EARLY one Saturday morning I made my way to Petrovna’s kitchen-garden to catch robins. I was there a longtime, because the pert red-breasts refused to go into the trap ; tantalizingly beautiful, they hopped playfully overthe silvery frozen snow, and flew on to the branches of the frost-covered bushes, scattering the blue snow-crystals all about. It was such a pretty sight that I forgot my vexation at my lack of success; in fact, I was not avery keen sportsman, for I took more pleasure in the incidents of the chase than in its results, and my greatestdelight was to observe the ways of the birds and think about them. I was quite happy sitting alone on the edge ofa snowy field listening to the birds chirping in the crystal stillness of the frosty day, when, faintly, in thedistance, I heard the fleeting sounds of the bells of a troika like the melancholy song of a skylark in the Russianwinter. I was benumbed by sitting in the snow, and I felt that my ears were frost-bitten, so I gathered up the trapand the cages, climbed over the wall into grandfather’s garden, and made my way to the house.
The gate leading to the street was open, and a man of colossal proportions was leading three steaming horses,harnessed to a large, closed sledge, out of the yard, whistling merrily the while. My heart leaped.
“Whom have you brought here?”
He turned and looked at me from under his arms, and jumped on to the driver’s seat before he replied:
“The priest.”
But I was not convinced ; and if it was the priest, he must have come to see one of the lodgers.
“Gee-up !” cried the driver, and he whistled gaily as he slashed at the horses with his reins.
The horses tore across the fields, and I stood looking after them; then I closed the gate. The first thing I heard as Ientered the empty kitchen was my mother’s energetic voice in the adjoining room, saying very distinctly :
“What is the matter now? Do you want to kill me?’
Without taking off my outdoor clothes, I threw down the cages and ran into the vestibule, where I collided withgrandfather; he seized me by the shoulder, looked into my face with wild eyes, and swallowing with difficulty,said hoarsely :
“Your mother has come back ... go to her . . . wait ... !” He shook me so hard that I was nearly taken off my feet,and reeled against the door of the room. “Goon! . . Go . !”
I knocked at the door, which was protected by felt and oilcloth, but it was some time before my hand, benumbedwith cold, and trembling with nervousness, found the latch; and when at length I softly entered, I halted on thethreshold, dazed and bewildered.
“Here he is!” said mother. “Lord! how big he is grown. Why, don’t you know me? . . . What a way you ‘vedressed him ! . . . And, yes, his ears are going white! Make haste, Mama, and get some goose-grease.”
She stood in the middle of the room, bending over me as she took off my outdoor clothes, and turning me aboutas if I were nothing more than a ball; her massive figure was clothed in a warm, soft, beautiful dress, as full as aman’s cloak, which was fastened by black buttons, running obliquely from the shoulder to the hem of the skirt. Ihad never seen anything like it before.
Her face seemed smaller than it used to be, and her eyes larger and more sunken; while her hair seemed to be of adeeper gold. As she undressed me, she threw the garments across the threshold, her red lips curling in disgust,and all the time her voice rang out:
“Why don’t you speak”? Aren’t you glad to see me”? Phoo ! what a dirty shirt. . . .”
Then she rubbed my ears with goose-grease, which hurt; but such a fragrant, pleasant odor came from her whileshe was doing it, that the pain seemed less than usual.
I pressed close to her, looking up into her eyes, too moved to speak, and through her words I could heargrandmother’s low, unhappy voice:
“He is so self-willed ... he has got quite out of hand. He is not afraid of grandfather, even. . . . Oh, Varia! . . .
Varia!”
“Don’t whine, Mother, for goodness’ sake; it doesn’t make things any better.”
Everything looked small and pitiful and old beside mother. I felt old too, as old as grandfather.
Pressing me to her knees, and smoothing my hair with her warm, heavy hand, she said:
“He wants some one strict over him. And it is time he went to school. . . . You will like to learn lessons, won’tyou?”
“I ‘ve learned all I want to know.”
“You will have to learn a little more. . . . Why! How strong you ‘ve grown !” And she laughed heartily in herdeep contralto tones as she played with me.
When grandfather came in, pale as ashes, with blood-shot eyes, and bristling with rage, she put me from her andasked in a loud voice:
“Well, what have you settled, Father? Am I to go?”
He stood at the window scraping the ice off the panes with his finger-nails, and remained silent for a long while.
The situation was strained and painful, and, as was usual with me in such moments of tension, my body felt as ifit were all eyes and ears, and something seemed to swell within my breast, causing an in tense desire to scream.
“Lexei, leave the room!” said grandfather roughly.
“Why?” asked mother, drawing me to her again. “You shall not go away from this place. I forbid it!” Motherstood up, gliding up the room, just like a rosy cloud, and placed herself behind grandfather.
