Boyhood

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BOYHOOD

By Leo Tolstoy


Translated by C.J. HOGARTH




I. A SLOW JOURNEY

Again two carriages stood at the front door of the house at Petrovskoe.
In one of them sat Mimi, the two girls, and their maid, with the
bailiff, Jakoff, on the box, while in the other--a britchka--sat Woloda,
myself, and our servant Vassili. Papa, who was to follow us to Moscow in
a few days, was standing bareheaded on the entrance-steps. He made the
sign of the cross at the windows of the carriages, and said:

"Christ go with you! Good-bye."

Jakoff and our coachman (for we had our own horses) lifted their caps in
answer, and also made the sign of the cross.

"Amen. God go with us!"

The carriages began to roll away, and the birch-trees of the great
avenue filed out of sight.

I was not in the least depressed on this occasion, for my mind was not
so much turned upon what I had left as upon what was awaiting me. In
proportion as the various objects connected with the sad recollections
which had recently filled my imagination receded behind me, those
recollections lost their power, and gave place to a consolatory feeling
of life, youthful vigour, freshness, and hope.

Seldom have I spent four days more--well, I will not say gaily, since
I should still have shrunk from appearing gay--but more agreeably and
pleasantly than those occupied by our journey.

No longer were my eyes confronted with the closed door of Mamma's room
(which I had never been able to pass without a pang), nor with the
covered piano (which nobody opened now, and at which I could never look
without trembling), nor with mourning dresses (we had each of us on our
ordinary travelling clothes), nor with all those other objects which
recalled to me so vividly our irreparable loss, and forced me to abstain
from any manifestation of merriment lest I should unwittingly offend
against HER memory.

On the contrary, a continual succession of new and exciting objects
and places now caught and held my attention, and the charms of spring
awakened in my soul a soothing sense of satisfaction with the present
and of blissful hope for the future.

Very early next morning the merciless Vassili (who had only just entered
our service, and was therefore, like most people in such a position,
zealous to a fault) came and stripped off my counterpane, affirming that
it was time for me to get up, since everything was in readiness for us
to continue our journey. Though I felt inclined to stretch myself and
rebel--though I would gladly have spent another quarter of an hour in
sweet enjoyment of my morning slumber--Vassili's inexorable face showed
that he would grant me no respite, but that he was ready to tear away
the counterpane twenty times more if necessary. Accordingly I submitted
myself to the inevitable and ran down into the courtyard to wash myself
at the fountain.

In the coffee-room, a tea-kettle was already surmounting the fire which
Milka the ostler, as red in the face as a crab, was blowing with a pair
of bellows. All was grey and misty in the courtyard, like steam from a
smoking dunghill, but in the eastern sky the sun was diffusing a clear,
cheerful radiance, and making the straw roofs of the sheds around the
courtyard sparkle with the night dew. Beneath them stood our horses,
tied to mangers, and I could hear the ceaseless sound of their chewing.
A curly-haired dog which had been spending the night on a dry dunghill
now rose in lazy fashion and, wagging its tail, walked slowly across the
courtyard.

The bustling landlady opened the creaking gates, turned her meditative
cows into the street (whence came the lowing and bellowing of other
cattle), and exchanged a word or two with a sleepy neighbour. Philip,
with his shirt-sleeves rolled up, was working the windlass of a
draw-well, and sending sparkling fresh water coursing into an oaken
trough, while in the pool beneath it some early-rising ducks were taking
a bath. It gave me pleasure to watch his strongly-marked, bearded face,
and the veins and muscles as they stood out upon his great powerful
hands whenever he made an extra effort. In the room behind the
partition-wall where Mimi and the girls had slept (yet so near to
ourselves that we had exchanged confidences overnight) movements now
became audible, their maid kept passing in and out with clothes, and, at
last the door opened and we were summoned to breakfast. Woloda, however,
remained in a state of bustle throughout as he ran to fetch first one
article and then another and urged the maid to hasten her preparations.

The horses were put to, and showed their impatience by tinkling their
bells. Parcels, trunks, dressing-cases, and boxes were replaced, and we
set about taking our seats. Yet, every time that we got in, the mountain
of luggage in the britchka seemed to have grown larger than before, and
we had much ado to understand how things had been arranged yesterday,
and how we should sit now. A tea-chest, in particular, greatly
inconvenienced me, but Vassili declared that "things will soon right
themselves," and I had no choice but to believe him.

