No More Learning

Good Heavens, yes! "

"I say, Vasya, have you finished copying those papers? . . . "

"No. . . . I haven't finished them yet. "

"Vas. . . ya! My angel! What have you been doing? "

"Listen, Arkasha, it doesn't matter, they are not wanted for another two
days, I have time enough. . . . "

"How is it you have not done them? "

"That's all right, that's all right. You look so horror-stricken that
you turn me inside out and make my heart ache! You are always going on
at me like this! He's for ever crying out: Oh, oh, oh! ! ! Only consider,
what does it matter? Why, I shall finish it, of course I shall finish
it. . . . "

"What if you don't finish it? " cried Arkady, jumping up, "and he has
made you a present to-day! And you going to be married. . . . Tut, tut,
tut! . . . "

"It's all right, it's all right," cried Shumkov, "I shall sit down
directly, I shall sit down this minute. "

"How did you come to leave it, Vasya? "

"Oh, Arkasha! How could I sit down to work! Have I been in a fit state?
Why, even at the office I could scarcely sit still, I could scarcely
bear the beating of my heart. . . . Oh! oh! Now I shall work all night, and
I shall work all to-morrow night, and the night after, too--and I shall
finish it. "

"Is there a great deal left? "

"Don't hinder me, for goodness' sake, don't hinder me; hold your
tongue. "

Arkady Ivanovitch went on tip-toe to the bed and sat down, then suddenly
wanted to get up, but was obliged to sit down again, remembering that he
might interrupt him, though he could not sit still for excitement: it
was evident that the news had thoroughly upset him, and the first thrill
of delight had not yet passed off. He glanced at Shumkov; the latter
glanced at him, smiled, and shook his finger at him, then, frowning
severely (as though all his energy and the success of his work depended
upon it), fixed his eyes on the papers.

It seemed that he, too, could not yet master his emotion; he kept
changing his pen, fidgeting in his chair, re-arranging things, and
setting to work again, but his hand trembled and refused to move.

"Arkasha, I've talked to them about you," he cried suddenly, as though
he had just remembered it.

"Yes," cried Arkasha, "I was just wanting to ask you that. Well? "

"Well, I'll tell you everything afterwards. Of course, it is my own
fault, but it quite went out of my head that I didn't mean to say
anything till I had written four pages, but I thought of you and of
them. I really can't write, brother, I keep thinking about you. . . . "

Vasya smiled.

A silence followed.

"Phew! What a horrid pen," cried Shumkov, flinging it on the table in
vexation. He took another.

"Vasya! listen! one word. . . . "

"Well, make haste, and for the last time. "

"Have you a great deal left to do? "

"Ah, brother! " Vasya frowned, as though there could be nothing more
terrible and murderous in the whole world than such a question. "A lot,
a fearful lot. "

"Do you know, I have an idea----"

"What? "

"Oh, never mind, never mind; go on writing. "

"Why, what? what? "

"It's past six, Vasya. "

Here Nefedevitch smiled and winked slyly at Vasya, though with a certain
timidity, not knowing how Vasya would take it.

"Well, what is it? " said Vasya, throwing down his pen, looking him
straight in the face and actually turning pale with excitement.

"Do you know what? "

"For goodness sake, what is it? "

"I tell you what, you are excited, you won't get much done. . . . Stop,
stop, stop! I have it, I have it--listen," said Nefedevitch, jumping up
from the bed in delight, preventing Vasya from speaking and doing his
utmost to ward off all objections; "first of all you must get calm, you
must pull yourself together, mustn't you? "

"Arkasha, Arkasha! " cried Vasya, jumping up from his chair, "I will work
all night, I will, really. "

"Of course, of course, you won't go to bed till morning. "

"I won't go to bed, I won't go to bed at all. "

"No, that won't do, that won't do: you must sleep, go to bed at five. I
will call you at eight. To-morrow is a holiday; you can sit and scribble
away all day long. . . . Then the night and--but have you a great deal left
to do? "

"Yes, look, look! "

Vasya, quivering with excitement and suspense, showed the manuscript:
"Look! "

"I say, brother, that's not much. "

"My dear fellow, there's some more of it," said Vasya, looking very
timidly at Nefedevitch, as though the decision whether he was to go or
not depended upon the latter.

"How much? "

"Two signatures. "

"Well, what's that? Come, I tell you what. We shall have time to finish
it, by Jove, we shall! "

"Arkasha! "

"Vasya, listen! To-night, on New Year's Eve, every one is at home with
his family. You and I are the only ones without a home or relations. . . .
Oh, Vasya! "

Nefedevitch clutched Vasya and hugged him in his leonine arms.

