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
Grandmamma's lamentations, and l
istening 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,
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, an
d 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.
"You may feel pleased at your work," said St. Jerome to me as he led me
from the room.
"Good God! What have I done?" I thought to myself. "What a terribly bad
boy I am!"
As soon as St. Jerome, bidding me go into his room, had returned to
Grandmamma, I, all unconscious of what I was doing, ran down the grand
staircase leading to the front door. Whether I intended to drown myself,
or whether merely to run away from home, I do not remember. I only know
that I went blindly on, my face covered with my hands that I might see
nothing.
"Where are you going to?" asked a well-known voice. "I want you, my
boy."
I would have passed on, but Papa caught hold of me, and said sternly:
"Come here, you impudent rascal. How could you dare to do such a thing
as to touch the portfolio in my study?" he went on as he dragged me into
his room. "Oh! you are silent, eh?" and he pulled my ear.
"Yes, I WAS naughty," I said. "I don't know myself what came over me
then."
"So you don't know what came over you--you don't know, you don't know?"
he repeated as he pulled my ear harder and harder. "Will you go and put
your nose where you ought not to again--will you, will you?"
Although my ear was in great pain, I did not cry, but, on the contrary,
felt a sort of morally pleasing sensation. No sooner did he let go of my
ear than I seized his hand and covered it with tears and kisses.
"Please whip me!" I cried, sobbing. "Please hurt me the more and more,
for I am a wretched, bad, miserable boy!"
"Why, what on earth is the matter with you?" he said, giving me a slight