The sun was just rising, covered with dense white clouds, and every
object around us was standing out in a cheerful, calm sort of radiance.
The whole was beautiful to look at, and I felt comfortable and light of
heart.

Before us the road ran like a broad, sinuous ribbon through cornfields
glittering with dew. Here and there a dark bush or young birch-tree cast
a long shadow over the ruts and scattered grass-tufts of the track. Yet
even the monotonous din of our carriage-wheels and collar-bells could
not drown the joyous song of soaring larks, nor the combined odour of
moth-eaten cloth, dust, and sourness peculiar to our britchka overpower
the fresh scents of the morning. I felt in my heart that delightful
impulse to be up and doing which is a sign of sincere enjoyment.

As I had not been able to say my prayers in the courtyard of the inn,
but had nevertheless been assured once that on the very first day when
I omitted to perform that ceremony some misfortune would overtake me,
I now hastened to rectify the omission. Taking off my cap, and stooping
down in a corner of the britchka, I duly recited my orisons, and
unobtrusively signed the sign of the cross beneath my coat. Yet all the
while a thousand different objects were distracting my attention, and
more than once I inadvertently repeated a prayer twice over.

Soon on the little footpath beside the road became visible some slowly
moving figures. They were pilgrims. On their heads they had dirty
handkerchiefs, on their backs wallets of birch-bark, and on their feet
bundles of soiled rags and heavy bast shoes. Moving their staffs in
regular rhythm, and scarcely throwing us a glance, they pressed onwards
with heavy tread and in single file.

"Where have they come from?" I wondered to myself, "and whither are they
bound? Is it a long pilgrimage they are making?" But soon the shadows
they cast on the road became indistinguishable from the shadows of the
bushes which they passed.

Next a carriage-and-four could be seen approaching us. In two seconds
the faces which looked out at us from it with smiling curiosity had
vanished. How strange it seemed that those faces should have nothing
in common with me, and that in all probability they would never meet my
eyes again!

Next came a pair of post-horses, with the traces looped up to their
collars. On one of them a young postillion-his lamb's wool cap cocked to
one side-was negligently kicking his booted legs against the flanks
of his steed as he sang a melancholy ditty. Yet his face and attitude
seemed to me to express such perfect carelessness and indolent ease that
I imagined it to be the height of happiness to be a postillion and to
sing melancholy songs.

Far off, through a cutting in the road, there soon stood out against
the light-blue sky, the green roof of a village church. Presently the
village itself became visible, together with the roof of the manor-house
and the garden attached to it. Who lived in that house? Children,
parents, teachers? Why should we not call there and make the
acquaintance of its inmates?

Next we overtook a file of loaded waggons--a procession to which our
vehicles had to yield the road.

"What have you got in there?" asked Vassili of one waggoner who was
dangling his legs lazily over the splashboard of his conveyance and
flicking his whip about as he gazed at us with a stolid, vacant look;
but he only made answer when we were too far off to catch what he said.

"And what have YOU got?" asked Vassili of a second waggoner who was
lying at full length under a new rug on the driving-seat of his vehicle.
The red poll and red face beneath it lifted themselves up for a
second from the folds of the rug, measured our britchka with a cold,
contemptuous look, and lay down again; whereupon I concluded that the
driver was wondering to himself who we were, whence we had come, and
whither we were going.

These various objects of interest had absorbed so much of my time that,
as yet, I had paid no attention to the crooked figures on the verst
posts as we passed them in rapid succession; but in time the sun began
to burn my head and back, the road to become increasingly dusty, the
impedimenta in the carriage to grow more and more uncomfortable, and
myself to feel more and more cramped. Consequently, I relapsed into
devoting my whole faculties to the distance-posts and their numerals,
and to solving difficult mathematical problems for reckoning the time
when we should arrive at the next posting-house.

"Twelve versts are a third of thirty-six, and in all there are forty-one
to Lipetz. We have done a third and how much, then?", and so forth, and
so forth.

"Vassili," was my next remark, on observing that he was beginning to nod
on the box-seat, "suppose we change seats? Will you?" Vassili agreed,
and had no sooner stretched himself out in the body of the vehicle than
he began to snore. To me on my new perch, however, a most interesting
spectacle now became visible--namely, our horses, all of which were
familiar to me down to the smallest detail.

"Why is Diashak on the right today, Philip, not on the left?" I asked
knowingly. "And Nerusinka is not doing her proper share of the pulling."

"One could not put Diashak on the left," replied Philip, altogether
ignoring my last remark. "He is not the kind of horse to put there at
all. A horse like the one on the left now is the right kind of one for
the job."

After this fragment of eloquence, Philip turned towards Diashak and
began to do his best to worry the poor animal by jogging at the reins,
in spite of the fact that Diashak was doing well and dragging the
vehicle almost unaided. This Philip continued to do until he found it
convenient to breathe and rest himself awhile and to settle his cap
askew, though it had looked well enough before.

I profited by the opportunity to ask him to let me have the reins
to hold, until, the whole six in my hand, as well as the whip, I had
attained complete happiness. Several times I asked whether I was doing
things right, but, as usual, Philip was never satisfied, and soon
destroyed my felicity.

The heat increased until a hand showed itself at the carriage window,
and waved a bottle and a parcel of eatables; whereupon Vassili leapt
briskly from the britchka, and ran forward to get us something to eat
and drink.

When we arrived at a steep descent, we all got out and ran down it to
a little bridge, while Vassili and Jakoff followed, supporting the
carriage on either side, as though to hold it up in the event of its
threatening to upset.

After that, Mimi gave permission for a change of seats, and sometimes
Woloda or myself would ride in the carriage, and Lubotshka or Katenka
in the britchka. This arrangement greatly pleased the girls, since much
more fun went on in the britchka. Just when the day was at its hottest,
we got out at a wood, and, breaking off a quantity of branches,
transformed our vehicle into a bower. This travelling arbour then
bustled on to catch the carriage up, and had the effect of exciting
Lubotshka to one of those piercing shrieks of delight which she was in
the habit of occasionally emitting.

At last we drew near the village where we were to halt and dine. Already
we could perceive the smell of the place--the smell of smoke and tar
and sheep-and distinguish the sound of voices, footsteps, and carts. The
bells on our horses began to ring less clearly than they had done in
the open country, and on both sides the road became lined with
huts--dwellings with straw roofs, carved porches, and small red or green
painted shutters to the windows, through which, here and there, was a
woman's face looking inquisitively out. Peasant children clad in smocks
only stood staring open-eyed or, stretching out their arms to us, ran
barefooted through the dust to climb on to the luggage behind, despite
Philip's menacing gestures. Likewise, red-haired waiters came darting
around the carriages to invite us, with words and signs, to select their
several hostelries as our halting-place.

Presently a gate creaked, and we entered a courtyard. Four hours of rest
and liberty now awaited us.




II. THE THUNDERSTORM

The sun was sinking towards the west, and his long, hot rays were
burning my neck and cheeks beyond endurance, while thick clouds of dust
were rising from the road and filling the whole air. Not the slightest
wind was there to carry it away. I could not think what to do. Neither
the dust-blackened face of Woloda dozing in a corner, nor the motion of
Philip's back, nor the long shadow of our britchka as it came bowling
along behind us brought me any relief. I concentrated my whole attention
upon the distance-posts ahead and the clouds which, hitherto dispersed
over the sky, were now assuming a menacing blackness, and beginning to
form themselves into a single solid mass.

From time to time distant thunder could be heard--a circumstance which
greatly increased my impatience to arrive at the inn where we were
to spend the night. A thunderstorm always communicated to me an
inexpressibly oppressive feeling of fear and gloom.

Yet we were still ten versts from the next village, and in the meanwhile
the large purple cloudbank--arisen from no one knows where--was
advancing steadily towards us. The sun, not yet obscured, was picking
out its fuscous shape with dazzling light, and marking its front with
grey stripes running right down to the horizon. At intervals, vivid
lightning could be seen in the distance, followed by low rumbles which
increased steadily in volume until they merged into a prolonged roll
which seemed to embrace the entire heavens. At length, Vassili got up
and covered over the britchka, the coachman wrapped himself up in
his cloak and lifted his cap to make the sign of the cross at each
successive thunderclap, and the horses pricked up their ears and
snorted as though to drink in the fresh air which the flying clouds were
outdistancing. The britchka began to roll more swiftly along the dusty
road, and I felt uneasy, and as though the blood were coursing more
quickly through my veins. Soon the clouds had veiled the face of
the sun, and though he threw a last gleam of light to the dark and
terrifying horizon, he had no choice but to disappear behind them.

