Tolstoy, Leo - Childhood

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Childhood

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Childhood

By Leo Tolstoy

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Childhood

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Childhood

Translated by CJ Hogarth

THE TUTOR, KARL IVANITCH

On the 12th of August, 18-- (just three days after my tenth

birthday, when I had been given such wonderful presents), I was

awakened at seven o'clock in the morning by Karl Ivanitch

slapping the wall close to my head with a fly-flap made of sugar

paper and a stick. He did this so roughly that he hit the image

of my patron saint suspended to the oaken back of my bed, and the

dead fly fell down on my curls. I peeped out from under the

coverlet, steadied the still shaking image with my hand, flicked

the dead fly on to the floor, and gazed at Karl Ivanitch with

sleepy, wrathful eyes. He, in a parti-coloured wadded dressing-

gown fastened about the waist with a wide belt of the same

material, a red knitted cap adorned with a tassel, and soft

slippers of goat skin, went on walking round the walls and taking

aim at, and slapping, flies.

"Suppose," I thought to myself," that I am only a small boy,

yet why should he disturb me? Why does he not go killing flies

around Woloda's bed? No; Woloda is older than I, and I am the

youngest of the family, so he torments me. That is what he thinks

of all day long--how to tease me. He knows very well that he has

woken me up and frightened me, but he pretends not to notice it.

Disgusting brute! And his dressing-gown and cap and tassel too--

they are all of them disgusting."

While I was thus inwardly venting my wrath upon Karl Ivanitch, he

had passed to his own bedstead, looked at his watch (which hung

suspended in a little shoe sewn with bugles), and deposited the

fly-flap on a nail, then, evidently in the most cheerful mood

possible, he turned round to us.

"Get up, children! It is quite time, and your mother is already

in the drawing-room," he exclaimed in his strong German accent.

Then he crossed over to me, sat down at my feet, and took his

snuff-box out of his pocket. I pretended to be asleep. Karl

Ivanitch sneezed, wiped his nose, flicked his fingers, and began

amusing himself by teasing me and tickling my toes as he said

with a smile, "Well, well, little lazy one!"

For all my dread of being tickled, I determined not to get out of

bed or to answer him,. but hid my head deeper in the pillow,

kicked out with all my strength, and strained every nerve to keep

from laughing.

"How kind he is, and how fond of us!" I thought to myself,

Yet to think that I could be hating him so just now!"

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I felt angry, both with myself and with Karl Ivanitch, I wanted

to laugh and to cry at the same time, for my nerves were all on

edge.

"Leave me alone, Karl!" I exclaimed at length, with tears in my

eyes, as I raised my head from beneath the bed-clothes.

Karl Ivanitch was taken aback, He left off tickling my feet, and

asked me kindly what the matter was, Had I had a disagreeable

dream? His good German face and the sympathy with which he sought

to know the cause of my tears made them flow the faster. I felt

conscience-stricken, and could not understand how, only a minute

ago, I had been hating Karl, and thinking his dressing-gown and

cap and tassel disgusting. On the contrary, they looked eminently

lovable now. Even the tassel seemed another token of his

goodness. I replied that I was crying because I had had a bad

dream, and had seen Mamma dead and being buried. Of course it was

a mere invention, since I did not remember having dreamt anything

at all that night, but the truth was that Karl's sympathy as he

tried to comfort and reassure me had gradually made me believe

that I HAD dreamt such a horrible dream, and so weep the more--

though from a different cause to the one he imagined

When Karl Ivanitch had left me, I sat up in bed and proceeded to

draw my stockings over my little feet. The tears had quite dried

now, yet the mournful thought of the invented dream was still

haunting me a little. Presently Uncle [This term is often applied

by children to old servants in Russia] Nicola came in--a neat

little man who was always grave, methodical, and respectful, as

well as a great friend of Karl's, He brought with him our

clothes and boots--at least, boots for Woloda, and for myself the

old detestable, be-ribanded shoes. In his presence I felt ashamed

to cry, and, moreover, the morning sun was shining so gaily

through the window, and Woloda, standing at the washstand as he

mimicked Maria Ivanovna (my sister's governess), was laughing so

loud and so long, that even the serious Nicola--a towel over his

shoulder, the soap in one hand, and the basin in the other--could

not help smiling as he said, "Will you please let me wash you,

Vladimir Petrovitch?" I had cheered up completely.

