by Leo Tolstoy
a future life, and on the immortality of the soul, and, with all the
ardour of inexperience, strove to make my youthful intellect solve those
questions--the questions which constitute the highest level of thought
to which the human intellect can tend, but a final decision of which the
human intellect can never succeed in attaining.
I believe the intellect to take the same course of development in the
individual as in the mass, as also that the thoughts which serve as
a basis for philosophical theories are an inseparable part of that
intellect, and that every man must be more or less conscious of those
thoughts before he can know anything of the existence of philosophical
theories. To my own mind those thoughts presented themselves with such
clarity and force that I tried to apply them to life, in the fond belief
that I was the first to have discovered such splendid and invaluable
truths.
Sometimes I would suppose that happiness depends, not upon external
causes themselves, but only upon our relation to them, and that,
provided a man can accustom himself to bearing suffering, he need
never be unhappy. To prove the latter hypothesis, I would (despite the
horrible pain) hold out a Tatistchev's dictionary at arm's length for
five minutes at a time, or else go into the store-room and scourge my
back with cords until the tears involuntarily came to my eyes!
Another time, suddenly bethinking me that death might find me at any
hour or any minute, I came to the conclusion that man could only be
happy by using the present to the full and taking no thought for the
future. Indeed, I wondered how people had never found that out before.
Acting under the influence of the new idea, I laid my lesson-books
aside for two or three days, and, reposing on my bed, gave myself up to
novel-reading and the eating of gingerbread-and-honey which I had bought
with my last remaining coins.
Again, standing one day before the blackboard and smearing figures on it
with honey, I was struck with the thought, "Why is symmetry so agreeable
to the eye? What is symmetry? Of course it is an innate sense," I
continued; "yet what is its basis? Perhaps everything in life is
symmetry? But no. On the contrary, this is life"--and I drew an oblong
figure on the board--"and after life the soul passes to eternity"--here
I drew a line from one end of the oblong figure to the edge of the
board. "Why should there not be a corresponding line on the other
side? If there be an eternity on one side, there must surely be a
corresponding one on the other? That means that we have existed in a
previous life, but have lost the recollection of it."
This conclusion--which seemed to me at the time both clear and novel,
but the arguments for which it would be difficult for me, at this
distance of time, to piece together--pleased me extremely, so I took a
piece of paper and tried to write it down. But at the first attempt
such a rush of other thoughts came whirling though my brain that I was
obliged to jump up and pace the room. At the window, my attention was
arrested by a driver harnessing a horse to a water-cart, and at once my
mind concentrated itself upon the decision of the question, "Into what
animal or human being will the spirit of that horse pass at death?" Just
at that moment, Woloda passed through the room, and smiled to see me
absorbed in speculative thoughts. His smile at once made me feel that
all that I had been thinking about was utter nonsense.
I have related all this as I recollect it in order to show the reader
the nature of my cogitations. No philosophical theory attracted me so
much as scepticism, which at one period brought me to a state of mind
verging upon insanity. I took the fancy into my head that no one nor
anything really existed in the world except myself--that objects were
not objects at all, but that images of them became manifest only so soon
as I turned my attention upon them, and vanished again directly that
I ceased to think about them. In short, this idea of mine (that real
objects do not exist, but only one's conception of them) brought me to
Schelling's well-known theory. There were moments when the influence
of this idea led me to such vagaries as, for instance, turning sharply
round, in the hope that by the suddenness of the movement I should come
in contact with the void which I believed to be existing where I myself
purported to be!
What a pitiful spring of moral activity is the human intellect! My
faulty reason could not define the impenetrable. Consequently it
shattered one fruitless conviction after another--convictions which,
happily for my after life, I never lacked the courage to abandon as soon
as they proved inadequate. From all this weary mental struggle I derived
only a certain pliancy of mind, a weakening of the will, a habit
of perpetual moral analysis, and a diminution both of freshness of
sentiment and of clearness of thought. Usually abstract thinking
develops man's capacity for apprehending the bent of his mind at certain
moments and laying it to heart, but my inclination for abstract thought
developed my consciousness in such a way that often when I began to
consider even the simplest matter, I would lose myself in a labyrinthine
analysis of my own thoughts concerning the matter in question. That is
to say, I no longer thought of the matter itself, but only of what I was
thinking about it. If I had then asked myself, "Of what am I thinking?"
the true answer would have been, "I am thinking of what I am thinking;"
and if I had further asked myself, "What, then, are the thoughts of
which I am thinking?" I should have had to reply, "They are attempts
to think of what I am thinking concerning my own thoughts"--and so on.
