RATHER less than a month after our arrival in Moscow I was sitting upstairs in my Grandmamma's house and doing some writing at a large table. Opposite to me sat the drawing master, who was giving a few finishing touches to the head of a turbaned Turk, executed in black pencil. Woloda, with out-stretched neck, was standing behind the drawing master and looking over his shoulder. The head was Woloda's first production in pencil and to-day-- Grandmamma's name-day--the masterpiece was to be presented to her.
"Aren't you going to put a little more shadow there? " said Woloda to the master as he raised himself on tiptoe and pointed to the Turk's neck.
"No, it is not necessary," the master replied as he put pencil and drawing-pen into a japanned folding box. "It is just right now, and you need not do anything more to it. As for you, Nicolinka " he added, rising and glancing askew at the Turk,
"won't you tell us your great secret at last? What are you going to give your Grandmamma? I think another head would be your best gift. But good-bye, gentlemen," and taking his hat and cardboard he departed.
I too had thought that another head than the one at which I had been working would be a better gift; so, when we were told that Grandmamma's name-day was soon to come round and that we must each of us have a present ready for her, I had taken it into my head to write some verses in honour of the occasion, and had forthwith composed two rhymed couplets, hoping that the rest would soon materialise. I really do not know how the idea--one so peculiar for a child--came to occur to me, but I know that I liked it vastly, and answered all questions on the subject of my gift by declaring that I should soon have something ready for Grandmamma, but was not going to say what it was.
Contrary to my expectation, I found that, after the first two couplets executed in the initial heat of enthusiasm, even my most strenuous efforts refused to produce another one. I began to read different poems in our books, but neither Dimitrieff nor Derzhavin could help me. On the contrary, they only confirmed my sense of incompetence. Knowing, however, that Karl Ivanitch was fond of writing verses, I stole softly upstairs to burrow among his papers, and found, among a number of German verses, some in the Russian language which seemed to have come from his own pen.
To L
Remember near Remember far, Remember me. To-day be faithful, and for ever-- Aye, still beyond the grave--remember That I have well loved thee.
"KARL MAYER."
These verses (which were written in a fine, round hand on thin letter-paper) pleased me with the touching sentiment with which they seemed to be inspired. I learnt them by heart, and decided to take them as a model. The thing was much easier now. By the time the name-day had arrived I had completed a twelve-couplet congratulatory ode, and sat down to the table in our school-room to copy them out on vellum.
Two sheets were soon spoiled--not because I found it necessary to alter anything (the verses seemed to me perfect), but because, after the third line, the tail-end of each successive one would go curving upward and making it plain to all the world that the whole thing had been written with a want of adherence to the horizontal--a thing which I could not bear to see.
The third sheet also came out crooked, but I determined to make it do. In my verses I congratulated Grandmamma, wished her many happy returns, and concluded thus:
Endeavouring you to please and cheer, We love you like our Mother dear."
This seemed to me not bad, yet it offended my car somehow.
"Lo-ve you li-ike our Mo-ther dear," I repeated to myself. "What other rhyme could I use instead of 'dear'? Fear? Steer? Well, it must go at that. At least the verses are better than Karl Ivanitch's."
Accordingly I added the last verse to the rest. Then I went into our bedroom and recited the whole poem aloud with much feeling and gesticulation. The verses were altogether guiltless of metre, but I did not stop to consider that. Yet the last one displeased me more than ever. As I sat on my bed I thought:
"Why on earth did I write 'like our Mother dear'? She is not here, and therefore she need never have been mentioned. True, I love and respect Grandmamma, but she is not quite the same as-- Why DID I write that? What did I go and tell a lie for? They may be verses only, yet I needn't quite have done that."
At that moment the tailor arrived with some new clothes for us.
"Well, so be it!" I said in much vexation as I crammed the verses hastily under my pillow and ran down to adorn myself in the new Moscow garments.
