Two equipages are again brought to the porch of the Petrovskoe house; one is a coach, in which sit Mimi, Katenka, Liubotchka, and the maid, with the steward Yakoff on the box; the other is a britchka, in which ride Volodya and I, and the footman Vasily, who had recently been taken from obrok. [Footnote: A sum paid to the proprietor by a serf in lieu of personal service. Many serfs of both sexes exercised various trades in the cities, and their obrok often yielded their masters quite a sum. --Tr.]
Papa, who was to follow us to Moscow in a few days, stands on the porch without his hat, and makes the sign of the cross upon the window of the coach and britchka.
"Well, Christ be with you! Drive on!" Yakoff and the coachman (we are traveling in our own carriage) take off their hats, and cross themselves. "Get up! Get up! In God's name!"
The bodies of the carriage and britchka begin to jolt over the uneven road, and the birches along the great avenue fly past us one by one. I am not at all sad; my mental gaze is fixed, not upon what I am leaving, but upon what awaits me. In proportion as the objects connected with the painful memories which have filled my mind until this moment retreat into the distance, these memories lose their force, and are speedily replaced by a consoling sense of acquaintanceship with life, which is full of force, freshness, and hope.
Rarely have I spent days so - I will not say merrily, for I was still rather conscience-stricken at the idea of yielding to merriment - but so agreeably, so pleasantly, as the four during which our journey lasted.
I had no longer before my eyes the closed door of mamma's room, which I could not pass without a shudder; nor the closed piano, which no one approached, but which every one regarded with a sort of fear; nor the mourning garments (we all had on simple traveling suits), nor any of those things which, by recalling to me vividly my irrevocable loss, made me avoid every appearance of life, from the fear of offending *her* memory in some way. Here, on the other hand, new and picturesque spots and objects arrest and divert my attention, and nature in its spring garb fixes firmly in my mind the cheering sense of satisfaction in the present, and bright hopes for the future.
Early, very early in the morning, pitiless Vasily, who is overzealous, as people always are in new situations, pulls off the coverlet, and announces that it is time to set out, and that everything is ready. Snuggle and rage and contrive as you will to prolong even for another quarter of an hour the sweet morning slumber, you see by Vasily's determined face that he is inexorable, and prepared to drag off the coverlet twenty times; so you jump up, and run out into the yard to wash yourself.
The samovar is already boiling in the anteroom, and Mitka, the outrider, is blowing it until he is as red as a crab. It is damp and dark out of doors, as though the steam were rising from an odoriferous dung-heap; the sun illuminates with a bright, cheerful light the eastern sky and the straw roofs of the ample sheds surrounding the courtyard, which are sparkling with dew. Beneath them our horses are visible, hitched about the fodder, and the peaceful sound of their mastication is audible.
A shaggy black dog, who has lain down upon a dry heap of manure before dawn, stretches lazily, and betakes himself to the other side of the yard at a gentle trot, wagging his tail the while. The busy housewife opens the creaking gates, drives the meditative cows into the street, where the tramp, lowing, and bleating of herds is already audible, and exchanges a word with her sleepy neighbor. Philip, with the sleeves of his shirt stripped up, draws the bucket from the deep well, all dripping with clear water, by means of the wheel, and empties it into an oaken trough, about which wide-awake ducks are already splashing in the pool; and I gaze with pleasure upon Philip's handsome face with its great beard, and at the thick sinews and muscles which are sharply defined upon his bare, hairy arms when he makes any exertion.
Behind the screen where Mimi slept with the girls, and over which we had conversed in the evening, a movement is audible. Mascha runs past us repeatedly with various objects which she endeavors to conceal from our curiosity with her dress; and finally she opens the door, and calls us to drink our tea.
Vasily, in a fit of superfluous zeal, runs into the room incessantly, carries out first one thing, then another, winks at us, and in every way exhorts Marya Ivanovna to set out as speedily as possible. The horses are harnessed, and express their impatience by jingling their bells every now and then; the trunks, chests, caskets, dressing-cases, are again packed away, and we take our seats. But each time we find a mountain inside the britchka instead of a seat, so that it is impossible to understand how all this had been arranged the day before, and how we are going to sit now. One walnut-wood tea-caddy with a triangular cover, in particular, which is entrusted to us in the britchka, is placed under me, and enrages me extremely. But Vasily says that will settle down, and I am forced to believe him.
The sun has but just risen above the dense white clouds which veil the east, and all the country round about is illuminated with a quietly cheerful light. All is so very beautiful about me, and I am so tranquil and light of heart. The road winds away in front like a wide, unconfined ribbon, amid fields of dry stubble, and herbage sparkling with dew. Here and there by the roadside, we come upon a gloomy willow, or a young birch with small, sticky leaves, casting a long, motionless shadow upon the dry clayey ruts and the short green grass of the highway. The monotonous song of the wheels and bells does not drown the sound of the larks, who circle close to the very road. The smell of moth-eaten cloth, of dust, and a certain sourness, which characterizes our britchka, is overpowered by the perfume of the morning; and I feel a joyous uneasiness in my soul, a desire to do something, which is a sign of true enjoyment.
I had not managed to say my prayers at the post-house; but as I have more than once observed that some misfortune happens to me on the day when, from any circumstance, I forget to fulfil this ceremony, I make an effort to repair my mistake. I take off my cap, turn to the corner of the britchka, recite some prayers, and cross myself under my jacket so that no one may see it. But a thousand different objects distract my attention; and I repeat the same words of the prayer several times over, in my absence of mind.
Yonder on the foot-path which winds beside the road, some slowly moving figures are visible; they are pilgrims. Their heads are enveloped in dirty cloths; sacks of birch-bark are bound upon their backs; their feet are wrapped in dirty, tattered foot-bands, and shod in heavy bast shoes. Swaying their staves in unison, and hardly glancing at us, they move on with a heavy, deliberate tread, one after the other; and questions take possession of my mind, - whither are they going, and why? Will their journey last long? And will the long shadows which they cast upon the road soon unite with the shadow of the willow which they must pass? Here a calash with four post-horses comes rapidly to meet us. Two seconds more, and the faces which looked at us with polite curiosity at a distance of two arshins [Footnote: An arshin is twenty- eight inches.] have already flashed past; and it seems strange that these faces have nothing in common with me, and that, in all probability, I shall never behold them again.
Here come two shaggy, perspiring horses, galloping along the side of the road in their halters, with the traces knotted up to the breech- strap; and behind, with his long legs and huge shoes dangling on each side of a horse, over whose withers hangs the *dug* [Footnote: Arch over the middle horse of a troika, or three horses harnessed abreast. Pronounced *doog*. --Tr.], and who jingles his little bells almost inaudibly now and then, rides a young lad of a postilion, with his felt cap cocked over one ear, drawling a long-drawn-out song. His face and attitude are expressive of so much lazy, careless content, that it seems to me it would be the height of bliss to be a post-boy, to ride the horses home, and sing melancholy songs. Yonder, far beyond the ravine, a village church with its green roof is visible against the bright blue sky; yonder is a hamlet, the red roof of a gentleman's house, and a green garden. Who lives in this house? Are there children in it, father, mother, tutor? Why should we not go to this house, and make the acquaintance of the owner? Here is a long train of huge wagons harnessed to troikas of well-fed, thick-legged horses, which are obliged to turn out to pass. "What are you carrying?" inquires Vasily of the first carter, who, with his big feet hanging from the board which forms his seat, and flourishing his whip, regards us for a long time with an intent mindless gaze, and only makes some sort of reply when it is impossible for him not to hear. "With what wares do you travel?" Vasily asks, turning to another team, upon whose railed-in front lies another carter beneath a new rug. A blond head, accompanied by a red face and a reddish beard, is thrust out from beneath the rug for a moment; it casts a glance of indifferent scorn upon us, and disappears again; and the thought occurs to me that these carters surely cannot know who we are and whither we are going.
