1EARLY one Saturday morning I made my way to Petrovna’s kitchen-garden to catch robins. I was there a long time, because the pert red-breasts refused to go into the trap; tantalizingly beautiful, they hopped playfully over the silvery frozen snow, and flew on to the branches of the frost-covered bushes, scattering the blue snow-crystals all about.

2It was such a pretty sight that I forgot my vexation at my lack of success; in fact, I was not a very keen sportsman, for I took more pleasure in the incidents of the chase than in its results, and my greatest delight was to observe the ways of the birds and think about them.

3I was quite happy sitting alone on the edge of a snowy field listening to the birds chirping in the crystal stillness of the frosty day, when, faintly, in the distance, I heard the fleeting sounds of the bells of a troika like the melancholy song of a skylark in the Russian winter.

4I was benumbed by sitting in the snow, and I felt that my ears were frost-bitten, so I gathered up the trap and 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.

5“Whom have you brought here?”

6He turned and looked at me from under his arms, and jumped on to the driver’s seat before he replied:

7“The priest.”

8But I was not convinced; and if it was the priest, he must have come to see one of the lodgers.

9“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 I entered the empty kitchen was my mother’s energetic voice in the adjoining room, saying very distinctly:

10“What is the matter now? Do you want to kill me? ’

11Without taking off my outdoor clothes, I threw down the cages and ran into the vestibule, where I collided with grandfather; he seized me by the shoulder, looked into my face with wild eyes, and swallowing with difficulty, said hoarsely:

12“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 .!”

13I knocked at the door, which was protected by felt and oilcloth, but it was some time before my hand, benumbed with cold, and trembling with nervousness, found the latch; and when at length I softly entered, I halted on the threshold, dazed and bewildered.

14“Here he is!” said mother. “Lord! how big he is grown.

15Why, don’t you know me? . . .

16What a way you ‘ve dressed him! . . .

17And, yes, his ears are going white!

18Make haste, Mama, and get some goose-grease. ”

19She stood in the middle of the room, bending over me as she took off my outdoor clothes, and turning me about as if I were nothing more than a ball; her massive figure was clothed in a warm, soft, beautiful dress, as full as a man’s cloak, which was fastened by black buttons, running obliquely from the shoulder to the hem of the skirt.

20I had never seen anything like it before.

21Her face seemed smaller than it used to be, and her eyes larger and more sunken; while her hair seemed to be of a deeper gold.

22As she undressed me, she threw the garments across the threshold, her red lips curling in disgust, and all the time her voice rang out:

23“Why don’t you speak”?

24Aren’t you glad to see me”?

25Phoo! what a dirty shirt . . . . ”

26Then she rubbed my ears with goose-grease, which hurt; but such a fragrant, pleasant odor came from her while she was doing it, that the pain seemed less than usual.

27I pressed close to her, looking up into her eyes, too moved to speak, and through her words I could hear grandmother’s low, unhappy voice:

28“He is so self-willed . . . he has got quite out of hand. He is not afraid of grandfather, even. . . .

29Oh, Varia! . . . Varia! ”

30“Don’t whine, Mother, for goodness’ sake; it doesn’t make things any better.”

31Everything looked small and pitiful and old beside mother. I felt old too, as old as grandfather.

32Pressing me to her knees, and smoothing my hair with her warm, heavy hand, she said:

33“He wants some one strict over him.

34And it is time he went to school. . . .

35You will like to learn lessons, won’t you? ”

36“I ‘ve learned all I want to know.”

37“You will have to learn a little more. . . .

38Why! How strong you ‘ve grown! ”

39And she laughed heartily in her deep contralto tones as she played with me.

40When grandfather came in, pale as ashes, with blood-shot eyes, and bristling with rage, she put me from her and asked in a loud voice:

41“Well, what have you settled, Father?

42Am I to go? ”

43He 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 if it were all eyes and ears, and something seemed to swell within my breast, causing an in tense desire to scream.

44“Lexei, leave the room!” said grandfather roughly.

45“Why?” asked mother, drawing me to her again.

46“You shall not go away from this place. I forbid it!”

47Mother stood up, gliding up the room, just like a rosy cloud, and placed herself behind grandfather.

48“Listen to me, Papasha ”

49He turned upon her, shrieking

50“Shut up!”

51“I won’t have you shouting at me,” said mother coolly.