"Arkasha, it's settled. "

"Vasya, boy, I only wanted to say this. You see, Vasya--listen,
bandy-legs, listen! . . . "

Arkady stopped, with his mouth open, because he could not speak for
delight. Vasya held him by the shoulders, gazed into his face and moved
his lips, as though he wanted to speak for him.

"Well," he brought out at last.

"Introduce me to them to-day. "

"Arkady, let us go to tea there. I tell you what, I tell you what. We
won't even stay to see in the New Year, we'll come away earlier," cried
Vasya, with genuine inspiration.

"That is, we'll go for two hours, neither more nor less. . . . "

"And then separation till I have finished. . . . "

"Vasya, boy! "

"Arkady! "

Three minutes later Arkady was dressed in his best. Vasya did nothing
but brush himself, because he had been in such haste to work that he had
not changed his trousers.

They hurried out into the street, each more pleased than the other.
Their way lay from the Petersburg Side to Kolomna. Arkady Ivanovitch
stepped out boldly and vigorously, so that from his walk alone one could
see how glad he was at the good fortune of his friend, who was more and
more radiant with happiness. Vasya trotted along with shorter steps,
though his deportment was none the less dignified. Arkady Ivanovitch, in
fact, had never seen him before to such advantage. At that moment he
actually felt more respect for him, and Vasya's physical defect, of
which the reader is not yet aware (Vasya was slightly deformed), which
always called forth a feeling of loving sympathy in Arkady Ivanovitch's
kind heart, contributed to the deep tenderness the latter felt for him
at this moment, a tenderness of which Vasya was in every way worthy.
Arkady Ivanovitch felt ready to weep with happiness, but he restrained
himself.

"Where are you going, where are you going, Vasya? It is nearer this
way," he cried, seeing that Vasya was making in the direction of
Voznesenky.

"Hold your tongue, Arkasha. "

"It really is nearer, Vasya. "

"Do you know what, Arkasha? " Vasya began mysteriously, in a voice
quivering with joy, "I tell you what, I want to take Lizanka a little
present. "

"What sort of present? "

"At the corner here, brother, is Madame Leroux's, a wonderful shop. "

"Well. "

"A cap, my dear, a cap; I saw such a charming little cap to-day. I
inquired, I was told it was the _façon Manon Lescaut_--a delightful
thing. Cherry-coloured ribbons, and if it is not dear . . . Arkasha, even
if it is dear. . . . "

"I think you are superior to any of the poets, Vasya. Come along. "

They ran along, and two minutes later went into the shop. They were met
by a black-eyed Frenchwoman with curls, who, from the first glance at
her customers, became as joyous and happy as they, even happier, if one
may say so. Vasya was ready to kiss Madame Leroux in his delight. . . .

"Arkasha," he said in an undertone, casting a casual glance at all the
grand and beautiful things on little wooden stands on the huge table,
"lovely things! What's that? What's this? This one, for instance, this
little sweet, do you see? " Vasya whispered, pointing to a charming cap
further away, which was not the one he meant to buy, because he had
already from afar descried and fixed his eyes upon the real, famous one,
standing at the other end. He looked at it in such a way that one might
have supposed some one was going to steal it, or as though the cap
itself might take wings and fly into the air just to prevent Vasya from
obtaining it.

"Look," said Arkady Ivanovitch, pointing to one, "I think that's
better. "

"Well, Arkasha, that does you credit; I begin to respect you for your
taste," said Vasya, resorting to cunning with Arkasha in the tenderness
of his heart, "your cap is charming, but come this way. "

"Where is there a better one, brother? "

"Look; this way. "

"That," said Arkady, doubtfully.

But when Vasya, incapable of restraining himself any longer, took it
from the stand from which it seemed to fly spontaneously, as though
delighted at falling at last into the hands of so good a customer, and
they heard the rustle of its ribbons, ruches and lace, an unexpected cry
of delight broke from the powerful chest of Arkady Ivanovitch. Even
Madame Leroux, while maintaining her incontestable dignity and
pre-eminence in matters of taste, and remaining mute from condescension,
rewarded Vasya with a smile of complete approbation, everything in her
glance, gesture and smile saying at once: "Yes, you have chosen rightly,
and are worthy of the happiness which awaits you.
"

"It has been dangling its charms in coy seclusion," cried Vasya,
transferring his tender feelings to the charming cap. "You have been
hiding on purpose, you sly little pet! " And he kissed it, that is the
air surrounding it, for he was afraid to touch his treasure.

"Retiring as true worth and virtue," Arkady added enthusiastically,
quoting humorously from a comic paper he had read that morning. "Well,
Vasya? "

"Hurrah, Arkasha! You are witty to-day. I predict you will make a
sensation, as women say. Madame Leroux, Madame Leroux! "

"What is your pleasure? "

"Dear Madame Leroux. "

Madame Leroux looked at Arkady Ivanovitch and smiled condescendingly.

