Childhood, Boyhood, Youth

  detested heels, and never wore them), and make us sing gipsy songs. At

  such times you should have seen the quaint enthusiasm of his beloved

  Lubotshka, who adored him!

  Sometimes, again, he would come to the schoolroom and listen with a

  grave face as I said my lessons; yet by the few words which he would let

  drop when correcting me, I could see that he knew even less about the

  subject than I did. Not infrequently, too, he would wink at us and make

  secret signs when Grandmamma was beginning to scold us and find fault

  with us all round. "So much for us children!" he would say. On

  the whole, however, the impossible pinnacle upon which my childish

  imagination had placed him had undergone a certain abasement. I still

  kissed his large white hand with a certain feeling of love and respect,

  but I also allowed myself to think about him and to criticise his

  behaviour until involuntarily thoughts occurred to me which alarmed me

  by their presence. Never shall I forget one incident in particular which

  awakened thoughts of this kind, and caused me intense astonishment. Late

  one evening, he entered the drawing-room in his black dress-coat and

  white waistcoat, to take Woloda (who was still dressing in his bedroom)

  to a ball. Grandmamma was also in her bedroom, but had given orders

  that, before setting out, Woloda was to come and say goodbye to her (it

  was her invariable custom to inspect him before he went to a ball, and

  to bless him and direct him as to his behaviour). The room where we were

  was lighted by a solitary lamp. Mimi and Katenka were walking up

  and down, and Lubotshka was playing Field's Second Concerto (Mamma's

  favourite piece) at the piano. Never was there such a family likeness as

  between Mamma and my sister--not so much in the face or the stature as

  in the hands, the walk, the voice, the favourite expressions, and,

  above all, the way of playing the piano and the whole demeanour at the

  instrument. Lubotshka always arranged her dress when sitting down just

  as Mamma had done, as well as turned the leaves like her, tapped her

  fingers angrily and said "Dear me!" whenever a difficult passage did not

  go smoothly, and, in particular, played with the delicacy and exquisite

  purity of touch which in those days caused the execution of Field's

  music to be known characteristically as "jeu perle" and to lie beyond

  comparison with the humbug of our modern virtuosi.

  Papa entered the room with short, soft steps, and approached Lubotshka.

  On seeing him she stopped playing.

  "No, go on, Luba, go on," he said as he forced her to sit down again.

  She went on playing, while Papa, his head on his hand, sat near her for

  a while. Then suddenly he gave his shoulders a shrug, and, rising, began

  to pace the room. Every time that he approached the piano he halted

  for a moment and looked fixedly at Lubotshka. By his walk and his

  every movement, I could see that he was greatly agitated. Once, when he

  stopped behind Lubotshka, he kissed her black hair, and then, wheeling

  quickly round, resumed his pacing. The piece finished, Lubotshka went up

  to him and said, "Was it well played?" whereupon, without answering, he

  took her head in his two hands, and kissed her forehead and eyes with

  such tenderness as I had never before seen him display.

  "Why, you are crying!" cried Lubotshka suddenly as she ceased to toy

  with his watch-chain and stared at him with her great black eyes.

  "Pardon me, darling Papa! I had quite forgotten that it was dear Mamma's

  piece which I was playing."

  "No, no, my love; play it often," he said in a voice trembling with

  emotion. "Ah, if you only knew how much good it does me to share your

  tears!"

  He kissed her again, and then, mastering his feelings and shrugging

  his shoulders, went to the door leading to the corridor which ran past

  Woloda's room.

  "Waldemar, shall you be ready soon?" he cried, halting in the middle of

  the passage. Just then Masha came along.

  "Why, you look prettier every day," he said to her. She blushed and

  passed on.

  "Waldemar, shall you be ready soon?" he cried again, with a cough and a

  shake of his shoulders, just as Masha slipped away and he first caught

  sight of me.

  I loved Papa, but the intellect is independent of the heart, and often

  gives birth to thoughts which offend and are harsh and incomprehensible

  to the feelings. And it was thoughts of this kind that, for all I strove

  to put them away, arose at that moment in my mind.

  XXIII. GRANDMAMMA

  Grandmamma was growing weaker every day. Her bell, Gasha's grumbling

  voice, and the slamming of doors in her room were sounds of constant

  occurrence, and she no longer received us sitting in the Voltairian

  arm-chair in her boudoir, but lying on the bed in her bedroom, supported

  on lace-trimmed cushions. One day when she greeted us, I noticed a

  yellowish-white swelling on her hand, and smelt the same oppressive

  odour which I had smelt five years ago in Mamma's room. The doctor came

  three times a day, and there had been more than one consultation. Yet

  the character of her haughty, ceremonious bearing towards all who lived

  with her, and particularly towards Papa, never changed in the least. She

  went on emphasising certain words, raising her eyebrows, and saying "my

  dear," just as she had always done.