"Are you nearly ready?" came Karl's voice from the schoolroom.

The tone of that voice sounded stern now, and had nothing in it of

the kindness which had just touched me so much. In fact, in the

schoolroom Karl was altogether a different man from what he was

at other times. There he was the tutor. I washed and dressed

myself hurriedly, and, a brush still in my hand as I smoothed my

wet hair, answered to his call. Karl, with spectacles on nose

and a book in his hand, was sitting, as usual, between the door

and one of the windows. To the left of the door were two shelves--

one of them the children's (that is to say, ours), and the other

one Karl's own. Upon ours were heaped all sorts of books--lesson

books and play books--some standing up and some lying down. The

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only two standing decorously against the wall were two large

volumes of a Histoire des Voyages, in red binding. On that shelf

could be seen books thick and thin and books large and small, as

well as covers without books and books without covers, since

everything got crammed up together anyhow when play time arrived

and we were told to put the "library" (as Karl called these

shelves) in order The collection of books on his own shelf was,

if not so numerous as ours, at least more varied. Three of them

in particular I remember, namely, a German pamphlet (minus a

cover) on Manuring Cabbages in Kitchen-Gardens, a History of the

Seven Years' War (bound in parchment and burnt at one corner),

and a Course of Hydrostatics. Though Karl passed so much of his

time in reading that he had injured his sight by doing so, he

never read anything beyond these books and The Northern Bee.

Another article on Karl's shelf I remember well. This was a

round piece of cardboard fastened by a screw to a wooden stand,

with a sort of comic picture of a lady and a hairdresser glued to

the cardboard. Karl was very clever at fixing pieces of cardboard

together, and had devised this contrivance for shielding his weak

eyes from any very strong light.

I can see him before me now--the tall figure in its wadded

dressing-gown and red cap (a few grey hairs visible beneath the

latter) sitting beside the table; the screen with the

hairdresser shading his face; one hand holding a book, and the

other one resting on the arm of the chair. Before him lie his

watch, with a huntsman painted on the dial, a check cotton

handkerchief, a round black snuff-box, and a green spectacle-

case, The neatness and orderliness of all these articles show

clearly that Karl Ivanitch has a clear conscience and a quiet

mind.

Sometimes, when tired of running about the salon downstairs, I

would steal on tiptoe to the schoolroom and find Karl sitting

alone in his armchair as, with a grave and quiet expression on

his face, he perused one of his favourite books. Yet sometimes,

also, there were moments when he was not reading, and when the

spectacles had slipped down his large aquiline nose, and the

blue, half-closed eyes and faintly smiling lips seemed to be

gazing before them with a curious expression, All would be quiet

in the room--not a sound being audible save his regular breathing

and the ticking of the watch with the hunter painted on the dial.

He would not see me, and I would stand at the door and think:

"Poor, poor old man! There are many of us, and we can play

together and be happy, but he sits there all alone, and has

nobody to be fond of him. Surely he speaks truth when he says

that he is an orphan. And the story of his life, too--how terrible

it is! I remember him telling it to Nicola, How dreadful to be in

his position!" Then I would feel so sorry for him that I would

go to him, and take his hand, and say, "Dear Karl Ivanitch!" and

he would be visibly delighted whenever I spoke to him like this,

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and would look much brighter.

On the second wall of the schoolroom hung some maps--mostly torn,

but glued together again by Karl's hand. On the third wall (in

the middle of which stood the door) hung, on one side of the

door, a couple of rulers (one of them ours--much bescratched, and

the other one his--quite a new one), with, on the further side of

the door, a blackboard on which our more serious faults were

marked by circles and our lesser faults by crosses. To the left

of the blackboard was the corner in which we had to kneel when

naughty. How well I remember that corner--the shutter on the

stove, the ventilator above it, and the noise which it made when

turned! Sometimes I would be made to stay in that corner till my

back and knees were aching all over, and I would think to myself.

"Has Karl Ivanitch forgotten me? He goes on sitting quietly in

his arm-chair and reading his Hydrostatics, while I--!" Then, to

remind him of my presence, I would begin gently turning the

ventilator round. Or scratching some plaster off the wall; but if

by chance an extra large piece fell upon the floor, the fright of

it was worse than any punishment. I would glance round at Karl,

but he would still be sitting there quietly, book in hand, and

pretending that he had noticed nothing.

