared that "things will soon right
themselves," and I had no choice but to believe him.

The sun was just rising, covered with dense white clouds, and every
object around us was standing out in a cheerful, calm sort of radiance.
The whole was beautiful to look at, and I felt comfortable and light of
heart.

Before us the road ran like a broad, sinuous ribbon through cornfields
glittering with dew. Here and there a dark bush or young birch-tree cast
a long shadow over the ruts and scattered grass-tufts of the track. Yet
even the monotonous din of our carriage-wheels and collar-bells could
not drown the joyous song of soaring larks, nor the combined odour of
moth-eaten cloth, dust, and sourness peculiar to our britchka overpower
the fresh scents of the morning. I felt in my heart that delightful
impulse to be up and doing which is a sign of sincere enjoyment.

As I had not been able to say my prayers in the courtyard of the inn,
but had nevertheless been assured once that on the very first day when
I omitted to perform that ceremony some misfortune would overtake me,
I now hastened to rectify the omission. Taking off my cap, and stooping
down in a corner of the britchka, I duly recited my orisons, and
unobtrusively signed the sign of the cross beneath my coat. Yet all the
while a thousand different objects were distracting my attention, and
more than once I inadvertently repeated a prayer twice over.

Soon on the little footpath beside the road became visible some slowly
moving figures. They were pilgrims. On their heads they had dirty
handkerchiefs, on their backs wallets of birch-bark, and on their feet
bundles of soiled rags and heavy bast shoes. Moving their staffs in
regular rhythm, and scarcely throwing us a glance, they pressed onwards
with heavy tread and in single file.

"Where have they come from?" I wondered to myself, "and whither are they
bound? Is it a long pilgrimage they are making?" But soon the shadows
they cast on the road became indistinguishable from the shadows of the
bushes which they passed.

Next a carriage-and-four could be seen approaching us. In two seconds
the faces which looked out at us from it with smiling curiosity had
vanished. How strange it seemed that those faces should have nothing
in common with me, and that in all probability they would never meet my
eyes again!

Next came a pair of post-horses, with the traces looped up to their
collars. On one of them a young postillion-his lamb's wool cap cocked to
one side-was negligently kicking his booted legs against the flanks
of his steed as he sang a melancholy ditty. Yet his face and attitude
seemed to me to express such perfect carelessness and indolent ease that
I imagined it to be the height of happiness to be a postillion and to
sing melancholy songs.

Far off, through a cutting in the road, there soon stood out against
the light-blue sky, the green roof of a village church. Presently the
village itself became visible, together with the roof of the manor-house
and the garden attached to it. Who lived in that house? Children,
parents, teachers? Why should we not call there and make the
acquaintance of its inmates?

Next we overtook a file of loaded waggons - a procession to which our
vehicles had to yield the road.

"What have you got in there?" asked Vassili of one waggoner who was
dangling his legs lazily over the splashboard of his conveyance and
flicking his whip about as he gazed at us with a stolid, vacant look;
but he only made answer when we were too far off to catch what he said.

"And what have YOU got?" asked Vassili of a second waggoner who was
lying at full length under a new rug on the driving-seat of his vehicle.
The red poll and red face beneath it lifted themselves up for a
second from the folds of the rug, measured our britchka with a cold,
contemptuous look, and lay down again; whereupon I concluded that the
driver was wondering to himself who we were, whence we had come, and
whither we were going.

These various objects of interest had absorbed so much of my time that,
as yet, I had paid no attention to the crooked figures on the verst
posts as we passed them in rapid succession; but in time the sun began
to burn my head and back, the road to become increasingly dusty, the
impedimenta in the carriage to grow more and more uncomfortable, and
myself to feel more and more cramped. Consequently, I relapsed into
devoting my whole faculties to the distance-posts and their numerals,
and to solving difficult mathematical problems for reckoning the time
when we should arrive at the next posting-house.

"Twelve versts are a third of thirty-six, and in all there are forty-one
to Lipetz. We have done a third and how much, then?", and so forth, and
so forth.