  Then for a few days we did not see her at all, and one morning St.

  Jerome proposed to me that Woloda and I should take Katenka and

  Lubotshka for a drive during the hours generally allotted to study.

  Although I observed that the street was lined with straw under the

  windows of Grandmamma's room, and that some men in blue stockings

  [Undertaker's men.] were standing at our gate, the reason never dawned

  upon me why we were being sent out at that unusual hour. Throughout

  the drive Lubotshka and I were in that particularly merry mood when the

  least trifle, the least word or movement, sets one off laughing.

  A pedlar went trotting across the road with a tray, and we laughed.

  Some ragged cabmen, brandishing their reins and driving at full speed,

  overtook our sledge, and we laughed again. Next, Philip's whip got

  caught in the side of the vehicle, and the way in which he said, "Bother

  the thing!" as he drove to disentangle it almost killed us with mirth.

  Mimi looked displeased, and said that only silly people laughed for

  no reason at all, but Lubotshka--her face purple with suppressed

  merriment--needed but to give me a sly glance, and we again burst out

  into such Homeric laughter, when our eyes met, that the tears rushed

  into them and we could not stop our paroxysms, although they nearly

  choked us. Hardly, again, had we desisted a little when I looked at

  Lubotshka once more, and gave vent to one of the slang words which we

  then affected among ourselves--words which always called forth hilarity;

  and in a moment we were laughing again.

  Just as we reached home, I was opening my mouth to make a splendid

  grimace at Lubotshka when my eye fell upon a black coffin-cover which

  was leaning against the
gate--and my mouth remained fixed in its gaping

  position.

  "Your Grandmamma is dead," said St. Jerome as he met us. His face was

  very pale.

  Throughout the whole time that Grandmamma's body was in the house I was

  oppressed with the fear of death, for the corpse served as a forcible

  and disagreeable reminder that I too must die some day--a feeling which

  people often mistake for grief. I had no sincere regret for Grandmamma,

  nor, I think, had any one else, since, although the house was full of

  sympathising callers, nobody seemed to mourn for her from their hearts

  except one mourner whose genuine grief made a great impression upon me,

  seeing that the mourner in question was--Gasha! She shut herself up in

  the garret, tore her hair and refused all consolation, saying that, now

  that her mistress was dead, she only wished to die herself.

  I again assert that, in matters of feeling, it is the unexpected effects

  that constitute the most reliable signs of sincerity.

  Though Grandmamma was no longer with us, reminiscences and gossip about

  her long went on in the house. Such gossip referred mostly to her will,

  which she had made shortly before her death, and of which, as yet, no

  one knew the contents except her bosom friend, Prince Ivan Ivanovitch.

  I could hear the servants talking excitedly together, and making

  innumerable conjectures as to the amount left and the probable

  beneficiaries: nor can I deny that the idea that we ourselves were

  probably the latter greatly pleased me.

  Six weeks later, Nicola--who acted as regular news-agent to the

  house--informed me that Grandmamma had left the whole of her fortune to

  Lubotshka, with, as her trustee until her majority, not Papa, but Prince

  Ivan Ivanovitch!

  XXIV. MYSELF

  Only a few months remained before I was to matriculate for the

  University, yet I was making such good progress that I felt no

  apprehensions, and even took a pleasure in my studies. I kept in good

  heart, and learnt my lessons fluently and intelligently. The faculty

  I had selected was the mathematical one--probably, to tell the truth,

  because the terms "tangent," "differentials," "integrals," and so forth,

  pleased my fancy.

  Though stout and broad-shouldered, I was shorter than Woloda, while my

  ugliness of face still remained and tormented me as much as ever. By way

  of compensation, I tried to appear original. Yet one thing comforted

  me, namely, that Papa had said that I had "an INTELLIGENT face." I quite

  believed him.

  St. Jerome was not only satisfied with me, but actually had taken to

  praising me. Consequently, I had now ceased to hate him. In fact, when,

  one day, he said that, with my "capacities" and my "intellect," it would

  be shameful for me not to accomplish this, that, or the other thing, I

  believe I almost liked him.

  I had long ago given up keeping observation on the maidservants' room,

  for I was now ashamed to hide behind doors. Likewise, I confess that

  the knowledge of Masha's love for Basil had greatly cooled my ardour

  for her, and that my passion underwent a final cure by their marriage--a

  consummation to which I myself contributed by, at Basil's request,

  asking Papa's consent to the union.

  When the newly-married couple brought trays of cakes and sweetmeats to

  Papa as a thank-offering, and Masha, in a cap with blue ribbons, kissed

  each of us on the shoulder in token of her gratitude, I merely noticed

  the scent of the rose pomade on her hair, but felt no other sensation.

  In general, I was beginning to get the better of my youthful defects,

  with the exception of the principal one--the one of which I shall often

  again have to speak in relating my life's history--namely, the tendency

  to abstract thought.

  XXV. WOLODA'S FRIENDS

  Although, when in the society of Woloda's friends, I had to play a part

  that hurt my pride, I liked sitting in his room when he had visitors,

  and silently watching all they did. The two who came most frequently

  to see him were a military adjutant called Dubkoff and a student named

  Prince Nechludoff. Dubkoff was a little dark-haired, highly-strung man

  who, though short of stature and no longer in his first youth, had

  a pleasing and invariably cheerful air. His was one of those limited

  natures which are agreeable through their very limitations; natures

  which cannot regard matters from every point of view, but which are

  nevertheless attracted by everything. Usually the reasoning of such

  persons is false and one-sided, yet always genuine and taking; wherefore

  their narrow egotism seems both amiable and excusable. There were two

  other reasons why Dubkoff had charms for Woloda and myself--namely,

  the fact that he was of military appearance, and, secondly (and

  principally), the fact that he was of a certain age--an age with which

  young people are apt to associate that quality of "gentlemanliness"

  which is so highly esteemed at their time of life. However, he was in

  very truth un homme comme il faut. The only thing which I did not like

  about it all was that, in his presence, Woloda always seemed ashamed

  of my innocent behaviour, and still more so of my youthfulness. As for

  Prince Nechludoff, he was in no way handsome, since neither his small

  grey eyes, his low, projecting forehead, nor his disproportionately long

  hands and feet could be called good features. The only good points about

  him were his unusually tall stature, his delicate colouring, and

  his splendid teeth. Nevertheless, his face was of such an original,

  energetic character (owing to his narrow, sparkling eyes and

  ever-changing expression--now stern, now childlike, now smiling

  indeterminately) that it was impossible to help noticing it. As a rule

  he was very shy, and would blush to the ears at the smallest trifle, but

  it was a shyness altogether different from mine, seeing that, the more

  he blushed, the more determined-looking he grew, as though he were vexed

  at his own weakness.

  Although he was on very good terms with Woloda and Dubkoff, it was

  clearly chance which had united them thus, since their tastes were

  entirely dissimilar. Woloda and Dubkoff seemed to be afraid of anything

  like serious consideration or emotion, whereas Nechludoff was beyond all

  things an enthusiast, and would often, despite their sarcastic remarks,

  plunge into dissertations on philosophical matters or matters of

  feeling. Again, the two former liked talking about the fair objects of

  their adoration (these were always numerous, and always shared by the

  friends in common), whereas Nechludoff invariably grew annoyed when

  taxed with his love for a certain red-haired lady.

  Again, Woloda and Dubkoff often permitted themselves to criticise their

  relatives, and to find amusement in so doing, but Nechludoff flew into

  a tremendous rage when on one occasion they referred to some weak points

  in the character of an aunt of his whom he adored. Finally, after supper

  Woloda and Dubkoff would usually go off to some place whither Nechludoff

  would not accompany them; wherefore they call
ed him "a dainty girl."

  The very first time that I ever saw Prince Nechludoff I was struck

  with his exterior and conversation. Yet, though I could discern a great

  similarity between his disposition and my own (or perhaps it was because

  I COULD so discern it), the impression which he produced upon me at

  first was anything but agreeable. I liked neither his quick glance, his

  hard voice, his proud bearing, nor (least of all) the utter indifference

  with which he treated me. Often, when conversing, I burned to contradict

  him, to punish his pride by confuting him, to show him that I was clever

  in spite of his disdainful neglect of my presence. But I was invariably

  prevented from doing so by my shyness.

  XXVI. DISCUSSIONS

  Woloda was lying reading a French novel on the sofa when I paid my usual

  visit to his room after my evening lessons. He looked up at me for a

  moment from his book, and then went on reading. This perfectly simple

  and natural movement, however, offended me. I conceived that the glance

  implied a question why I had come and a wish to hide his thoughts from

  me (I may say that at that period a tendency to attach a meaning to the

  most insignificant of acts formed a prominent feature in my character).

  So I went to the table and also took up a book to read. Yet, even before

  I had actually begun reading, the idea struck me how ridiculous it was

  that, although we had never seen one another all day, we should have not

  a word to exchange.

  "Are you going to stay in to-night, Woloda?"

  "I don't know. Why?"

  "Oh, because--" Seeing that the conversation did not promise to be

  a success, I took up my book again, and began to read. Yet it was a

  strange thing that, though we sometimes passed whole hours together

  without speaking when we were alone, the mere presence of a