“Listen to me, Papasha ”
He turned upon her, shrieking “Shut up !”
“I won’t have you shouting at me,” said mother coolly.
Grandmother rose from the couch, raising her finger admonishingly.
“Now, Varvara!”
And grandfather sat down, muttering:
“Wait a bit! I want to know who ? Eh? Who was it? ... How did it happen?”
And suddenly he roared out in a voice which did not seem to belong to him :
“You have brought shame upon me, Varka!”
“Go out of the room!” grandmother said to me; and I went into the kitchen, feeling as if I were being suffocated,climbed on to the stove, and stayed there a long time listening to their conversation, which was audible throughthe partition. They either all talked at once, interrupting one another, or else fell into a long silence as if they hadfallen asleep. The subject of their conversation was a baby, lately bom to my mother and given into some one’skeeping; but I could not understand whether grandfather was angry with mother for giving birth to a childwithout asking his permission, or for not bringing the child to him.
He came into the kitchen later, looking dishevelled; his face was livid, and he seemed very tired. With him camegrandmother, wiping the tears from her cheeks with the basque of her blouse. He sat down on a bench, doubledup, resting his hands on it, tremulously biting his pale lips ; and she knelt down in front of him, and said quietlybut with great earnestness:
“Father, forgive her ! For Christ’s sake forgive her ! You can’t get rid of her in this manner. Do you think thatsuch things don’t happen amongst the gentry, and in merchants’ families’? You know what women are. Now,forgive her ! No one is perfect, you know.”
Grandfather leaned back against the wall and looked into her face; then he growled, with a bitter laugh whichwas almost a sob :
“Well what next”? Who wouldn’t you forgive?
I wonder! If you had your way every one would be forgiven. . . . Ugh! You!”
And bending over her he seized her by the shoulders and shook her, and said, speaking in a rapid whisper:
“But, by God, you needn’t worry yourself. You will find no forgiveness in me. Here we are almost in our gravesovertaken by punishment in our last days . . . there is neither rest nor happiness for us . . . nor will there be. . . .
And what is more . . . mark my words! ... we shall be beggars before we ‘re done beggars !”
Grandmother took his hand, and sitting beside him laughed gently as she said:
“Oh, you poor thing! So you are afraid of being a beggar. Well, and suppose we do become beggars’? All youwill have to do is to stay at home while I go out begging. . . . They’ll give to me, never fear ! . . . We shall haveplenty; so you can throw that trouble aside.”
He suddenly burst out laughing, moving his head about just like a goat; and seizing grandmother round the neck,pressed her to him, looking small and crumpled beside her.
“Oh, you fool !” he cried. “You blessed fool ! . . . You are all that I ‘ve got now ! . . . You don’t worry aboutanything because you don’t understand. But you must look back a little . . . and remember how you and I workedfor them . . . how I sinned for their sakes . . . yet, in spite of all that, now ”
Here I could contain myself no longer; my tears would not be restrained, and I jumped down off the stove andflew to them, sobbing with joy because they were talking to each other in this wonderfully friendly fashion, andbecause I was sorry for them, and because mother had come, and because they took me to them, tears and all,and embraced me, and hugged me, and wept over me; but grandfather whispered to me:
“So you are here, you little demon! Well, your mother ‘s come back, and I suppose you will always be with hernow. The poor old devil of a grandfather can go, eh”? And grandmother, who has spoiled you so ... she can goto ... eh? Ugh you! . .
He put us away from him and stood up as he said in a loud, angry tone:
“They are all leaving us all turning away from us. . . . Well, call her in. What are you waiting for? Make haste !”
Grandmother went out of the kitchen, and he went and stood in the corner, with bowed head.
“All-merciful God!” he began. “Well . . . Thou seest how it is with us !” And he beat his breast with his fist.
I did not like it when he did this; in fact the way he spoke to God always disgusted me, because he seemed to bevaunting himself before his Maker.
When mother came in her red dress lighted up the kitchen, and as she sat down by the table, with grandfather andgrandmother one on each side of her, her wide sleeves fell against their shoulders. She related something to themquietly and gravely, to which they listened in silence, and without attempting to interrupt her, just as if they werechildren and she were their mother.
Worn out by excitement, I fell fast asleep on the couch.
In the evening the old people went to vespers, dressed in their best. Grandmother gave a merry wink in thedirection of grandfather, who was resplendent in the uniform he wore as head of the Guild, with a racoon pelisseover it, and his stomach sticking out importantly; and as she winked she observed to mother :
“Just look at father! Isn’t he grand. ... As spruce as a little goat.” And mother laughed gaily.
When I was left alone with her in her room, she sat on the couch, with her feet curled under her, and pointing tothe place beside her, she said :
“Come and sit here. Now, tell me how do you like living here? Not much, eh?”
How did I like it?
“I don’t know.”