"You wouldn't believe how I adore you at this moment. . . . Allow me to
give you a kiss. . . . " And Vasya kissed the shopkeeper.

She certainly at that moment needed all her dignity to maintain her
position with such a madcap. But I contend that the innate, spontaneous
courtesy and grace with which Madame Leroux received Vasya's enthusiasm,
was equally befitting. She forgave him, and how tactfully, how
graciously, she knew how to behave in the circumstances. How could she
have been angry with Vasya?

"Madame Leroux, how much? "

"Five roubles in silver," she answered, straightening herself with a new
smile.

"And this one, Madame Leroux? " said Arkady Ivanovitch, pointing to his
choice.

"That one is eight roubles. "

"There, you see--there, you see! Come, Madame Leroux, tell me which is
nicer, more graceful, more charming, which of them suits you best? "

"The second is richer, but your choice _c'est plus coquet_. "

"Then we will take it. "

Madame Leroux took a sheet of very delicate paper, pinned it up, and the
paper with the cap wrapped in it seemed even lighter than the paper
alone. Vasya took it carefully, almost holding his breath, bowed to
Madame Leroux, said something else very polite to her and left the shop.

"I am a lady's man, I was born to be a lady's man," said Vasya, laughing
a little noiseless, nervous laugh and dodging the passers-by, whom he
suspected of designs for crushing his precious cap.

"Listen, Arkady, brother," he began a minute later, and there was a note
of triumph, of infinite affection in his voice. "Arkady, I am so happy,
I am so happy! "

"Vasya! how glad I am, dear boy! "

"No, Arkasha, no. I know that there is no limit to your affection for
me; but you cannot be feeling one-hundredth part of what I am feeling at
this moment. My heart is so full, so full! Arkasha, I am not worthy of
such happiness. I feel that, I am conscious of it. Why has it come to
me? " he said, his voice full of stifled sobs. "What have I done to
deserve it? Tell me. Look what lots of people, what lots of tears, what
sorrow, what work-a-day life without a holiday, while I, I am loved by a
girl like that, I. . . . But you will see her yourself immediately, you
will appreciate her noble heart. I was born in a humble station, now I
have a grade in the service and an independent income--my salary. I was
born with a physical defect, I am a little deformed. See, she loves me
as I am. Yulian Mastakovitch was so kind, so attentive, so gracious
to-day; he does not often talk to me; he came up to me: 'Well, how goes
it, Vasya' (yes, really, he called me Vasya), 'are you going to have a
good time for the holiday, eh? ' he laughed.

"'Well, the fact is, Your Excellency, I have work to do,' but then I
plucked up courage and said: 'and maybe I shall have a good time, too,
Your Excellency. ' I really said it. He gave me the money, on the spot,
then he said a couple of words more to me. Tears came into my eyes,
brother, I actually cried, and he, too, seemed touched, he patted me on
the shoulder, and said: 'Feel always, Vasya, as you feel this now. '"

Vasya paused for an instant. Arkady Ivanovitch turned away, and he, too,
wiped away a tear with his fist.

"And, and . . . " Vasya went on, "I have never spoken to you of this,
Arkady. . . . Arkady, you make me so happy with your affection, without you
I could not live,--no, no, don't say anything, Arkady, let me squeeze
your hand, let me . . . tha. . . ank . . . you. . . . " Again Vasya could not
finish.

Arkady Ivanovitch longed to throw himself on Vasya's neck, but as they
were crossing the road and heard almost in their ears a shrill: "Hi!
there! " they ran frightened and excited to the pavement.

Arkady Ivanovitch was positively relieved. He set down Vasya's outburst
of gratitude to the exceptional circumstances of the moment. He was
vexed. He felt that he had done so little for Vasya hitherto. He felt
actually ashamed of himself when Vasya began thanking him for so little.
But they had all their lives before them, and Arkady Ivanovitch breathed
more freely.