Absorbed in varied meditations, for an hour and a half I pay no heed to the crooked numbers inscribed upon the verst-stones. But now the sun begins to warm my head and back with more fervor, the road grows more dusty, the triangular cover of the tea-caddy begins to discommode me greatly, and I change my position several times. I am becoming hot and uncomfortable and bored. My whole attention is directed to the verst- stones, and the figures upon them. I make various mathematical calculations as to the time it will take us to reach the station.
"Twelve versts make one-third of thirty-six, and it is forty-one to Lipetz; consequently we have traveled only one-third and how much?" and so forth.
"Vasily," I say, when I observe that he is beginning to nod upon the box, "let me come on the box, that's a dear." Vasily consents: we change places; he immediately begins to snore and roll about so that there is no room left for any one in the britchka; and before me, from the height which I occupy, the most delightful picture presents itself, - our four horses, Nerutchinskaya [Footnote: The off horse.], the chanter, Lyevaya, the pole-horse, and Apothecary, all of whom I know by heart in the most minute details and shades of each quality.
"Why is the Chanter on the right side today instead of the left, Philip?" I inquire with diffidence.
"The Chanter?"
"And Nerutchinskaya is not drawing at all," I say.
"It is impossible to harness the Chanter on the left," says Philip, paying no attention to my last remark. "He is not the kid of horse which can be harnessed on the left; on the left a horse is needed which is a horse, in one word, and he's not such a horse as that."
And with these words, Philip bends over to the right and, pulling on the reins with all his might, he begins to whip poor Chanter on the tail and legs in a peculiar manner from below; and in spite of the fact that Chanter tries with all his might, and drags the whole britchka along, Philip ceases this maneuver only when he finds it necessary to take a rest and tip his hat over on one side, for some unknown reason, although it was sitting very properly and firmly on his head already. I take advantage of this favorable opportunity, and beg Philip to let me drive. At first Philip gives me one rein, then another; and finally all six reins and the whip are transferred to my hands, and I am perfectly happy. I endeavor in every way to imitate Philip; I ask him whether *that* is right; but it generally ends in his being dissatisfied with me; he says that one horse is pulling a great deal and that another is not pulling at all, thrusts his elbow out in front of my breast, and takes the reins away from me. The heat increases continually. The little white clouds, which we call sheep, begin to puff up higher and higher, like soap-bubbles, then unite and take on a dark gray tint. A hand, holding a bottle and a little package, emerges from the coach window. Vasily leaps from the box with wonderful agility, while we are in motion, and brings us little cheesecakes and kvas.
We all alight from the carriages at a sharp descent, and sometimes have a race to the bridge, while Vasily and Yakoff put on the brakes, and support the coach on both sides with their hands as though they were able to restrain it if it fell. Then, with Mimi's permission, either I or Volodya seat ourselves in the coach, and Liubotchka or Katenka takes the place in the britchka. These changes afford the girls great pleasure, because, as they justly decide, it is jollier in the britchka. Sometimes, when it is hot, and we are passing through the woods, we linger behind the coach, tear off green boughs, and build an arbor in the britchka. This moving arbor overtakes the coach, and Liubotchka pipes up in the most piercing of voices, which she never forgets to do on any occasion which affords her pleasure.
But here is the village where we are to dine and rest. We have already smelled the village, the smoke, tar, lamb-skins. We have heard the sound of conversation, steps, and wheels; the bells already sound differently from what they did in the open fields; and cottages appear on either side with their thatched roofs, carved wooden porches, and little windows with red and green shutters, between which the face of a curious woman peeps out. Here are the little peasant boys and girls, clad only in thin little smocks, who open their eyes wide, and throw out their hands and stand motionless on one spot, or run Swiftly with their little bare feet through the dust, after the carriages, and try to climb upon the trunks, in spite of Philip's menacing gestures. The blond inhabitants hasten up to the carriages from every direction, and endeavor, with alluring words and gestures, to entice the travelers from each other. Tpru! The gate creaks, the traces catch on the gate- posts, and we enter the courtyard. Four hours of rest and freedom!
The sun declined toward the west, and burned my neck and cheeks intolerably with its hot, slanting rays. It was impossible to touch the scorching sides of the britchka. The dust rose thickly in the road, and filled the air. There was not the slightest breeze to carry it away. In front of us, and always at the same distance, rolled the tall, dusty body of the coach with the boot, from behind which, now and then, the knout was visible as the coachman flourished it, as well as his hat and Yakoff's cap. I did not know what to do with myself; neither Volodya's face, which was black with dust, as he dozed beside me, nor the movements of Philip's back, nor the long shadow of our britchka, which followed us beneath the oblique rays of the sun, afforded me any diversion. My entire attention was directed to the verst-stones, which I perceived in the distance, and to the clouds, which had before been scattered over the sky, and assuming threatening, black hues, had now collected into one big, dark mass. From time to time, the thunder rumbled afar. This last circumstance, more than all the rest, increased my impatience to reach the post-house as speedily as possible. A thunder-storm occasioned me an indescribably oppressive sensation of sadness and terror.
It is still ten versts to the nearest village; but the great, dark, purple cloud which has collected, God knows whence, without the smallest breeze, is moving swiftly upon us. The sun, which is not yet hidden by the clouds, brightly illumines its dark form and the gray streaks which extend from it to the very horizon. From time to time, the lightning flashes in the distance; and a faint, dull roar is audible, which gradually increases in volume, approaches, and changes into broken peals which embrace the whole heavens. Vasily rises from the box, and raises the cover of the britchka. The coachmen put on their long coats, and, at every clap of thunder, remove their caps and cross themselves. The horses prick up their ears, puff out their nostrils as if smelling the fresh air which is wafted from the approaching thunder-cloud, and the britchka rolls faster along the dusty road. I feel oppressed, and am conscious that the blood courses more rapidly through my veins. But the advance-guard of clouds already begins to conceal the sun; now it has peeped forth for the last time, has illumined the terribly dark portion of the horizon, and vanished. The entire landscape suddenly undergoes a change, and assumes a gloomy character. The ash woods quiver; the leaves take on a kind of dull whitish hue, and stand out against the purple background of cloud, and rustle and flutter; the crowns of the great birches begin to rock, and tufts of dry grass fly across the road. The water and white-breasted swallows circle about the britchka, and fly beneath the horses, as though with the intention of stopping us; daws with ruffled wings fly sideways to the wind; the edges of the leather apron, which we have buttoned up, begin to rise, and admit bursts of moist wind, and flap and beat against the body of the carriage. The lightning seems to flash in the britchka itself, dazzles the vision, and for a moment lights up the gray cloth, the border gimp, and Volodya's figure cowering in a corner. At the same moment, directly above our heads, a majestic roar resounds, which seems to rise ever higher and higher, and to spread ever wider and wider, in a vast spiral, gradually gaining force, until it passes into a deafening crash, which causes one involuntarily to tremble and hold one's breath. The wrath of God! How much poetry there is in this conception of the common people!
The wheels whirl faster and faster. From the backs of Vasily, and of Philip, who is flourishing his reins, I perceive that they are afraid. The britchka rolls swiftly down the hill, and thunders over the bridge of planks. I am afraid to move, and momentarily await our universal destruction.
Tpru! The trace is broken, and, in spite of the unceasing, deafening claps of thunder, we are forced to halt upon the bridge.
