The loss of my overcoat and of my box had evidently made a deep impression on Nicholas. He was determined4 he should lose none of his things. We were travelling together all the way to Moscow. He was going to be a student at the University, and he hoped to share lodgings5 with me. Our journey took three days. Nicholas’s luggage consisted of nine heavy portmanteaux and boxes. This luggage was a matter 61of amazement6 to myself, my fellow-travellers and the porters. Surely no one ever before started from a pine cottage with such an accumulation. How Nicholas came by it all will always be an interesting page in his life history.
A year ago, Nicholas had been studying in Moscow and supporting himself by giving lessons in English, music and mathematics. Of all his studies the favourite was English; and in English he excelled. His professor regarded him as a lad of promise, and advised him to go for a season to England and learn to speak the language. Nicholas was of an adventurous7 spirit and the advice pleased him. He saved a few pounds and set off for England. First he went home and told the deacon and his mother. They were astonished beyond words. They did not, however, forbid the journey; they blessed him and bade him farewell, commending him to the saints. His mother kissed the little Ikon which hung round his neck, and looked her son in the eyes with that peculiar8 expression of faith which is part of the In-itself of life. Zhenia kissed him good-bye, and the young adventurer went out into the wide world into the new lands. His route was interesting, being the route which so many poor emigrants9 were taking at that time, lured11 by the stories of fabulous12 wages in England, America and Canada. He took steamer at Ekaterinoslav and came leisurely13 up the Dneiper to Kiev, the busy city generally spoken of as 62ancient, though new as Paris and swirling14 with electric cars. From Kiev he went by train; third-class to the Konigsberg frontier and thence across Germany, fourth-class to Hamburg. Does the reader know a fourth-class emigrant10 train? It is a series of cattle-trucks for human beings, and indeed the occupants behave more like animals than human beings. Anything more filthy15, indecent and odious16 than the condition of a Jews’ train can scarcely be imagined. I think Nicholas felt very sick and weary before he got to Hamburg. But it was cheap travelling. I think his whole fare, from Lisitchansk to London, cost less than two pounds ten.
He was a brave boy. I imagine his arrival in London at the dreary17 docks, his first view of our appallingly18 large, dreary city. He did not see the fairy-tale which it is the fashion to see in London. It was a friendless desert, a place where everyone was so poor that it took all one’s time to look after oneself. He wandered about and lost himself, if, indeed, it were possible to lose himself, since he was already lost when he arrived that early May morning. There was one thing to do: he had a Russian’s address in his pocket, the address of a Russian in London. By dint19 of asking a new policeman at each turning he found his way to Russell Square.
Lucky boy! He fell on his feet in Bloomsbury in the Russian colony there. Russians are very kind to one another, and it would be difficult not to be kind to 63Nicholas; he is handsome, witty20, musical. One introduced him to another all the way round, and he found occupation easily, giving lessons once more in English, music and mathematics. It was in this first period that he met me. I had written to the Russian Consul22 asking if he would recommend me a Russian who would be willing to give me lessons in the Russian language. He indicated a certain M. Voronofsky, who referred me to Nicholas. So I came to know him. He was surely the most affectionate teacher I ever had, and most prodigal23 he was in Russian conversation. He gave me hours beyond the stipulated24 time of my lesson, and would walk arm-in-arm with me up and down the Strand25, protesting his affection and heaping endearments26 upon me in a way that made me fancy what it is like to be a girl. I was, however, in some respects unlucky in my teachers; as fast as I got one he disappeared and was next heard of in Barrow-in-Furness. The reason for this lay in the fact that Messrs Vickers Maxim27 had obtained a contract to build a portion of the new Russian fleet. Besides an immense amount of correspondence with the Russian Admiralty, all plans, specifications28 and directions were in Russian, and in technical Russian at that. Consequently a large Russian staff was required at Barrow, and almost anyone who applied29 was accepted at once. I told Nicholas of this, he applied and was accepted. So for the time I lost him. He worked three months, literally30 grinding, doing 64twelve hours’ work a day. He found out what it was to be utilised in the English machine. I think he did not like it, and it was only the joy of earning a pile of money that kept him at it. He made eighty pounds in three months, which wasn’t bad for a youngster. But at the end of that time a wave of home-sickness overtook him. A letter from home said his father was unwell; he interpreted it to mean his father was dying, packed up his things and left the country. He had arrived in London with one black box, he went away with—nine heavy portmanteaux and trunks. He said to me, when he came back from Barrow, “I want to buy all sorts of things; if I don’t buy them now I shall never buy them again; I shall