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Full Online Book HomeLong StoriesAnna Karenina - Book Five - Chapter 27
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Anna Karenina - Book Five - Chapter 27 Post by :34181 Category :Long Stories Author :Leo Tolstoy Date :January 2011 Read :1066

Click below to download : Anna Karenina - Book Five - Chapter 27 (Format : PDF)

Anna Karenina - Book Five - Chapter 27

After the lesson with the grammar teacher came his father's
lesson. While waiting for his father, Seryozha sat at the table
playing with a penknife, and fell to dreaming. Among Seryozha's
favorite occupations was searching for his mother during his
walks. He did not believe in death generally, and in her death in
particular, in spite of what Lidia Ivanovna had told him and his
father had confirmed, and it was just because of that, and after
he had been told she was dead, that he had begun looking for her
when out for a walk. Every woman of full, graceful figure with
dark hair was his mother. At the sight of such a woman such a
feeling of tenderness was stirred within him that his breath
failed him, and tears came into his eyes. And he was on the
tiptoe of expectation that she would come up to him, would lift
her veil. All her face would be visible, she would smile, she
would hug him, he would sniff her fragrance, feel the softness of
her arms, and cry with happiness, just as he had one evening lain
on her lap while she tickled him, and he laughed and bit her
white, ring-covered fingers. Later, when he accidentally reamed
from his old nurse that his mother was not dead, and his father
and Lidia Ivanovna had explained to him that she was dead to him
because she was wicked (which he could not possibly believe,
because he loved her), he went on seeking her and expecting her
in the same way. That day in the public gardens there had been a
lady in a lilac veil, whom he had watched with a throbbing heart,
believing it to be she as she came towards them along the path.
The lady had not come up to them, but had disappeared somewhere.
That day, more intensely than ever, Seryozha felt a rush of love
for her, and now, waiting for his father, he forgot everything,
and cut all round the edge of the table with his penknife,
staring straight before him with sparkling eyes and dreaming of
her.

"Here is your papa!" said Vassily Lukitch, rousing him.

Seryozha jumped up and went up to his father, and kissing his
hand, looked at him intently, trying to discover signs of his joy
at receiving the Alexander Nevsky.

"Did you have a nice walk?" said Alexey Alexandrovitch, sitting
down in his easy-chair, pulling the volume of the Old Testament
to him and opening it. Although Alexey Alexandrovitch had more
than once told Seryozha that every Christian ought to know
Scripture history thoroughly, he often referred to the Bible
himself during the lesson, and Seryozha observed this.

"Yes, it was very nice indeed, papa," said Seryozha, sitting
sideways on his chair and rocking it, which was forbidden. "I saw
Nadinka" (Nadinka was a niece of Lidia Ivanovna's who was being
brought up in her house). "She told me you'd been given a new
star. Are you glad, papa?"

"First of all, don't rock your chair, please," said Alexey
Alexandrovitch. "And secondly, it's not the reward that's
precious, but the work itself. And I could have wished you
understood that. If you now are going to work, to study in order
to win a reward, then the work will seem hard to you; but when
you work" (Alexey Alexandrovitch, as he spoke, thought of how he
had been sustained by a sense of duty through the wearisome labor
of the moming, consisting of signing one hundred and eighty
papers), "loving your work, you will find your reward in it."

Seryozha's eyes, that had been shining with gaiety and tendemess,
grew dull and dropped before his father's gaze. This was the same
longfamiliar tone his father always took with him, and Seryozha
had reamed by now to fall in with it. His father always talked to
him--so Seryozha felt--as though he were addressing some boy of
his own imagination, one of those boys that exist in books,
utterly unlike himself. And Seryozha always tried with his father
to act being the story-book boy.

"You understand that, I hope?" said his father.

"Yes, papa," answered Seryozha, acting the part of the imaginary
boy.

The lesson consisted of learning by heart several verses out of
the Gospel and the repetition of the beginning of the Old
Testament. The verses from the Gospel Seryozha knew fairly well,
but at the moment when he was saying them he became so absorbed
in watching the sharply protruding, bony knobbiness of his
father's forehead, that he lost the thread, and he transposed the
end of one verse and the beginning of another. So it was evident
to Alexey Alexandrovitch that he did not understand what he was
saying, and that irritated him.

