No More Learning

"Yes, my dear, yes," said Mavra, showing the visitor in.

"What's that? What is it? " cried Vasya, leaping up from the table and
rushing to the entry, "Petinka, you? "

"Good morning, I have the honour to wish you a happy New Year, Vassily
Petrovitch," said a pretty boy of ten years old with curly black hair.
"Sister sends you her love, and so does Mamma, and Sister told me to
give you a kiss for her. "

Vasya caught the messenger up in the air and printed a long,
enthusiastic kiss on his lips, which were very much like Lizanka's.

"Kiss him, Arkady," he said handing Petya to him, and without touching
the ground the boy was transferred to Arkady Ivanovitch's powerful and
eager arms.

"Will you have some breakfast, dear? "

"Thank-you, very much. We have had it already, we got up early to-day,
the others have gone to church. Sister was two hours curling my hair,
and pomading it, washing me and mending my trousers, for I tore them
yesterday, playing with Sashka in the street, we were snowballing. "

"Well, well, well! "

"So she dressed me up to come and see you, and then pomaded my head and
then gave me a regular kissing. She said: 'Go to Vasya, wish him a happy
New Year, and ask whether they are happy, whether they had a good night,
and . . . ' to ask something else,--oh yes! whether you had finished the
work you spoke of yesterday . . . when you were there. Oh, I've got it all
written down," said the boy, reading from a slip of paper which he took
out of his pocket. "Yes, they were uneasy. "

"It will be finished! It will be! Tell her that it will be. I shall
finish it, on my word of honour! "

"And something else. . . . Oh yes, I forgot. Sister sent a little note and
a present, and I was forgetting it! . . . "

"My goodness! Oh, you little darling! Where is it? where is it? That's
it, oh! Look, brother, see what she writes. The dar--ling, the precious!
You know I saw there yesterday a paper-case for me; it's not finished,
so she says, 'I am sending you a lock of my hair, and the other will
come later. ' Look, brother, look! "

And overwhelmed with rapture he showed Arkady Ivanovitch a curl of
luxuriant, jet-black hair; then he kissed it fervently and put it in his
breast pocket, nearest his heart.

"Vasya, I shall get you a locket for that curl," Arkady Ivanovitch said
resolutely at last.

"And we are going to have hot veal, and to-morrow brains. Mamma wants to
make cakes . . . but we are not going to have millet porridge," said the
boy, after a moment's thought, to wind up his budget of interesting
items.

"Oh! what a pretty boy," cried Arkady Ivanovitch. "Vasya, you are the
happiest of mortals. "

The boy finished his tea, took from Vasya a note, a thousand kisses, and
went out happy and frolicsome as before.

"Well, brother," began Arkady Ivanovitch, highly delighted, "you see how
splendid it all is; you see. Everything is going well, don't be
downcast, don't be uneasy. Go ahead! Get it done, Vasya, get it done.
I'll be home at two o'clock. I'll go round to them, and then to Yulian
Mastakovitch. "

"Well, good-bye, brother; good-bye. . . . Oh! if only. . . . Very good, you
go, very good," said Vasya, "then I really won't go to Yulian
Mastakovitch. "

"Good-bye. "

"Stay, brother, stay, tell them . . . well, whatever you think fit. Kiss
her . . . and give me a full account of everything afterwards. "

"Come, come--of course, I know all about it. This happiness has upset
you. The suddenness of it all; you've not been yourself since yesterday.
You have not got over the excitement of yesterday. Well, it's settled.
Now try and get over it, Vasya. Good-bye, good-bye! "

At last the friends parted. All the morning Arkady Ivanovitch was
preoccupied, and could think of nothing but Vasya. He knew his weak,
highly nervous character. "Yes, this happiness has upset him, I was
right there," he said to himself. "Upon my word, he has made me quite
depressed, too, that man will make a tragedy of anything! What a
feverish creature! Oh, I must save him! I must save him! " said Arkady,
not noticing that he himself was exaggerating into something serious a
slight trouble, in reality quite trivial. Only at eleven o'clock he
reached the porter's lodge of Yulian Mastakovitch's house, to add his
modest name to the long list of illustrious persons who had written
their names on a sheet of blotted and scribbled paper in the porter's
lodge. What was his surprise when he saw just above his own the
signature of Vasya Shumkov! It amazed him. "What's the matter with him? "
he thought. Arkady Ivanovitch, who had just been so buoyant with hope,
came out feeling upset. There was certainly going to be trouble, but
how? And in what form?