They fitted marvellously-both the brown jacket with yellow buttons (a garment made skin-tight and not "to allow room for growth," as in the country) and the black trousers (also close- fitting so that they displayed the figure and lay smoothly over the boots).
"At last I have real trousers on!" I thought as I looked at my legs with the utmost satisfaction. I concealed from every one the fact that the new clothes were horribly tight and uncomfortable, but, on the contrary, said that, if there were a fault, it was that they were not tight enough. For a long while I stood before the looking-glass as I combed my elaborately pomaded head, but, try as I would, I could not reduce the topmost hairs on the crown to order. As soon as ever I left off combing them, they sprang up again and radiated in different directions, thus giving my face a ridiculous expression.
Karl Ivanitch was dressing in another room, and I heard some one bring him his blue frockcoat and under-linen. Then at the door leading downstairs I heard a maid-servant's voice, and went to see what she wanted. In her hand she held a well-starched shirt which she said she had been sitting up all night to get ready. I took it, and asked if Grandmamma was up yet.
"Oh yes, she has had her coffee, and the priest has come. My word, but you look a fine little fellow! " added the girl with a smile at my new clothes.
This observation made me blush, so I whirled round on one leg, snapped my fingers, and went skipping away, in the hope that by these manoeuvres I should make her sensible that even yet she had not realised quite what a fine fellow I was.
However, when I took the shirt to Karl I found that he did not need it, having taken another one. Standing before a small looking-glass, he tied his cravat with both hands--trying, by various motions of his head, to see whether it fitted him comfortably or not--and then took us down to see Grandmamma. To this day I cannot help laughing when I remember what a smell of pomade the three of us left behind us on the staircase as we descended.
Karl was carrying a box which he had made himself, Woloda, his drawing, and I my verses, while each of us also had a form of words ready with which to present his gift. Just as Karl opened the door, the priest put on his vestment and began to say prayers.
During the ceremony Grandmamma stood leaning over the back of a chair, with her head bent down. Near her stood Papa. He turned and smiled at us as we hurriedly thrust our presents behind our backs and tried to remain unobserved by the door. The whole effect of a surprise, upon which we had been counting, was entirely lost. When at last every one had made the sign of the cross I became intolerably oppressed with a sudden, invincible, and deadly attack of shyness, so that the courage to, offer my present completely failed me. I hid myself behind Karl Ivanitch, who solemnly congratulated Grandmamma and, transferring his box from his right hand to his left, presented it to her. Then he withdrew a few steps to make way for Woloda. Grandmamma seemed highly pleased with the box (which was adorned with a gold border), and smiled in the most friendly manner in order to express her gratitude. Yet it was evident that, she did not know where to set the box down, and this probably accounts for the fact that she handed it to Papa, at the same time bidding him observe how beautifully it was made.
His curiosity satisfied, Papa handed the box to the priest, who also seemed particularly delighted with it, and looked with astonishment, first at the article itself, and then at the artist who could make such wonderful things. Then Woloda presented his Turk, and received a similarly flattering ovation on all sides.
It was my turn now, and Grandmamma turned to me with her kindest smile. Those who have experienced what embarrassment is know that it is a feeling which grows in direct proportion to delay, while decision decreases in similar measure. In other words the longer the condition lasts, the more invincible does it become, and the smaller does the power of decision come to be.
My last remnants of nerve and energy had forsaken me while Karl and Woloda had been offering their presents, and my shyness now reached its culminating point, I felt the blood rushing from my heart to my head, one blush succeeding another across my face, and drops of perspiration beginning to stand out on my brow and nose. My ears were burning, I trembled from head to foot, and, though I kept changing from one foot to the other, I remained rooted where I stood.
"Well, Nicolinka, tell us what you have brought?" said Papa.
