Youth: Chapter 43

Chapter 43

NEW COMRADES

The winter had passed imperceptibly and the thaw begun when the
list of examinations was posted at the University, and I suddenly
remembered that I had to return answers to questions in eighteen
subjects on which I had heard lectures delivered, but with regard
to some of which I had taken no notes and made no preparation
whatever. It seems strange that the question "How am I going to
pass?" should never have entered my head, but the truth is that
all that winter I had been in such a state of haze through the
delights of being both grown-up and "comme il faut" that,
whenever the question of the examinations had occurred to me, I
had mentally compared myself with my comrades, and thought to
myself, "They are certain to pass, and as most of them are not
'comme il faut,' and I am therefore their personal superior, I
too am bound to come out all right." In fact, the only reason why
I attended lectures at all was that I might become an habitue of
the University, and obtain Papa's leave to go in and out of the
house. Moreover, I had many acquaintances now, and often enjoyed
myself vastly at the University. I loved the racket, talking, and
laughter in the auditorium, the opportunities for sitting on a
back bench, and letting the measured voice of the professor lure
one into dreams as one contemplated one's comrades, the
occasional runnings across the way for a snack and a glass of
vodka (sweetened by the fearful joy of knowing that one might be
hauled before the professor for so doing), the stealthy closing
of the door as one returned to the auditorium, and the
participation in "course versus course" scuffles in the
corridors. All this was very enjoyable.

By the time, however, that every one had begun to put in a better
attendance at lectures, and the professor of physics had
completed his course and taken his leave of us until the
examinations came on, and the students were busy collecting their
notebooks and arranging to do their preparation in parties, it
struck me that I also had better prepare for the ordeal. Operoff,
with whom I still continued on bowing, but otherwise most frigid,
terms, suddenly offered not only to lend me his notebooks, but to
let me do my preparation with himself and some other students. I
thanked him, and accepted the invitation--hoping by that
conferment of honour completely to dissipate our old
misunderstanding; but at the same time I requested that the
gatherings should always be held at my home, since my quarters
were so splendid! To this the students replied that they meant to
take turn and turn about--sometimes to meet at one fellow's
place, sometimes at another's, as might be most convenient.

The first of our reunions was held at Zuchin's, who had a small
partition-room in a large building on the Trubni Boulevard. The
opening night I arrived late, and entered when the reading aloud
had already begun. The little apartment was thick with tobacco-
smoke, while on the table stood a bottle of vodka, a decanter,
some bread, some salt, and a shin-bone of mutton. Without rising,
Zuchin asked me to have some vodka and to doff my tunic.

"I expect you are not accustomed to such entertainment," he
added.

Every one was wearing a dirty cotton shirt and a dickey.
Endeavouring not to show my contempt for the company, I took off
my tunic, and lay down in a sociable manner on the sofa. Zuchin
went on reading aloud and correcting himself with the help of
notebooks, while the others occasionally stopped him to ask a
question, which he always answered with ability, correctness, and
precision. I listened for a time with the rest, but, not
understanding much of it, since I had not been present at what
had been read before, soon interpolated a question.

"Hullo, old fellow! It will be no good for you to listen if you
do not know the subject," said Zuchin. "I will lend you my
notebooks, and then you can read it up by to-morrow, and I will
explain it to you."

I felt rather ashamed of my ignorance. Also, I felt the truth of
what he said; so I gave up listening, and amused myself by
observing my new comrades. According to my classification of
humanity, into persons "comme il faut" and persons not "comme il
faut," they evidently belonged to the latter category, and so
aroused in me not only a feeling of contempt, but also a certain
sensation of personal hostility, for the reason that, though not
"comme il faut," they accounted me their equal, and actually
patronised me in a sort of good-humoured fashion. What in
particular excited in me this feeling was their feet, their dirty
nails and fingers, a particularly long talon on Operoff's
obtrusive little finger, their red shirts, their dickeys, the
chaff which they good-naturedly threw at one another, the dirty
room, a habit which Zuchin had of continually snuffling and
pressing a finger to his nose, and, above all, their manner of
speaking--that is to say, their use and intonation of words. For
instance, they said "flat" for fool, "just the ticket" for
exactly, "grandly" for splendidly, and so on--all of which seemed
to me either bookish or disagreeably vulgar. Still more was my
"comme il faut " refinement disturbed by the accents which they
put upon certain Russian--and, still more, upon foreign--words.
Thus they said dieYATelnost for DIEyatelnost, NARochno for
naROChno, v'KAMinie for v'kaMINie, SHAKespeare for ShakesPEARe,
and so forth.