never have the money.” Now, to a Russian, England is a paradise of cheap clothes. Living is dear but clothes are dirt cheap. In Russia only my lord wears a collar or uses a handkerchief; an English suit costs five pounds at least, English shirts cost six or seven shillings each. Nicholas bought a wardrobe of suits and fancy waistcoats, hats, boots, umbrellas, ties. Such ties he bought that at several Lisitchansk parties he had to undress partially31 so as to satisfy the curiosity of his friends. He bought patent Mikado braces32, the like had never been seen in Little Russia. He bought Zhenia a hat, and his father a smoking jacket, and his mother a shawl. He bought reams of delicately-tinted notepaper and envelopes, at which, since those days, numberless fair Russian girls have 65gazed; though “fairer than the paper writ21 on was the fair hand that writ.” I took him into Straker’s one day to help him to make some purchases; we spent half an hour selecting shades of sealing-wax. Well, you can be sure that by the time he finished his packing there was not much space left in those nine boxes and bags. I saw him off at Liverpool Street Station. He went home via the Hook of Holland and in grand style. It was a strange contrast to his arrival five months before.
Of course he found his father very well when he came to Lisitchansk, and he spent a very gay autumn there. He was the prodigal come home, but with the fatted calf33 under his arm. It was very glorious for him. Yet from the point of view of material prosperity his return was a mistake. The tide which leads to fortune had been at the full for him in London. He had wilfully34 neglected it.
Success turned his head a little. He lived on glory for a month or two, and then he heard that I was coming to Russia and he invited me to his home. His mind became full of plans: he would go to Canada, he would go to England again, or to Chicago. The first step, however, towards the realisation of these or any other schemes was to obtain money. He had spent all his English earnings35.
I came and stated my intention of going to Moscow. Nicholas discovered that Moscow was the best place for him. He would come with me and learn more 66English, and he would study for his degree and pay for his living and his fees by giving lessons.
He ought to have gone straight to Moscow in the autumn, for the University year commences in September, and the person who starts in January finds himself hardly circumstanced in many ways. For one thing, it is very difficult to earn money by teaching. It is a custom in Russian families of the middle and upper classes to employ what are known as repetitors. A repetitor is a University student who comes each night to hear the lessons in the family. The boys and girls go to school in the morning, they prepare their home-lessons in the afternoon, and in the evening and at night they say them over to repetitors. A student of ability has a fair chance of earning eight or ten pounds a month by this, and there is scarcely a student in Moscow who does not glean36 two or three pounds at least by it. But practically the whole of this teaching is arranged in September or October, at the commencement of the session, for all schools work in harmony with the University and have the same terms and vacations. So Nicholas was coming out of time. In truth, neither his prospect37 nor mine would have tempted38 an investor39. But neither of us understood the position, and each relied a little on the other. Nicholas thought my journalism40 would bring me in untold41 wealth, and I thought I might be able to get some teaching through him. So the blind led the blind.
67At Moscow we were met by Shura, a Little-Russian friend of Nicholas; Alexander Sergayef was his name in full, though he was called Shura or Sasha for short. He was a philological42 student and shared rooms with a Greek in the Kislovka. The three of us drove to a lodging-house at Candlemas Gate (Sretinka Vorota), and the portmanteaux and boxes followed behind on a dray.
The lodging-house goes by the name of “Samarkand,” which is printed on a disreputable blue board which hangs outside. It is a dirty establishment like five hundred of its kind in the city. The lodgers43 are chiefly clerks and students, and, before the Governor stepped in with new regulations, card-sharpers and gamblers. One commonly collided with queer characters on the stairs—beggars, spies, touts44; girls in gay hats hung on the banisters, smoked cigarettes, flirted45 with the doorkeeper and the students. In front the building looked down upon a beer-tavern; behind it stood the Candlemas Monastery46, a church of cheese-yellow and bottle-green, surrounded by seven purple domes47. On each dome48 was a gilt49 cross, and on the cross fat crows often perched. We took a room on the third floor; it cost two pounds a month—a very cheap price for Moscow. It was an advantage to us to be nearer the sky than the street; we had light and air and view. We had more cold, perhaps, but that was a minor50 matter. No town houses have fire-places except rich 68mansions built in the English style, but there is excellent steam-heating, and even on the coldest days we never felt a chill, though we were high up and exposed to the wind. For me, indeed, it was a most pleasant experience to be able to turn out of bed in the morning and feel the room as warm as it was when I went to bed. Russian houses, even the poorest, are more comfortable in winter than the English.
Our room was a large one, having five chairs and three rickety little tables, besides a couple of couches and two beds. In a grey corner an Ikon of the Virgin51 hung. I, for my part, had my own Ikon, a print of Millet’s “Angelus,” which I placed in front of my table. It made even this poor room a living, breathing home. It was my reminder52 of England. Since those days when I lived at Samarkand it has become very sacred to me.
We were very poor. I think when I had bought an overcoat and Nicholas had paid his fees we had just three pounds between us. We lived on black bread, milk and fried pork. I wrote my articles, he went and hawked53 about the town for lessons.
Among the precious things in the capacious pockets of that overcoat which was stolen was a book on the Russian Peasant. This had been given me by a London editor who let me have “a shot at reviewing it.” I grieved not a little that this had been lost before I had read it thoroughly54. I had only glanced through it in the train. My loss did not deter3 me from writing the 69article, however. What was my surprise when in the second week of my stay at Moscow, almost by return of post, the editor wrote, “Review excellent, fire away, try something else.” I felt very cheerful and reflected that by mid-February at the latest I should receive my first cheque.
But meanwhile it became apparent that we stood a chance to starve. We were living on an average of less than fourpence a day each. In a note-book, which I kept at that time, I see that on January 14th I spent 5d. on food, on the 15th, 4d. The figures are interesting:—
January 16th 6d.
January 17th 3d.
January 18th 4d.
January 19th 3d.
January 20th 1d.
January 21st 5d.
January 22nd 2d.
and so on.
On the 28th Shura came round to see us, told us his Greek companion had left him, and invited us to come and live with him. Forthwith the three of us, the nine boxes and bags and my luggage, proceeded in sledges55 to the Kislovka, and we took up our abode56 in the students’ quarter.
The district known as the Kislovka lies at the back of the University. It is an ugly aggregation57 of lodging-houses. Each lodging-house is composed of students’ 70dens. Some students have rooms to themselves, but for the most part a single one is let to two or three students. Three young men, like ourselves, will sleep, eat, study and receive company in the same room. We had to pay about fourteen shillings a month each, so the arrangement seemed more economical. Then Shura earned about four pounds a month giving lessons, so the financial position was much improved. Then, on the second night after we had been there, Nicholas won fifteen shillings off a Frenchman at cards. Then on February 5th there came a letter to me from a London newspaper enclosing a cheque in respect of a Christmas article I had sent in. It was too late for this Christmas, they would use it next. It was evident we should not starve.
On Saturday Shura had an “At Home” day. We always stayed up all night on Saturdays. In the afternoons we bought rolls and sausage and caviare and tinned herring and cheese to make a spread. About five or six o’clock the guests would arrive—five or six girl students and the same number of men. There were not chairs to go round, so many of them sat on the beds. Then we talked in the way that only Russians can. On the floor lay cigarette-ends, volumes on law and philosophy, dust of past ages, vodka droppings from the last gathering58, old clothes, newspapers, picture postcards. The walls were plastered with prints, portraits of members of the Duma, a large newspaper picture of 71Tolstoy, cartoons from European papers, etc. My “Angelus” Ikon looked almost sorrowfully upon the scene. There was no real Russian Ikon there. Shura told me he had pitched it out of the window when he came. He didn’t believe in God. In the course of the evening one of the students present would read a tale from Tchekhof or Andrief, another would read a few verses from Nadson, their favourite poet. Nicholas would play on the guitar and sing little Russian songs. I would get through a game at chess with someone. Then we would all play some games at forfeit59 with the girls. The time passed very quickly. One samovar would succeed another until after midnight, and glasses of weak tea circulated till dawn. At last we would take the girls home, and then come back and sleep an hour or two before breakfast. It was a godless way of beginning the Sunday.
