Grandmamma's lamentations, and listening to Papa and St. Jerome talking
together. "He was a fine boy," Papa would say with tears in his
eyes. "Yes," St. Jerome would reply, "but a sad scapegrace and
good-for-nothing." "But you should respect the dead," would expostulate
Papa. "YOU were the cause of his death; YOU frightened him until he
could no longer bear the thought of the humiliation which you were about
to inflict upon him. Away from me, criminal!" Upon that St. Jerome would
fall upon his knees and implore forgiveness, and when the forty
days were ended my soul would fly to Heaven, and see there something
wonderfully beautiful, white, and transparent, and know that it was
Mamma.
And that something would embrace and caress me. Yet, all at once, I
should feel troubled, and not know her. "If it be you," I should say
to her, "show yourself more distinctly, so that I may embrace you in
return." And her voice would answer me, "Do you not feel happy thus?"
and I should reply, "Yes, I do, but you cannot REALLY caress me, and I
cannot REALLY kiss your hand like this." "But it is not necessary," she
would say. "There can be happiness here without that,"--and I should
feel that it was so, and we should ascend together, ever higher and
higher, until--Suddenly I feel as though I am being thrown down again,
and find myself sitting on the trunk in the dark store-room (my cheeks
wet with tears and my thoughts in a mist), yet still repeating the
words, "Let us ascend together, higher and higher." Indeed, it was a
long, long while before I could remember where I was, for at that moment
my mind's eye saw only a dark, dreadful, illimitable void. I tried to
renew the happy, consoling dream which had been thus interrupted by the
return to reality, but, to my surprise, I found that, as soon as ever
I attempted to re-enter former dreams, their continuation became
impossible, while--which astonished me even more--they no longer gave me
pleasure.
XVI. "KEEP ON GRINDING, AND YOU'LL HAVE FLOUR"
I PASSED the night in the store-room, and nothing further happened,
except that on the following morning--a Sunday--I was removed to a small
chamber adjoining the schoolroom, and once more shut up. I began to hope
that my punishment was going to be limited to confinement, and found my
thoughts growing calmer under the influence of a sound, soft sleep, the
clear sunlight playing upon the frost crystals of the windowpanes, and
the familiar noises in the street.
Nevertheless, solitude gradually became intolerable. I wanted to move
about, and to communicate to some one all that was lying upon my
heart, but not a living creature was near me. The position was the more
unpleasant because, willy-nilly, I could hear St. Jerome walking about
in his room, and softly whistling some hackneyed tune. Somehow, I felt
convinced that he was whistling not because he wanted to, but because he
knew it annoyed me.
At two o'clock, he and Woloda departed downstairs, and Nicola brought me
up some luncheon. When I told him what I had done and what was awaiting
me he said:
"Pshaw, sir! Don't be alarmed. 'Keep on grinding, and you'll have
flour.'"
Although this expression (which also in later days has more than once
helped me to preserve my firmness of mind) brought me a little comfort,
the fact that I received, not bread and water only, but a whole
luncheon, and even dessert, gave me much to think about. If they had
sent me no dessert, it would have meant that my punishment was to be
limited to confinement; whereas it was now evident that I was looked
upon as not yet punished--that I was only being kept away from the
others, as an evil-doer, until the due time of punishment. While I was
still debating the question, the key of my prison turned, and St. Jerome
entered with a severe, official air.
"Come down and see your Grandmamma," he said without looking at me.
I should have liked first to have brushed my jacket, since it was
covered with dust, but St. Jerome said that that was quite unnecessary,
since I was in such a deplorable moral condition that my exterior
was not worth considering. As he led me through the salon, Katenka,
Lubotshka, and Woloda looked at me with much the same expression as
we were wont to look at the convicts who on certain days filed past my
grandmother's house. Likewise, when I approached Grandmamma's arm-chair
to kiss her hand, she withdrew it, and thrust it under her mantilla.
"Well, my dear," she began after a long pause, during which she regarded
me from head to foot with the kind of expression which makes one
uncertain where to look or what to do, "I must say that you seem to
value my love very highly, and afford me great consolation." Then she
went on, with an emphasis on each word, "Monsieur St. Jerome, who, at my
request, undertook your education, says that he can no longer remain
in the house. And why? Simply because of you." Another pause ensued.
Presently she continued in a tone which clearly showed that her speech
had been prepared beforehand, "I had hoped that you would be grateful
for all his care, and for all the trouble that he has taken with you,
that you would have appreciated his services; but you--you baby, you
silly boy!--you actually dare to raise your hand against him! Very
well, very good. I am beginning to think that you cannot understand kind
treatment, but require to be treated in a very different and humiliating
fashion. Go now directly and beg his pardon," she added in a stern and
peremptory tone as she pointed to St. Jerome, "Do you hear me?"
I followed the direction of her finger with my eye, but on that member
alighting upon St. Jerome's coat, I turned my head away, and once more
felt my heart beating violently as I remained where I was.
"What? Did you not hear me when I told you what to do?"
I was trembling all over, but I would not stir.
"Koko," went on my grandmother, probably divining my inward sufferings,
"Koko," she repeated in a voice tender rather than harsh, "is this you?"
"Grandmamma, I cannot beg his pardon for--" and I stopped suddenly, for
I felt the next word refuse to come for the tears that were choking me.
"But I ordered you, I begged of you, to do so. What is the matter with
you?"
"I-I-I will not--I cannot!" I gasped, and the tears, long pent up and
accumulated in my breast, burst forth like a stream which breaks its
dikes and goes flowing madly over the country.
"C'est ainsi que vous obeissez a votre seconde mere, c'est ainsi que
vous reconnaissez ses bontes!" remarked St. Jerome quietly, "A genoux!"
"Good God! If SHE had seen this!" exclaimed Grandmamma, turning from me
and wiping away her tears. "If she had seen this! It may be all for
the best, yet she could never have survived such grief--never!" and
Grandmamma wept more and more. I too wept, but it never occurred to me
to ask for pardon.
"Tranquillisez-vous au nom du ciel, Madame la Comtesse," said St.
Jerome, but Grandmamma heard him not. She covered her face with her
hands, and her sobs soon passed to hiccups and hysteria. Mimi and Gasha
came running in with frightened faces, salts and spirits were applied,
and the whole house was soon in a ferment.