Suddenly everything around us seemed changed, and assumed a gloomy
aspect. A wood of aspen trees which we were passing seemed to be all
in a tremble, with its leaves showing white against the dark lilac
background of the clouds, murmuring together in an agitated manner. The
tops of the larger trees began to bend to and fro, and dried leaves
and grass to whirl about in eddies over the road. Swallows and
white-breasted swifts came darting around the britchka and even passing
in front of the forelegs of the horses. While rooks, despite their
outstretched wings, were laid, as it were, on their keels by the wind.
Finally, the leather apron which covered us began to flutter about and
to beat against the sides of the conveyance.

The lightning flashed right into the britchka as, cleaving the obscurity
for a second, it lit up the grey cloth and silk galloon of the lining
and Woloda's figure pressed back into a corner.

Next came a terrible sound which, rising higher and higher, and
spreading further and further, increased until it reached its climax in
a deafening thunderclap which made us tremble and hold our breaths. "The
wrath of God"--what poetry there is in that simple popular conception!

The pace of the vehicle was continually increasing, and from Philip's
and Vassili's backs (the former was tugging furiously at the reins) I
could see that they too were alarmed.

Bowling rapidly down an incline, the britchka cannoned violently against
a wooden bridge at the bottom. I dared not stir and expected destruction
every moment.

Crack! A trace had given way, and, in spite of the ceaseless, deafening
thunderclaps, we had to pull up on the bridge.

Leaning my head despairingly against the side of the britchka, I
followed with a beating heart the movements of Philip's great black
fingers as he tied up the broken trace and, with hands and the butt-end
of the whip, pushed the harness vigorously back into its place.

My sense of terror was increasing with the violence of the thunder.
Indeed, at the moment of supreme silence which generally precedes the
greatest intensity of a storm, it mounted to such a height that I felt
as though another quarter of an hour of this emotion would kill me.

Just then there appeared from beneath the bridge a human being who, clad
in a torn, filthy smock, and supported on a pair of thin shanks bare of
muscles, thrust an idiotic face, a tremulous, bare, shaven head, and a
pair of red, shining stumps in place of hands into the britchka.

"M-my lord! A copeck for--for God's sake!" groaned a feeble voice as
at each word the wretched being made the sign of the cross and bowed
himself to the ground.

I cannot describe the chill feeling of horror which penetrated my heart
at that moment. A shudder crept through all my hair, and my eyes stared
in vacant terror at the outcast.

Vassili, who was charged with the apportioning of alms during the
journey, was busy helping Philip, and only when everything had been put
straight and Philip had resumed the reins again had he time to look for
his purse. Hardly had the britchka begun to move when a blinding flash
filled the welkin with a blaze of light which brought the horses to
their haunches. Then, the flash was followed by such an ear-splitting
roar that the very vault of heaven seemed to be descending upon our
heads. The wind blew harder than ever, and Vassili's cloak, the manes
and tails of the horses, and the carriage-apron were all slanted in one
direction as they waved furiously in the violent blast.

Presently, upon the britchka's top there fell some large drops of
rain--"one, two, three:" then suddenly, and as though a roll of drums
were being beaten over our heads, the whole countryside resounded with
the clatter of the deluge.

From Vassili's movements, I could see that he had now got his purse
open, and that the poor outcast was still bowing and making the sign of
the cross as he ran beside the wheels of the vehicle, at the imminent
risk of being run over, and reiterated from time to time his plea,
"For-for God's sake!" At last a copeck rolled upon the ground, and the
miserable creature--his mutilated arms, with their sleeves wet through
and through, held out before him--stopped perplexed in the roadway and
vanished from my sight.

The heavy rain, driven before the tempestuous wind, poured down in
pailfuls and, dripping from Vassili's thick cloak, formed a series of
pools on the apron. The dust became changed to a paste which clung to
the wheels, and the ruts became transformed into muddy rivulets.

At last, however, the lightning grew paler and more diffuse, and the
thunderclaps lost some of their terror amid the monotonous rattling
of the downpour. Then the rain also abated, and the clouds began to
disperse. In the region of the sun, a lightness appeared, and between
the white-grey clouds could be caught glimpses of an azure sky.