I lean my head against the side of the britchka, and, catching my breath with a sinking of the heart, I listen despairingly to the movements of Philip's fat black fingers, as he slowly ties a knot, and straightens out the traces and strikes the side horse with palm and whip-handle.
The uneasy feelings of sadness and terror increased within me with the force of the storm; but when the grand moment of silence arrived, which generally precedes the thunder-clap, these feelings had reached such a point that, if this state of things had lasted a quarter of an hour longer, I am convinced that I should have died of excitement. At the same moment, there appears from beneath the bridge a human form, clothed only in a dirty, ragged shirt, with a bloated, senseless face, a shaven, wagging, totally uncovered head, crooked, nerveless legs, and a shining red stump in place of a hand, which he thrusts out directly at the britchka.
"Ba-a-shka! [Footnote: Imperfect pronunciation of *batiushka*, little father.] Help-a-cripple for-Christ's-sake!" says the beggar, beginning to repeat his petition by rote, in a weak voice, as he crosses himself at every word, and bows to his very belt.
I cannot describe the feeling of chill terror which took possession of my soul at that moment. A shudder ran through my hair, and my eyes were riveted on the beggar, in a stupor of fright.
Vasily, who bestows the alms on the journey, is giving Philip directions how to strengthen the trace; and it is only when all is ready, and Philip, gathering up the reins, climbs upon the box, that he begins to draw something from his side pocket. But we have no sooner started than a dazzling flash of lightning, which fills the whole ravine for a moment with its fiery glare, brings the horses to a stand, and is accompanied, without the slightest interval, by such a deafening clap of thunder that it seems as though the whole vault of heaven were falling in ruins upon us. The wind increases; the manes and tails of the horses, Vasily's cloak, and the edges of the apron, take one direction, and flutter wildly in the bursts of the raging gale. A great drop of rain falls heavily upon the leather hood of the britchka, then a second, a third, a fourth; and all at once it beats upon us like a drum, and the whole landscape resounds with the regular murmur of falling rain. I perceive, from the movement of Vasily's elbow, that he is untying his purse; the beggar, still crossing himself and bowing, runs close to the wheel, so that it seems as if he would be crushed. "Give-for-Christ's-sake!" At last a copper groschen flies past us, and the wretched creature halts with surprise in the middle of the road; his smock, wet through and through, and clinging to his lean limbs, flutters in the gale, and he disappears from our sight.
The slanting rain, driven before a strong wind, poured down as from a bucket; streams trickled from Vasily's frieze back into the puddle of dirty water which had collected on the apron. The dust, which at first had been beaten into pellets, was converted into liquid mud, which the wheels kneaded; the jolts became fewer, and turbid brooks flowed in the clayey ruts. The lightning flashes grew broader and paler; the thunder-claps were no longer so startling after the uniform sound of the rain.
Now the rain grows less violent; the thunder-cloud begins to disperse into undulating cloudlets; light appears in the place where the sun should be, and a scrap of clear azure is almost visible through the grayish white edges of the thunder-cloud. A moment more, and a timid ray of sunlight gleams in the pools along the road, upon the sheets of fine, perpendicular rain which fall as if through a sieve, and upon the shining, newly washed verdure of the wayside grass.
The black thunder-cloud overspreads the opposite portion of the sky in equally threatening fashion, but I no longer fear it. I experience an expressibly joyous feeling of hope in life, which has quickly taken the place of my oppressive sensation of fear. My soul smiles, like nature, refreshed and enlivened.
Vasily turns down his coat-collar, takes off his cap, and shakes it; Volodya throws back the apron; I lean out of the britchka, and eagerly drink in the fresh, perfumed air. The shining, well-washed body of the coach, with its boot and trunks, rolls along in front of us; the backs of the horses, the breeching and reins, the tires of the wheels, all are wet, and glitter in the sun as though covered with lacquer. On one side of the road a limitless field of winter wheat, intersected here and there by shallow channels, gleams with damp earth and verdure, and spreads, in a carpet of varying tints, to the very horizon; on the other side an ash grove, with an undergrowth of nut-bushes and wild cherry, stands as in an overflow of bliss, quite motionless, and slowly sheds the bright raindrops from its well-washed branches upon last year's dry leaves. Crested larks flutter about on all sides with joyous song and fall; in the wet bushes the uneasy movements of little birds are audible, and the note of the cuckoo is wafted distinctly from the heart of the wood. The marvelous perfume of the forest is so enchanting after this spring thunder-storm, the scent of the birches, the violets, the dead leaves, the mushrooms, the wild cherry trees, that I cannot sit still in the britchka, bur jump from the step, run to the bushes, and in spite of the shower of raindrops I tear off wet branches of the fluttering cherry trees, switch my face with them, and drink in their wondrous perfume.
Without heeding the fact that great clods of mud adhere to my boots, and that my stockings are wet through long ago, I splash through the mud, as a run, to the window of the coach.
"Liubotchka! Katenka!" I cry, handing in several branches of cherry, "see how beautiful!"
The girls squeal, and cry "Ah!" Mimi screams that I am to go away, or I shall infallibly be crushed.
"See how sweet it is!" I shout.
Katenka was sitting beside me in the britchka, and, with her pretty head bent, was thoughtfully watching the dusty road as it flew past beneath the wheels. I gazed at her in silence, and wondered at the sad, unchildish expression which I encountered for the first time on her rosy little face.
"We shall soon be in Moscow now," said I. "What do you think it is like?"
"I do not know," she answered unwillingly.
"But what do you think? Is it bigger that Serpukhoff, or not?"
"What?"
"Oh, nothing."
But through that instinct by means of which one person divines the thoughts of another, and which serves as a guiding thread in conversation, Katenka understood that her indifference pained me; she raised her head, and turned toward me.
"Your papa has told you that we are to live with grandmamma?"
"Yes, grandmamma insists on our living with her."
"And we are all to live there?"
"Of course; we shall live upstairs in one half of the house; you will live in the other half, and papa will live in the wing; but we shall all dine together downstairs with grandmamma."
"Mamma says that your grandmother is so majestic - and cross."
"No-o! She only seems so at first. She is majestic, but not at all cross; on the contrary, she is very kind and cheerful. If you had only seen what a ball we had on her name-day!"
"Nevertheless, I am afraid of her; and besides, God knows if we shall ...."
Katenka stopped suddenly, and again fell into thought.
"What is it?" I asked uneasily.
"Nothing."
"Yes, but you said, 'God knows....'"
"And you said, 'What a ball we had at grandmamma's.'"
"Yes, it's a pity that you were not there; there were ever so many guests, - forty people, music, generals, and I danced. Katenka!" I said all at once, pausing in the middle of my description, "you are not listening."
"Yes, I am; you said that you danced."
"Why are you so sad?"
"One can't be gay all the time."
"No; you have changed greatly since we returned from Moscow. Tell me truly," I added, with a look of determination, as I turned toward her, "why have you grown so strange?"
"Am I strange?" replied Katenka, with an animation which showed that my remark interested her. "I am not at all strange."
"You are not as you were formerly," I went on. "It used to be evident that we were one in everything, that you regarded us as relatives, and loved us, just as we did you; and now you have become so serious, you keep apart from us...."
"Not at all!"
"No, let me finish," I interrupted, already beginning to be conscious of a slight tickling in my nose, which preceded the tears that were always rising to my eyes, when I gave utterance to a long-repressed, tender thought. "You withdraw from us; you talk only with Mimi, as if you did not want to have anything to do with us."
"Well, it's impossible to remain the same always; one must change sometime," replied Katenka, who had a habit of explaining everything by a kind of fatalistic necessity, when she did not know what to say.