Yet, for all their insuperably repellent exterior, I could detect
something good in these fellows, and envied them the cheerful
good-fellowship which united them in one. Consequently, I began to
feel attracted towards them, and made up my mind that, come what
might, I would become of their number. The kind and honourable
Operoff I knew already, and now the brusque, but exceptionally
clever, Zuchin (who evidently took the lead in this circle) began
to please me greatly. He was a dark, thick-set little fellow,
with a perennially glistening, polished face, but one that was
extremely lively, intellectual, and independent in its
expression. That expression it derived from a low, but
prominent, forehead, deep black eyes, short, bristly hair, and a
thick, dark beard which looked as though it stood in constant
need of trimming. Although, too, he seemed to think nothing of
himself (a trail which always pleased me in people), it was clear
that he never let his brain rest. He had one of those expressive
faces which, a few hours after you have seen them for the first
time, change suddenly and entirely to your view. Such a change
took place, in my eyes, with regard to Zuchin's face towards the
end of that evening. Suddenly, I seemed to see new wrinkles appear
upon its surface, its eyes grow deeper, its smile become a
different one, and the whole face assume such an altered aspect
that I scarcely recognised it.

When the reading was ended, Zuchin, the other students, and
myself manifested our desire to be "comrades all" by drinking
vodka until little remained in the bottle. Thereupon Zuchin asked
if any one had a quarter-rouble to spare, so that he could send
the old woman who looked after him to buy some more; yet, on my
offering to provide the money, he made as though he had not heard
me, and turned to Operoff, who pulled out a purse sewn with
bugles, and handed him the sum required.

"And mind you don't get drunk," added the giver, who himself had
not partaken of the vodka.

"By heavens!" answered Zuchin as he sucked the marrow out of a
mutton bone (I remember thinking that it must be because he ate
marrow that he was so clever). "By heavens!" he went on with a
slight smile (and his smile was of the kind that one
involuntarily noticed, and somehow felt grateful for), "even if I
did get drunk, there would be no great harm done. I wonder which
of us two could look after himself the better--you or I? Anyway I
am willing to make the experiment," and he slapped his forehead
with mock boastfulness. "But what a pity it is that Semenoff has
disappeared! He has gone and completely hidden himself
somewhere."

Sure enough, the grey-haired Semenoff who had comforted me so
much at my first examination by being worse dressed than myself,
and who, after passing the second examination, had attended his
lectures regularly during the first month, had disappeared
thereafter from view, and never been seen at the University
throughout the latter part of the course.

"Where is he?" asked some one.

"I do not know" replied Zuchin. "He has escaped my eye
altogether. Yet what fun I used to have with him! What fire there
was in the man! and what an intellect! I should be indeed sorry
if he has come to grief--and come to grief he probably has, for
he was no mere boy to take his University course in instalments."

