such a horrible dream, and so weep the more--though from a different
cause to the one he imagined.
When Karl Ivanitch had left me, I sat up in bed and proceeded to draw
my stockings over my little feet. The tears had quite dried now, yet the
mournful thought of the invented dream was still haunting me a little.
Presently Uncle [This term is often applied by children to old servants
in Russia] Nicola came in--a neat little man who was always grave,
methodical, and respectful, as well as a great friend of Karl's. He
brought with him our clothes and boots--at least, boots for Woloda, and
for myself the old detestable, be-ribanded shoes. In his presence I
felt ashamed to cry, and, moreover, the morning sun was shining so gaily
through the window, and Woloda, standing at the washstand as he mimicked
Maria Ivanovna (my sister's governess), was laughing so loud and so
long, that even the serious Nicola--a towel over his shoulder, the soap
in one hand, and the basin in the other--could not help smiling as he
said, 'Will you please let me wash you, Vladimir Petrovitch?' I had
cheered up completely.
'Are you nearly ready?' came Karl's voice from the schoolroom. The tone
of that voice sounded stern now, and had nothing in it of the kindness
which had just touched me so much. In fact, in the schoolroom Karl was
altogether a different man from what he was at other times. There he was
the tutor. I washed and dressed myself hurriedly, and, a brush still
in my hand as I smoothed my wet hair, answered to his call. Karl,
with spectacles on nose and a book in his hand, was sitting, as usual,
between the door and one of the windows. To the left of the door were
two shelves--one of them the children's (that is to say, ours), and the
other one Karl's own. Upon ours were heaped all sorts of books--lesson
books and play books--some standing up and some lying down. The only
two standing decorously against the wall were two large volumes of a
Histoire des Voyages, in red binding. On that shelf could be seen books
thick and thin and books large and small, as well as covers without
books and books without covers, since everything got crammed up together
anyhow when play time arrived and we were told to put the 'library' (as
Karl called these shelves) in order. The collection of books on his own
shelf was, if not so numerous as ours, at least more varied. Three of
them in particular I remember, namely, a German pamphlet (minus a cover)
on Manuring Cabbages in Kitchen-Gardens, a History of the Seven Years'
War (bound in parchment and burnt at one corner), and a Course of
Hydrostatics. Though Karl passed so much of his time in reading that he
had injured his sight by doing so, he never read anything beyond these
books and The Northern Bee.
Another article on Karl's shelf I remember well. This was a round piece
of cardboard fastened by a screw to a wooden stand, with a sort of comic
picture of a lady and a hairdresser glued to the cardboard. Karl was
very clever at fixing pieces of cardboard together, and had devised this
contrivance for shielding his weak eyes from any very strong light.
I can see him before me now--the tall figure in its wadded dressing-gown
and red cap (a few grey hairs visible beneath the latter) sitting beside
the table; the screen with the hairdresser shading his face; one hand
holding a book, and the other one resting on the arm of the chair.
Before him lie his watch, with a huntsman painted on the dial, a
