childish might struck him.
"What are you doing?" said Woloda, who had seen my behaviour, and now
approached me in alarm and astonishment.
"Let me alone!" I exclaimed, the tears flowing fast. "Not a single one
of you loves me or understands how miserable I am! You are all of you
odious and disgusting!" I added bluntly, turning to the company at
large.
At this moment St. Jerome--his face pale, but determined--approached me
again, and, with a movement too quick to admit of any defence, seized
my hands as with a pair of tongs, and dragged me away. My head swam with
excitement, and I can only remember that, so long as I had strength to
do it, I fought with head and legs; that my nose several times collided
with a pair of knees; that my teeth tore some one's coat; that all
around me I could hear the shuffling of feet; and that I could smell
dust and the scent of violets with which St. Jerome used to perfume
himself.
Five minutes later the door of the store-room closed behind me.
"Basil," said a triumphant but detestable voice, "bring me the cane."
XV. DREAMS
Could I at that moment have supposed that I should ever live to survive
the misfortunes of that day, or that there would ever come a time when I
should be able to look back upon those misfortunes composedly?
As I sat there thinking over what I had done, I could not imagine what
the matter had been with me. I only felt with despair that I was for
ever lost.
At first the most profound stillness reigned around me--at least, so it
appeared to me as compared with the violent internal emotion which I had
been experiencing; but by and by I began to distinguish various sounds.
Basil brought something downstairs which he laid upon a chest outside.
It sounded like a broom-stick. Below me I could hear St. Jerome's
grumbling voice (probably he was speaking of me), and then children's
voices and laughter and footsteps; until in a few moments everything
seemed to have regained its normal course in the house, as though
nobody knew or cared to know that here was I sitting alone in the dark
store-room!
I did not cry, but something lay heavy, like a stone, upon my heart.
Ideas and pictures passed with extraordinary rapidity before my troubled
imagination, yet through their fantastic sequence broke continually
the remembrance of the misfortune which had befallen me as I once
again plunged into an interminable labyrinth of conjectures as to the
punishment, the fate, and the despair that were awaiting me. The
thought occurred to me that there must be some reason for the general
dislike--even contempt--which I fancied to be felt for me by others.
I was firmly convinced that every one, from Grandmamma down to the
coachman Philip, despised me, and found pleasure in my sufferings. Next
an idea struck me that perhaps I was not the son of my father and mother
at all, nor Woloda's brother, but only some unfortunate orphan who had
been adopted by them out of compassion, and this absurd notion not only
afforded me a certain melancholy consolation, but seemed to me quite
probable. I found it comforting to think that I was unhappy, not through
my own fault, but because I was fated to be so from my birth, and
conceived that my destiny was very much like poor Karl Ivanitch's.
"Why conceal the secret any longer, now that I have discovered it?" I
reflected. "To-morrow I will go to Papa and say to him, 'It is in vain
for you to try and conceal from me the mystery of my birth. I know it
already.' And he will answer me, 'What else could I do, my good fellow?
Sooner or later you would have had to know that you are not my son, but
were adopted as such. Nevertheless, so long as you remain worthy of my
love, I will never cast you out.' Then I shall say, 'Papa, though I
have no right to call you by that name, and am now doing so for the last
time, I have always loved you, and shall always retain that love. At the
same time, while I can never forget that you have been my benefactor, I
cannot remain longer in your house. Nobody here loves me, and St. Jerome
has wrought my ruin. Either he or I must go forth, since I cannot answer
for myself. I hate the man so that I could do anything--I could even
kill him.' Papa will begin to entreat me, but I shall make a gesture,
and say, 'No, no, my friend and benefactor! We cannot live together. Let
me go'--and for the last time I shall embrace him, and say in French,
'O mon pere, O mon bienfaiteur, donne moi, pour la derniere fois, ta
benediction, et que la volonte de Dieu soit faite!'"
I sobbed bitterly at these thoughts as I sat on a trunk in that dark
storeroom. Then, suddenly recollecting the shameful punishment which was
awaiting me, I would find myself back again in actuality, and the dreams
had fled. Soon, again, I began to fancy myself far away from the
house and alone in the world. I enter a hussar regiment and go to war.
Surrounded by the foe on every side, I wave my sword, and kill one of
them and wound another--then a third,--then a fourth. At last, exhausted
with loss of blood and fatigue, I fall to the ground and cry, "Victory!"
The general comes to look for me, asking, "Where is our saviour?"
whereupon I am pointed out to him. He embraces me, and, in his turn,
exclaims with tears of joy, "Victory!" I recover and, with my arm in a
black sling, go to walk on the boulevards. I am a general now. I meet
the Emperor, who asks, "Who is this young man who has been wounded?" He
is told that it is the famous hero Nicolas; whereupon he approaches me
and says, "My thanks to you! Whatsoever you may ask for, I will grant
it." To this I bow respectfully, and, leaning on my sword, reply, "I am
happy, most august Emperor, that I have been able to shed my blood
for my country. I would gladly have died for it. Yet, since you are
so generous as to grant any wish of mine, I venture to ask of you
permission to annihilate my enemy, the foreigner St. Jerome" And then I
step fiercely before St. Jerome and say, "YOU were the cause of all my
fortunes! Down now on your knees!"
Unfortunately this recalled to my mind the fact that at any moment the
REAL St. Jerome might be entering with the cane; so that once more I
saw myself, not a general and the saviour of my country, but an unhappy,
pitiful creature.
Then the idea of God occurred to me, and I asked Him boldly why He had
punished me thus, seeing that I had never forgotten to say my prayers,
either morning or evening. Indeed, I can positively declare that it was
during that hour in the store-room that I took the first step towards
the religious doubt which afterwards assailed me during my youth (not
that mere misfortune could arouse me to infidelity and murmuring, but
that, at moments of utter contrition and solitude, the idea of the
injustice of Providence took root in me as readily as bad seed takes
root in land well soaked with rain). Also, I imagined that I was
going to die there and then, and drew vivid pictures of St. Jerome's
astonishment when he entered the store-room and found a corpse there
instead of myself! Likewise, recollecting what Natalia Savishna had told
me of the forty days during which the souls of the departed must hover
around their earthly home, I imagined myself flying through the rooms
of Grandmamma's house, and seeing Lubotshka's bitter tears, and hearing