"Is it a box or a drawing? "
There was nothing else to be done. With a trembling hand held out the folded, fatal paper, but my voiced failed me completely and I stood before Grandmamma in silence. I could not get rid of the dreadful idea that, instead of a display of the expected drawing, some bad verses of mine were about to be read aloud before every one, and that the words "our Mother dear " would clearly prove that I had never loved, but had only forgotten, her. How shall I express my sufferings when Grandmamma began to read my poetry aloud?--when, unable to decipher it, she stopped half-way and looked at Papa with a smile (which I took to be one of ridicule)?--when she did not pronounce it as I had meant it to be pronounced?--and when her weak sight not allowing her to finish it, she handed the paper to Papa and requested him to read it all over again from the beginning? I fancied that she must have done this last because she did not like to read such a lot of stupid, crookedly written stuff herself, yet wanted to point out to Papa my utter lack of feeling. I expected him to slap me in the face with the verses and say, "You bad boy! So you have forgotten your Mamma! Take that for it!" Yet nothing of the sort happened. On the contrary, when the whole had been read, Grandmamma said, "Charming!" and kissed me on the forehead. Then our presents, together with two cambric pocket-handkerchiefs and a snuff-box engraved with Mamma's portrait, were laid on the table attached to the great Voltairian arm-chair in which Grandmamma always sat.
"The Princess Barbara Ilinitsha!" announced one of the two footmen who used to stand behind Grandmamma's carriage, but Grandmamma was looking thoughtfully at the portrait on the snuff- box, and returned no answer.
"Shall I show her in, madam?" repeated the footman.