I remember that once, after quarreling with Liubotchka, who had called her a *stupid little girl*, she answered, "Everybody cannot be wise; some people must be stupid." But this reply, that a change was necessary sometime, did not satisfy me, and I pursued my inquires: --
"Why is it necessary?"
"Why, we can't live together always," answered Katenka, reddening slightly, and staring steadily at Philip's back. "My mamma could live with your dead mamma, because she was her friend; but God knows whether she will get along with the countess, who is said to be so cross. Besides, we must part some day, in any case. You are rich, you have Petrovskoe; but we are poor, my mamma has nothing.
You are rich; we are poor! These words, and the ideas connected with them, seemed very strange to me. According to my notions at that period, only beggars and peasants could be poor, and this idea of poverty I could never reconcile in my imagination with pretty, graceful Katenka. It seemed to me that, since Mimi and Katenka had once lived with us, they would always do so, and share everything equally. It could not be otherwise. But now a thousand new, undefined thoughts, touching their equality of position, dawned on my brain; and I was so ashamed that we were rich, that I blushed, and positively could not look Katenka in the face.
"What does it mean?" I thought, "that we are rich and they are poor? And how does that entail the necessity of a separation? Why cannot we share what we have equally?" But I understood that it was not fitting that I should speak to Katenka about this; and some practical instinct, which ran contrary to these logical deductions, already told me that she was right, and that it would be out of place to explain this idea to her.
"Are you actually going to leave us?" I said. "How shall we live apart?"
"What is to be done? It pains me too; but if this takes place, I know what I shall do."
"You will become an actress! What nonsense!" I broke in, knowing that ithad always been one of her cherished dreams to be an actress.
"No; I said that when I was very small."
"What will you do, then?"
"I will go into a convent, and live there, and go about in a black gown and a velvet hood."
Katenka began to cry.
Has it ever happened to you, reader, to perceive all at once, at a certain period of your life, that your view of things has entirely changed, as though all the objects which you had seen hitherto had suddenly turned another, unknown side to you? This species of moral change took place in me for the first time during our journey, from which epoch I date the beginning of my boyhood.
For the first time a distinct idea entered my head that not we, that is to say, our family, alone inhabited this world; that all interests did not revolve about us; and that there exists another life of people who have nothing in common with us, who care nothing for us, who have no idea of our existence even. No doubt, I had known all this before; but I had not known it as I knew it now. I did not acknowledge it or feel it.
A thought often passes into conviction by one familiar path, which is often entirely unexpected and apart from the paths which other souls traverse to arrive at the same conclusion. The conversation with Katenka, which affected me powerfully, and caused me to reflect upon her future position, constituted that path for me. When I looked at the villages and towns which we traversed, in every house of which lived at least one such family as ours; at the women and children who gazed after our carriages with momentary curiosity, and vanished forever from sight; at the shopkeepers and the peasants, who not only did not salute us as I was accustomed to see them do in Petrovskoe, but did not deign so much as a glance, - the question entered my mind for the first time: What could occupy them if they cared nothing for us? And from this question, others arose: How and by what means do they live? How do they bring up their children? Do the instruct them, or let them play? How do they punish them? And do forth.
In Moscow
On our arrival in Moscow, the change in my views of things, people, and my own relations to them became still more sensible. When, at my first meeting with grandmamma, I saw her thin, wrinkled face and dim eyes, the feeling of servile reverence and terror which I had entertained for her changed to one of pity; and when she bowed her face upon Liubotchka's head, and burst out sobbing, as though the corpse of her beloved daughter were before her eyes, even the feeling of pity in my heart was changed into love. It made me uncomfortable to see her sorrow at meeting us. I recognized the fact that we, of ourselves, were nothing in her eyes; that we were dear to her only as reminders. I felt that this thought was expressed in every one of the kisses with which she covered my cheeks: "She is dead; she is gone; I shall never see her more."
Papa, who had next to nothing to do with us in Moscow, and, with ever anxious face, came to us only at dinner-time, in a black coat or dress- suit, lost a great deal in my eyes, along with his big flaring collars, his dressing-gown, his stewards, his clerks, and his expeditions of the threshing-floor and hunting. Karl Ivanitch, whom grandmamma called *dyadka* [Footnote: Child's valet], and who had suddenly taken it into his head, God knows why, to exchange his respectable and familiar baldness for a red wig with a thread parting almost in the middle of his head, seemed to me so strange and ridiculous, that I wondered how I could have failed to remark it before.
Some invisible barrier also made its appearance between the girls and us. Both they and we had our own secrets. They seemed to take on airs before us over their petticoats, which grew longer, and we were proud of our trousers with straps. And Mimi appeared at the first Sunday dinner in such an elegant gown, and with such ribbons on her head, that it was at once apparent that we were not in the country, and that everything was to be different now.
I was only a year and some months younger than Volodya; we had grown up, studied, and played together always. The distinction of elder and younger had not been made between us. But just about the time of which I am speaking I began to comprehend that Volodya was not my comrade in years, inclinations, and qualities. It even seemed to em that Volodya recognized his superiority, and was proud of it. This conviction, possibly a false one, inspired me with self-love, which suffered at every encounter with him. He stood higher than I in everything, in amusements, in studies, in quarrels, in the knowledge of how to conduct himself; and all this removed me to a distance from him, and caused me to experience moral torments which were incomprehensible to me. If, on the first occasion when Volodya put on cambric shirts with plaits, I had said plainly that I was vexed at not having the same, I am sure that I should have been more comfortable, and it would not have seemed, every time that he adjusted his collar, that it was done solely in order to hurt my feelings.
What tormented me most of all was that Volodya understood me, as it seemed to me at times, but tried to hide it.
Who has not remarked those secret, wordless relations which are shown in an imperceptible smile, a motion, or a glance, between people who live together constantly, brothers, friends, husband and wife, master and servant, and particularly when these people are not in every respect frank with each other! How many unuttered desires, thoughts, and fears - of being understood - are expressed in one casual glance when our eyes meet timidly and irresolutely!
But possibly I was deceived on this point by my excessive sensibility, and tendency to analysis; perhaps Volodya did not feel at all as I did. He was impetuous, frank, and inconstant in his impulses. He was carried away by the most diverse objects, and he entered into them with his whole soul.
At one time a passion for pictures took possession of him; he took to drawing himself, spent all his money on it, begged of his drawing- master, of papa, and of grandmamma; then it was a passion for articles with which he decorated his table, and he collected them from all parts of the house; then a passion for romances, which he procured on the sly, and read all day and all night. I was involuntarily carried away by his hobbies; but I was too proud to follow in his footsteps, and too young and too little self-dependent to select a new path. But there was nothing which I envied so much as Volodya's happy, frank, and noble character, which was displayed with special clearness in the quarrels which took place between us. I felt that he behaved well, but could not imitate him.
Once, during the greatest fervor of his passion for ornamental articles, I went up to his table, and unintentionally broke and empty variegated little smelling-bottle.
"Who asked you to touch my things?" said Volodya, as he entered the room and perceived the havoc which I had wrought in the symmetry of the varied ornaments of his table; "and where's that little smelling- bottle? You must have ...."
"I dropped it unintentionally; it broke. Where's the harm?"
"Please never to *dare* to touch my things," he said, putting the bits of the broken bottle together, and regarding them sorrowfully.
"Please *don't give any orders*," I retorted. "I broke it, that's the end of it: what's the use of talking about it?"
And I smiled, although I had not the least desire to smile.
