The Childhood Page #6

"The Childhood" is a novel by Leo Tolstoy that reflects the author's early experiences and memories as a young boy. The narrative is framed through the eyes of a young protagonist, exploring themes of innocence, family, and the complexities of growing up in 19th-century Russia. Through vivid imagery and emotional depth, Tolstoy captures the joys and struggles of childhood, emphasizing the impact of familial relationships, societal expectations, and the transition from innocence to experience. This semi-autobiographical work offers insight into Tolstoy's own formative years and lays the groundwork for his later explorations of human nature and morality.

• Novel

								

on purpose to annoy us, while, if there was any particularly nice
dish at luncheon which we wished to enjoy in peace, she would keep on
ejaculating, "Mangez, donc, avec du pain!" or, "Comment est-ce que vous
tenez votre fourchette?" "What has SHE got to do with us?" I used to
think to myself. "Let her teach the girls. WE have our Karl Ivanitch." I
shared to the full his dislike of "certain people."

"Ask Mamma to let us go hunting too," Katenka whispered to me, as she
caught me by the sleeve just when the elders of the family were making a
move towards the dining-room.

"Very well. I will try."

Grisha likewise took a seat in the dining-room, but at a little table
apart from the rest. He never lifted his eyes from his plate, but kept
on sighing and making horrible grimaces, as he muttered to himself:
"What a pity! It has flown away! The dove is flying to heaven! The stone
lies on the tomb!" and so forth.

Ever since the morning Mamma had been absent-minded, and Grisha's
presence, words, and actions seemed to make her more so.

"By the way, there is something I forgot to ask you," she said, as she
handed Papa a plate of soup.

"What is it?"

"That you will have those dreadful dogs of yours tied up. They nearly
worried poor Grisha to death when he entered the courtyard, and I am
sure they will bite the children some day."

No sooner did Grisha hear himself mentioned that he turned towards our
table and showed us his torn clothes. Then, as he went on with his meal,
he said: "He would have let them tear me in pieces, but God would not
allow it! What a sin to let the dogs loose--a great sin! But do not beat
him, master; do not beat him! It is for God to forgive! It is past now!"

"What does he say?" said Papa, looking at him gravely and sternly. "I
cannot understand him at all."

"I think he is saying," replied Mamma, "that one of the huntsmen set
the dogs on him, but that God would not allow him to be torn in pieces.
Therefore he begs you not to punish the man."

"Oh, is that it?" said Papa, "How does he know that I intended to
punish the huntsman? You know, I am not very fond of fellows like this,"
he added in French, "and this one offends me particularly. Should it
ever happen that--"

"Oh, don't say so," interrupted Mamma, as if frightened by some thought.
"How can you know what he is?"

"I think I have plenty of opportunities for doing so, since no lack of
them come to see you--all of them the same sort, and probably all with
the same story."

I could see that Mamma's opinion differed from his, but that she did not
mean to quarrel about it.

"Please hand me the cakes," she said to him, "Are they good to-day or
not?"

"Yes, I AM angry," he went on as he took the cakes and put them where
Mamma could not reach them, "very angry at seeing supposedly reasonable
and educated people let themselves be deceived," and he struck the table
with his fork.

"I asked you to hand me the cakes," she repeated with outstretched hand.

"And it is a good thing," Papa continued as he put the hand aside, "that
the police run such vagabonds in. All they are good for is to play upon
the nerves of certain people who are already not over-strong in
that respect," and he smiled, observing that Mamma did not like the
conversation at all. However, he handed her the cakes.

"All that I have to say," she replied, "is that one can hardly believe
that a man who, though sixty years of age, goes barefooted winter and
summer, and always wears chains of two pounds' weight, and never
accepts the offers made to him to live a quiet, comfortable life--it is
difficult to believe that such a man should act thus out of laziness."
Pausing a moment, she added with a sigh: "As to predictions, je suis
payee pour y croire, I told you, I think, that Grisha prophesied the
very day and hour of poor Papa's death?"

"Oh, what HAVE you gone and done?" said Papa, laughing and putting his
hand to his cheek (whenever he did this I used to look for something
particularly comical from him). "Why did you call my attention to his
feet? I looked at them, and now can eat nothing more."

Luncheon was over now, and Lubotshka and Katenka were winking at us,
fidgeting about in their chairs, and showing great restlessness. The
winking, of course, signified, "Why don't you ask whether we too may go
to the hunt?" I nudged Woloda, and Woloda nudged me back, until at last
I took heart of grace, and began (at first shyly, but gradually with
more assurance) to ask if it would matter much if the girls too were
allowed to enjoy the sport. Thereupon a consultation was held among the
elder folks, and eventually leave was granted--Mamma, to make things
still more delightful, saying that she would come too.

VI -- PREPARATIONS FOR THE CHASE

During dessert Jakoff had been sent for, and orders given him to have
ready the carriage, the hounds, and the saddle-horses--every detail
being minutely specified, and every horse called by its own particular
name. As Woloda's usual mount was lame, Papa ordered a "hunter" to be
saddled for him; which term, "hunter" so horrified Mamma's ears, that
she imagined it to be some kind of an animal which would at once run
away and bring about Woloda's death. Consequently, in spite of all
Papa's and Woloda's assurances (the latter glibly affirming that it was
nothing, and that he liked his horse to go fast), poor Mamma continued
to exclaim that her pleasure would be quite spoilt for her.

When luncheon was over, the grown-ups had coffee in the study, while
we younger ones ran into the garden and went chattering along the
undulating paths with their carpet of yellow leaves. We talked about
Woloda's riding a hunter and said what a shame it was that Lubotshka,
could not run as fast as Katenka, and what fun it would be if we could
see Grisha's chains, and so forth; but of the impending separation
we said not a word. Our chatter was interrupted by the sound of the
carriage driving up, with a village urchin perched on each of its
springs. Behind the carriage rode the huntsmen with the hounds, and
they, again, were followed by the groom Ignat on the steed intended
for Woloda, with my old horse trotting alongside. After running to
the garden fence to get a sight of all these interesting objects, and
indulging in a chorus of whistling and hallooing, we rushed upstairs to
dress--our one aim being to make ourselves look as like the huntsmen as
possible. The obvious way to do this was to tuck one's breeches inside
one's boots. We lost no time over it all, for we were in a hurry to run
to the entrance steps again there to feast our eyes upon the horses and
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