Childhood, Boyhood, Youth

by Leo Tolstoy

  mock-pathetic way, "you have been angry with me long enough. I am sorry

  if I offended you," and he tendered me his hand.

  It was as though something welled up from my heart and nearly choked

  me. Presently it passed away, the tears rushed to my eyes, and I felt

  immensely relieved.

  "I too am so-rry, Wo-lo-da," I said, taking his hand. Yet he only looked

  at me with an expression as though he could not understand why there

  should be tears in my eyes.

  VI. MASHA

  None of the changes produced in my conception of things were so striking

  as the one which led me to cease to see in one of our chambermaids a

  mere servant of the female sex, but, on the contrary, a WOMAN upon whom

  depended, to a certain extent, my peace of mind and happiness. From the

  time of my earliest recollection I can remember Masha an inmate of our

  house, yet never until the occurrence of which I am going to speak--an

  occurrence which entirely altered my impression of her--had I bestowed

  the smallest attention upon her. She was twenty-five years old, while I

  was but fourteen. Also, she was very beautiful. But I hesitate to give a

  further description of her lest my imagination should once more picture

  the bewitching, though deceptive, conception of her which filled my mind

  during the period of my passion. To be frank, I will only say that she

  was extraordinarily handsome, magnificently developed, and a woman--as

  also that I was but fourteen.

  At one of those moments when, lesson-book in hand, I would pace the

  room, and try to keep strictly to one particular crack in the floor as I

  hummed a fragment of some tune or repeated some vague formula--in

  short, at one of those moments when the mind leaves off thinking and the

  imagination gains the upper hand and yearns for new impressions--I left

  the schoolroom, and turned, with no definite purpose in view, towards

  the head of the staircase.

  Somebody in slippers was ascending the second flight of stairs. Of

  course I felt curious to see who it was, but the footsteps ceased

  abruptly, and then I heard Masha's voice say:

  "Go away! What nonsense! What would Maria Ivanovna think if she were to

  come now?"

  "Oh, but she will not come," answered Woloda's voice in a whisper.

  "Well, go away, you silly boy," and Masha came running up, and fled past

  me.

  I cannot describe the way in which this discovery confounded me.

  Nevertheless the feeling of amazement soon gave place to a kind of

  sympathy with Woloda's conduct. I found myself wondering less at the

  conduct itself than at his ability to behave so agreeably. Also, I found

  myself involuntarily desiring to imitate him.

  Sometimes I would pace the landing for an hour at a time, with no other

  thought in my head than to watch for movements from above. Yet, although

  I longed beyond all things to do as Woloda had done, I could not bring

  myself to the point. At other times, filled with a sense of envious

  jealousy, I would conceal myself behind a door and listen to the sounds

  which came from the maidservants' room, until the thought would occur to

  my mind, "How if I were to go in now and, like Woloda, kiss Masha? What

  should I say when she asked me--ME with the huge nose and the tuft on

  the top of my head--what I wanted?" Sometimes, too, I could hear her

  saying to Woloda,

  "That serves you right! Go away! Nicolas Petrovitch never comes in here

  with such nonsense." Alas! she did not know that Nicolas Petrovitch was

  sitting on the staircase just below and feeling that he would give all

  he possessed to be in "that bold fellow Woloda's" place! I was shy by

  nature, and rendered worse in that respect by a consciousness of my own

  ugliness. I am certain that nothing so much influences the development

  of a man as his exterior--though the exterior itself less than his

  belief in its plainness or beauty.

  Yet I was too conceited altogether to resign myself to my fate. I tried

  to comfort myself much as the fox did when he declared that the grapes

  were sour. That is to say, I tried to make light of the satisfaction

  to be gained from making such use of a pleasing exterior as I believed

  Woloda to employ (satisfaction which I nevertheless envied him from

  my heart), and endeavoured with every faculty of my intellect and

  imagination to console myself with a pride in my isolation.

  VII. SMALL SHOT

  "Good gracious! Powder!" exclaimed Mimi in a voice trembling with alarm.

  "Whatever are you doing? You will set the house on fire in a moment, and

  be the death of us all!" Upon that, with an indescribable expression of

  firmness, Mimi ordered every one to stand aside, and, regardless of

  all possible danger from a premature explosion, strode with long and

  resolute steps to where some small shot was scattered about the floor,

  and began to trample upon it.

  When, in her opinion, the peril was at least lessened, she called for

  Michael and commanded him to throw the "powder" away into some remote

  spot, or, better still, to immerse it in water; after which she adjusted

  her cap and returned proudly to the drawing-room, murmuring as she went,

  "At least I can say that they are well looked after."

  When Papa issued from his room and took us to see Grandmamma we found

  Mimi sitting by the window and glancing with a grave, mysterious,

  official expression towards the door. In her hand she was holding

  something carefully wrapped in paper. I guessed that that something was

  the small shot, and that Grandmamma had been informed of the occurrence.