52Grandmother rose from the couch, raising her finger admonishingly.

53“Now, Varvara!”

54And grandfather sat down, muttering:

55“Wait a bit! I want to know who?

56Eh?

57Who was it? . . . How did it happen? ”

58And suddenly he roared out in a voice which did not seem to belong to him:

59“You have brought shame upon me, Varka!”

60“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 through the partition. They either all talked at once, interrupting one another, or else fell into a long silence as if they had fallen asleep.

61The subject of their conversation was a baby, lately bom to my mother and given into some one’s keeping; but I could not understand whether grandfather was angry with mother for giving birth to a child without asking his permission, or for not bringing the child to him.

62He came into the kitchen later, looking dishevelled; his face was livid, and he seemed very tired. With him came grandmother, wiping the tears from her cheeks with the basque of her blouse. He sat down on a bench, doubled up, resting his hands on it, tremulously biting his pale lips; and she knelt down in front of him, and said quietly but with great earnestness:

63“Father, forgive her! For Christ’s sake forgive her!

64You can’t get rid of her in this manner.

65Do you think that such things don’t happen amongst the gentry, and in merchants’ families’?

66You know what women are.

67Now, forgive her! No one is perfect, you know. ”

68Grandfather leaned back against the wall and looked into her face; then he growled, with a bitter laugh which was almost a sob:

69“Well what next”?

70Who wouldn’t you forgive? I wonder! If you had your way every one would be forgiven. . . . Ugh! You! ”

71And bending over her he seized her by the shoulders and shook her, and said, speaking in a rapid whisper:

72“But, by God, you needn’t worry yourself. You will find no forgiveness in me.

73Here we are almost in our graves overtaken by punishment in our last days . . . there is neither rest nor happiness for us . . . nor will there be. . . .

74And what is more . . . mark my words! . . . we shall be beggars before we ‘re done beggars! ”

75Grandmother took his hand, and sitting beside him laughed gently as she said:

76“Oh, you poor thing!

77So you are afraid of being a beggar.

78Well, and suppose we do become beggars’?

79All you will have to do is to stay at home while I go out begging. . . . They’ll give to me, never fear! . . . We shall have plenty; so you can throw that trouble aside. ”

80He 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.

81“Oh, you fool!” he cried. “You blessed fool! . . . You are all that I ‘ve got now! . . .

82You don’t worry about anything because you don’t understand.

83But you must look back a little . . . and remember how you and I worked for them . . . how I sinned for their sakes . . . yet, in spite of all that, now ”

84Here I could contain myself no longer; my tears would not be restrained, and I jumped down off the stove and flew to them, sobbing with joy because they were talking to each other in this wonderfully friendly fashion, and because 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:

85“So you are here, you little demon!

86Well, your mother ‘s come back, and I suppose you will always be with her now. The poor old devil of a grandfather can go, eh”?

87And grandmother, who has spoiled you so . . . she can go to . . . eh?

88Ugh you! . .

89He put us away from him and stood up as he said in a loud, angry tone:

90“They are all leaving us all turning away from us. . . .

91Well, call her in.

92What are you waiting for? Make haste! ”

93Grandmother went out of the kitchen, and he went and stood in the corner, with bowed head.

94“All-merciful God!” he began. “Well . . . Thou seest how it is with us!”

95And 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 be vaunting himself before his Maker.

96When mother came in her red dress lighted up the kitchen, and as she sat down by the table, with grandfather and grandmother one on each side of her, her wide sleeves fell against their shoulders. She related something to them quietly and gravely, to which they listened in silence, and without attempting to interrupt her, just as if they were children and she were their mother.

97Worn out by excitement, I fell fast asleep on the couch.

98In the evening the old people went to vespers, dressed in their best. Grandmother gave a merry wink in the direction of grandfather, who was resplendent in the uniform he wore as head of the Guild, with a racoon pelisse over it, and his stomach sticking out importantly; and as she winked she observed to mother:

99“Just look at father! Isn’t he grand. . . . As spruce as a little goat.”

100And mother laughed gaily.

101When I was left alone with her in her room, she sat on the couch, with her feet curled under her, and pointing to the place beside her, she said:

102“Come and sit here.

103Now, tell me how do you like living here? Not much, eh? ”

104How did I like it?

105“I don’t know.”