"Yes, it's nothing to you, but it's *something* to me," went on Volodya, making that motion of shrugging his shoulders which he had inherited from papa; "he has broken it, and yet he laughs, this intolerable *little boy!*"
"I am a little boy, but you are big and stupid."
"I don't mean to quarrel with you," said volodya, giving me a light push; "go away."
"Don't you push me!"
"Take yourself off!"
"I tell you, don't you push me!"
Volodya took me by the hand, and tried to drag me away from the table; but I was irritated to the highest degree. I seized the table by the leg, and tipped it over. "Take that!" and all the ornaments of porcelain and glass were shivered in pieces on the floor.
"You disgusting little boy!" shrieked Volodya, attempting to uphold the falling ornaments.
"Well, everything is at an end between us now!" I thought, as I quitted the room; "we have quarreled forever."
We did not speak to each other until evening; I felt myself in the wrong, was afraid to look at him, and could not occupy myself with anything all day long. Volodya, on the contrary, studied well, and chatted and laughed with the girls after dinner, as usual.
As soon as our teacher had finished his lessons, I left the room. I was too afraid, awkward, and conscience-stricken to remain alone with my brother. After the evening lesson in history, I took my note-book, and started toward the door. As I passed Volodya, in spite of the fact that I wanted to go up to him and make peace, I pouted, and tried to put on an angry face. Volodya raised his head just at that moment, and, with a barely perceptible, good-naturedly derisive smile, looked boldly at me. Our eyes met, and I knew that he understood me, and also that I understood that he understood me; but an insuperable feeling made me turn away.
"Nikolenka!" he said, in his usual simple and not at all pathetic voice, "you've been angry long enough. Forgive me if I insulted you."
And he gave me his hand.
All at once, something rose higher and higher in my breast, and began to oppress me, and stop my breath; tears came to my eyes, and I felt better.
"For-give me, Vol-dya!" I said, squeezing his hand.
But Volodya looked at me as though he could not at all comprehend why there were tears in my eyes.
But not one of the changes which took place in my view of things was so surprising to me myself, as that in consequence of which I ceased to regard one of our maids as a servant of the female sex, and began to regard her as a *woman*, on whom my peace and happiness might, in some degree, depend.
From the time when I can remember anything, I recall Mascha in our house; and never, until the occasion which altered my view of her completely, and which I will relate presently, did I pay the slightest attention to her. Mascha was twenty-five when I was fourteen; she was very pretty. But I am afraid to describe her. I fear lest my fancy should again present to me the enchanting and deceitful picture which existed in it during the period of my passion for her. In order to make no mistake, I will merely say that she was remarkably white, luxuriantly developed, and was a woman; and I was fourteen years old.
At one of those moments when, lesson in hand, you busy yourself with a promenade up and down the room, endeavoring to step only on one crack in the floor, or with the singing of some incoherent air, or the smearing of the edge of the table with ink, or the repetition, without the application of any thought, of some phrase, - in a word, at one of those moments when the mind refuses to act, and the imagination, assuming the upper hand, seeks an impression, - I stepped out of the school-room, and went down to the landing, without any object whatever.
Some one in slippers was ascending the next turn of the stairs. Of course I wanted to know who it was; but the sound of the footsteps suddenly ceased, and I heard Mascha's voice: -
"Now, what are you playing pranks for? Will it be well when Marya Ivanovna comes?"
"She won't come," said Volodya's voice in a whisper, and then there was some movement, as if Volodya had attempted to detain her.
"Now what are you doing with your hands? You shameless fellow!" and Mascha ran past me with her neckerchief pushed to one side, so that her plump white neck was visible beneath it.
I cannot express the degree of amazement which this discovery caused me; but the feeling of amazement soon gave way to sympathy with Volodya's caper. What surprised me was not his behavior, but how he had got at the idea that it was pleasant to behave so. And involuntarily I began to want to imitate him.
I sometimes spent whole hours on that landing, without a single thought, listening with strained attention to the slightest movement which proceeded from above; but I never could force myself to imitate Volodya, in spite of the fact that I wanted to do it more than anything else in the world. Sometimes, having concealed myself behind a door, I listened with envy and jealousy to the commotion which arose in the maids' room, and the thought occurred to me, What would be my position if I were to go upstairs, and, like Volodya, try to kiss Mascha? What should I, with my broad nose and flaunting tuft of hair, say when she asked me what I wanted? Sometimes I heard Mascha say to Volodya, "Take that to punish you! Why do you cling to me? Go away, you scamp! Why doesn't Nikolai Petrovitch ever come here and make a fool of himself?" She did not know that Nikolai Petrovitch was at that moment sitting under the stairs, and would have given everything in the world to be in the place of the scamp Volodya.
I was modest by nature, but my modesty was further increased by the conviction of my own ugliness. And I am sure that nothing has such a decisive influence upon a man's course as his personal appearance, and not so much his appearance as his belief in its attractiveness or unattractiveness.
I was too egotistical to become accustomed to my position, and consoled myself, like the fox, by assuring myself that the grapes were still green; that is to say, I endeavored to despise all the pleasures derived from the pleasing exterior which Volodya enjoyed in my eyes, and which I envied with all my soul, and I strained every nerve of my mind and imagination to find solace in proud solitude.
"My God, powder!" screamed Mimi, panting with emotion. "What are you doing? Do you want to burn the house down, and ruin us all?"
And, with an indescribable expression of firmness, Mimi commanded all to retire, walked up to the scattered shot with long and determined strides, and despising the danger which might result from a premature explosion, she began to stamp it out with her feet. When, in her opinion, the danger was averted, she called Mikhei, and ordered him to fling all that *powder* as far away as possible, or, what was better still, into the water; and, proudly smoothing her cap, she betook herself to the drawing-room. "They are well looked after, there's no denying that," she grumbled.
When papa came from the wing, and we accompanied him to grandmamma, Mimi was already seated near the window in her room, gazing threateningly at the door with a certain mysteriously official expression. She held something enveloped in several papers in her hand. I guessed that it was the shot, and that grandmamma already knew everything.
In grandmamma's room there were, besides Mimi, Gascha the maid, who, as was evident from her red and angry face, was very much put out; and Dr. Blumenthal, a small, pock-marked man, who was vainly endeavoring to calm Gascha by making mysterious and pacifying signs to her with his eyes and head.
Grandmamma, herself was sitting rather sideways, and laying out her "patience," the *Traveler*, which always indicated an extremely unpropitious frame of mind.
"How do you feel today, mamma? Have you slept well?" said papa, as he respectfully kissed her hand.
"Very well, my dear; I believe you know that I am always well," replied grandmamma, in a tone which seemed to indicate that papa's question was as misplaced and insulting as it could be. "Well, are you going to give me a clean handkerchief?" she continued, turning to Gascha.
"I have given it to you," replied Gascha, pointing to a cambric handkerchief, as white as snow, which lay on the arm of the chair.
"Take away that dirty thing, and give me a clean one, my dear."
Gascha went to the chiffonnier, pulled out a drawer, and slammed it in again with such force that all the glass in the room rattled. Grandmamma glanced round with a threatening look at all of us, and continued to watch the maid's movements attentively. When the latter gave her what appeared to me to be the same handkerchief, grandmamma said: --
"When will you grind my snuff, my dear?"
"When there's time, I'll do it."
"What did you say?"
"I'll do it today."
"If you don't wish to serve me, my dear, you might have said so; I would have discharged you long ago."
"If you discharge me, I shan't cry," muttered the maid, in a low tone.
At that moment the doctor tried to wink at her; but she looked at him with so much anger and decision that he immediately dropped his eyes, and busied himself with his watch-key.
"You see, my dear," said grandmamma, turning to papa, when Gascha, still muttering, had left the room, "how people speak to me in my own house."