  In the room also were the maidservant Gasha (who, to judge by her

  angry flushed face, was in a state of great irritation) and Doctor

  Blumenthal--the latter a little man pitted with smallpox, who was

  endeavouring by tacit, pacificatory signs with his head and eyes to

  reassure the perturbed Gasha. Grandmamma was sitting a little askew and

  playing that variety of "patience" which is called "The Traveller"--two

  unmistakable signs of her displeasure.

  "How are you to-day, Mamma?" said Papa as he kissed her hand

  respectfully. "Have you had a good night?"

  "Yes, very good, my dear; you KNOW that I always enjoy sound health,"

  replied Grandmamma in a tone implying that Papa's inquiries were

  out of place and highly offensive. "Please give me a clean

  pocket-handkerchief," she added to Gasha.

  "I HAVE given you one, madam," answered Gasha, pointing to the

  snow-white cambric handkerchief which she had just laid on the arm of

  Grandmamma's chair.

  "No, no; it's a nasty, dirty thing. Take it away and bring me a CLEAN

  one, my dear."

  Gasha went to a cupboard and slammed the door of it back so violently

  that every window rattled. Grandmamma glared angrily at each of us, and

  then turned her attention to following the movements of the servant.

  After the latter had presented her with what I suspected to be the same

  handkerchief as before, Grandmamma continued:

  "And when do you mean to cut me some snuff, my dear?"

  "When I have time."

  "What do you say?"r />
  "To-day."

  "If you don't want to continue in my service you had better say so at

  once. I would have sent you away long ago had I known that you wished

  it."

  "It wouldn't have broken my heart if you had!" muttered the woman in an

  undertone.

  Here the doctor winked at her again, but she returned his gaze so firmly

  and wrathfully that he soon lowered it and went on playing with his

  watch-key.

  "You see, my dear, how people speak to me in my own house!" said

  Grandmamma to Papa when Gasha had left the room grumbling.

  "Well, Mamma, I will cut you some snuff myself," replied Papa, though

  evidently at a loss how to proceed now that he had made this rash

  promise.

  "No, no, I thank you. Probably she is cross because she knows that no

  one except herself can cut the snuff just as I like it. Do you know, my

  dear," she went on after a pause, "that your children very nearly set

  the house on fire this morning?"

  Papa gazed at Grandmamma with respectful astonishment.

  "Yes, they were playing with something or another. Tell him the story,"

  she added to Mimi.

  Papa could not help smiling as he took the shot in his hand.

  "This is only small shot, Mamma," he remarked, "and could never be

  dangerous."

  "I thank you, my dear, for your instruction, but I am rather too old for

  that sort of thing."

  "Nerves, nerves!" whispered the doctor.

  Papa turned to us and asked us where we had got the stuff, and how we

  could dare to play with it.

  "Don't ask THEM, ask that useless 'Uncle,' rather," put in Grandmamma,

  laying a peculiar stress upon the word "UNCLE." "What else is he for?"

  "Woloda says that Karl Ivanitch gave him the powder himself," declared

  Mimi.

  "Then you can see for yourself what use he is," continued Grandmamma.

  "And where IS he--this precious 'Uncle'? How is one to get hold of him?

  Send him here."

  "He has gone an errand for me," said Papa.

  "That is not at all right," rejoined Grandmamma. "He ought ALWAYS to be

  here. True, the children are yours, not mine, and I have nothing to do

  with them, seeing that you are so much cleverer than I am; yet all the

  same I think it is time we had a regular tutor for them, and not this

  'Uncle' of a German--a stupid fellow who knows only how to teach them

  rude manners and Tyrolean songs! Is it necessary, I ask you, that they

  should learn Tyrolean songs? However, there is no one for me to consult

  about it, and you must do just as you like."

  The word "NOW" meant "NOW THAT THEY HAVE NO MOTHER," and suddenly

  awakened sad recollections in Grandmamma's heart. She threw a glance at

  the snuff-box bearing Mamma's portrait and sighed.

  "I thought of all this long ago," said Papa eagerly, "as well as taking

  your advice on the subject. How would you like St. Jerome to superintend

  their lessons?"

  "Oh, I think he would do excellently, my friend," said Grandmamma in a

  mollified tone, "He is at least a tutor comme il faut, and knows how to

  instruct des enfants de bonne maison. He is not a mere 'Uncle' who is

  good only for taking them out walking."

  "Very well; I will talk to him to-morrow," said Papa. And, sure enough,

  two days later saw Karl Ivanitch forced to retire in favour of the young

  Frenchman referred to.

  VIII. KARL IVANITCH'S HISTORY

  THE evening before the day when Karl was to leave us for ever, he was

  standing (clad, as usual, in his wadded dressing-gown and red cap)

  near the bed in his room, and bending down over a trunk as he carefully

  packed his belongings.