The Artemyevs had quite given up expecting them. The proof of it was
that they had already sat down to tea! And the old, it seems, are
sometimes more clear-sighted than the young, even when the young are so
exceptional. Lizanka had very earnestly maintained, "He isn't coming, he
isn't coming, Mamma; I feel in my heart he is not coming;" while her
mother on the contrary declared "that she had a feeling that he would
certainly come, that he would not stay away, that he would run round,
that he could have no office work now, on New Year's Eve. " Even as
Lizanka opened the door she did not in the least expect to see them, and
greeted them breathlessly, with her heart throbbing like a captured
bird's, flushing and turning as red as a cherry, a fruit which she
wonderfully resembled. Good Heavens, what a surprise it was! What a
joyful "Oh! " broke from her lips. "Deceiver! My darling! " she cried,
throwing her arms round Vasya's neck. But imagine her amazement, her
sudden confusion: just behind Vasya, as though trying to hide behind his
back, stood Arkady Ivanovitch, a trifle out of countenance. It must be
admitted that he was awkward in the company of women, very awkward
indeed, in fact on one occasion something occurred . . . but of that later.
You must put yourself in his place, however. There was nothing to laugh
at; he was standing in the entry, in his goloshes and overcoat, and in a
cap with flaps over the ears, which he would have hastened to pull off,
but he had, all twisted round in a hideous way, a yellow knitted scarf,
which, to make things worse, was knotted at the back. He had to
disentangle all this, to take it off as quickly as possible, to show
himself to more advantage, for there is no one who does not prefer to
show himself to advantage. And then Vasya, vexatious insufferable Vasya,
of course always the same dear kind Vasya, but now insufferable,
ruthless Vasya. "Here," he shouted, "Lizanka, I have brought you my
Arkady? What do you think of him? He is my best friend, embrace him,
kiss him, Lizanka, give him a kiss in advance; afterwards--you will know
him better--you can take it back again. "

Well, what, I ask you, was Arkady Ivanovitch to do? And he had only
untwisted half of the scarf so far. I really am sometimes ashamed of
Vasya's excess of enthusiasm; it is, of course, the sign of a good
heart, but . . . it's awkward, not nice!

At last both went in. . . . The mother was unutterably delighted to make
Arkady Ivanovitch's acquaintance, "she had heard so much about him, she
had. . . . " But she did not finish. A joyful "Oh! " ringing musically
through the room interrupted her in the middle of a sentence. Good
Heavens! Lizanka was standing before the cap which had suddenly been
unfolded before her gaze; she clasped her hands with the utmost
simplicity, smiling such a smile. . . . Oh, Heavens! why had not Madame
Leroux an even lovelier cap?

Oh, Heavens! but where could you find a lovelier cap? It was quite
first-rate. Where could you get a better one? I mean it seriously. This
ingratitude on the part of lovers moves me, in fact, to indignation and
even wounds me a little. Why, look at it for yourself, reader, look,
what could be more beautiful than this little love of a cap? Come, look
at it. . . . But, no, no, my strictures are uncalled for; they had by now
all agreed with me; it had been a momentary aberration; the blindness,
the delirium of feeling; I am ready to forgive them. . . . But then you
must look. . . . You must excuse me, kind reader, I am still talking about
the cap: made of tulle, light as a feather, a broad cherry-coloured
ribbon covered with lace passing between the tulle and the ruche, and at
the back two wide long ribbons--they would fall down a little below the
nape of the neck. . . . All that the cap needed was to be tilted a little
to the back of the head; come, look at it; I ask you, after that . . . but
I see you are not looking . . . you think it does not matter. You are
looking in a different direction. . . . You are looking at two big tears,
big as pearls, that rose in two jet black eyes, quivered for one instant
on the eyelashes, and then dropped on the ethereal tulle of which Madame
Leroux's artistic masterpiece was composed. . . . And again I feel vexed,
those two tears were scarcely a tribute to the cap. . . . No, to my mind,
such a gift should be given in cool blood, as only then can its full
worth be appreciated. I am, I confess, dear reader, entirely on the side
of the cap.

They sat down--Vasya with Lizanka and the old mother with Arkady
Ivanovitch; they began to talk, and Arkady Ivanovitch did himself
credit, I am glad to say that for him. One would hardly, indeed, have
expected it of him. After a couple of words about Vasya he most
successfully turned the conversation to Yulian Mastakovitch, his patron.
And he talked so cleverly, so cleverly that the subject was not
exhausted for an hour. You ought to have seen with what dexterity, what
tact, Arkady Ivanovitch touched upon certain peculiarities of Yulian
Mastakovitch which directly or indirectly affected Vasya. The mother was
fascinated, genuinely fascinated; she admitted it herself; she purposely
called Vasya aside, and said to him that his friend was a most excellent
and charming young man, and, what was of most account, such a serious,
steady young man. Vasya almost laughed aloud with delight. He remembered
how the serious Arkady had tumbled him on his bed for a quarter of an
hour. Then the mother signed to Vasya to follow her quietly and
cautiously into the next room. It must be admitted that she treated
Lizanka rather unfairly: she behaved treacherously to her daughter, in
the fullness of her heart, of course, and showed Vasya on the sly the
present Lizanka was preparing to give him for the New Year. It was a
paper-case, embroidered in beads and gold in a very choice design: on
one side was depicted a stag, absolutely lifelike, running swiftly, and
so well done! On the other side was the portrait of a celebrated
General, also an excellent likeness. I cannot describe Vasya's raptures.
Meanwhile, time was not being wasted in the parlour.