CONTENTS
I THE TUTOR, KARL IVANITCH
II MAMMA
III PAPA
IV LESSONS
V THE IDIOT
VI PREPARATIONS FOR THE CHASE
VII THE HUNT
VIII WE PLAY GAMES
IX A FIRST ESSAY IN LOVE
X THE SORT OF MAN MY FATHER WAS
XI IN THE DRAWING-ROOM AND THE STUDY
XII GRISHA
XIII NATALIA SAVISHNA
XIV THE PARTING
XV CHILDHOOD
XVI VERSE-MAKING
XVII THE PRINCESS KORNAKOFF
XVIII PRINCE IVAN IVANOVITCH
XIX THE IWINS
XX PREPARATIONS FOR THE PARTY
XXI BEFORE THE MAZURKA
XXII THE MAZURKA
XXIII AFTER THE MAZURKA
XXIV IN BED
XXV THE LETTER
XXVI WHAT AWAITED US AT THE COUNTRY-HOUSE
XXVII GRIEF
XXVIII SAD RECOLLECTIONS
On the 12th of August, 18— (just three days after my tenth birthday, when I had been given such wonderful presents), I was awakened at seven o’clock in the morning by Karl Ivanitch slapping the wall close to my head with a fly-flap made of sugar paper and a stick. He did this so roughly that he hit the image of my patron saint suspended to the oaken back of my bed, and the dead fly fell down on my curls. I peeped out from under the coverlet, steadied the still shaking image with my hand, flicked the dead fly on to the floor, and gazed at Karl Ivanitch with sleepy, wrathful eyes. He, in a parti-coloured wadded dressing-gown fastened about the waist with a wide belt of the same material, a red knitted cap adorned with a tassel, and soft slippers of goat skin, went on walking round the walls and taking aim at, and slapping, flies.
“Suppose,” I thought to myself, “that I