106“Grandfather beats you, does he?”

107“Not so much now.”

108“Oh? . . .

109Well, now, you tell me all about it . . . tell me whatever you like . . . well? ”

110As I did not want to speak about grandfather, I told her about the kind man who used to live in that room, whom no one liked, and who was turned out by grandfather.

111I could see that she did not like this story as she said:

112‘‘Well, and what else? ”

113I told her about the three boys, and how the Colonel had driven me out of his yard; and her hold upon me tightened as she listened.

114“What nonsense!” she exclaimed with flashing eyes, and was silent a minute, gazing on the floor.

115“Why was grandfather angry with you?” I asked.

116“Because I have done wrong, according to him.”

117“In not bringing that baby here?”

118She started violently, frowning, and biting her lips; then she burst into a laugh and pressed me more closely to her, as she said:

119“Oh, you little monster!

120Now, you are to hold your tongue about that, do you hear?

121Never speak about it forget you ever heard it, in fact. ”

122And she spoke to me quietly and sternly for some time; but I did not understand what she said, and presently she stood up and began to pace the room, strumming on her chin with her fingers, and alternately raising and depressing her thick eyebrows.

123A guttering tallow candle was burning on the table, and was reflected in the blank face of the mirror; murky shadows crept along the floor; a lamp burned before the icon in the corner; and the ice-clad windows were silvered by moonlight.

124Mother looked about her as if she were seeking something on the bare walls or on the ceiling.

125“What time do you go to bed?”

126“Let me stay a little longer.”

127“Besides, you have had some sleep today,” she reminded herself.

128“Do you want to go away?” I asked her.

129“Where to?” she exclaimed, in a surprised tone; and raising my head she gazed for such a long time at my face that tears came into my eyes.

130“What is the matter with you?” she asked.

131“My neck aches.”

132My heart was aching too, for I had suddenly realized that she would not remain in our house, but would go away again.

133“You are getting like your father,” she observed, kicking a mat aside. “Has grandmother told you anything about him?”

134“Yes.”

135“She loved Maxim very much very much indeed; and he loved her ”

136“I know.”

137Mother looked at the candle and frowned; then she extinguished it, saying:

138“That ‘s better!”

139Yes, it made the atmosphere fresher and clearer, and the dark, murky shadows disappeared; bright blue patches of light lay on the floor, and golden crystals shone on the window-panes.

140“But where have you lived all this time?”

141She 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.

142“Where did you get that dress?”

143“I made it myself.

144I make all my own clothes. ”

145I liked to think that she was different from others, but I was sorry that she so rarely spoke; in fact, unless I asked questions, she did not open her mouth.

146Presently she came and sat beside me again on the couch; and there we stayed without speaking, pressing close to each other, until the old people returned, smelling of wax and incense, with a solemn quietness and gentleness in their manner.

147We supped as on holidays, ceremoniously, exchanging very few words, and uttering those as if we were afraid of waking an extremely light sleeper.

148Almost at once my mother energetically undertook the task of giving me Russian lessons. She bought some books, from one of which

149“Kindred Words” I acquired the art of reading Russian characters in a few days; but then my mother must set me to learn poetry by heart to our mutual vexation.

150The verses ran:

151“Bolshaia doroga, priamaia doroga Prostora ne malo beresh twi ou Boga Tebia ne rovniali topor ee lopata Miagka twi kopitou ee pwiliu bogata.”

152But I read “prostovo” for “prostora,” and “roubili” for “rovniali,” and “kopita” for “kopitou.”

153“Now, think a moment,” said mother. “How could it be ‘prostovo,’ you little wretch? . . .

154Tro sto ra’-; now do you understand? ”

155I did understand, but all the same I read “pros-tovo,” to my own astonishment as much as hers.

156She said angrily that I was senseless and obstinate. This made bitter hearing, for I was honestly trying to remember the cursed verses, and I could repeat them in my own mind without a mistake, but directly I tried to say them aloud they went wrong.

157I loathed the elusive lines, and began to mix the verses up on purpose, putting all the words which sounded alike together anyhow. I was delighted when, under the spell I placed upon them, the verses emerged absolutely meaningless.