After a little further conversation, and agreeing to meet again
the next night at Zuchin's, since his abode was the most central
point for us all, we began to disperse. As, one by one, we left
the room, my conscience started pricking me because every one
seemed to be going home on foot, whereas I had my drozhki.
Accordingly, with some hesitation I offered Operoff a lift.
Zuchin came to the door with us, and, after borrowing a rouble of
Operoff, went off to make a night of it with some friends. As we
drove along, Operoff told me a good deal about Zuchin's character
and mode of life, and on reaching home it was long before I could
get to sleep for thinking of the new acquaintances I had made.
For many an hour, as I lay awake, I kept wavering between the
respect which their knowledge, simplicity, and sense of honour,
as well as the poetry of their youth and courage, excited in my
regard, and the distaste which I felt for their outward man. In
spite of my desire to do so, it was at that time literally
impossible for me to associate with them, since our ideas were
too wholly at variance. For me, life's meaning and charm contained
an infinitude of shades of which they had not an inkling, and
vice versa. The greatest obstacles of all, however, to our better
acquaintance I felt to be the twenty roubles' worth of cloth in
my tunic, my drozhki, and my white linen shirt; and they appeared
to me most important obstacles, since they made me feel as though
I had unwittingly insulted these comrades by displaying such
tokens of my wealth. I felt guilty in their eyes, and as though,
whether I accepted or rejected their acquittal and took a line of
my own, I could never enter into equal and unaffected relations
with them. Yet to such an extent did the stirring poetry of the
courage which I could detect in Zuchin (in particular) overshadow
the coarse, vicious side of his nature that the latter made no
unpleasant impression upon me.

For a couple of weeks I visited Zuchin's almost every night for
purposes of work. Yet I did very little there, since, as I have
said, I had lost ground at the start, and, not having sufficient
grit in me to catch up my companions by solitary study, was
forced merely to PRETEND that I was listening to and taking in
all they were reading. I have an idea, too, that they divined my
pretence, since I often noticed that they passed over points
which they themselves knew without first inquiring of me whether
I did the same. Yet, day by day, I was coming to regard the
vulgarity of this circle with more indulgence, to feel
increasingly drawn towards its way of life, and to find in it
much that was poetical. Only my word of honour to Dimitri that I
would never indulge in dissipation with these new comrades kept
me from deciding also to share their diversions.

Once, I thought I would make a display of my knowledge of
literature, particularly French literature, and so led the
conversation to that theme. Judge, then, of my surprise when I
discovered that not only had my companions been reading the
foreign passages in Russian, but that they had studied far more
foreign works than I had, and knew and could appraise English,
and even Spanish, writers of whom I had never so much as heard!
Likewise, Pushkin and Zhukovski represented to them LITERATURE,
and not, as to myself, certain books in yellow covers which I had
once read and studied when a child. For Dumas and Sue they had an
almost equal contempt, and, in general, were competent to form
much better and clearer judgments on literary matters than I was,
for all that I refused to recognise the fact. In knowledge of
music, too, I could not beat them, and was astonished to find
that Operoff played the violin, and another student the cello
and piano, while both of them were members of the University
orchestra, and possessed a wide knowledge of and appreciation of
good music. In short, with the exception of the French and German
languages, my companions were better posted at every point than I
was, yet not the least proud of the fact. True, I might have
plumed myself on my position as a man of the world, but Woloda
excelled me even in that. Wherein, then, lay the height from
which I presumed to look down upon these comrades? In my
acquaintanceship with Prince Ivan Ivanovitch? In my ability to
speak French? In my drozhki? In my linen shirt? In my finger-
nails? "Surely these things are all rubbish," was the thought
which would come flitting through my head under the influence of
the envy which the good-fellowship and kindly, youthful gaiety
displayed around me excited in my breast. Every one addressed his
interlocutor in the second person singular. True, the familiarity
of this address almost approximated to rudeness, yet even the
boorish exterior of the speaker could not conceal a constant
endeavour never to hurt another one's feelings. The terms "brute"
or "swine," when used in this good-natured fashion, only
convulsed me, and gave me cause for inward merriment. In no way
did they offend the person addressed, or prevent the company at
large from remaining on the most sincere and friendly footing. In
all their intercourse these youths were delicate and forbearing
in a way that only very poor and very young men can be. However
much I might detect in Zuchin's character and amusements an
element of coarseness and profligacy, I could also detect the
fact that his drinking-bouts were of a very different order to
the puerility with burnt rum and champagne in which I had
participated at Baron Z.'s.

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