“Grandfather beats you, does he?”
“Not so much now.”
“Oh? . . . Well, now, you tell me all about it . . . tell me whatever you like . . . well ?”
As I did not want to speak about grandfather, I told her about the kind man who used to live in that room, whomno one liked, and who was turned out by grandfather. I could see that she did not like this story as she said:
‘‘Well, and what else?”
I told her about the three boys, and how the Colonel had driven me out of his yard ; and her hold upon metightened as she listened.
“What nonsense !” she exclaimed with flashing eyes, and was silent a minute, gazing on the floor.
“Why was grandfather angry with you?” I asked.
“Because I have done wrong, according to him.”
“In not bringing that baby here ?”
She started violently, frowning, and biting her lips ; then she burst into a laugh and pressed me more closely toher, as she said:
“Oh, you little monster ! Now, you are to hold your tongue about that, do you hear? Never speak about it forgetyou ever heard it, in fact.”
And she spoke to me quietly and sternly for some time; but I did not understand what she said, and presently shestood up and began to pace the room, strumming on her chin with her fingers, and alternately raising anddepressing her thick eyebrows.
A guttering tallow candle was burning on the table, and was reflected in the blank face of the mirror; murkyshadows crept along the floor; a lamp burned before the icon in the corner; and the ice-clad windows weresilvered by moonlight. Mother looked about her as if she were seeking something on the bare walls or on theceiling.
“What time do you go to bed?”
“Let me stay a little longer.”
“Besides, you have had some sleep today,” she reminded herself.
“Do you want to go away?” I asked her.
“Where to?” she exclaimed, in a surprised tone; and raising my head she gazed for such a long time at my facethat tears came into my eyes.
“What is the matter with you?” she asked.
“My neck aches.”
My heart was aching too, for I had suddenly realized that she would not remain in our house, but would go awayagain.
“You are getting like your father,” she observed, kicking a mat aside. “Has grandmother told you anything abouthim?”
“Yes.”
“She loved Maxim very much very much indeed; and he loved her ”
“I know.”
Mother looked at the candle and frowned; then she extinguished it, saying: “That ‘s better!”
Yes, it made the atmosphere fresher and clearer, and the dark, murky shadows disappeared; bright blue patchesof light lay on the floor, and golden crystals shone on the window-panes.
“But where have you lived all this time?”
She mentioned several towns, as if she were trying to remember something which she had forgotten long ago;and all the time she moved noiselessly round the room, like a hawk.
“Where did you get that dress?”
“I made it myself. I make all my own clothes.”
I liked to think that she was different from others, but I was sorry that she so rarely spoke; in fact, unless I askedquestions, she did not open her mouth.
Presently she came and sat beside me again on the couch; and there we stayed without speaking, pressing closeto each other, until the old people returned, smelling of wax and incense, with a solemn quietness and gentlenessin their manner.
We supped as on holidays, ceremoniously, exchanging very few words, and uttering those as if we were afraid ofwaking an extremely light sleeper.
Almost at once my mother energetically undertook the task of giving me Russian lessons. She bought somebooks, from one of which “Kindred Words” I acquired the art of reading Russian characters in a few days; butthen my mother must set me to learn poetry by heart to our mutual vexation.
The verses ran :
“Bolshaia doroga, priamaia doroga Prostora ne malo beresh twi ou Boga Tebia ne rovniali topor ee lopataMiagka twi kopitou ee pwiliu bogata.”
But I read “prostovo” for “prostora,” and “roubili” for “rovniali,” and “kopita” for “kopitou.”
“Now, think a moment,” said mother. “How could it be ‘prostovo,’ you little wretch? . . . Tro sto ra’-; now doyou understand?”
I did understand, but all the same I read “pros-tovo,” to my own astonishment as much as hers.
She said angrily that I was senseless and obstinate. This made bitter hearing, for I was honestly trying toremember the cursed verses, and I could repeat them in my own mind without a mistake, but directly I tried tosay them aloud they went wrong. I loathed the elusive lines, and began to mix the verses up on purpose, puttingall the words which sounded alike together anyhow. I was delighted when, under the spellI placed upon them, the verses emerged absolutely meaningless.
But this amusement did not go for long unpunished. One day, after a very successful lesson, when mother askedme if I had learned my poetry, I gabbled almost involuntarily :
“Doroga, dvouroga, tvorog, nedoroga, Kopwita, popwito, korwito ”
I recollected myself too late. Mother rose to her feet, and resting her hands on the table, asked in very distincttones:
“What is that you are saying?”
“I don’t know,” I replied dully.
“Oh, you know well enough!”
“It was just something ”
“Something what?”
“Something funny.”
“Go into the corner.”
“Why?”
“Go into the corner,” she repeated quietly, but her aspect was threatening.
“Which corner?”