158But this amusement did not go for long unpunished. One day, after a very successful lesson, when mother asked me if I had learned my poetry, I gabbled almost involuntarily:

159“Doroga, dvouroga, tvorog, nedoroga, Kopwita, popwito, korwito ”

160I recollected myself too late. Mother rose to her feet, and resting her hands on the table, asked in very distinct tones:

161“What is that you are saying?”

162“I don’t know,” I replied dully.

163“Oh, you know well enough!”

164“It was just something ”

165“Something what?”

166“Something funny.”

167“Go into the corner.”

168“Why?”

169“Go into the corner,” she repeated quietly, but her aspect was threatening.

170“Which corner?”

171Without replying, she gazed so fixedly at my face that I began to feel quite flustered, for I did not understand what she wanted me to do.

172In one corner, under the icon, stood a small table on which was a vase containing scented dried grass and some flowers; in another stood a covered trunk. The bed occupied the third, and there was no fourth, because the door came close up to the wall.

173“I don’t know what you mean,” I said, despairing of being able to understand her.

174She relaxed slightly, and wiped her forehead and her cheeks in silence; then she asked:

175“Didn’t grandfather put you in the corner?”

176“When?”

177“Never mind when! Has he ever done so?” she cried, striking the table twice with her hand.

178“No at least I don’t remember it.”

179She sighed.

180“Phew!

181Come here! ”

182I went to her, saying:

183“Why are you so angry with me?”

184“Because you made a muddle of that poetry on purpose.”

185I explained as well as I was able that I could remember it word for word with my eyes shut, but that if I tried to say it the words seemed to change.

186“Are you sure you are not making that up?”

187I answered that I was quite sure; but on second thoughts I was not so sure, and I suddenly repeated the verses quite correctly, to my own utter astonishment and confusion.

188I stood before my mother burning with shame; my face seemed to be swelling, my tingling ears to be filled with blood, and unpleasant noises surged through my head. I saw her face through my tears, dark with vexation, as she bit her lips and frowned.

189“What is the meaning of this?” she asked in a voice which did not seem to belong to her. “So you did make it up?”

190“I don’t know.

191I didn’t mean to! ”

192“You are very difficult,” she said, letting her head droop. “Run away!”

193She began to insist on my learning still more poetry, but my memory seemed to grow less capable every day of retaining the smooth, flowing lines, while my insane desire to alter or mutilate the verses grew stronger and more malevolent in proportion. I even substituted different words, by which I somewhat surprised myself, for a whole series of words which had nothing to do with the subject would appear and get mixed up with the correct words out of the book.

194Very often a whole line of the verse would seem to be obliterated, and no matter how conscientiously I tried, I could not get it back into my mind’s eye.

195That pathetic poem of Prince Biazemskov (I think it was his) caused me a great deal of trouble:

196‘At eventide and early morn

197The old man, widow and orphan

198For Christ’s sake ask for help from man.

199But the last line:

200At windows beg, with air forlorn.

201I always rendered correctly.

202Mother, unable to make anything of me, recounted my exploits to grandfather, who said in an ominous tone:

203“It is all put on!

204He has a splendid memory. He learned the prayers by heart with me. . . .

205He is making believe, that ‘s all. His memory is good enough. . . . Teaching him is like engraving on a piece of stone . . . that will show you how good it is! . . .

206You should give him a hiding. ”

207Grandmother took me to task too.

208“You can remember stories and songs . . . and aren’t songs poetry?”

209All this was true and I felt very guilty, but all the same I no sooner set myself to learn verses than from somewhere or other different words crept in like cockroaches, and formed themselves into lines.

210“We too have beggars at our door, Old men and orphans very poor.

211They 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. ”

212At night, when I lay in bed beside grandmother, I used to repeat to her, till I was weary, all that I had learned out of books, and all that I had composed myself. Sometimes she giggled, but more often she gave me a lecture.

213“There now! You see what you can do.

214But it is not right to make fun of beggars, God bless them!

215Christ lived in poverty, and so did all the saints. ”

216I murmured:

217“Paupers I hate, Grandfather too.

218It ‘s sad to relate, Pardon me, God!

219Grandfather beats me Whenever he can. ”

220“What are you talking about? I wish your tongue may drop out!” cried grandmother angrily. “If grandfather could hear what you are saying ”

221“He can hear if he likes.”

222“You are very wrong to be so saucy; it only makes your mother angry, and she has troubles enough without you,” said grandmother gravely and kindly.