He frowned, and began explaining what Seryozha had heard many
times before and never could remember, because he understood it
too well, just as that "suddenly" is an adverb of manner of
action. Seryozha looked with scared eyes at his father, and could
think of nothing but whether his father would make him repeat
what he had said, as he sometimes did. And this thought so
alarmed Seryozha that he now understood nothing. But his father
did not make him repeat it, and passed on to the lesson out of
the Old Testament. Seryozha recounted the events themselves well
enough, but when he had to answer questions as to what certain
events prefigured, he knew nothing, though he had already been
punished over this lesson. The passage at which he was utterly
unable to say anything, and began fidgeting and cutting the table
and swinging his chair,was where he had to repeat the patriarchs
before the Flood.He did not know one of them, except Enoch, who
had been taken up alive to heaven. Last time he had remembered
their names, but now he had forgotten them utterly, chiefly
because Enoch was the personage he liked best in the whole of the
Old Testament, and Enoch's translation to heaven was connected in
his mind with a whole long train of thought, in which he became
absorbed now while he gazed with fascinated eyes at his father's
watch-chain and a half-unbuttoned button on his waistcoat.

In death, of which they talked to him so often, Seryozha
disbelieved entirely. He did not believe that those he loved
could die, above all that he himself would die. That was to him
something utterly inconceivable and impossible. But he had been
told that all men die; he had asked people, indeed whom he
trusted, and they too, had confirmed it; his old nurse, too, said
the same, though reluctantly. But Enoch had not died, and so it
followed that every one did not die. "And why cannot any one else
so serve God and be taken alive to heaven?" thought Seryozha. Bad
people, that is those Seryozha did not like, they might die, but
the good might all be like Enoch.

"Well, what are the names of the patriarchs?"

"Epoch, Enos--"

"But you have said that already. This is bad, Seryozha, very bad.
If you don't try to learn what is more necessary than anything
for a Christian," said his father, getting up, "whatever can
interest you? I am displeased with you, and Pyotr Ignatitch"
(this was the most important of his teachers) "is displeased with
you.... I shall have to punish you."

His father and his teacher were both displeased with Seryozha,
and he certainly did learn his lessons very badly. But still it
could not be said he was a stupid boy. On the contrary, he was
far cleverer than the boys his teacher held up as examples to
Seryozha. In his father's opinion, he did not want to learn what
he was taught. In reality he could not learn that. He could not,
because the claims of his own soul were more binding on him than
those claims his father and his teacher made upon him. Those
claims were in opposition, and he was in direct conflict with his
education. He was nine years old; he was a child; but he knew his
own soul, it was precious to him, he guarded it as the eyelid
guards the eye, and without the key of love he let no one into
his soul. His teachers complained that he would not learn, while
his soul was brimming over with thirst for knowledge. And he
reamed from Kapitonitch, from his nurse, from Nadinka, from
Vassily Lukitch, but not from his teachers. The spring his father
and his teachers reckoned upon to turn their mill-wheels had long
dried up at the source, but its waters did their work in another
channel.

His father punished Seryozha by not letting him go to see
Nadinka, Lidia Ivanovna's niece; but this punishment turned out
happily for Seryozha. Vassily Lukitch was in a good humor, and
showed him how to make windmills.The whole evening passed over
this work and in dreaming how to make a windmill on which he
could turn himself--clutching at the sails or tying himself on
and whirling round. Of his mother Seryozha did not think all the
evening, but when he had gone to bed, he suddenly remembered her,
and prayed in his own words that his mother tomorrow for his
birthday might leave off hiding herself and come to him.

"Vassily Lukitch, do you know what I prayed for to-night extra
besides the regular things?"

"That you might learn your lessons better?"

"No."

"Toys?"

"No. You'll never guess. A splendid thing; but it's a secret!
When it comes to pass I'll tell you. Can't you guess!"

"No, I can't guess. You tell me," said Vassily Lukitch with a
smile, which was rare with him. "Come, lie down, I'm putting out
the candle."

"Without the candle I can see better what I see and what I prayed
for. There! I was almost telling the secret!" said Seryozha,
laughing gaily.

When the candle was taken away, Seryozha heard and felt his
mother. She stood over him, and with loving eyes caressed him.
But then came windmills, a knife, everything began to be mixed
up, and he fell asleep.

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