The Project Gutenberg EBook of Boyhood, by Leo Tolstoy
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
Title: Boyhood
Author: Leo Tolstoy
Translator: C.J. Hogarth
Release Date: March 21, 2006 [EBook #2450]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BOYHOOD ***
Produced by Martin Adamson and David Widger
BOYHOOD
By Leo Tolstoy
Translated by C.J. HOGARTH
I. A SLOW JOURNEY
Again two carriages stood at the front door of the house at Petrovskoe.
In one of them sat Mimi, the two girls, and their maid, with the
bailiff, Jakoff, on the box, while in the other--a britchka--sat Woloda,
myself, and our servant Vassili. Papa, who was to follow us to Moscow in
a few days, was standing bareheaded on the entrance-steps. He made the
sign of the cross at the windows of the carriages, and said:
"Christ go with you! Good-bye."
Jakoff and our coachman (for we had our own horses) lifted their caps in
answer, and also made the sign of the cross.
"Amen. God go with us!"
The carriages began to roll away, and the birch-trees of the great
avenue filed out of sight.
I was not in the least depressed on this occasion, for my mind was not
so much turned upon what I had left as upon what was awaiting me. In
proportion as the various objects connected with the sad recollections
which had recently filled my imagination receded behind me, those
recollections lost their power, and gave place to a consolatory feeling
of life, youthful vigour, freshness, and hope.
Seldom have I spent four days more--well, I will not say gaily, since
I should still have shrunk from appearing gay--but more agreeably and
pleasantly than those occupied by our journey.
No longer were my eyes confronted with the closed door of Mamma's room
(which I had never been able to pass without a pang), nor with the
covered piano (which nobody opened now, and at which I could never look
without trembling), nor with mourning dresses (we had each of us on our
ordinary travelling clothes), nor with all those other objects which
recalled to me so vividly our irreparable loss, and forced me to abstain
from any manifestation of merriment lest I should unwittingly offend
against H
|