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