In the middle of the room stood a table, covered with a torn

black oilcloth so much cut about with penknives that the edge of

the table showed through. Round the table stood unpainted chairs

which, through use, had attained a high degree of polish. The

fourth and last wall contained three windows, from the first of

which the view was as follows, Immediately beneath it there ran a

high road on which every irregularity, every pebble, every rut

was known and dear to me. Beside the road stretched a row of

lime-trees, through which glimpses could be caught of a wattled

fence, with a meadow with farm buildings on one side of it and a

wood on the other--the whole bounded by the keeper's hut at the

further end of the meadow, The next window to the right

overlooked the part of the terrace where the "grownups" of the

family used to sit before luncheon. Sometimes, when Karl was

correcting our exercises, I would look out of that window and see

Mamma's dark hair and the backs of some persons with her, and

hear the murmur of their talking and laughter. Then I would feel

vexed that I could not be there too, and think to myself, "When

am I going to be grown up, and to have no more lessons, but sit

with the people whom I love instead of with these horrid

dialogues in my hand?" Then my anger would change to sadness,

and I would fall into such a reverie that I never heard Karl when

he scolded me for my mistakes.

At last, on the morning of which I am speaking, Karl Ivanitch

took off his dressing-gown, put on his blue frockcoat with its

creased and crumpled shoulders, adjusted his tie before the

looking-glass, and took us down to greet Mamma.

Childhood

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MAMMA

Mamma was sitting in the drawing-room and making tea. In one hand

she was holding the tea-pot, while with the other one she was

drawing water from the urn and letting it drip into the tray.

Yet though she appeared to be noticing what she doing, in

reality she noted neither this fact nor our entry.

However vivid be one's recollection of the past, any attempt to

recall the features of a beloved being shows them to one's vision

as through a mist of tears--dim and blurred. Those tears are the

tears of the imagination. When I try to recall Mamma as she was

then, I see, true, her brown eyes, expressive always of love and

kindness, the small mole on her neck below where the small hairs

grow, her white embroidered collar, and the delicate, fresh hand

which so often caressed me, and which I so often kissed; but her

general appearance escapes me altogether.

To the left of the sofa stood an English piano, at which my dark-

haired sister Lubotshka was sitting and playing with manifest

effort (for her hands were rosy from a recent washing in cold

water) Clementi's "Etudes." Then eleven years old, she was

dressed in a short cotton frock and white lace-frilled trousers,

and could take her octaves only in arpeggio. Beside her was

sitting Maria Ivanovna, in a cap adorned with pink ribbons and a

blue shawl, Her face was red and cross, and it assumed an

expression even more severe when Karl Ivanitch entered the room.

Looking angrily at him without answering his bow, she went on

beating time with her foot and counting, " One, two, three--one,

two, three," more loudly and commandingly than ever.

Karl Ivanitch paid no attention to this rudeness, but went, as

usual, with German politeness to kiss Mamma's hand, She drew

herself up, shook her head as though by the movement to chase

away sad thoughts from her, and gave Karl her hand, kissing him

on his wrinkled temple as he bent his head in salutation.

"I thank you, dear Karl Ivanitch," she said in German, and then,

still using the same language asked him how we (the children) had

slept. Karl Ivanitch was deaf in one ear, and the added noise of

the piano now prevented him from hearing anything at all. He

moved nearer to the sofa, and, leaning one hand upon the table

and lifting his cap above his head, said with, a smile which in

those days always seemed to me the perfection of politeness:

"You, will excuse me, will you not, Natalia Nicolaevna?"

The reason for this was that, to avoid catching cold, Karl never

took off his red cap, but invariably asked permission, on

entering the drawing-room, to retain it on his head.

"Yes, pray replace it, Karl Ivanitch," said Mamma, bending

towards him and raising her voice, "But I asked you whether the

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children had slept well? "

Still he did not hear, but, covering his bald head again with the

red cap, went on smiling more than ever,

"Stop a moment, Mimi." said Mamma (now smiling also) to Maria

Ivanovna. "It is impossible to hear anything."

How beautiful Mamma's face was when she smiled! It made her so

infinitely more charming, and everything around her seemed to

grow brighter! If in the more painful moments of my life I could

have seen that smile before my eyes, I should never have known

what grief is. In my opinion, it is in the smile of a face that

the essence of what we call beauty lies. If the smile heightens

the charm of the face, then the face is a beautiful one. If the

smile does not alter the face, then the face is an ordinary one.