He reached the Artemyevs with gloomy forebodings; he seemed
absent-minded from the first, and after talking a little with Lizanka
went away with tears in his eyes; he was really anxious about Vasya. He
went home running, and on the Neva came full tilt upon Vasya himself.
The latter, too, was uneasy.

"Where are you going? " cried Arkady Ivanovitch.

Vasya stopped as though he had been caught in a crime.

"Oh, it's nothing, brother, I wanted to go for a walk. "

"You could not stand it, and have been to the Artemyevs? Oh, Vasya,
Vasya! Why did you go to Yulian Mastakovitch? "

Vasya did not answer, but then with a wave of his hand, he said:
"Arkady, I don't know what is the matter with me. I. . . . "

"Come, come, Vasya. I know what it is. Calm yourself. You've been
excited, and overwrought ever since yesterday. Only think, it's not much
to bear. Everybody's fond of you, everybody's ready to do anything for
you; your work is getting on all right; you will get it done, you will
certainly get it done. I know that you have been imagining something,
you have had apprehensions about something. . . . "

"No, it's all right, it's all right. . . . "

"Do you remember, Vasya, do you remember it was the same with you once
before; do you remember, when you got your promotion, in your joy and
thankfulness you were so zealous that you spoilt all your work for a
week? It is just the same with you now. "

"Yes, yes, Arkady; but now it is different, it is not that at all. "

"How is it different? And very likely the work is not urgent at all,
while you are killing yourself. . . . "

"It's nothing, it's nothing. I am all right, it's nothing. Well, come
along! "

"Why, are you going home, and not to them? "

"Yes, brother, how could I have the face to turn up there? . . . I have
changed my mind. It was only that I could not stay on alone without you;
now you are coming back with me I'll sit down to write again. Let us
go! "

They walked along and for some time were silent. Vasya was in haste.

"Why don't you ask me about them? " said Arkady Ivanovitch.

"Oh, yes! Well, Arkasha, what about them? "

"Vasya, you are not like yourself. "

"Oh, I am all right, I am all right. Tell me everything, Arkasha," said
Vasya, in an imploring voice, as though to avoid further explanations.
Arkady Ivanovitch sighed. He felt utterly at a loss, looking at Vasya.

His account of their friends roused Vasya. He even grew talkative. They
had dinner together. Lizanka's mother had filled Arkady Ivanovitch's
pockets with little cakes, and eating them the friends grew more
cheerful. After dinner Vasya promised to take a nap, so as to sit up all
night. He did, in fact, lie down. In the morning, some one whom it was
impossible to refuse had invited Arkady Ivanovitch to tea. The friends
parted. Arkady promised to come back as soon as he could, by eight
o'clock if possible. The three hours of separation seemed to him like
three years. At last he got away and rushed back to Vasya. When he went
into the room, he found it in darkness. Vasya was not at home. He asked
Mavra. Mavra said that he had been writing all the time, and had not
slept at all, then he had paced up and down the room, and after that, an
hour before, he had run out, saying he would be back in half-an-hour;
"and when, says he, Arkady Ivanovitch comes in, tell him, old woman,
says he," Mavra told him in conclusion, "that I have gone out for a
walk," and he repeated the order three or four times.

"He is at the Artemyevs," thought Arkady Ivanovitch, and he shook his
head.

A minute later he jumped up with renewed hope.

"He has simply finished," he thought, "that's all it is; he couldn't
wait, but ran off there. But, no! he would have waited for me. . . . Let's
have a peep what he has there. "

He lighted a candle, and ran to Vasya's writing-table: the work had made
progress and it looked as though there were not much left to do. Arkady
Ivanovitch was about to investigate further, when Vasya himself walked
in. . . .