"If you will permit me, mamma, I will grind your snuff," said papa, who was evidently very much embarrassed by this unexpected behavior.
"No, I thank you; she is impudent because she knows that no one but herself understands how to grind snuff as I like it. You know, my dear," went on grandmamma, after a momentary pause, "that your children came near setting the house on fire today?"
Papa gazed at grandmamma with respectful curiosity.
"This is what they play with. - Show him," she said, turning to Mimi.
Papa took the shot in his hand, and could not forbear a smile.
"Why, this is shot, mamma," said he; "it's not at all dangerous."
"I am very much obliged to you, my dear, for teaching me, only I'm too old."
"Nerves! Nerves!" whispered the doctor.
And papa immediately turned to us.
"Where did you get that? And how dare you play pranks with such things?"
"Don't ask them anything; you must ask their *dyadka*," [Footnote: Child's valet.] said grandmamma, pronouncing the word *dyadka* with particular contempt, "what he is looking after."
"Waldemar said that Karl Ivanitch himself gave him this *powder*," put in Mimi.
"Now you see what he is good for," continued grandmamma. "And where is he, that *dyadka*, what's his name? Send him here."
"I gave him leave to go out and make a visit," said papa.
"There's no sense in that; he ought to be here all the time. The children are not mine, but yours, and I have no right to advise you, because you are wiser than I," pursued grandmamma; "but it does seem as though it were time to engage a tutor for them, and not a valet, a German peasant, - yes, a stupid peasant, who can teach them nothing except bad manners and Tyrolese songs. Is it extremely necessary, now, I ask you, that children should know how to sing Tyrolese songs? However, nobody thinks of this *now*, and you can do as you please."
The word "now" meant that they had no mother, and called up sad memories in grandmamma's heart. She dropped her eyes on her snuff-box, with its portrait, and became thoughtful.
"I have long been meditating that," papa hastened to say, "and I wanted to consult with you, mamma. Shall we not invite St. Jerome, who is now giving them lessons by the day?"
"You will be doing extremely well, my friend," said grandmamma, and no longer in the dissatisfied tone in which she had spoken before. "St. Jerome is at least a tutor who knows how children of good family should be trained, and not a paltry valet, who is good for nothing but to take them to walk."
"I will speak to him tomorrow," said papa.
And, in fact, two days after this conversation, Karl Ivanitch yielded his place to the young French dandy.
Late in the evening that preceded the day on which Karl Ivanitch was to leave us forever, he stood beside the bed in his wadded gown and red cap, bending over his trunk, and carefully packing his effects.
Karl Ivanitch's intercourse with us had been peculiarly dry of late. He seemed to avoid all connection with us; so when I now entered the room he glanced askance at me, and went on with his work. I lay down on my bed, but Karl Ivanitch, who had in former times strictly prohibited this, said nothing to me; and the thought that he would never more scold us or stop us, that he had no concern with us now, reminded me vividly of the approaching separation. I was sorry that he had ceased to love us, and wanted to express this feeling to him.
"Let me help you, Karl Ivanitch," I said, going up to him.
Karl Ivanitch glanced at me, and again turned aside; but in the fleeting look which he cast at me I read, not the indifference with which I had explained his coldness, but genuine, concentrated grief.
"God sees all, and knows all; and may His holy will be done in all things!" he said, drawing himeslf up to his full hieght, and sighing heavily. "Yes, Nikolenka," he went on, perceiving the expression of unfeigned sympathy with which I regarded him, "it is my fate to be unhappy from my very infancy to my coffin. I have always been repaid with evil for the good which I have done to people; and my reward is not here, but yonder," he said, pointing toward heaven. "If you only knew my history, and all that I have undergone in this life! I have been a shoemaker, I have been a soldier, I have been a *deserter*, I have been a manufacturer, I have been a teacher, and now I am nothing; and, like the Son of God, I have nowhere to lay my head," he concluded, and, closing his eyes, he fell into a chair.
Perceiving that Karl Ivanitch was in that sensitive state of mind in which he uttered his inmost thoughts for his own satisfaction, without heeding the hearer, I seated myself on the bed in silence, and without removing my eyes from his kind face.
"You are not a child, you can understand. I will tell you my story, and all that I have endured in this life. Some day you will recall the old friend, who loved you very much children."
Karl Ivanitch leaned his elbow on the table which stood beside him, took a pinch of snuff, and, rolling his eyes heavenward, began his tale in that peculiar, measured, throat voice, in which he usually dictated to us.
"*I was unhappy even before I was born,*" [Footnote: "*Das ungluck verfolgte mich schon im Schosse meiner Mutter*." The Russian also in incorrect. -Tr.] he said with great feeling.
As Karl Ivanitch related his history to me more than once afterward, in exactly the same terms, and always with the same identical intonations, I hope to be able to reproduce it almost word for word, the faults of language, of course, excepted, of which the reader can form his own judgment from the first sentence. Whether it really was his history, or a production of the imagination, which had had its birth during his lonely life in our house, which he had begun to believe in himself by dint of frequent repetition, or whether he only colored the real events of his life with fantastic facts, I have not been able to decide to this day. On the one hand, he related his story with too much of that lively feeling and methodical sequence which constitute the chief proofs of veracity, to permit one to doubt it; on the other hand, there was too much poetic beauty about his history, so that this very beauty evoked doubts.
"In my veins flows the noble blood of the counts of Sommerblatt. I was born six weeks after marriage. My mother's husband (I called him papa) was a farmer under Count Sommerblatt. He could never forget my mother's shame, and did not love me. I had a little brother Johann and two sisters; but I was a stranger in the midst of my own family. When Johann committee any follies, papa used to say, 'I never have a moment's peace with that child Karl!' and then I was scolded and punished. When my sisters got angry with each other, papa said, 'Karl will never be an obedient boy!' and I was scolded and punished.
"My good mamma alone loved me and petted me. She often said to me, 'Karl, come here, to my room,' and then she kissed me on the sly. 'Poor, poor Karl!' she said, 'no one loves you, but I would not change you for any one. One thing your mamma begs of you,' she said to: 'study well, and always be an honorable man, and God will not desert you.' And I tried. When I was fourteen, and could go to communion, mamma said to papa, 'Karl is a big boy now, Gustav: what shall we do with him?' And papa said, 'I don't know.' Then mamma said, 'Let us send him to Herr Schultz in the town, and let him be a shoemaker.' And papa said, 'Very good.' Six years and seven months I lived in the town, with the master shoemaker, and the master loved me. He said, 'Karl is a good workman, and he shall soon be my partner.' But man proposes, and God disposes. In 1796 a conscription was appointed, and all who could serve, from eighteen to twenty-one years of age, must assemble in the town.
"Papa and brother Johann came to town, and we went together to draw lots to see who should be and who should not be a soldier. Johann drew a bad number; he must become a soldier. I drew a good number; I was not obliged to become a soldier. And papa said, 'I had one son, and I must part with him.'
"I took his hand, and said, 'Why did you say that, papa? Come with me, I will tell you something.' And papa went. Papa went, and we seated ourselves at a little table. 'Give us a couple of jugs of beer,' I said, and they were brought. We drank them glass for glass, and brother Johann drank also.
"'Papa,' I said, 'do not say that you had one son, and you must part with him. My heart wants to *leap out* when I hear *that*. Brother Johann shall not serve; I will be a soldier. No one needs Karl here, and Karl will be a soldier.'
"'You are an honest man, Karl Ivanitch,' said papa to me, and he kissed me.
"And I became a soldier."