Shortly after the first “At Home” I discovered a way in which an Englishman can make a small fortune in Moscow. I put an advertisement in the Russian Word to this effect:—
“Young Englishman from London, well-educated, seeks lessons, speaks French and Russian.”
The answers to this soon made me the richest of the three in the little room. My lowest price was four shillings a lesson of one hour. An Englishman can get that easily in Moscow. I became a repetitor. First I had 72a French girl to teach, the daughter of a cotton manufacturer. She didn’t like me and I lost that lesson after a fortnight, but I got lessons with an engineer, with two German boys and a Russian boy; and a woman engaged me to give a series of lectures on English literature at a girls’ college. For the last named I received six shillings a lecture.
Then Nicholas got three pounds a month to coach a boy for his matriculation; we were all thriving.
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1
bribes
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| n.贿赂( bribe的名词复数 )；向（某人）行贿，贿赂v.贿赂( bribe的第三人称单数 )；向（某人）行贿，贿赂 | |
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negligence
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| n.疏忽，玩忽，粗心大意 | |
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deter
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| vt.阻止，使不敢，吓住 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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adventurous
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| adj.爱冒险的；惊心动魄的，惊险的，刺激的 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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emigrants
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| n.（从本国移往他国的）移民( emigrant的名词复数 ) | |
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emigrant
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| adj.移居的，移民的；n.移居外国的人，移民 | |
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lured
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| 吸引，引诱（lure的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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fabulous
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| adj.极好的；极为巨大的；寓言中的，传说中的 | |
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leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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swirling
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| v.旋转，打旋( swirl的现在分词 ) | |
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filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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odious
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| adj.可憎的，讨厌的 | |
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dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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appallingly
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| 毛骨悚然地 | |
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dint
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| n.由于，靠；凹坑 | |
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witty
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| adj.机智的，风趣的 | |
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writ
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| n.命令状，书面命令 | |
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consul
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| n.领事；执政官 | |
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prodigal
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| adj.浪费的，挥霍的，放荡的 | |
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stipulated
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| vt.& vi.规定；约定adj.[法]合同规定的 | |
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strand
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| vt.使（船）搁浅，使（某人）困于（某地） | |
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endearments
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| n.表示爱慕的话语，亲热的表示( endearment的名词复数 ) | |
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maxim
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| n.格言，箴言 | |
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specifications
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| n.规格；载明；详述；（产品等的）说明书；说明书( specification的名词复数 )；详细的计划书；载明；详述 | |
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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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partially
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| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
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32
braces
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| n.吊带，背带；托架( brace的名词复数 )；箍子；括弧；（儿童）牙箍v.支住( brace的第三人称单数 )；撑牢；使自己站稳；振作起来 | |
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calf
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| n.小牛，犊，幼仔，小牛皮 | |
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wilfully
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| adv.任性固执地；蓄意地 | |
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earnings
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| n.工资收人；利润，利益，所得 | |
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glean
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| v.收集(消息、资料、情报等) | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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investor
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| n.投资者，投资人 | |
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journalism
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| n.新闻工作，报业 | |
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untold
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| adj.数不清的，无数的 | |
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philological
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| adj.语言学的，文献学的 | |
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43
lodgers
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| n.房客，租住者( lodger的名词复数 ) | |
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44
touts
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| n.招徕( tout的名词复数 )；（音乐会、体育比赛等的）卖高价票的人；侦查者；探听赛马的情报v.兜售( tout的第三人称单数 )；招揽；侦查；探听赛马情报 | |
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45
flirted
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| v.调情，打情骂俏( flirt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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46
monastery
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| n.修道院，僧院，寺院 | |
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47
domes
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| n.圆屋顶( dome的名词复数 )；像圆屋顶一样的东西；圆顶体育场 | |
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48
dome
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| n.圆屋顶，拱顶 | |
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49
gilt
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| adj.镀金的；n.金边证券 | |
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50
minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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51
virgin
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| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
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52
reminder
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| n.提醒物，纪念品；暗示，提示 | |
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53
hawked
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| 通过叫卖主动兜售（hawk的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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sledges
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| n.雪橇，雪车( sledge的名词复数 )v.乘雪橇( sledge的第三人称单数 )；用雪橇运载 | |
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56
abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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aggregation
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| n.聚合，组合；凝聚 | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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forfeit
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| vt.丧失；n.罚金，罚款，没收物 | |
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