"Oh, you are here? " he cried, with a start of dismay.

Arkady Ivanovitch was silent. He was afraid to question Vasya. The
latter dropped his eyes and remained silent too, as he began sorting the
papers. At last their eyes met.
The look in Vasya's was so beseeching,
imploring, and broken, that Arkady shuddered when he saw it. His heart
quivered and was full.

"Vasya, my dear boy, what is it? What's wrong? " he cried, rushing to him
and squeezing him in his arms. "Explain to me, I don't understand you,
and your depression. What is the matter with you, my poor, tormented
boy? What is it? Tell me all about it, without hiding anything. It can't
be only this----"

Vasya held him tight and could say nothing. He could scarcely breathe.

"Don't, Vasya, don't! Well, if you don't finish it, what then? I don't
understand you; tell me your trouble. You see it is for your sake I. . . .
Oh dear! oh dear! " he said, walking up and down the room and clutching
at everything he came across, as though seeking at once some remedy for
Vasya. "I will go to Yulian Mastakovitch instead of you to-morrow. I
will ask him--entreat him--to let you have another day. I will explain
it all to him, anything, if it worries you so. . . . "

"God forbid! " cried Vasya, and turned as white as the wall. He could
scarcely stand on his feet.

"Vasya! Vasya! "

Vasya pulled himself together. His lips were quivering; he tried to say
something, but could only convulsively squeeze Arkady's hand in silence.
His hand was cold. Arkady stood facing him, full of anxious and
miserable suspense. Vasya raised his eyes again.

"Vasya, God bless you, Vasya! You wring my heart, my dear boy, my
friend. "

Tears gushed from Vasya's eyes; he flung himself on Arkady's bosom.

"I have deceived you, Arkady," he said. "I have deceived you. Forgive
me, forgive me! I have been faithless to your friendship. . . . "

"What is it, Vasya? What is the matter? " asked Arkady, in real alarm.

"Look! "

And with a gesture of despair Vasya tossed out of the drawer on to the
table six thick manuscripts, similar to the one he had copied.

"What's this? "

"What I have to get through by the day after to-morrow. I haven't done a
quarter! Don't ask me, don't ask me how it has happened," Vasya went on,
speaking at once of what was distressing him so terribly. "Arkady, dear
friend, I don't know myself what came over me. I feel as though I were
coming out of a dream. I have wasted three weeks doing nothing. I kept
. . . I . . . kept going to see her. . . . My heart was aching, I was tormented
by . . . the uncertainty . . . I could not write. I did not even think about
it. Only now, when happiness is at hand for me, I have come to my
senses. "

"Vasya," began Arkady Ivanovitch resolutely, "Vasya, I will save you. I
understand it all. It's a serious matter; I will save you. Listen!
listen to me: I will go to Yulian Mastakovitch to-morrow. . . . Don't shake
your head; no, listen! I will tell him exactly how it has all been; let
me do that . . . I will explain to him. . . . I will go into everything. I
will tell him how crushed you are, how you are worrying yourself. "

"Do you know that you are killing me now? " Vasya brought out, turning
cold with horror.

Arkady Ivanovitch turned pale, but at once controlling himself, laughed.