"That was a terrible time, Nikolenka," continued Karl Ivanitch. "Napoleon was alive then. He wanted to conquer Germany, and we defended our fatherland to the last drop of blood!
"I was at Ulm, I was at Austerlitz, I was at Wagram."
"Did you fight too?" I asked, gazing at him in amazement. "Did you also kill people?"
Karl Ivanitch immediately relieved my mind on that score.
"Once a French grenadier lingered behind his comrades, and fell by the way. I ran up with my gun, and was about to transfix him; but the Frenchman threw away his weapons, and begged for mercy, and I let him go.
"At Wagram, Napoleon chased us to the islands, and surrounded us so that there was no safety anywhere. For three days we had no provisions, and we stood in the water up to our knees.
"The miscreant Napoleon would neither take us nor leave us.
"On the fourth day, thank God, we were taken prisoners, and led off to the fortress. I had on blue trousers, a uniform of good cloth, fifteen thalers in money, and a silver watch, the gift of my papa. A French soldier took all from me. Fortunately I had three ducats left, which mamma had sewed into my doublet. Nobody found them.
"I did not wish to remain long in the fortress, and decided to run away. Once on a great festival day, I told the sergeant who looked after us, 'Herr sergeant, this is a solemn festival, and I want to observe it. Please fetch two bottles of Madeira, and we will drink them together.' And the sergeant said, 'Very good.' When the sergeant brought the Medeira, and we had drunk it in a wine-glass, turn and turn about, I took him by the hand, and said, 'Herr sergeant, do you happen to have a father and mother?' He said, 'Yes, Her Mauer.' -- 'My father and mother,' said I, 'have not seen me for eight years, and do know whether I am alive or whether my bones are lying in the damp earth. O Herr sergeant! I have two ducats, which were in my doublet; take them, and let me go. Be my benefactor, and my mamma will pray to Almighty God for you all her life.'
"The sergeant drank a glass of Madeira, and said, 'Herr Mauer, I love and pity you extremely; but you are a prisoner, and I am a soldier.' I pressed his hand, and said, 'Herr sergeant!'
"And the sergeant said, 'You are a poor man, and I will not take your money; but I will help you. When I go to bed, buy a bucket of brandy for the soldiers, and they will sleep. I will not watch you.'
"He was a good man. I bought the bucket of brandy; and when the soldiers were drunk, I put on my boots and my old cloak, and went out of the door. I went to the wall, with the intention of jumping over; but there was water there, and I would not spoil my last remaining clothes. I went to the gate.
"The sentry was marching up and down with his gun [Footnote: Karl Ivanitch's language is an extraordinary mixture of bad Russian and German, which it is impossible to reproduce without much tiresome repetition. -Tr.], and he looked at me. '*Qui vive?'* he said for the first time, and I made no answer. '*Qui vive?'* he said for the third time, *and I ran away. I sprang into the water, climbed out on the other side, and took to my heels.
"All night I ran along the road; but when it began to dawn, I was afraid that they would recognize me and I hid in the tall rye. Then I knelt, folded my hands and thanked our heavenly Father for saving me, and fell asleep with a tranquil mind.
"I woke in the evening, and proceeded farther. All at once, a great German wagon with two black horses overtook me. In the wagon sat a handsomely dressed man, who was smoking a pipe, and looking at me. I walked slowly, in order that the wagon might pass me; but when I went slowly, the wagon went more slowly still, and the man stared at me. I walked faster and the wagon went faster, and the man stared at me. I sat down by the roadside; the man stopped his horses, and looked at me. 'Young man,' said he, 'whither are you going so late?' I said, 'I am going to Frankfort.' -- 'Get into my wagon; there's room, and I will take you there. Why have you nothing with you? Why is your beard unshaved? And why are your clothes muddy?' he said to me, when I had seated myself by him. 'I am a poor man,' I said. 'I want to hire out somewhere as a workman; and my clothes are muddy because I fell down in the road.' -- 'You are telling an untruth, young man,' said he: 'the road is dry now.'
"And I remained silent.
"'Tell me the whole truth,' said the good man to me. 'Who are you, and whence come you? Your face pleases me, and if you are an honest man I will help you.'
"And I told him all. He said, 'Very good, young man. Come to my rope- factory. I will give you work, clothes, and money, and you shall live with me.'
"And I said, 'Very well.'
"We went to the rope-factory, and the good man said to his wife, 'Here is a young man who has fought for his country, and escaped from captivity; he has neither home, clothes, nor bread. He will live with me. Give him some clean linen, and feed him.'
"I lived at the rope-factory for a year and a half, and my master became so fond of me that he would not let me go. I was a handsome man then; I was young, tall, with blue eyes, and a Roman nose; and Madame L. (I cannot tell her name), the wife of my master, was a young and pretty woman, and she fell in love with me.
"When she saw me, she said, 'Herr Mauer, what does your mamma call you?' I said, 'Karlchen.'
"And she said, 'Karlchen, sit here beside me.'
"I seated myself beside her, and she said, 'Karlchen, kiss me!'
"I kissed her, and she said, 'Karlchen, I love you so, that I cannot endure it any longer,' and she trembled all over."
Here Karl Ivanitch made a prolonged pause; and, rolling up his kind blue eyes, he rocked his head, and began to smile, as people do when under the influence of pleasant recollections.
"Yes," he began again, settling himself in his armchair, and folding his dressing-gown about him, "I have been through a great deal, both of good and bad, in my life; but He is my witness," he said, pointing to a figure of the Saviour, worked on canvas, which hung over his bed, "nobody can say that karl Ivanitch has been a dishonorable man! I would not repay the kindness which Herr L. had shown me, by black ingratitude; and I resolved to run away from him. In the evening, when all had gone to bed, I wrote a letter to my master, laid it on the table in my room, took my clothes and three thalers in money, and stepped quietly out into the street. No one saw me, and I walked along the road."
"I had not seen my mamma for nine years; and I did not know whether she was alive, or whether her bones were already lying in the damp earth. I returned to my fatherland. When I reached the town, I inquired where Gustav Mauer lived, who had been farmer to Count Sommerblatt; and they told me, 'Count Sommerblatt is dead; and Gustav Mauer lives in the high street, and keeps a liquor-shop.' I put on my new vest, a handsome coat (a gift of the manufacturer), brushed my hair well, and went to my papa's liquor-shop. My sister Mariechen was sitting in the shop, and inquired what I wanted. I said, "may I drink a glass of liquor?' and she said, "Father, a young man is asking for a glass of liquor.' And papa said, 'Give the young man a glass of liquor.' I sat down at the table, drank my glass of liquor, smoked my pipe, and looked at papa, Mariechen, and Johann, who had also entered the shop. During the conversation, papa said to me, 'You probably know, young man, where our army stands now?' I said, 'I have come from the army myself, and it is near Vienna.' -- 'Our son,' said papa, 'was a soldier, and it is nine years since he has written to us, and we do not know whether he is alive or dead. My wife is always weeping for him.' I smoked away at my pipe, and said, 'What was your son's name, and where did he serve? Perhaps I know him.' -- 'He was called Karl Mauer, and he served in the Austrian Jagers,' said papa. 'He was a tall handsome man, like you,' said sister Mariechen.
"'I know your Karl,' said I. 'Amalia!' cried my father suddenly, 'come here! Here is a young man who knows our Karl.' *And my dear mamma comes through the rear door. I immediately recognize her. 'You know our Karl?' she said, looked at me, turned very pale, and began to tremble!* 'Yes, I have seen him,' said I, and did not dare to lift my eyes to her; my heart wanted to *leap*. 'My Karl is alive!' said mamma, 'thank God! Where is he, my dear Karl? I should die in peace if I could see him once more, my beloved son; but it is not God's will,' and she began to cry. *I could not bear it.* 'Mamma,' said, 'I am your Karl,' *and she fell into my arms.*
Karl Ivanitch closed his eyes, and his lips trembled.