Reason, with me, had to yield to excess of reason. Every philosophical
discovery which I made so flattered my conceit that I often imagined
myself to be a great man discovering new truths for the benefit of
humanity. Consequently, I looked down with proud dignity upon my
fellow-mortals. Yet, strange to state, no sooner did I come in contact
with those fellow-mortals than I became filled with a stupid shyness of
them, and, the higher I happened to be standing in my own opinion, the
less did I feel capable of making others perceive my consciousness of
my own dignity, since I could not rid myself of a sense of diffidence
concerning even the simplest of my words and acts.
XX. WOLODA
THE further I advance in the recital of this period of my life, the more
difficult and onerous does the task become. Too rarely do I find among
the reminiscences of that time any moments full of the ardent feeling
of sincerity which so often and so cheeringly illumined my childhood.
Gladly would I pass in haste over my lonely boyhood, the sooner to
arrive at the happy time when once again a tender, sincere, and noble
friendship marked with a gleam of light at once the termination of that
period and the beginning of a phase of my youth which was full of the
charm of poetry. Therefore, I will
not pursue my recollections from hour
to hour, but only throw a cursory glance at the most prominent of them,
from the time to which I have now carried my tale to the moment of
my first contact with the exceptional personality that was fated to
exercise such a decisive influence upon my character and ideas.
Woloda was about to enter the University. Tutors came to give
him lessons independently of myself, and I listened with envy and
involuntary respect as he drew boldly on the blackboard with white chalk
and talked about "functions," "sines," and so forth--all of which seemed
to me terms pertaining to unattainable wisdom. At length, one Sunday
before luncheon all the tutors--and among them two professors--assembled
in Grandmamma's room, and in the presence of Papa and some friends put
Woloda through a rehearsal of his University examination--in which,
to Grandmamma's delight, he gave evidence of no ordinary amount of
knowledge.
Questions on different subjects were also put to me, but on all of
them I showed complete ignorance, while the fact that the professors
manifestly endeavoured to conceal that ignorance from Grandmamma only
confused me the more. Yet, after all, I was only fifteen, and so had a
year before me in which to prepare for the examinations. Woloda now came
downstairs for luncheon only, and spent whole days and evenings over
his studies in his own room--to which he kept, not from necessity, but
because he preferred its seclusion. He was very ambitious, and meant to
pass the examinations, not by halves, but with flying colours.
The first day arrived. Woloda was wearing a new blue frockcoat with
brass buttons, a gold watch, and shiny boots. At the door stood Papa's
phaeton, which Nicola duly opened; and presently, when Woloda and
St. Jerome set out for the University, the girls--particularly
Katenka--could be seen gazing with beaming faces from the window at
Woloda's pleasing figure as it sat in the carriage. Papa said several
times, "God go with him!" and Grandmamma, who also had dragged herself
to the window, continued to make the sign of the cross as long as the
phaeton was visible, as well as to murmur something to herself.
When Woloda returned, every one eagerly crowded round him. "How many
marks? Were they good ones?" "Yes." But his happy face was an answer in
itself. He had received five marks-the maximum! The next day, he sped on
his way with the same good wishes and the same anxiety for his success,
and was welcomed home with the same eagerness and joy.
This lasted for nine days. On the tenth day there was to be the last and
most difficult examination of all--the one in divinity.
We all stood at the window, and watched for him with greater impatience
than ever. Two o'clock, and yet no Woloda.
"Here they come, Papa! Here they come!" suddenly screamed Lubotshka as
she peered through the window.
Sure enough the phaeton was driving up with St. Jerome and Woloda--the
latter no longer in his grey cap and blue frockcoat, but in the uniform
of a student of the University, with its embroidered blue collar,
three-cornered hat, and gilded sword.
"Ah! If only SHE had been alive now!" exclaimed Grandmamma on seeing
Woloda in this dress, and swooned away.
Woloda enters the anteroom with a beaming face, and embraces myself,
Lubotshka, Mimi, and Katenka--the latter blushing to her ears. He hardly
knows himself for joy. And how smart he looks in that uniform! How well
the blue collar suits his budding, dark moustache! What a tall, elegant
figure is his, and what a distinguished walk!
On that memorable day we all lunched together in Grandmamma's room.
