want of experience (which is a particularly predisposing factor in
this connection) might very possibly lead a child, aye, without fear
or hesitation, but rather with a smile of curiosity on its face, to set
fire to the house in which its parents and brothers and sisters (beings
whom it tenderly loves) are lying asleep. It would be under the same
influence of momentary absence of thought--almost absence of mind--that
a peasant boy of seventeen might catch sight of the edge of a
newly-sharpened axe reposing near the bench on which his aged father was
lying asleep, face downwards, and suddenly raise the implement in order
to observe with unconscious curiosity how the blood would come spurting
out upon the floor if he made a wound in the sleeper's neck. It is under
the same influence--the same absence of thought, the same instinctive
curiosity--that a man finds delight in standing on the brink of an abyss
and thinking to himself, 'How if I were to throw myself down?' or in
holding to his brow a loaded pistol and wondering, 'What if I were
to pull the trigger?' or in feeling, when he catches sight of some
universally respected personage, that he would like to go up to him,
pull his nose hard, and say, 'How do you do, old boy?'
Under the spell, then, of this instinctive agitation and lack of
reflection I was moved to put out my tongue, and to say that I would not
move, when St. Jerome came down and told me that I had behaved so badly
that day, as well as done my lessons so ill, that I had no right to be
where I was, and must go upstairs directly.
At first, from astonishment and anger, he could not utter a word.
'C'est bien!' he exclaimed eventually as he darted towards me. 'Several
times have I promised to punish you, and you have been saved from it by
your Grandmamma, but now I see that nothing but the cane will teach you
obedience, and you shall therefore taste it.'
This was said loud enough for every one to hear. The blood rushed to
my heart with such vehemence that I could feel that organ beating
violently--could feel the colour rising to my cheeks and my lips
trembling. Probably I looked horrible at that moment, for, avoiding
my eye, St. Jerome stepped forward and caught me by the hand. Hardly
feeling his touch, I pulled away my hand in blind fury, and with all my
childish might struck him.
'What are you doing?' said Woloda, who had seen my behaviour, and now
approached me in alarm and astonishment.
'Let me alone!' I exclaimed, the tears flowing fast. 'Not a single one
of you loves me or understands how miserable I am! You are all of you
odious and disgusting!' I added bluntly, turning to the company at
large.
At this moment St. Jerome--his face pale, but determined--approached me
again, and, with a movement too quick to admit of any defence, seized
my hands as with a pair of tongs, and dragged me away. My head swam with
excitement, and I can only remember that, so long as I had strength to
do it, I fought with head and legs; that my nose several times collided
with a pair of knees; that my teeth tore some one's coat; that all
around me I could hear the shuffling of feet; and that I could smell
dust and the scent of violets with which St. Jerome used to perfume
himself.
Five minutes later the door of the store-room closed behind me.
'Basil,' said a triumphant but detestable voice, 'bring me the cane.'
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