我们迁到莫斯科一个来月以后，我坐在外祖母家楼上的一张大桌子旁写字；对面坐着图画老师，他正在对一个用黑铅笔画的缠着头巾的土耳其人头像进行最后加工。沃洛佳伸着脖子站在老师背后，从他的肩头望过去。这个头像是沃洛佳用黑铅笔画的第一幅作品，因为那天是外祖母的命名日，当天就要献给她。
“这儿您不再画点阴影吗？”沃洛佳对教师说，他踮着脚尖，指着土耳其人的脖颈。
“不，用不着，”老师说，把铅笔和笔套插进一只可以插笔的小匣子里。“现在很好了，您不要再动了。”他站起来，还斜眼望着那个土耳其人，补充说：“喂，您呢，尼古连卡，还是把您的秘密告诉我们吧，您送给外祖母什么礼物呀？真的，您最好也画个头像。再见吧，先生们，”他说罢，拿起帽子和票子就走了 ① 。
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①票子：老师教一课领一张票，积到一定数目，就清付一次。
当时我也认为，画个头像比我搞的东西要好些。我们听到人家说，不久就是外祖母的命名日，应当准备祝贺的礼物时，我忽然想到要写一首贺诗，我立刻写了两行押韵的诗句，希望赶快把其余的也写出来。我一点也记不起，这种对于小孩来说十分奇怪的念头怎么会钻进我的头脑里，不过我记得，我非常喜欢这个主意，人家一提到这个问题，我就回答说，我一定会送给外祖母一件礼物，但是不对任何人讲这礼物究竟是什么。
结果与事愿违，除了我一时心血来潮想出来的那两行诗而外我虽然百般努力，却什么也写不出来了。我开始阅读书本里的诗句；但是德米特里耶夫也好 ① ，杰尔查文也好 ② ，对我都无济于事相反的，他们使我更加相信自己的无能。知道卡尔·伊凡内奇喜欢抄诗，我开始偷偷地翻他的文件，终于在一些德文诗中找到一首俄文诗，这大概出于他自己的手笔。
献给露……彼得罗夫斯卡雅夫人
一八二八年六月三日
想着我近在眼前，
想着我远在天边，
想着我吧，
从今天直到水远，
到我死去仍然把我想念，
我曾多么忠实地把您爱恋。
卡尔·毛叶尔作
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①德米特里耶夫（176o-1837）：俄罗斯诗人。
②杰尔查文（1743-1816）：俄罗斯诗人。
这首诗是用秀丽而圆浑的笔迹写在一张薄薄的信纸上，诗里充满了动人的感情，使我很喜欢它；我立刻就把它背熟了，决定拿它当作范本。以后写起来就容易得多了。外祖母命名日那天，我写好一首十二行的祝贺诗，于是坐在教室的书桌旁，用精美的皮纸把它誊写出来。
我已经写坏了两张纸……并不是我想改动什么，诗句我认为是非常好的；但是，在写第三行以后，每行的末尾越来越往上翘，因此，就是从远处也会看出写得歪歪扭扭，完全不行。
第三张纸上的宇同前两张的一样歪斜；但是我决定不再抄了。我这首诗祝贺加祖母，希望她长命百岁，结尾是这样：
我们要尽力使您欢欣舒畅。
并且爱您，象爱自已的亲娘。
这好象很不错，但是最后一句诗使我感到出奇地刺耳。
“并且爱您，象爱自己的亲娘。”我暗自反复吟哦，“还有什么字可以代替娘字作韵脚？荡？床？……峨，这还过得去！无论如何比卡尔·伊凡内奇的强。”
于是我写下了最后一行。接着我的卧室里，做着手势，怀着感情，朗诵了一下全诗。有几行完全不押韵，但是我不再推敲了；只有最后一行听起来更不顺耳，更令人不快。我坐在床上思索……
“我为什么要写象爱自己的亲娘呢？她不在这儿，因此提都不用提她。的确，我很爱戴，很尊敬外祖母，不过总还不一样……我为什么这么写呢？我为什么撒谎？就算是诗吧，也不该这样呀！”
正在这时，裁缝走进来，给我们送来崭新的小燕尾服。
“哦，算了吧！”我非常不耐烦地说，很懊丧地把那首诗塞到枕头底下，就跑去试穿莫斯科的服装了。
莫斯科的服装非常好；缀着铜扣的棕色小燕尾服缝得十分合身，不象在乡下给我们做的衣服那么肥大。黑裤子也窄窄的，简直好极了，它使筋肉都显露出来，下边罩在靴子上。
“我终于也有了镶着饰带的裤子，真正的礼服裤了！”我沉思着，得意忘形了，从四面打量着自己的腿。虽然新衣服很紧，穿着很不灵便，但我却不对任何人讲这一点，反而说它非常舒适，如果说这身衣服还有什么毛病，那就是它稍微肥了一点。接着我在穿衣镜前站了好久，梳我那涂了很多生发油的头发；但是无论怎么努力，我也梳不平头顶上那绺翘起的头发。我刚要试试看它听不听话，不再用梳子往下压，它马上就竖起来，向四面翘，这给我的脸添上一副滑稽相。