"'Mother,' said I, 'I am your son, I am your Karl,' and she fell into my arms," he repeated, becoming some what calmer, as he wiped away the big tears which trickled down his cheeks.
"But it was not God's pleasure that I should end my days in my own country. I was destined to ill luck. Misfortune followed me everywhere. I lived in my native land only three months. One Sunday I was in a coffee-house buying a jug of beer, smoking my pipe, and talking politics with my acquaintances, and about the Emperor Franz, about napoleon and the war, and each one was expressing his opinion. Near us sat a strange gentleman, in a gray overcoat, who drank his coffee, smoked his pipe, and said nothing to us. When the night watchman cried ten o'clock, I took my hat, paid my reckoning, and went home. About midnight some one knocked at the door. I woke up and said, 'Who's there?' -- 'Open!' -- I said, 'Tell me who you are, and I will open.' -- 'Open in the name of the law!' came the answer from outside the door, and I opened. Two soldiers with guns stood at the door; and the strange man in the gray overcoat, who had been sitting near us in the coffee-house, entered the room. He was a spy. 'Come with me,' said the spy. 'Very good,' said I. I put on my boots and trousers, buckled my suspenders, and walked about the room. I was raging at heart. I said, 'He is a villain.' When I reached the wall where my sword hung, I suddenly seized it, and said, *'You are a spy: defend yourself!'* I gave him a cut on the right, a cut on the left, *and one on the head. The spy fell!* I seized my portmanteau and my money, and leaped out of the window. I got to Ems; there I made the acquaintance of General Sazin. He took a fancy to me, got a passport from the ambassador, and took me to Russia with him to teach his children. When General Sazin died, your mamma called me to her. 'Karl Ivanitch,' she said, 'I give my children into your charge; love them, and I will never abandon you; I will make your old age comfortable.' Now she is dead, and all is forgotten. After twenty years of service I must now go out into the street, in my old age, to seek a crust of dry bread. *God sees it and knows it, and His holy will be done; only I am sorry for you, children!'*", said Karl Ivanitch in conclusion, drawing me to him by the hand, and kissing me on the head.
By the conclusion of the year of mourning, grandmamma had somewhat recovered from the grief which had prostrated her, and began to receive guests now and then, especially children, boys and girls of our own age.
On Liubotchka's birthday, the thirteenth of December, Princess Kornakoff and her daughters, Madame Valakhin and Sonitchka, Ilinka Grap, and the two younger Ivin brothers arrived before dinner.
The sounds of conversation, laughter, and running about ascended to us from below, where all this company was assembled; but we could not join them until our morning lessons were finished. On the calendar which was suspended in the school-room was inscribed in French: "Monday, from 2 to 3, teacher of history and geography;" and it was that master of history whom we were obliged to wait for, listen to, and get rid of, before we should be free. It was twenty minutes past two, but nothing had yet been heard of the teacher of history; he was not even to be seen in the street which he must traverse, and which I was inspecting with a strong desire of never beholding him.
"Lebedeff does not appear to be coming today," said Volodya, tearing himself for a moment from Smaragdoff's book, from which he was preparing his lesson.
"God grant it, God grant it! For I know nothing at all. But he seems to be coming yonder," I added, in a sorrowful voice.
Volodya rose, and came to the window.
"No, that is not he; it is some *gentleman*," said he. "Let's wait until half-past two," he added, stretching himself and scratching his head, as he was in the habit of doing in moments of respite from work; "if he has not come by half-past two, then we can tell St. Jerome to take away the note-books."
"I don't see what he wants to co-o-o-me for," I said, stretching also, and shaking Kaidanoff's book, which I held in both hands, above my head.
For lack of something to do, I opened the book a t the place where our lesson was appointed, and began to read. The lesson was long and difficult. I knew nothing about it, and I perceived that I should not succeed in remembering anything about it, the more so as I was in that state of nervous excitement in which one's thoughts refuse to concentrate themselves on any subject whatever.
After the last history lesson, which always seemed to me the very stupidest, on the most wearisome of all subjects, Lebedeff had complained to St. Jerome about me; and two marks were placed against me in the books, which was considered very bad. St. Jerome told me then that, if I got less than three at the next lesson, I should be severely punished. Now this next lesson was imminent, and I confess that I felt very much of a coward.
I was so carried away with the perusal of the lesson which I did not know, that the sound of galoshes being removed in the anteroom startled me all at once. I had hardly had time to cast a glance in that direction, when the pock-marked face which was so antipathetic to me, and the awkward, fall too well-known figure of the teacher, in its blue coat closely fastened with learned buttons, made their appearance in the doorway.
The teacher slowly deposited his hat on the window-sill, his note-books on the table, pulled aside the tails of his swallow-tailed coat (as though it were very important), and seated himself, panting, in his place.
"Now, gentlemen," said he, rubbing one perspiring hand over the other, "let us first review what was said at the last lesson, and then I will endeavor to acquaint you with succeeding events of the Middle Ages."
That meant: Say your lesson.
At the moment when Volodya was answering him with the freedom and confidence peculiar to a person who is thoroughly acquainted with his subject, I went out on the stairs, without any object whatever; and, since it was impossible for me to go down, it was very natural that I should find myself, quite unexpectedly to myself, on the landing. But just as I was about to install myself in my customary post of observation, behind a door, Mimi, who had always been the cause of my misfortunes, suddenly ran against me. "You here?" said she, looking threateningly at me, then at the door of the maids' room, and then at me again.
I felt thoroughly guilty, both because I was not in the school-room, and because I was in a place where I had no business to be. So I held my tongue, and, hanging my head, exhibited in my person the most touching expression of penitence. "Well, who ever saw the like!" said Mimi. "What have you been doing here?" I remained silent. "No, things shall not be left in this state," she repeated, rapping her knuckles against the stair-railings; "I shall tell the countess all about it."
It was already five minutes to three when I returned to the school- room. The teacher was explaining the following lesson to Volodya, as though he had remarked neither my absence nor my presence. When he had finished his exposition, he began to put his note-books together, and Volodya went into the other room to fetch the lesson-ticket; and the cheering thought occurred to me that all was over, and that I had been forgotten.
But all at once the teacher turned to me with a malicious half-smile.
"I hope you have learned your lesson, sir," he said, rubbing his hands.
"I have learned it, sir," I answered.
"Be so good as to tell me something about St. Louis's crusade," said he, shifting about in his chair, and gazing thoughtfully at his feet. "You may tell me first the causes which induced the French king to take the cross," said he, raising his brows, and pointing his finger at the ink-bottle. "Then you may explain to me the general and characteristic traits of that expedition," he added, making a movement with his wrist, as though endeavoring to catch something. "And, finally, the influence of this crusade upon European sovereignties in general," said he, striking the left side of the table with his note-books. "And upon the French monarchy in particular," he concluded, striking the right side of the table, and inclining his head to the right.
I gulped down my spittle a few times, coughed, bent my head on one side, and remained silent. Then, seizing a pen, which lay upon the table, I began to pluck it to pieces, still maintaining my silence.
"Permit me to take that pen," said the teacher, extending his hand; "it is good for something. Now, sir!"
"Lou . . . King . . . St. Louis . . . was . . . was . . . was . . . a good and wise emperor."
"Who, sir?"
"An emperor. He conceived the idea of going to Jerusalem, and *transferred the reins of |