"Is that all? Is that all? " he said. "Upon my word, Vasya, upon my word!
Aren't you ashamed? Come, listen! I see that I am grieving you. You see
I understand you; I know what is passing in your heart. Why, we have
been living together for five years, thank God! You are such a kind,
soft-hearted fellow, but weak, unpardonably weak. Why, even Lizaveta
Mikalovna has noticed it. And you are a dreamer, and that's a bad thing,
too; you may go from bad to worse, brother. I tell you, I know what you
want! You would like Yulian Mastakovitch, for instance, to be beside
himself and, maybe, to give a ball, too, from joy, because you are going
to get married. . . . Stop, stop! you are frowning. You see that at one
word from me you are offended on Yulian Mastakovitch's account. I'll let
him alone. You know I respect him just as much as you do. But argue as
you may, you can't prevent my thinking that you would like there to be
no one unhappy in the whole world when you are getting married. . . . Yes,
brother, you must admit that you would like me, for instance, your best
friend, to come in for a fortune of a hundred thousand all of a sudden,
you would like all the enemies in the world to be suddenly, for no rhyme
or reason, reconciled, so that in their joy they might all embrace one
another in the middle of the street, and then, perhaps, come here to
call on you. Vasya, my dear boy, I am not laughing; it is true; you've
said as much to me long ago, in different ways. Because you are happy,
you want every one, absolutely every one, to become happy at once. It
hurts you and troubles you to be happy alone. And so you want at once to
do your utmost to be worthy of that happiness, and maybe to do some
great deed to satisfy your conscience. Oh! I understand how ready you
are to distress yourself for having suddenly been remiss just where you
ought to have shown your zeal, your capacity . . . well, maybe your
gratitude, as you say. It is very bitter for you to think that Yulian
Mastakovitch may frown and even be angry when he sees that you have not
justified the expectations he had of you. It hurts you to think that you
may hear reproaches from the man you look upon as your benefactor--and
at such a moment! when your heart is full of joy and you don't know on
whom to lavish your gratitude. . . . Isn't that true? It is, isn't it? "

Arkady Ivanovitch, whose voice was trembling, paused, and drew a deep
breath.

Vasya looked affectionately at his friend. A smile passed over his lips.
His face even lighted up, as though with a gleam of hope.

"Well, listen, then," Arkady Ivanovitch began again, growing more
hopeful, "there's no necessity that you should forfeit Yulian
Mastakovitch's favour. . . . Is there, dear boy? Is there any question of
it? And since it is so," said Arkady, jumping up, "I shall sacrifice
myself for you. I am going to-morrow to Yulian Mastakovitch, and don't
oppose me. You magnify your failure to a crime, Vasya. Yulian
Mastakovitch is magnanimous and merciful, and, what is more, he is not
like you. He will listen to you and me, and get us out of our trouble,
brother Vasya. Well, are you calmer? "

Vasya pressed his friend's hands with tears in his eyes.

"Hush, hush, Arkady," he said, "the thing is settled. I haven't
finished, so very well; if I haven't finished, I haven't finished, and
there's no need for you to go. I will tell him all about it, I will go
myself. I am calmer now, I am perfectly calm; only you mustn't go. . . .
But listen. . . . "

"Vasya, my dear boy," Arkady Ivanovitch cried joyfully, "I judged from
what you said. I am glad that you have thought better of things and have
recovered yourself. But whatever may befall you, whatever happens, I am
with you, remember that. I see that it worries you to think of my
speaking to Yulian Mastakovitch--and I won't say a word, not a word, you
shall tell him yourself. You see, you shall go to-morrow. . . . Oh no, you
had better not go, you'll go on writing here, you see, and I'll find out
about this work, whether it is very urgent or not, whether it must be
done by the time or not, and if you don't finish it in time what will
come of it. Then I will run back to you. Do you see, do you see! There
is still hope; suppose the work is not urgent--it may be all right.
Yulian Mastakovitch may not remember, then all is saved. "

Vasya shook his head doubtfully. But his grateful eyes never left his
friend's face.

"Come, that's enough, I am so weak, so tired," he said, sighing. "I
don't want to think about it. Let us talk of something else. I won't
write either now; do you know I'll only finish two short pages just to
get to the end of a passage. Listen . . . I have long wanted to ask you,
how is it you know me so well? "

Tears dropped from Vasya's eyes on Arkady's hand.

"If you knew, Vasya, how fond I am of you, you would not ask that--yes! "

"Yes, yes, Arkady, I don't know that, because I don't know why you are
so fond of me. Yes, Arkady, do you know, even your love has been killing
me? Do you know, ever so many times, particularly when I am thinking of
you in bed (for I always think of you when I am falling asleep), I shed
tears, and my heart throbs at the thought . . .