卡尔·伊凡内奇在另外一个房间里穿衣服，穿过教室给他拿去一件蓝色燕尾服和几件白内衣。在通楼梯的门口，传来外祖母的一个使女的声音，我出去看看她有什么事。她拿着一件浆得笔挺的胸衣，对我说是给卡尔·伊凡内奇送来的，为了及时洗好，她通宵未睡。我承担了转送胸衣的使命，顺便问外祖母起来了没有。
“当然起来啦！她已经喝过咖啡。大司祭都来了。您多么漂亮呀！”她微微一笑补充说，一面打量我的新衣服。
这句评语使我脸红了，我金鸡独立地扭过身去，弹了弹指头，跳了一跳，想让她感觉到她还不够清楚我实际上是个多么漂亮的小伙子哩。
我给卡尔·伊凡内奇送去胸衣时，他已经不需要了。因为他已经穿上另外一件，弯着腰，站在摆在桌上的小镜子前面，双手拿着领带的蓬松花结，试试他那剃得干干净净的下巴是否能自如地套进套出。他给我们把衣服处处都拉直，并且叫尼古拉也替他这样做了以后，就领着我们去见外祖母。想起我们三个下楼时，发出多么浓烈的生发油味，我觉得真是好笑。
卡尔·伊凡内奇捧着一只他亲手制做的匣子，沃洛佳拿着他那幅车，我拿着我的诗；每个人都准备好献礼的祝辞。正当卡尔·伊凡内奇打开大厅的门时，神甫穿上法衣，传来祈祷仪式开始的声音。
外祖母已经在大厅里了：她弯着腰，扶着椅背，站在墙边虔诚地祈祷着；爸爸站在她身边。他向我们转过身来，见到我们匆忙把准备好的礼物藏到身后、竭力想不惹人注意地留在门口，就微微一笑。我们本来打算来个出其不意，现在全垮台了。
当大家都走到十字架跟前的时候，我突然感到一阵难以抑制的、令人变得傻头傻脑的羞涩，觉得再也没有勇气献上我的礼物，于是我就躲在卡尔·伊凡内奇背后。他用最优美的辞句向外祖母祝贺，把小匣子从右手倒换到左手，呈献给外祖母，然后朝旁边走了几步，让沃洛佳走上前去。外祖母好象很喜欢这个镶金边的匣子，用十分和蔼可亲的笑容表达了她的谢意。可是，很显然，她不知道把这个匣子摆在哪儿才好，大概为了这个缘故，她要爸爸看看这个匣子做得多么精致。
爸爸看够了以后，就把它递给好象很喜欢这件小东西的大司祭：他摇摇头，好奇地一会儿看看匣子，一会儿看看能够做出这么精美的东西的巧匠。沃洛佳献上他画的土耳其人，也博得大家的赞扬。轮到我了，外祖母含着鼓励的笑容望着我。
凡是尝过羞怯心清的滋味的人都晓得，这种心情是同时间成正比增长的，而一个人的决心却同时间成反比地减退，也就是说，羞怯心情持续愈久就愈难以克服，决心也就愈小。
卡尔·伊凡内奇和沃洛佳献礼的时候，我连最后的一点勇气和决心都失掉了，我的羞怯达到了极点：我觉得血液不住地从心里往头上涌，脸上红一阵白一阵，额头和鼻梁上出现了大颗的汗珠。我的两耳发热，浑身发抖，汗如雨下，我一会儿用左脚站着，一会儿用右脚站着，但是却没有动地方。
“喂，尼古连卡，让我们看看你带来了什么？是只匣子呢，还是一幅画？”爸爸对我说。我没有办法，只好用颤抖的手把那揉皱了的倒霉纸卷交给外祖母；但是我的声音完全不听使唤了，我一声不响地站在外祖母面前。一想到，不是他们期待的画，他们会当众宣读我那糟糕透顶的诗句，象爱自己的亲娘这种足以证明我从来也不爱妈妈，而且已经忘了她的诗句，我就心神不宁起来。外祖母开始朗诵我的诗，她因为看不清楚，念了一半就停下来，带着我当时觉得好象嘲讽的笑容瞧了爸爸一眼；她没有照着我所希望的那样去读，而且由于眼力不济，没有念完，就把那张纸递给爸爸，让他从头再念一遍，唉，此时此刻我的痛苦心情怎么来表达呢？我以为她这样做，是因为她不爱念这么拙劣的、写得歪歪扭扭的诗，是要爸爸亲自读最后那句清楚地证明我缺乏感情的诗句。我以为他会用这卷诗在我的鼻子上打一下，说：“坏孩子，不要忘记你母亲……因此，你就挨一下吧！”但是根本没有发生这类事情；相反的，全诗读完了的时候，外祖母说；“Charmant ① ”，并且吻了吻我的额头。
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①charmant；法语“好极了，’。
匣子、画和诗，都放到外祖母常坐的高背安乐椅上的活动小桌上，摆在两块麻纱手帕和画着妈妈肖像的鼻烟壶旁边。
“瓦尔瓦拉·伊里尼契娜公爵夫人到！”通常站在外祖母马车后面的两个高大的仆人中的一个通报说。
外祖母望着玳瑁鼻烟壶上的肖像，正在沉思，没有回答。
“请她进来吧，夫人？”仆人又问道。