Finally, a dazzling ray shot across the pools on the road, shot through
the threads of rain--now falling thin and straight, as from a sieve--,
and fell upon the fresh leaves and blades of grass. The great cloud was
still louring black and threatening on the far horizon, but I no longer
felt afraid of it--I felt only an inexpressibly pleasant hopefulness in
proportion, as trust in life replaced the late burden of fear. Indeed,
my heart was smiling like that of refreshed, revivified Nature herself.

Vassili took off his cloak and wrung the water from it. Woloda flung
back the apron, and I stood up in the britchka to drink in the new,
fresh, balm-laden air. In front of us was the carriage, rolling along
and looking as wet and resplendent in the sunlight as though it had just
been polished. On one side of the road boundless oatfields, intersected
in places by small ravines which now showed bright with their moist
earth and greenery, stretched to the far horizon like a checkered
carpet, while on the other side of us an aspen wood, intermingled with
hazel bushes, and parquetted with wild thyme in joyous profusion, no
longer rustled and trembled, but slowly dropped rich, sparkling diamonds
from its newly-bathed branches on to the withered leaves of last year.

From above us, from every side, came the happy songs of little birds
calling to one another among the dripping brushwood, while clear from
the inmost depths of the wood sounded the voice of the cuckoo. So
delicious was the wondrous scent of the wood, the scent which follows
a thunderstorm in spring, the scent of birch-trees, violets, mushrooms,
and thyme, that I could no longer remain in the britchka. Jumping out,
I ran to some bushes, and, regardless of the showers of drops discharged
upon me, tore off a few sprigs of thyme, and buried my face in them to
smell their glorious scent.

Then, despite the mud which had got into my boots, as also the fact that
my stockings were soaked, I went skipping through the puddles to the
window of the carriage.

"Lubotshka! Katenka!" I shouted as I handed them some of the thyme,
"Just look how delicious this is!"

The girls smelt it and cried, "A-ah!" but Mimi shrieked to me to go
away, for fear I should be run over by the wheels.

"Oh, but smell how delicious it is!" I persisted.




III. A NEW POINT OF VIEW

Katenka was with me in the britchka; her lovely head inclined as she
gazed pensively at the roadway. I looked at her in silence and wondered
what had brought the unchildlike expression of sadness to her face which
I now observed for the first time there.

"We shall soon be in Moscow," I said at last. "How large do you suppose
it is?"

"I don't know," she replied.

"Well, but how large do you IMAGINE? As large as Serpukhov?"

"What do you say?"

"Nothing."

Yet the instinctive feeling which enables one person to guess the
thoughts of another and serves as a guiding thread in conversation
soon made Katenka feel that her indifference was disagreeable to me;
wherefore she raised her head presently, and, turning round, said:

"Did your Papa tell you that we girls too were going to live at your
Grandmamma's?"

"Yes, he said that we should ALL live there."

"ALL live there?"

"Yes, of course. We shall have one half of the upper floor, and you the
other half, and Papa the wing; but we shall all of us dine together with
Grandmamma downstairs."

"But Mamma says that your Grandmamma is so very grave and so easily made
angry?"

"No, she only SEEMS like that at first. She is grave, but not
bad-tempered. On the contrary, she is both kind and cheerful. If you
could only have seen the ball at her house!"

"All the same, I am afraid of her. Besides, who knows whether we--"

Katenka stopped short, and once again became thoughtful.

"What?" I asked with some anxiety.

"Nothing, I only said that--"

"No. You said, 'Who knows whether we--'"

"And YOU said, didn't you, that once there was ever such a ball at
Grandmamma's?"

"Yes. It is a pity you were not there. There were heaps of guests--about
a thousand people, and all of them princes or generals, and there was
music, and I danced--But, Katenka" I broke off, "you are not listening
to me?"

"Oh yes, I am listening. You said that you danced--?"

"Why are you so serious?"

"Well, one cannot ALWAYS be gay."

"But you have changed tremendously since Woloda and I first went
to Moscow. Tell me the truth, now: why are you so odd?" My tone was
resolute.

"AM I so odd?" said Katenka with an animation which showed me that my
question had interested her. "I don't see that I am so at all."

"Well, you are not the same as you were before," I continued. "Once upon
a time any one could see that you were our equal in everything, and that
you loved us like relations, just as we did you; but now you are always
serious, and keep yourself apart from us."