Without replying, she gazed so fixedly at my face that I began to feel quite flustered, for I did not understandwhat she wanted me to do. In one corner, under the icon, stood a small table on which was a vase containingscented dried grass and some flowers; in another stood a covered trunk. The bed occupied the third, and therewas no fourth, because the door came close up to the wall.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I said, despairing of being able to understand her.
She relaxed slightly, and wiped her forehead and her cheeks in silence ; then she asked :
“Didn’t grandfather put you in the corner?”
“When?”
“Never mind when! Has he ever done so?” she cried, striking the table twice with her hand.
“No at least I don’t remember it.”
She sighed. “Phew! Come here!”
I went to her, saying: “Why are you so angry with me?”
“Because you made a muddle of that poetry on purpose.”
I explained as well as I was able that I could remember it word for word with my eyes shut, but that if I tried tosay it the words seemed to change.
“Are you sure you are not making that up?”
I answered that I was quite sure; but on second thoughts I was not so sure, and I suddenly repeated the versesquite correctly, to my own utter astonishment and confusion. I stood before my mother burning with shame ; myface seemed to be swelling, my tingling ears to be filled with blood, and unpleasant noises surged through myhead. I saw her face through my tears, dark with vexation, as she bit her lips and frowned.
“What is the meaning of this?” she asked in a voice which did not seem to belong to her. “So you did make itup?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t mean to!”
“You are very difficult,” she said, letting her head droop. “Run away!”
She began to insist on my learning still more poetry, but my memory seemed to grow less capable every day ofretaining the smooth, flowing lines, while my insane desire to alter or mutilate the verses grew stronger and moremalevolent in proportion. I even substituted different words, by which I somewhat surprised myself, for a wholeseries of words which had nothing to do with the subject would appear and get mixed up with the correct wordsout of the book. Very often a whole line of the verse would seem to be obliterated, and no matter howconscientiously I tried, I could not get it back into my mind’s eye. That pathetic poem of Prince Biazemskov (Ithink it was his) caused me a great deal of trouble :
‘At eventide and early mornThe old man, widow and orphanFor Christ’s sake ask for help from man.
But the last line:
At windows beg, with air forlorn.
I always rendered correctly. Mother, unable to make anything of me, recounted my exploits to grandfather, whosaid in an ominous tone:
“It is all put on ! He has a splendid memory. He learned the prayers by heart with me. . . . He is making believe,that ‘s all. His memory is good enough. . . . Teaching him is like engraving on a piece of stone . . . that will showyou how good it is! . . . You should give him a hiding.”
Grandmother took me to task too.
“You can remember stories and songs . . . and aren’t songs poetry?”
All this was true and I felt very guilty, but all the same I no sooner set myself to learn verses than fromsomewhere or other different words crept in like cockroaches, and formed themselves into lines.
“We too have beggars at our door, Old men and orphans very poor. They come and whine and ask for food,Which they will sell, though it is good. To Petrovna to feed her cows And then on vodka will carouse.”
At night, when I lay in bed beside grandmother, I used to repeat to her, till I was weary, all that I had learned outof books, and all that I had composed myself. Sometimes she giggled, but more often she gave me a lecture.
“There now! You see what you can do. But it is not right to make fun of beggars, God bless them! Christ lived inpoverty, and so did all the saints.”
I murmured :
“Paupers I hate, Grandfather too. It ‘s sad to relate, Pardon me, God! Grandfather beats me Whenever he can.”
“What are you talking about? I wish your tongue may drop out !” cried grandmother angrily. “If grandfathercould hear what you are saying ”
“He can hear if he likes.”
“You are very wrong to be so saucy; it only makes your mother angry, and she has troubles enough withoutyou,” said grandmother gravely and kindly.
“What is the matter with her?’
“Never mind ! You wouldn’t understand.”
“I know ! It is because grandfather ”
“Hold your tongue, I tell you !”
My lot was a hard one, for I was desperately trying to find a kindred spirit, but as I was anxious that no oneshould know of this, I took refuge in being saucy and disagreeable. The lessons with my mother becamegradually more distasteful and more difficult to me. I easily mastered arithmetic, but I had not the patience tolearn to write, and as for grammar, it was quite unintelligible to me.
But what weighed upon me most of all was the fact, which I both saw and felt, that it was very hard for mother togo on living in grandfather’s house. Her expression became more sullen every day; she seemed to look uponeverything with the eyes of a stranger. She used to sit for a long time together at the window overlooking thegarden, saying nothing, and all her brilliant coloring seemed to have faded.
In lesson-time her deep-set eyes seemed to look right through me, at the wall, or at the window, as she asked mequestions in a weary voice, and straightway forgot the answers; and she flew into rages with me much oftenerwhich hurt me, for mothers ought to behave better than any one else, as they do in stories.
Sometimes I said to her:
