Childhood, Boyhood, Youth

  "Every one despises me, and will always despise me," I thought to

  myself. "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 in

  no way help me? Why had that disgusting princess looked at my legs? Why

  had Sonetchka--she was a darling, of course!--yet why, oh why, had she

  smiled at that moment?

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

  of me?

  Oh, it was dreadful! Alas, if only Mamma had been there she would never

  have blushed for her Nicolinka!

  How on the instant that dear image led my imagination captive! I seemed

  to see once more the meadow before our house, the tall lime-trees in the

  garden, the clear pond where the ducks swain, the blue sky dappled with

  white clouds, the sweet-smelling ricks of hay. How those memories--aye,

  and many another quiet, beloved recollection--floated through my mind at

  that time!

  XXIII -- AFTER THE MAZURKA

  At supper the young man whom I have mentioned seated himself beside

  me at the children's table, and treated me with an amount of attention

  which would have flattered my self-esteem had I been able, after the

  occurrence just related, to give a thought to anything beyond my failure

  in the mazurka. However, the young man seemed determined to cheer me

  up. He jested, called me "old boy," and finally (since none of the

  elder folks were looking at us) began to help me to wine, first from one

  bottle 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 out

  a quarter of a glass of champagne, and the young man had straightway bid

  him fill it up and urged me to drink the beverage off at a draught, I

  had begun to feel a grateful warmth diffusing itself through my body.

  I also felt well-disposed towards my kind patron, and began to laugh

  heartily at everything. Suddenly the music of the Grosvater dance struck

  up, and every one rushed from the table. My friendship with the young

  man had now outlived its day; so, whereas he joined a group of the older

  folks, I approached Madame Valakhin to hear what she and her daughter had

  to 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 on

  persuasively.

  "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 and

  dance. See," she added on perceiving myself, "here is a cavalier ready

  waiting 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 forget

  all about the unfortunate end of the mazurka. I kept executing the most

  splendid feats with my legs--now imitating a horse as he throws out his

  hoofs in the trot, now stamping like a sheep infuriated at a dog, and

  all the while laughing regardless of appearances.

  Sonetchka also laughed unceasingly, whether we were whirling round in

  a circle or whether we stood still to watch an old lady whose painful

  movements with her feet showed the difficulty she had in walking.

  Finally Sonetchka nearly died of merriment when I jumped half-way to the

  ceiling in proof of my skill.

  As I passed a mirror in Grandmamma's boudoir and glanced at myself

  I could see that my face was all in a perspiration and my hair

  dishevelled--the top-knot, in particular, being more erect than ever.

  Yet my general appearance looked so happy, healthy, and good-tempered

  that I felt wholly pleased with myself.

  "If I were always as I am now," I thought, "I might yet be able to

  please people with my looks." Yet as soon as I glanced at my partner's

  face 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 fresh

  and enchanting beauty besides, I felt dissatisfied with myself again.

  I understood how silly of me it was to hope to attract the attention

  of such a wonderful being as Sonetchka. I could not hope for

  reciprocity--could not even think of it, yet my heart was overflowing

  with happiness. I could not imagine that the feeling of love which was

  filling my soul so pleasantly could require any happiness still greater,

  or wish for more than that that happiness should never cease. I felt

  perfectly contented. My heart beat like that of a dove, with the blood

  constantly flowing back to it, and I almost wept for joy.

  As we passed through the hall and peered into a little dark store-room

  beneath the staircase I thought: "What bliss it would be if I could pass

  the rest of my life with her in that dark corner, and never let anybody

  know 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 what

  I 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 an

  expression so kind that I ceased to be afraid. I went on:

  "Particularly since supper. Yet if you could only know how I regret" (I

  had nearly said) "how miserable I am at your going, and to think that

  we shall see each other no more!"

  "But why SHOULDN'T we?" she asked, looking gravely at the corner of

  her pocket-handkerchief, and gliding her fingers over a latticed screen

  which we were passing. "Every Tuesday and Friday I go with Mamma to the

  Iverskoi Prospect. I suppose you go for walks too sometimes?"

  "Well, certainly I shall ask to go for one next Tuesday, and, if they

  won't take me I shall go by myself--even without my hat, if necessary. I

  know the way all right."

  "Do you know what I have just thought of?" she went on. "You know, I

  call some of the boys who come to see us THOU. Shall you and I call each

  other THOU too? Wilt THOU?" she added, bending her head towards me and

  looking 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 din

  would drown my exact words, but she smilingly replied, "THY hand, not

  YOUR hand." Yet the dance was over before I had succeeded in saying

  THOU, even though I kept conning over phrases in which the pronoun could

  be employed--and employed more than once. All that I wanted was the

  courage to say it.

  "Wilt THOU?" and "THY hand" sounded continually in my ears, and caused

  in 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 (thus

  disclosing portions of her forehead and temples which I had not yet

  seen), and wrap her up so completely in the green shawl that nothing was

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sp; left visible but the tip of her nose. Indeed, I could see that, if her

  little rosy fingers had not made a small, opening near her mouth, she

  would have been unable to breathe. Finally I saw her leave her mother's

  arm for an instant on the staircase, and turn and nod to us quickly

  before she disappeared through the doorway.

