XV. DREAMS
Could I at that moment have supposed that I should ever live to
survive the misfortunes of that day, or that there would ever
come a time when I should be able to look back upon those
misfortunes composedly?
As I sat there thinking over what I had done, I could not imagine
what the matter had been with me. I only felt with despair that I
was for ever lost.
At first the most profound stillness reigned around me--at least,
so it appeared to me as compared with the violent internal
emotion which I had been experiencing; but by and by I began to
distinguish various sounds. Basil brought something downstairs
which he laid upon a chest outside. It sounded like a broom-
stick. Below me I could hear St. Jerome's grumbling voice
(probably he was speaking of me), and then children's voices and
laughter and footsteps; until in a few moments everything seemed
to have regained its normal course in the house, as though nobody
knew or cared to know that here was I sitting alone in the dark
store-room!
I did not cry, but something lay heavy, like a stone, upon my
heart. Ideas and pictures passed with extraordinary rapidity
before my troubled imagination, yet through their fantastic
sequence broke continually the remembrance of the misfortune
which had befallen me as I once again plunged into an
interminable labyrinth of conjectures as to the punishment, the
fate, and the despair that were awaiting me. The thought occurred
to me that there must be some reason for the general
dislike--even contempt--which I fancied to be felt for me by
others. I was firmly convinced that every one, from Grandmamma
down to the coachman Philip, despised me, and found pleasure in
my sufferings. Next an idea struck me that perhaps I was not the
son of my father and mother at all, nor Woloda's brother, but
only some unfortunate orphan who had been adopted by them out of
compassion, and this absurd notion not only afforded me a certain
melancholy consolation, but seemed to me quite probable. I found
it comforting to think that I was unhappy, not through my own
fault, but because I was fated to be so from my birth, and
conceived that my destiny was very much like poor Karl
Ivanitch's.
"Why conceal the secret any longer, now that I have discovered
it?" I reflected. "To-morrow I will go to Papa and say to him,
'It is in vain for you to try and conceal from me the mystery of
my birth. I know it already.' And he will answer me, 'What else
could I do, my good fellow? Sooner or later you would have had to
know that you are not my son, but were adopted as such.
Nevertheless, so long as you remain worthy of my love, I will
never cast you out.' Then I shall say, 'Papa, though I have no
right to call you by that name, and am now doing so for the last
time, I have always loved you, and shall always retain that love.
At the same time, while I can never forget that you have been my
benefactor, I cannot remain longer in your house. Nobody here
loves me, and St. Jerome has wrought my ruin. Either he or I must
go forth, since I cannot answer for myself. I hate the man so
that I could do anything--I could even kill him.' Papa will begin
to entreat me, but I shall make a gesture, and say, 'No, no, my
friend and benefactor! We cannot live together. Let me go'--and
for the last time I shall embrace him, and say in French, 'O mon
pere, O mon bienfaiteur, donne moi, pour la derniere fois, ta
benediction, et que la volonte de Dieu soit faite!'"
I sobbed bitterly at these thoughts as I sat on a trunk in that
dark storeroom. Then, suddenly recollecting the shameful
punishment which was awaiting me, I would find myself back again
in actuality, and the dreams had fled. Soon, again, I began to
fancy myself far away from the house and alone in the world. I
enter a hussar regiment and go to war. Surrounded by the foe on
every side, I wave my sword, and kill one of them and wound
another--then a third,--then a fourth. At last, exhausted with
loss of blood and fatigue, I fall to the ground and cry,
"Victory!" The general comes to look for me, asking, "Where is
our saviour?" whereupon I am pointed out to him. He embraces me,
and, in his turn, exclaims with tears of joy, "Victory!" I
recover and, with my arm in a black sling, go to walk on the
boulevards. I am a general now. I meet the Emperor, who asks,
"Who is this young man who has been wounded?" He is told that it
is the famous hero Nicolas; whereupon he approaches me and says,
"My thanks to you! Whatsoever you may ask for, I will grant it."
To this I bow respectfully, and, leaning on my sword, reply, "I
am happy, most august Emperor, that I have been able to shed my
blood for my country. I would gladly have died for it. Yet, since
you are so generous as to grant any wish of mine, I venture to
ask of you permission to annihilate my enemy, the foreigner St.
Jerome" And then I step fiercely before St. Jerome and say, "YOU
were the cause of all my fortunes! Down now on your knees!"
Unfortunately this recalled to my mind the fact that at any
moment the REAL St. Jerome might be entering with the cane; so
that once more I saw myself, not a general and the saviour of my
country, but an unhappy, pitiful creature.
Then the idea of God occurred to me, and I asked Him boldly why
He had punished me thus, seeing that I had never forgotten to say
my prayers, either morning or evening. Indeed, I can positively
declare that it was during that hour in the store-room that I
took the first step towards the religious doubt which afterwards
assailed me during my youth (not that mere misfortune could
arouse me to infidelity and murmuring, but that, at moments of
utter contrition and solitude, the idea of the injustice of
Providence took root in me as readily as bad seed takes root in
land well soaked with rain). Also, I imagined that I was going to
die there and then, and drew vivid pictures of St. Jerome's
astonishment when he entered the store-room and found a corpse
there instead of myself! Likewise, recollecting what Natalia
Savishna had told me of the forty days during which the souls of
the departed must hover around their earthly home, I imagined
myself flying through the rooms of Grandmamma's house, and seeing
Lubotshka's bitter tears, and hearing Grandmamma's lamentations,
and listening to Papa and St. Jerome talking together. "He was a
fine boy," Papa would say with tears in his eyes. "Yes," St.
Jerome would reply, "but a sad scapegrace and good-for-nothing."
"But you should respect the dead," would expostulate Papa. "YOU
were the cause of his death; YOU frightened him until he could no
longer bear the thought of the humiliation which you were about
to inflict upon him. Away from me, criminal!" Upon that St.
Jerome would fall upon his knees and implore forgiveness, and
when the forty days were ended my soul would fly to Heaven, and
see there something wonderfully beautiful, white, and
transparent, and know that it was Mamma.
And that something would embrace and caress me. Yet, all at once,
I should feel troubled, and not know her. "If it be you," I
should say to her, "show yourself more distinctly, so that I may
embrace you in return." And her voice would answer me, "Do you
not feel happy thus?" and I should reply, "Yes, I do, but you
cannot REALLY caress me, and I cannot REALLY kiss your hand like
this." "But it is not necessary," she would say. "There can be
happiness here without that,"--and I should feel that it was so,
and we should ascend together, ever higher and higher, until--
Suddenly I feel as though I am being thrown down again, and find
myself sitting on the trunk in the dark store-room (my cheeks wet
with tears and my thoughts in a mist), yet still repeating the
words, "Let us ascend together, higher and higher." Indeed, it
was a long, long while before I could remember where I was, for
at that moment my mind's eye saw only a dark, dreadful,
illimitable void. I tried to renew the happy, consoling dream
which had been thus interrupted by the return to reality, but, to
my surprise, I found that, as soon as ever I attempted to
re-enter former dreams, their continuation became impossible,
while--which astonished me even more--they no longer gave me
pleasure.