But if the smile spoils the face, then the face is an ugly one

indeed.

Mamma took my head between her hands, bent it gently backwards,

looked at me gravely, and said: "You have been crying this

morning?"

I did not answer. She kissed my eyes, and said again in German:

"Why did you cry?"

When talking to us with particular intimacy she always used this

language, which she knew to perfection.

"I cried about a dream, Mamma" I replied, remembering the

invented vision, and trembling involuntarily at the recollection.

Karl Ivanitch confirmed my words, but said nothing as to the

subject of the dream. Then, after a little conversation on the

weather, in which Mimi also took part, Mamma laid some lumps of

sugar on the tray for one or two of the more privileged servants,

and crossed over to her embroidery frame, which stood near one of

the windows.

"Go to Papa now, children," she said, "and ask him to come to

me before he goes to the home farm."

Then the music, the counting, and the wrathful looks from Mimi

began again, and we went off to see Papa. Passing through the

room which had been known ever since Grandpapa's time as "the

pantry," we entered the study,

III

PAPA

He was standing near his writing-table, and pointing angrily to

Childhood

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some envelopes, papers, and little piles of coin upon it as he

addressed some observations to the bailiff, Jakoff Michaelovitch,

who was standing in his usual place (that is to say, between the

door and the barometer) and rapidly closing and unclosing the

fingers of the hand which he held behind his back, The more angry

Papa grew, the more rapidly did those fingers twirl, and when

Papa ceased speaking they came to rest also. Yet, as soon as ever

Jakoff himself began to talk, they flew here, there, and

everywhere with lightning rapidity. These movements always

appeared to me an index of Jakoff's secret thoughts, though his

face was invariably placid, and expressive alike of dignity and

submissiveness, as who should say, "I am right, yet let it be as

you wish." On seeing us, Papa said, "Directly--wait a moment,"

and looked towards the door as a hint for it to be shut.

"Gracious heavens! What can be the matter with you to-day,

Jakoff?" he went on with a hitch of one shoulder (a habit of

his). "This envelope here with the 800 roubles enclosed,"--Jacob

took out a set of tablets, put down "800" and remained looking

at the figures while he waited for what was to come next--"is for

expenses during my absence. Do you understand? From the mill you

ought to receive 1000 roubles. Is not that so? And from the

Treasury mortgage you ought to receive some 8000 roubles. From

the hay--of which, according to your calculations, we shall be

able to sell 7000 poods [The pood = 40 lbs.]at 45 copecks a piece

there should come in 3000, Consequently the

sum-total that you ought to have in hand soon is--how much?--12,000

roubles. Is that right?"

"Precisely," answered Jakoff, Yet by the extreme rapidity with

which his fingers were twitching I could see that he had an

objection to make. Papa went on:

"Well, of this money you will send 10,000 roubles to the

Petrovskoe local council, As for the money already at the office,

you will remit it to me, and enter it as spent on this present

date." Jakoff turned over the tablet marked "12,000," and put

down "21,000"--seeming, by his action, to imply that

12,000 roubles had been turned over in the same fashion as he had

turned the tablet. "And this envelope with the enclosed money,"

concluded Papa, "you will deliver for me to the person to whom

it is addressed."

I was standing close to the table, and could see the address. It

was "To Karl Ivanitch Mayer." Perhaps Papa had an idea that I

had read something which I ought not, for he touched my shoulder

with his hand and made me aware, by a slight movement, that I

must withdraw from the table. Not sure whether the movement was

meant for a caress or a command, I kissed the large, sinewy hand

which rested upon my shoulder.

"Very well," said Jakoff. "And what are your orders about the

Childhood

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accounts for the money from Chabarovska?" (Chabarovska was

Mamma's village.)

"Only that they are to remain in my office, and not to be taken

thence without my express instructions."

For a minute or two Jakoff was silent. Then his fingers began to

twitch with extraordinary rapidity, and, changing the expression

of deferential vacancy with which he had listened to his orders

for one of shrewd intelligence, he turned his tablets back and

spoke.