  Woloda, the Iwins, the young Prince Etienne, and myself were all of us

  in love with Sonetchka and all of us standing on the staircase to follow

  her 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 leave

  of the Iwins, I spoke quite unconcernedly, and even coldly, to Seriosha

  before I finally shook hands with him. Though he tried to appear

  absolutely indifferent, I think that he understood that from that day

  forth he had lost both my affection and his power over me, as well as

  that he regretted it.

  XXIV -- IN BED

  "How could I have managed to be so long and so passionately devoted to

  Seriosha?" I asked myself as I lay in bed that night. "He never either

  understood, appreciated, or deserved my love. But Sonetchka! What a

  darling 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 on

  all sides, and, thus snugly covered, lay quiet and enjoying the warmth

  until I became wholly absorbed in pleasant fancies and reminiscences.

  If I stared fixedly at the inside of the sheet above me I found that I

  could see her as clearly as I had done an hour ago could talk to her in

  my thoughts, and, though it was a conversation of irrational tenor, I

  derived the greatest delight from it, seeing that "THOU" and "THINE" and

  "for THEE" and "to THEE" occurred in it incessantly. These fancies were

  so vivid that I could not sleep for the sweetness of my emotion, and

  felt as though I must communicate my superabundant happiness to some

  one.

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

  you 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 over

  with the counterpane, I could see her and talk to her so clearly that

  it was marvellous! And, do you know, while I was lying thinking about

  her--I don't know why it was, but all at once I felt so sad that I could

  have cried."

  Woloda made a movement of some sort.

  "One thing only I wish for," I continued; "and that is that I could

  always be with her and always be seeing her. Just that. You are in love

  too, I believe. Confess that you are."

  It was strange, but somehow I wanted every one to be in love with

  Sonetchka, 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 bright

  eyes 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 of

  the window,' or 'jump into the fire,' I should say, 'Yes, I will do it

  at once and rejoice in doing it.' Oh, how glorious she is!"

  I went on picturing her again and again to my imagination, and, to enjoy

  the vision the better, turned over on my side and buried my head in the

  pillows, murmuring, "Oh, I want to cry, Woloda."

  "What a fool you are!" he said with a slight laugh. Then, after a

  moment's silence he added: "I am not like you. I think I would rather

  sit 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 eyes

  and 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 talk

  rubbish, too," I replied, half-crying.

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

  girl."

  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 start

  with him for our country house. I felt a pang at my heart when I heard

  the news, and my thoughts at once turned to Mamma. The cause of our

  unexpected departure was the following letter:

  "PETROVSKOE, 12th April.

  "Only this moment (i.e. at ten o'clock in the evening) have I received

  your 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 not

  give it to Mimi till this morning, and Mimi (since I was unwell) kept

  it from me all day. I have been a little feverish. In fact, to tell the

  truth, this is the fourth day that I have been in bed.

  "Yet do not be uneasy. I feel almost myself again now, and if Ivan

  Vassilitch should allow me, I think of getting up to-morrow.

  "On Friday last I took the girls for a drive, and, close to the little

  bridge by the turning on to the high road (the place which always makes

  me nervous), the horses and carriage stuck fast in the mud. Well, the

  day being fine, I thought that we would walk a little up the road until

  the carriage should be extricated, but no sooner had we reached the

  chapel than I felt obliged to sit down, I was so tired, and in this way

  half-an-hour passed while help was being sent for to get the carriage

  dug out. I felt cold, for I had only thin boots on, and they had been

  wet through. After luncheon too, I had alternate cold and hot fits, yet

  still continued to follow our ordinary routine.

  "When tea was over I sat down to the piano to play a duct with

  Lubotshka, (you would be astonished to hear what progress she has

  made!), but imagine my surprise when I found that I could not count the

  beats! Several times I began to do so, yet always felt confused in

  my 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 Mimi

  came to my assistance and forced me to retire to bed. That was how my

  illness began, and it was all through my own fault. The next day I had

  a good deal of fever, and our good Ivan Vassilitch came. He has not left

  us since, but promises soon to restore me to the world.

  "What a wonderful old man he is! While I was feverish and delirious he

  sat the whole night by my bedside without once closing his eyes; and at

  this moment (since he knows I am busy writing) he is with the girls in

  the divannaia, and I can hear him telling them German stories, and them

  laughing as they listen to him.

  "'La Belle Flamande,' as you call her, is now spending
her second week

  here as my guest (her mother having gone to pay a visit somewhere), and

  she is most attentive and attached to me. She even tells me her secret

  affairs. Under different circumstances her beautiful face, good temper,

  and youth might have made a most excellent girl of her, but in the

  society in which according to her own account, she moves she will be

  wasted. The idea has more than once occurred to me that, had I not had

  so many children of my own, it would have been a deed of mercy to have

  adopted her.

  "Lubotshka had meant to write to you herself, but she has torn up three

  sheets of paper, saying: 'I know what a quizzer Papa always is. If he

  were 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 your

  affairs are not going well this winter, and that you wish to break into

  the revenues of Chabarovska. It seems to me strange that you should

  think it necessary to ask my consent. Surely what belongs to me belongs

  no less to you? You are so kind-hearted, dear, that, for fear of

  worrying me, you conceal the real state of things, but I can guess that

  you have lost a great deal at cards, as also that you are afraid of my

  being angry at that. Yet, so long as you can tide over this crisis, I

  shall not think much of it, and you need not be uneasy, I have grown

  accustomed to no longer relying, so far as the children are concerned,

  upon your gains at play, nor yet--excuse me for saying so--upon your