  His behaviour towards us had been very cool of late, and he had seemed

  to shrink from all contact with us. Consequently, when I entered his

  room on the present occasion, he only glanced at me for a second and

  then went on with his occupation. Even though I proceeded to jump on

  to his bed (a thing hitherto always forbidden me to do), he said not

  a word; and the idea that he would soon be scolding or forgiving us no

  longer--no longer having anything to do with us--reminded me vividly of

  the impending separation. I felt grieved to think that he had ceased to

  love us and wanted to show him my grief.

  "Will you let me help you?" I said, approaching him.

  He looked at me for a moment and turned away again. Yet the expression

  of pain in his eyes showed that his coldness was not the result of

  indifference, but rather of sincere and concentrated sorrow.

  "God sees and knows everything," he said at length, raising himself to

  his full height and drawing a deep sigh. "Yes, Nicolinka," he went on,

  observing, the expression of sincere pity on my face, "my fate has been

  an unhappy one from the cradle, and will continue so to the grave. The

  good that I have done to people has always been repaid with evil; yet,

  though I shall receive no reward here, I shall find one THERE" (he

  pointed upwards). "Ah, if only you knew my whole story, and all that I

  have endured in this life!--I who have been a bootmaker, a soldier, a

  deserter, a factory hand, and a teacher! Yet now--now I am nothing, and,

  like the Son of Man, have nowhere to lay my head." Sitting down upon a

  chair, he covered his eyes with his hand.

  Seeing that he was in the introspective mood in which a man pays

  no attention to his listener as he cons over his secret thoughts, I

  remained silent, and, seating myself upon the bed, continued to watch

  his kind face.

  "You are no longer a child. You can understand things now, and I will

  tell you my whole story and all that I have undergone. Some day, my

  children, you may remember the old friend who loved you so much--"

  He leant his elbow upon the table by his side, took a pinch of snuff,

  and, in the peculiarly measured, guttural tone in which he used to

  dictate us our lessons, began the story of his career.

  Since he many times in later years repeated the whole to me

  again--always in the same order, and with the same expressions and

  the same unvarying intonation--I will try to render it literally, and

  without omitting the innumerable grammatical errors into which he always

  strayed when speaking in Russian. Whether it was really the history of

  his life, or whether it was the mere product of his imagination--that

  is to say, some narrative which he had conceived during his lonely

  residence in our house, and had at last, from endless repetition, come

  to believe in himself--or whether he was adorning with imaginary facts

  the true record of his career, I have never quite been able to make

  out. On the one hand, there was too much depth of feeling and practical

  consistency in its recital for it to be wholly incredible, while, on the

  other hand, the abundance of poetical beauty which it contained tended

  to raise doubts in the mind of the listener.

  "Me vere very unhappy from ze time of my birth," he began with a

  profound sigh. "Ze noble blot of ze Countess of Zomerblat flows in my

  veins. Me vere born six veek after ze vetting. Ze man of my Mutter (I

  called him 'Papa') vere f
armer to ze Count von Zomerblat. He coult not

  forget my Mutter's shame, ant loaft me not. I had a youngster broser

  Johann ant two sister, pot me vere strange petween my own family. Ven

  Johann mate several silly trick Papa sayt, 'Wit sis chilt Karl I am

  never to have one moment tranquil!' and zen he scoltet and ponishet me.

  Ven ze sister quarrellet among zemselves Papa sayt, 'Karl vill never

  be one opedient poy,' ant still scoltet ant ponishet me. My goot Mamma

  alone loaft ant tenteret me. Often she sayt to me, 'Karl, come in my

  room,' ant zere she kisset me secretly. 'Poorly, poorly Karl!' she sayt.

  'Nopoty loaf you, pot I will not exchange you for somepoty in ze worlt,

  One zing your Mutter pegs you, to rememper,' sayt she to me, 'learn

  vell, ant be efer one honest man; zen Got will not forsake you.' Ant

  I triet so to become. Ven my fourteen year hat expiret, ant me coult

  partake of ze Holy Sopper, my Mutter sayt to my Vater, 'Karl is one

  pig poy now, Kustaf. Vat shall we do wis him?' Ant Papa sayt, 'Me ton't

  know.' Zen Mamma sayt, 'Let us give him to town at Mister Schultzen's,

  and he may pea Schumacher,' ant my Vater sayt, 'Goot!' Six year ant

  seven mons livet I in town wis ze Mister Shoemaker, ant he loaft me.

  He sayt, 'Karl are one goot vorkman, ant shall soon become my Geselle.'

  Pot-man makes ze proposition, ant Got ze deposition. In ze year 1796

  one conscription took place, ant each which vas serviceable, from ze

  eighteens to ze twenty-first year, hat to go to town.

  "My Fater and my broser Johann come to town, ant ve go togezer to throw