Boyhood by Leo Tolstoy Translated by C.J. HOGARTH Contents CHAPTER I. A SLOW JOURNEY CHAPTER II. THE THUNDERSTORM CHAPTER III. A NEW POINT OF VIEW CHAPTER IV. IN MOSCOW CHAPTER V. MY ELDER BROTHER CHAPTER VI. MASHA CHAPTER VII. SMALL SHOT CHAPTER VIII. KARL IVANITCH’S HISTORY CHAPTER IX. CONTINUATION OF KARL’S NARRATIVE CHAPTER X. CONCLUSION OF KARL’S NARRATIVE CHAPTER XI. ONE MARK ONLY CHAPTER XII. THE KEY CHAPTER XIII. THE TRAITRESS CHAPTER XIV. THE RETRIBUTION CHAPTER XV. DREAMS CHAPTER XVI. “KEEP ON GRINDING, AND YOU’LL HAVE FLOUR” CHAPTER XVII. HATRED CHAPTER XVIII. THE MAIDSERVANTS’ ROOM CHAPTER XIX. BOYHOOD CHAPTER XX. WOLODA CHAPTER XXI. KATENKA AND LUBOTSHKA CHAPTER XXII. PAPA CHAPTER XXIII. GRANDMAMMA CHAPTER XXIV. MYSELF CHAPTER XXV. WOLODA’S FRIENDS CHAPTER XXVI. DISCUSSIONS CHAPTER XXVII. THE BEGINNING OF OUR FRIENDSHIP 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 _her_ memory. On the contrary, a continual succession of new and exciting objects and places now caught and held my attention, and the charms of spring awakened in my soul a soothing sense of satisfaction with the present and of blissful hope for the future.