"Will you allow me to inform you, Peter Alexandritch," he said,

with frequent pauses between his words, "that, however much you

wish it, it is out of the question to repay the local council

now. You enumerated some items, I think, as to what ought to come

in from the mortgage, the mill, and the hay (he jotted down each

of these items on his tablets again as he spoke)." Yet I fear

that we must have made a mistake somewhere in the accounts." Here

he paused a while, and looked gravely at Papa.

"How so?"

"Well, will you be good enough to look for yourself? There is the

account for the mill. The miller has been to me twice to ask for

time, and I am afraid that he has no money whatever in hand. He

is here now. Would you like to speak to him?"

"No. Tell me what he says," replied Papa, showing by a movement

of his head that he had no desire to have speech with the miller,

"Well, it is easy enough to guess what he says. He declares that

there is no grinding to be got now, and that his last remaining

money has gone to pay for the dam. What good would it do for us

to turn him out? As to what you were pleased to say about the

mortgage, you yourself are aware that your money there is locked

up and cannot be recovered at a moment's notice. I was sending a

load of flour to Ivan Afanovitch to-day, and sent him a letter as

well, to which he replies that he would have been glad to oblige

you, Peter Alexandritch, were it not that the matter is out of

his hands now, and that all the circumstances show that it would

take you at least two months to withdraw the money. From the

hay I understood you to estimate a return of 3000 roubles?"

(Here Jakoff jotted down "3000" on his tablets, and then looked

for a moment from the figures to Papa with a peculiar expression

on his face.) "Well, surely you see for yourself how little that

is? And even then we should lose if we were to sell the stuff

now, for you must know that--"

It was clear that he would have had many other arguments to

adduce had not Papa interrupted him,

"I cannot make any change in my arrangements," said Papa. "Yet

Childhood

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if there should REALLY have to be any delay in the recovery of

these sums, we could borrow what we wanted from the Chabarovska

funds."

"Very well, sir." The expression of Jakoff's face and the way in

which he twitched his fingers showed that this order had given

him great satisfaction. He was a serf, and a most zealous,

devoted one, but, like all good bailiffs, exacting and

parsimonious to a degree in the interests of his master. Moreover,

he had some queer notions of his own. He was forever endeavouring

to increase his master's property at the expense of his

mistress's, and to prove that it would be impossible to avoid

using the rents from her estates for the benefit of Petrovskoe

(my father's village, and the place where we lived). This point

he had now gained and was delighted in consequence.

Papa then greeted ourselves, and said that if we stayed much

longer in the country we should become lazy boys; that we were

growing quite big now, and must set about doing lessons in

earnest,

"I suppose you know that I am starting for Moscow to-night?" he

went on, "and that I am going to take you with me? You will live

with Grandmamma, but Mamma and the girls will remain here. You

know, too, I am sure, that Mamma's one consolation will be to

hear that you are doing your lessons well and pleasing every one

around you."

The preparations which had been in progress for some days past

had made us expect some unusual event, but this news left us

thunderstruck, Woloda turned red, and, with a shaking voice,

delivered Mamma's message to Papa.

"So this was what my dream foreboded!" I thought to myself.

"God send that there come nothing worse!" I felt terribly sorry

to have to leave Mamma, but at the same rejoiced to think that I

should soon be grown up, "If we are going to-day, we shall

probably have no lessons to do, and that will be splendid,

However, I am sorry for Karl Ivanitch, for he will certainly be

dismissed now. That was why that envelope had been prepared for

him. I think I would almost rather stay and do lessons here than

leave Mamma or hurt poor Karl. He is miserable enough already."

As these thoughts crossed my mind I stood looking sadly at the

black ribbons on my shoes, After a few words to Karl Ivanitch

about the depression of the barometer and an injunction to Jakoff

not to feed the hounds, since a farewell meet was to be held

after luncheon, Papa disappointed my hopes by sending us off to

lessons--though he also consoled us by promising to take us out

hunting later.

On my way upstairs I made a digression to the terrace. Near the

door leading on to it Papa's favourite hound, Milka, was lying in

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ChildhoodGetanybookforfreeon:www.Abika.com1ChildhoodByLeoTolstoyGetanybookforfreeon:www.Abika.comChildhoodGetanybookforfreeon:www.Abika.com2ChildhoodTranslatedbyCJHogarthTHETUTOR,KARLIVANITCHOnthe12thofAugust,18--(justthreedaysaftermytenthbirthday,whenIhadbeengivensuchwonderfulpresents),Iwasawakened...

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