Every face expressed delight, and with the dessert which followed the
meal the servants, with grave but gratified faces, brought in bottles of
champagne.
Grandmamma, for the first time since Mamma's death, drank a full glass
of the wine to Woloda's health, and wept for joy as she looked at him.
Henceforth Woloda drove his own turn-out, invited his own friends,
smoked, and went to balls. On one occasion, I even saw him sharing a
couple of bottles of champagne with some guests in his room, and the
whole company drinking a toast, with each glass, to some mysterious
being, and then quarrelling as to who should have the bottom of the
bottle!
Nevertheless he always lunched at home, and after the meal would stretch
himself on a sofa and talk confidentially to Katenka: yet from what I
overheard (while pretending, of course, to pay no attention) I gathered
that they were only talking of the heroes and heroines of novels which
they had read, or else of jealousy and love, and so on. Never could I
understand what they found so attractive in these conversations, nor why
they smiled so happily and discussed things with such animation.
Altogether I could see that, in addition to the friendship natural to
persons who had been companions from childhood, there existed between
Woloda and Katenka a relation which differentiated them from us, and
united them mysteriously to one another.
XXI. KATENKA AND LUBOTSHKA
Katenka was now sixteen years old--quite a grown-up girl; and although
at that age the angular figures, the bashfulness, and the gaucherie
peculiar to girls passing from childhood to youth usually replace the
comely freshness and graceful, half-developed bloom of childhood, she
had in no way altered. Still the blue eyes with their merry glance were
hers, the well-shaped nose with firm nostrils and almost forming a line
with the forehead, the little mouth with its charming smile, the dimples
in the rosy cheeks, and the small white hands. To her, the epithet of
"girl," pure and simple, was pre-eminently applicable, for in her the
only new features were a new and "young-lady-like" arrangement of her
thick flaxen hair and a youthful bosom--the latter an addition which at
once caused her great joy and made her very bashful.
Although Lubotshka and she had grown up together and received the same
education, they were totally unlike one another. Lubotshka was not tall,
and the rickets from which she had suffered had shaped her feet in goose
fashion and made her figure very bad. The only pretty feature in her
face was her eyes, which were indeed wonderful, being large and black,
and instinct with such an extremely pleasing expression of mingled
gravity and naivete that she was bound to attract attention. In
everything she was simple and natural, so that, whereas Katenka always
looked as though she were trying to be like some one else, Lubotshka
looked people straight in the face, and sometimes fixed them so long
with her splendid black eyes that she got blamed for doing what was
thought to be improper. Katenka, on the contrary, always cast her
eyelids down, blinked, and pretended that she was short-sighted, though
I knew very well that her sight was excellent. Lubotshka hated being
shown off before strangers, and when a visitor offered to kiss her she
invariably grew cross, and said that she hated "affection"; whereas,
when strangers were present, Katenka was always particularly endearing
to Mimi, and loved to walk about the room arm in arm with another girl.
Likewise, though Lubotshka was a terrible giggler, and sometimes ran
about the room in convulsions of gesticulating laughter, Katenka always
covered her mouth with her hands or her pocket-handkerchief when she
wanted to laugh. Lubotshka, again, loved to have grown-up men to talk
to, and said that some day she meant to marry a hussar, but Katenka
always pretended that all men were horrid, and that she never meant to
marry any one of them, while as soon as a male visitor addressed her she
changed completely, as though she were nervous of something. Likewise,
Lubotshka was continually at loggerheads with Mimi because the latter
wanted her to have her stays so tight that she could not breathe or eat
or drink in comfort, while Katenka, on the contrary, would often insert
her finger into her waistband to show how loose it was, and always ate
very little. Lubotshka liked to draw heads; Katenka only flowers and
butterflies. The former could play Field's concertos and Beethoven's
sonatas excellently, whereas the latter indulged in variations and
waltzes, retarded the time, and used the pedals continuously--not to
mention the fact that, before she began, she invariably struck three
chords in arpeggio.
Nevertheless, in those days I thought Katenka much the grander person of
the two, and liked her the best.
XXII. PAPA
Papa had been in a particularly good humour ever since Woloda had passed
into the University, and came much oftener to dine with Grandmamma.
However, I knew from Nicola that he had won a great deal lately.
Occasionally, he would come and sit with us in the evening before going
to the club. He used to sit down to the piano and bid us group ourselves
around him, after which he would beat time with his thin boots (he