223“What is the matter with her? ’

224“Never mind!

225You wouldn’t understand. ”

226“I know! It is because grandfather ”

227“Hold your tongue, I tell you!”

228My lot was a hard one, for I was desperately trying to find a kindred spirit, but as I was anxious that no one should know of this, I took refuge in being saucy and disagreeable.

229The lessons with my mother became gradually more distasteful and more difficult to me. I easily mastered arithmetic, but I had not the patience to learn to write, and as for grammar, it was quite unintelligible to me.

230But what weighed upon me most of all was the fact, which I both saw and felt, that it was very hard for mother to go on living in grandfather’s house. Her expression became more sullen every day; she seemed to look upon everything with the eyes of a stranger. She used to sit for a long time together at the window overlooking the garden, saying nothing, and all her brilliant coloring seemed to have faded.

231In lesson-time her deep-set eyes seemed to look right through me, at the wall, or at the window, as she asked me questions in a weary voice, and straightway forgot the answers; and she flew into rages with me much oftener which hurt me, for mothers ought to behave better than any one else, as they do in stories.

232Sometimes I said to her:

233“You do not like living with us, do you?”

234“Mind your own business!” she would cry angrily.

235It began to dawn upon me that grandfather was up to something which worried grandmother and mother.

236He often shut himself up with mother in her room, and there we heard him wailing and squeaking like the wooden pipe of Nikanora, the one-sided shepherd, which always affected me so unpleasantly.

237Once when one of these conversations was going on, mother shrieked so that every one in the house could hear her:

238“I won’t have it! I won’t!”

239And a door banged and grandfather set up a howl.

240This happened in the evening. Grandmother was sitting at the kitchen table making a shirt for grandfather and whispering to herself.

241When the door banged, she said, listening intently:

242“O Lord! she has gone up to the lodgers.”

243At this moment grandfather burst into the kitchen, and rushing up to grandmother, gave her a blow on the head, and hissed as he shook his bruised fist at her:

244“Don’t you go chattering about things there ‘s no need to talk about, you old hag!”

245“You are an old fool!” retorted grandmother quietly, as she put her knocked-about hair straight. “Do you think I am going to keep quiet?

246I’ll tell her everything I know about your plots always. ”

247He threw himself upon her and struck at her large head with his fists. Making no attempt to defend herself, or to strike him back, she said:

248“Go on! Beat me, you silly fool! . . .

249That’s right! Hit me! ”

250I threw cushions and blankets at him from the couch, and the boots which were round the stove, but he was in such a frenzy of rage that he did not heed them. Grandmother fell to the floor and he kicked her head, till he finally stumbled and fell down himself, over-turning a pailful of water.

251He jumped up spluttering and snorting, glanced wildly round, and rushed away to his own room in the attic. Grandmother rose with a sigh, sat down on the bench, and began to straighten her matted hair.

252I jumped oil the couch, and she said to me in an angry tone:

253“Put these pillows and things in their places.

254The idea! Fancy throwing pillows at any one! . . .

255And was it any business of yours?

256As for that old devil, he has gone out of his mind the fool! ”

257Then she drew in her breath sharply, wrinkling up her face as she called me to her, and holding her head down said:

258“Look! What is it that hurts me so?”

259I put her heavy hair aside, and saw that a hairpin had been driven deep intc the skin of her head. I pulled it out; but finding another one, my ringers seemed to lose all power of movement and I said:

260“I think I had better call mother. I am frightened.”

261She waved me aside.

262“What is the matter? . . .

263Call mother indeed! I’ll call you! . . .

264Thank God that she has heard and seen nothing of it!

265As for you Now then, get out of my way! ”

266And with her own flexible lace-worker’s fingers she rummaged in her thick mane, while I plucked up sufficient courage to help her pull out two more thick, bent hairpins.

267“Does it hurt you? ’

268“Not much. I’ll heat the bath tomorrow and wash my head. It will be all right then.”

269Then she began persuasively:

270“Now, my darling, you won’t tell your mother that he beat me, will you?

271There is enough bad feeling between them without that.

272So you won’t tell, will you? ”

273“No.”

274“Now, don’t you forget!

275Come, let us put things straight. . . .

276There are no bruises on my face, are there?