"Vassili," was my next remark, on observing that he was beginning to nod
on the box-seat, "suppose we change seats? Will you?" Vassili agreed,
and had no sooner stretched himself out in the body of the vehicle than
he began to snore. To me on my new perch, however, a most interesting
spectacle now became visible - namely, our horses, all of which were
familiar to me down to the smallest detail.

"Why is Diashak on the right today, Philip, not on the left?" I asked
knowingly. "And Nerusinka is not doing her proper share of the pulling."

"One could not put Diashak on the left," replied Philip, altogether
ignoring my last remark. "He is not the kind of horse to put there at
all. A horse like the one on the left now is the right kind of one for
the job."

After this fragment of eloquence, Philip turned towards Diashak and
began to do his best to worry the poor animal by jogging at the reins,
in spite of the fact that Diashak was doing well and dragging the
vehicle almost unaided. This Philip continued to do until he found it
convenient to breathe and rest himself awhile and to settle his cap
askew, though it had looked well enough before.

I profited by the opportunity to ask him to let me have the reins
to hold, until, the whole six in my hand, as well as the whip, I had
attained complete happiness. Several times I asked whether I was doing
things right, but, as usual, Philip was never satisfied, and soon
destroyed my felicity.

The heat increased until a hand showed itself at the carriage window,
and waved a bottle and a parcel of eatables; whereupon Vassili leapt
briskly from the britchka, and ran forward to get us something to eat
and drink.

When we arrived at a steep descent, we all got out and ran down it to
a little bridge, while Vassili and Jakoff followed, supporting the
carriage on either side, as though to hold it up in the event of its
threatening to upset.

After that, Mimi gave permission for a change of seats, and sometimes
Woloda or myself would ride in the carriage, and Lubotshka or Katenka
in the britchka. This arrangement greatly pleased the girls, since much
more fun went on in the britchka. Just when the day was at its hottest,
we got out at a wood, and, breaking off a quantity of branches,
transformed our vehicle into a bower. This travelling arbour then
bustled on to catch the carriage up, and had the effect of exciting
Lubotshka to one of those piercing shrieks of delight which she was in
the habit of occasionally emitting.

At last we drew near the village where we were to halt and dine. Already
we could perceive the smell of the place - the smell of smoke and tar
and sheep-and distinguish the sound of voices, footsteps, and carts. The
bells on our horses began to ring less clearly than they had done in
the open country, and on both sides the road became lined with
huts - dwellings with straw roofs, carved porches, and small red or green
painted shutters to the windows, through which, here and there, was a
woman's face looking inquisitively out. Peasant children clad in smocks
only stood staring open-eyed or, stretching out their arms to us, ran
barefooted through the dust to climb on to the luggage behind, despite
Philip's menacing gestures. Likewise, red-haired waiters came darting
around the carriages to invite us, with words and signs, to select their
several hostelries as our halting-place.

Presently a gate creaked, and we entered a courtyard. Four hours of rest
and liberty now awaited us.


II. THE THUNDERSTORM

The sun was sinking towards the west, and his long, hot rays were
burning my neck and cheeks beyond endurance, while thick clouds of dust
were rising from the road and filling the whole air. Not the slightest
wind was there to carry it away. I could not think what to do. Neither
the dust-blackened face of Woloda dozing in a corner, nor the motion of
Philip's back, nor the long shadow of our britchka as it came bowling
along behind us brought me any relief. I concentrated my whole attention
upon the distance-posts ahead and the clouds which, hitherto dispersed
over the sky, were now assuming a menacing blackness, and beginning to
form themselves into a single solid mass.

From time to time distant thunder could be heard - a circumstance which
greatly increased my impatience to arrive at the inn where we were
to spend the night. A thunderstorm always communicated to me an
inexpressibly oppressive feeling of fear and gloom.

Yet we were still ten versts from the next village, and in the meanwhile
the large purple cloudbank - arisen from no one knows where - was
advancing steadily towards us. The sun, not yet obscured, was picking
out its fuscous shape with dazzling light, and marking its front with
grey stripes running right down to the horizon. At intervals, vivid
lightning could be seen in the distance, followed by low rumbles which
increased steadily in volume until they merged into a prolonged roll
which seemed to embrace the entire heavens. At length, Vassili got up
and covered over the britchka, the coachman wrapped himself up in
his cloak and lifted his cap to make the sign of the cross at each
successive thunderclap, and the horses pricked up their ears and
snorted as though to drink in the fresh air which the flying clouds were
outdistancing. The britchka began to roll more swiftly along the dusty
road, and I felt uneasy, and as though the blood were coursing more
quickly through my veins. Soon the clouds had veiled the face of
the sun, and though he threw a last gleam of light to the dark and
terrifying horizon, he had no choice but to disappear behind them.

Suddenly everything around us seemed changed, and assumed a gloomy
aspect. A wood of aspen trees which we were passing seemed to be all
in a tremble, with its leaves showing white against the dark lilac
background of the clouds, murmuring together in an agitated manner. The
tops of the larger trees began to bend to and fro, and dried leaves
and grass to whirl about in eddies over the road. Swallows and
white-breasted swifts came darting around the britchka and even passing
in front of the forelegs of the horses. While rooks, despite their
outstretched wings, were laid, as it were, on their keels by the wind.
Finally, the leather apron which covered us began to flutter about and
to beat against the sides of the conveyance.

The lightning flashed right into the britchka as, cleaving the obscurity
for a second, it lit up the grey cloth and silk galloon of the lining
and Woloda's figure pressed back into a corner.

Next came a terrible sound which, rising higher and higher, and
spreading further and further, increased until it reached its climax in
a deafening thunderclap which made us tremble and hold our breaths. "The
wrath of God" - what poetry there is in that simple popular conception!

The pace of the vehicle was continually increasing, and from Philip's
and Vassili's backs (the former was tugging furiously at the reins) I
could see that they too were alarmed.

Bowling rapidly down an incline, the britchka cannoned violently against
a wooden bridge at the bottom. I dared not stir and expected destruction
every moment.

Crack! A trace had given way, and, in spite of the ceaseless, deafening
thunderclaps, we had to pull up on the bridge.

Leaning my head despairingly against the side of the britchka, I
followed with a beating heart the movements of Philip's great black
fingers as he tied up the broken trace and, with hands and the butt-end
of the whip, pushed the harness vigorously back into its place.

My sense of terror was increasing with the violence of the thunder.
Indeed, at the moment of supreme silence which generally precedes the
greatest intensity of a storm, it mounted to such a height that I felt
as though another quarter of an hour of this emotion would kill me.

Just then there appeared from beneath the bridge a human being who, clad
in a torn, filthy smock, and supported on a pair of thin shanks bare of
muscles, thrust an idiotic face, a tremulous, bare, shaven head, and a
pair of red, shining stumps in place of hands into the britchka.

"M-my lord! A copeck for - for God's sake!" groaned a feeble voice as
at each word the wretched being made the sign of the cross and bowed
himself to the ground.

I cannot describe the chill feeling of horror which penetrated my heart
at that moment. A shudder crept through all my hair, and my eyes stared
in vacant terror at the outcast.

Vassili, who was charged with the apportioning of alms during the
journey, was busy helping Philip, and only when everything had been put
straight and Philip had resumed the reins again had he time to look for
his purse. Hardly had the britchka begun to move when a blinding flash
filled the welkin with a blaze of light which brought the horses to
their haunches. Then, the flash was followed by such an ear-splitting
roar that the very vault of heaven seemed to be descending upon our
heads. The wind blew harder than ever, and Vassili's cloak, the manes
and tails of the horses, and the carriage-apron were all slanted in one
direction as they waved furiously in the violent blast.

Presently, upon the britchka's top there fell some large drops of
rain - "one, two, three:" then suddenly, and as though a roll of drums
were being beaten over our heads, the whole countryside resounded with
the clatter of the deluge.

From Vassili's movements, I could see that he had now got his purse
open, and that the poor outcast was still bowing and making the sign of
the cross as he ran beside the wheels of the vehicle, at the imminent
risk of being run over, and reiterated from time to time his plea,
"For-for God's sake!" At last a copeck rolled upon the ground, and the
miserable creature - his mutilated arms, with their sleeves wet through
and through, held out before him - stopped perplexed in the roadway and
vanished from my sight.

The heavy rain, driven before the tempestuous wind, poured down in
pailfuls and, dripping from Vassili's thick cloak, formed a series of
pools on the apron. The dust became changed to a paste which clung to
the wheels, and the ruts became transformed into muddy rivulets.

At last, however, the lightning grew paler and more diffuse, and the
thunderclaps lost some of their terror amid the monotonous rattling
of the downpour. Then the rain also abated, and the clouds began to
disperse. In the region of the sun, a lightness appeared, and between
the white-grey clouds could be caught glimpses of an azure sky.

Finally, a dazzling ray shot across the pools on the road, shot through
the threads of rain - now falling thin and straight, as from a sieve - ,
and fell upon the fresh leaves and blades of grass. The great cloud was
still louring black and threatening on the far horizon, but I no longer
felt afraid of it - I felt only an inexpressibly pleasant hopefulness in
proportion, as trust in life replaced the late burden of fear. Indeed,
my heart was smiling like that of refreshed, revivified Nature herself.

Vassili took off his cloak and wrung the water from it. Woloda flung
back the apron, and I stood up in the britchka to drink in the new,
fresh, balm-laden air. In front of us was the carriage, rolling along
and looking as wet and resplendent in the sunlight as though it had just
been polished. On one side of the road boundless oatfields, intersected
in places by small ravines which now showed bright with their moist
earth and greenery, stretched to the far horizon like a checkered
carpet, while on the other side of us an aspen wood, intermingled with
hazel bushes, and parquetted with wild thyme in joyous profusion, no
longer rustled and trembled, but slowly dropped rich, sparkling diamonds
from its newly-bathed branches on to the withered leaves of last year.

From above us, from every side, came the happy songs of little birds
calling to one another among the dripping brushwood, while clear from
the inmost depths of the wood sounded the voice of the cuckoo. So
delicious was the wondrous scent of the wood, the scent which follows
a thunderstorm in spring, the scent of birch-trees, violets, mushrooms,
and thyme, that I could no longer remain in the britchka. Jumping out,
I ran to some bushes, and, regardless of the showers of drops discharged
upon me, tore off a few sprigs of thyme, and buried my face in them to
smell their glorious scent.

Then, despite the mud which had got into my boots, as also the fact that
my stockings were soaked, I went skipping through the puddles to the
window of the carriage.

"Lubotshka! Katenka!" I shouted as I handed them some of the thyme,
"Just look how delicious this is!"

The girls smelt it and cried, "A-ah!" but Mimi shrieked to me to go
away, for fear I should be run over by the wheels.

"Oh, but smell how delicious it is!" I persisted.


III. A NEW POINT OF VIEW

Katenka was with me in the britchka; her lovely head inclined as she
gazed pensively at the roadway. I looked at her in silence and wondered
what had brought the unchildlike expression of sadness to her face which
I now observed for the first time there.

"We shall soon be in Moscow," I said at last. "How large do you suppose
it is?"

"I don't know," she replied.

"Well, but how large do you IMAGINE? As large as Serpukhov?"

"What do you say?"

"Nothing."

Yet the instinctive feeling which enables one person to guess the
thoughts of another and serves as a guiding thread in conversation
soon made Katenka feel that her indifference was disagreeable to me;
wherefore she raised her head presently, and, turning round, said:

"Did your Papa tell you that we girls too were going to live at your
Grandmamma's?"

"Yes, he said that we should ALL live there."

"ALL live there?"

"Yes, of course. We shall have one half of the upper floor, and you the
other half, and Papa the wing; but we shall all of us dine together with
Grandmamma downstairs."

"But Mamma says that your Grandmamma is so very grave and so easily made
angry?"

"No, she only SEEMS like that at first. She is grave, but not
bad-tempered. On the contrary, she is both kind and cheerful. If you
could only have seen the ball at her house!"

"All the same, I am afraid of her. Besides, who knows whether we - "

Katenka stopped short, and once again became thoughtful.

"What?" I asked with some anxiety.

"Nothing, I only said that - "

"No. You said, 'Who knows whether we - '"

"And YOU said, didn't you, that once there was ever such a ball at
Grandmamma's?"

"Yes. It is a pity you were not there. There were heaps of guests - about
a thousand people, and all of them princes or generals, and there was
music, and I danced - But, Katenka" I broke off, "you are not listening
to me?"

"Oh yes, I am listening. You said that you danced - ?"

"Why are you so serious?"

"Well, one cannot ALWAYS be gay."

"But you have changed tremendously since Woloda and I first went
to Moscow. Tell me the truth, now: why are you so odd?" My tone was
resolute.

"AM I so odd?" said Katenka with an animation which showed me that my
question had interested her. "I don't see that I am so at all."

"Well, you are not the same as you were before," I continued. "Once upon
a time any one could see that you were our equal in everything, and that
you loved us like relations, just as we did you; but now you are always
serious, and keep yourself apart from us."

"Oh, not at all."

"But let me finish, please," I interrupted, already conscious of a
slight tickling in my nose - the precursor of the tears which usually
came to my eyes whenever I had to vent any long pent-up feeling. "You
avoid us, and talk to no one but Mimi, as though you had no wish for our
further acquaintance."

"But one cannot always remain the same - one must change a little
sometimes," replied Katenka, who had an inveterate habit of pleading
some such fatalistic necessity whenever she did not know what else to
say.

I recollect that once, when having a quarrel with Lubotshka, who had
called her "a stupid girl," she (Katenka) retorted that EVERYBODY
could not be wise, seeing that a certain number of stupid people was
a necessity in the world. However, on the present occasion, I was not
satisfied that any such inevitable necessity for "changing sometimes"
existed, and asked further:

"WHY is it necessary?"

"Well, you see, we MAY not always go on living together as we are doing
now," said Katenka, colouring slightly, and regarding Philip's back with
a grave expression on her face. "My Mamma was able to live with your
mother because she was her friend; but will a similar arrangement always
suit the Countess, who, they say, is so easily offended? Besides, in
any case, we shall have to separate SOME day. You are rich - you have
Petrovskoe, while we are poor - Mamma has nothing."

"You are rich," "we are poor" - both the words and the ideas which they
connoted seemed to me extremely strange. Hitherto, I had conceived that
only beggars and peasants were poor and could not reconcile in my mind
the idea of poverty and the graceful, charming Katenka. I felt that Mimi
and her daughter ought to live with us ALWAYS and to share everything
that we possessed. Things ought never to be otherwise. Yet, at this
moment, a thousand new thoughts with regard to their lonely position
came crowding into my head, and I felt so remorseful at the notion
that we were rich and they poor, that I coloured up and could not look
Katenka in the face.

"Yet what does it matter," I thought, "that we are well off and they are
not? Why should that necessitate a separation? Why should we not share
in common what we possess?" Yet, I had a feeling that I could not talk
to Katenka on the subject, since a certain practical instinct, opposed
to all logical reasoning, warned me that, right though she possibly was,
I should do wrong to tell her so.

"It is impossible that you should leave us. How could we ever live
apart?"

"Yet what else is there to be done? Certainly I do not WANT to do it;
yet, if it HAS to be done, I know what my plan in life will be."

"Yes, to become an actress! How absurd!" I exclaimed (for I knew that to
enter that profession had always been her favourite dream).

"Oh no. I only used to say that when I was a little girl."

"Well, then? What?"

"To go into a convent and live there. Then I could walk out in a black
dress and velvet cap!" cried Katenka.

Has it ever befallen you, my readers, to become suddenly aware that your
conception of things has altered - as though every object in life
had unexpectedly turned a side towards you of which you had hitherto
remained unaware? Such a species of moral change occurred, as regards
myself, during this journey, and therefore from it I date the beginning
of my boyhood. For the first time in my life, I then envisaged the idea
that we - i.e. our family - were not the only persons in the world; that
not every conceivable interest was centred in ourselves; and that there
existed numbers of people who had nothing in common with us, cared
nothing for us, and even knew nothing of our existence. No doubt I had
known all this before - only I had not known it then as I knew it now; I
had never properly felt or understood it.

Thought merges into conviction through paths of its own, as well as,
sometimes, with great suddenness and by methods wholly different from
those which have brought other intellects to the same conclusion. For me
the conversation with Katenka - striking deeply as it did, and forcing me
to reflect on her future position - constituted such a path. As I gazed
at the towns and villages through which we passed, and in each house of
which lived at least one family like our own, as well as at the women
and children who stared with curiosity at our carriages and then became
lost to sight for ever, and the peasants and workmen who did not even
look at us, much less make us any obeisance, the question arose for the
first time in my thoughts, "Whom else do they care for if not for us?"
And this question was followed by others, such as, "To what end do
they live?" "How do they educate their children?" "Do they teach their
children and let them play? What are their names?" and so forth.


IV. IN MOSCOW

From the time of our arrival in Moscow, the change in my conception of
objects, of persons, and of my connection with them became increasingly
perceptible. When at my first meeting with Grandmamma, I saw her thin,
wrinkled face and faded eyes, the mingled respect and fear with which
she had hitherto inspired me gave place to compassion, and when, laying
her cheek against Lubotshka's head, she sobbed as though she saw before
her the corpse of her beloved daughter, my compassion grew to love.

I felt deeply sorry to see her grief at our meeting, even though I knew
that in ourselves we represented nothing in her eyes, but were dear to
her only as reminders of our mother - that every kiss which she imprinted
upon my cheeks expressed the one thought, "She is no more - she is dead,
and I shall never see her again."

Papa, who took little notice of us here in Moscow, and whose face was
perpetually preoccupied on the rare occasions when he came in his black
dress-coat to take formal dinner with us, lost much in my eyes at this
period, in spite of his turned-up ruffles, robes de chambre, overseers,
bailiffs, expeditions to the estate, and hunting exploits.

Karl Ivanitch - whom Grandmamma always called "Uncle," and who (Heaven
knows why!) had taken it into his head to adorn the bald pate of my
childhood's days with a red wig parted in the middle - now looked to me
so strange and ridiculous that I wondered how I could ever have failed
to observe the fact before. Even between the girls and ourselves there
seemed to have sprung up an invisible barrier. They, too, began to have
secrets among themselves, as well as to evince a desire to show off
their ever-lengthening skirts even as we boys did our trousers and
ankle-straps. As for Mimi, she appeared at luncheon, the first Sunday,
in such a gorgeous dress and with so many ribbons in her cap that it was
clear that we were no longer en campagne, and that everything was now
going to be different.


V. MY ELDER BROTHER

I was only a year and some odd months younger than Woloda, and from the
first we had grown up and studied and played together. Hitherto, the
difference between elder and younger brother had never been felt between
us, but at the period of which I am speaking, I began to have a
notion that I was not Woloda's equal either in years, in tastes, or in
capabilities. I even began to fancy that Woloda himself was aware of
his superiority and that he was proud of it, and, though, perhaps, I
was wrong, the idea wounded my conceit - already suffering from frequent
comparison with him. He was my superior in everything - in games, in
studies, in quarrels, and in deportment. All this brought about an
estrangement between us and occasioned me moral sufferings which I had
never hitherto experienced.

When for the first time Woloda wore Dutch pleated shirts, I at once said
that I was greatly put out at not being given similar ones, and each
time that he arranged his collar, I felt that he was doing so on purpose
to offend me. But, what tormented me most of all was the idea that
Woloda could see through me, yet did not choose to show it.

Who has not known those secret, wordless communications which spring
from some barely perceptible smile or movement - from a casual glance
between two persons who live as constantly together as do brothers,
friends, man and wife, or master and servant - particularly if those
two persons do not in all things cultivate mutual frankness? How many
half-expressed wishes, thoughts, and meanings which one shrinks from
revealing are made plain by a single accidental glance which timidly and
irresolutely meets the eye!

However, in my own case I may have been deceived by my excessive
capacity for, and love of, analysis. Possibly Woloda did not feel at
all as I did. Passionate and frank, but unstable in his likings, he was
attracted by the most diverse things, and always surrendered himself
wholly to such attraction. For instance, he suddenly conceived a passion
for pictures, spent all his money on their purchase, begged Papa,
Grandmamma, and his drawing master to add to their number, and applied
himself with enthusiasm to art. Next came a sudden rage for curios, with
which he covered his table, and for which he ransacked the whole house.
Following upon that, he took to violent novel-reading - procuring such
works by stealth, and devouring them day and night. Involuntarily I was
influenced by his whims, for, though too proud to imitate him, I was
also too young and too lacking in independence to choose my own way.
Above all, I envied Woloda his happy, nobly frank character, which
showed itself most strikingly when we quarrelled. I always felt that
he was in the right, yet could not imitate him. For instance, on one
occasion when his passion for curios was at its height, I went to his
table and accidentally broke an empty many-coloured smelling-bottle.

"Who gave you leave to touch my things?" asked Woloda, chancing to enter
the room at that moment and at once perceiving the disorder which I had
occasioned in the orderly arrangement of the treasures on his table.
"And where is that smelling bottle? Perhaps you - ?"

"I let it fall, and it smashed to pieces; but what does that matter?"

"Well, please do me the favour never to DARE to touch my things again,"
he said as he gathered up the broken fragments and looked at them
vexedly.

"And will YOU please do me the favour never to ORDER me to do anything
whatever," I retorted. "When a thing's broken, it's broken, and there is
no more to be said." Then I smiled, though I hardly felt like smiling.

"Oh, it may mean nothing to you, but to me it means a good deal," said
Woloda, shrugging his shoulders (a habit he had caught from Papa).
"First of all you go and break my things, and then you laugh. What a
nuisance a little boy can be!"

"LITTLE boy, indeed? Then YOU, I suppose, are a man, and ever so wise?"

"I do not intend to quarrel with you," said Woloda, giving me a slight
push. "Go away."

"Don't you push me!"

"Go away."

"I say again - don't you push me!"

Woloda took me by the hand and tried to drag me away from the table, but
I was excited to the last degree, and gave the table such a push with
my foot that I upset the whole concern, and brought china and crystal
ornaments and everything else with a crash to the floor.

"You disgusting little brute!" exclaimed Woloda, trying to save some of
his falling treasures.

"At last all is over between us," I thought to myself as I strode from
the room. "We are separated now for ever."

It was not until evening that we again exchanged a word. Yet I felt
guilty, and was afraid to look at him, and remained at a loose end all
day.

Woloda, on the contrary, did his lessons as diligently as ever, and
passed the time after luncheon in talking and laughing with the girls.
As soon, again, as afternoon lessons were over I left the room, for
it would have been terribly embarrassing for me to be alone with my
brother. When, too, the evening class in history was ended I took my
notebook and moved towards the door. Just as I passed Woloda, I pouted
and pulled an angry face, though in reality I should have liked to have
made my peace with him. At the same moment he lifted his head, and with
a barely perceptible and good-humouredly satirical smile looked me full
in the face. Our eyes met, and I saw that he understood me, while he,
for his part, saw that I knew that he understood me; yet a feeling
stronger than myself obliged me to turn away from him.

"Nicolinka," he said in a perfectly simple and anything but
mock-pathetic way, "you have been angry with me long enough. I am sorry
if I offended you," and he tendered me his hand.

It was as though something welled up from my heart and nearly choked
me. Presently it passed away, the tears rushed to my eyes, and I felt
immensely relieved.

"I too am so-rry, Wo-lo-da," I said, taking his hand. Yet he only looked
at me with an expression as though he could not understand why there
should be tears in my eyes.


VI. MASHA

None of the changes produced in my conception of things were so striking
as the one which led me to cease to see in one of our chambermaids a
mere servant of the female sex, but, on the contrary, a WOMAN upon whom
depended, to a certain extent, my peace of mind and happiness. From the
time of my earliest recollection I can remember Masha an inmate of our
house, yet never until the occurrence of which I am going to speak - an
occurrence which entirely altered my impression of her - had I bestowed
the smallest attention upon her. She was twenty-five years old, while I
was but fourteen. Also, she was very beautiful. But I hesitate to give a
further description of her lest my imagination should once more picture
the bewitching, though deceptive, conception of her which filled my mind
during the period of my passion. To be frank, I will only say that she
was extraordinarily handsome, magnificently developed, and a woman - as
also that I was but fourteen.

At one of those moments when, lesson-book in hand, I would pace the
room, and try to keep strictly to one particular crack in the floor as I
hummed a fragment of some tune or repeated some vague formula - in
short, at one of those moments when the mind leaves off thinking and the

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