277So that’s all right; we shall be able to keep it quiet. ”

278Then she set to work to clean the floor, and I exclaimed, from the bottom of my heart:

279“You are just like a saint . . . they torture you, and torture you, and you think nothing of it.”

280“What is that nonsense you are jabbering?

281Saint?

282Where did you ever see one? ”

283And going on all fours, she kept muttering to herself, while I sat by the side of the stove and thought on ways and means of being revenged on grandfather.

284It was the first time in my presence that he had beaten grandmother in such a disgusting and terrible manner.

285His red face and his dishevelled red hair rose before me in the twilight; my heart was boiling over with rage, and I was irritated because I could not think of an adequate punishment.

286But a day or two after this, having been sent up to his attic with something for him, I saw him sitting on the floor before an open trunk, looking through some papers; while on a chair lay his favorite calendar consisting of twelve leaves of thick, gray paper, divided into squares according to the number of days in the month, and in each square was the figure of the saint of the day.

287Grandfather greatly valued this calendar, and only let me look at it on those rare occasions when he was very pleased with me; and I was conscious of an indefinable feeling as I gazed at the charming little gray figures placed so close together.

288I knew the lives of some of them too Kirik and Uliti, Barbara, the great martyr, Panteleimon, and many others; but what I liked most was the sad life of Alexei, the man of God, and the beautiful verses about him. Grandmother often repeated them to me feelingly.

289One might consider hundreds of such people and console oneself with the thought that they were all martyrs.

290But now I made up my mind to tear up the calendar; and when grandfather took a dark blue paper to the window to read it, I snatched up several leaves, and flying downstairs stole the scissors off grandmother’s table, and throwing myself on the couch began to cut off the heads of the saints.

291When I had beheaded one row I began to feel that it was a pity to destroy the calendar, so I decided to just cut out the squares; but before the second row was in pieces grandfather appeared in the doorway and asked:

292“Who gave you permission to take away my calendar?”

293Then seeing the squares of paper scattered over the table he picked them up, one after the other, holding each close to his face, then dropping it and picking up another; his jaw went awry, his beard jumped up and down, and he breathed so hard that the papers flew on to the floor.

294“What have you done?” he shrieked at length, dragging me towards him by the foot. I turned head over heels, and grandmother caught me, with grandfather striking her with his fist and screaming:

295“I’ll kill him!”

296At this moment mother appeared, and I took refuge in the corner of the stove, while she, barring his way, caught grandfather’s hands, which were being flourished in her face, and pushed him away as she said:

297“What is the meaning of this unseemly behavior?

298Recollect yourself. ”

299Grandfather threw himself on the bench under the window, howling:

300“You want to kill me.

301You are all against me every one of you! ”

302“Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?” My mother’s voice sounded subdued. “Why all this pretense?”

303Grandfather shrieked, and kicked the bench, with his beard sticking out funnily towards the ceiling and his eyes tightly closed; it seemed to me that he really was ashamed before mother, and that he was really pretending and that was why he kept his eyes shut.

304“I’ll gum all these pieces together on some calico, and they will look even better than before,” said mother, glancing at the cuttings and the leaves. “Look they were crumpled and torn; they had been lying about.”

305She spoke to him just like she used to speak to me in lesson-time when I could not understand something, and he stood up at once, put his shirt and waistcoat straight, in a business-like manner, expectorated and said:

306“Do it today.

307I will bring you the other leaves at once. ”

308He went to the door, but he halted on the threshold and pointed a crooked finger at me:

309“And he will have to be whipped.”

310“That goes without saying,” agreed mother, bending towards me. “Why did you do it?”

311“I did it on purpose.

312He had better not beat grandmother again, or I’ll cut his beard off. ”

313Grandmother, taking off her torn bodice, said, shaking her head reproachfully:

314“Hold your tongue now, as you promised.”

315And she spat on the floor.

316“May your tongue swell up if you don’t keep it still!”

317Mother looked at her, and again crossed the kitchen to me.

318“When did he beat her? ’

319“Now, Varvara, you ought to be ashamed to ask him about it. Is it any business of yours?” said grandmother angrily.

320Mother went and put her arm round her.

321“Oh, little mother my dear little mother!”

322“Oh, go away with your little mother’!

323Get away! ”

324They looked at each other in silence. Grandfather could be heard stamping about in the vestibule.

325When she first came home mother had made friends with the merry lady, the soldier’s wife, and almost every evening she went up to the front room of the half-house, where she sometimes found people from Betlenga House beautiful ladies, and officers.

326Grandfather did not like this at all, and one day, as he was sitting in the kitchen, he shook his spoon at her threateningly and muttered:

327“So you are starting your old ways, curse you!

328We don’t get a chance of sleeping till the morning now. ”

329He soon cleared the lodgers out, and when they had gone he brought from somewhere or other two loads of assorted furniture, placed it in the front room, and locked it up with a large padlock.

330“We have no need to take lodgers,” he said. “I am going to entertain on my own account now.”

331And so on Sundays and holidays visitors began to appear. There was grandmother’s sister, Matrena Sergievna, a shrewish laundress with a large nose, in a striped silk dress and with hair dyed gold; and with her came her sons Vassili, a long-haired draughtsman, good-natured and gay, who was dressed entirely in gray; and Victor, in all colors of the rainbow, with a head like a horse, and a narrow face covered with freckles, who, even while he was in the vestibule taking off his goloshes, sang in a squeaky voice just like Petrushka’s:

332“Andrei-papa! Andrei-papa!” which occasioned me some surprise and alarm.

333Uncle Jaakov used to come too, with his guitar, and accompanied by a bent, bald-headed man a clock-winder, who wore a long, black frock-coat and had a smooth manner; he reminded me of a monk.

334He used to sit in a corner with his head on one side, and smiling curiously as he tapped his shaven, clefted chin with his ringers.

335He was dark, and there was something peculiar in the way he stared at us with his one eye; he said very little, and his favorite expression was:

336“Pray don’t trouble; it doesn’t matter in the least.”

337When I saw him for the first time I suddenly remembered one day long ago, while we were living in New Street, hearing the dull, insistent beating of a drum outside the gate, and seeing a night-cart, surrounded by soldiers and people in black, going from the prison to the square; and seated on a bench in the cart was a man of medium size, with a round cap made of woolen stuff, in chains and upon his breast a black tablet was displayed, on which there were written some words in large white letters. The man hung his head as if he were reading what was written there, and he shook all over and his chains rattled.

338So when mother said to the winder:

339“This is my son,” I shrank away from him in terror, and put my hands behind me.

340“Pray don’t trouble!” he said, and his whole mouth seemed to stretch, in a ghastly fashion, as far as his right ear, as he seized me by the belt, drew me to him, turned me round swiftly and lightly, and let me go.

341“He ‘s all right. He ‘s a sturdy little chap.”

342I betook myself to the corner, where there was an armchair upholstered in leather so large that one could lie in it; and grandfather used to brag about it, and call it “Prince Gruzincki’s armchair” and in this I settled myself and looked on, thinking that grown-up people’s ideas of enjoyment were very boring, and that the way the clock-winder’s face kept on changing was very strange, and was not calculated to inspire confidence.

343It was an oily, flexible face, and it seemed to be melting and always softly on the move; if he smiled, his thick lips shifted to his right cheek, and his little nose turned that way too, and looked like a meat pasty on a plate.

344His great projecting ears moved strangely too, one being lifted every time he raised his eyebrow over his seeing eye, and the other moving in unison with his cheek-bone; and when he sneezed it seemed as if it were as easy to cover his nose with them as with the palm of his hand.

345Sometimes he sighed, and thrust out his dark tongue, round as a pestle, and licked his thick, moist lips with a circular movement.

346This did not strike me as being funny, but only as something wonderful, which I could not help looking at.

347They drank tea with rum in it, which smelt like burnt onion tops; they drank liqueurs made by grandmother, some yellow like gold, some black like tar, some green; they ate curds, and buns made of butter, eggs and honey; they perspired, and panted, and lavished praises on grandmother; and when they had finished eating, they settled themselves, looking flushed and puffy, decorously in their chairs, and languidly asked Uncle Jaakov to play.

348He bent over his guitar and struck up a disagreeable, irritating song:

349“Oh, we have been out on the spree, The town rang with our voices free, And to a lady from Kazan We ‘ve told our story, every man.”

350I thought this was a miserable song, and grandmother said:

351“Why don’t you play something else, Jaasha, a real song!

352Do you remember, Matrena, the sort of songs we used to sing? ”

353Spreading out her rustling frock, the laundress reminded her: