Chapter 32

YOUTH

Despite the confusion of ideas raging in my head, I was at least
young, innocent, and free that summer--consequently almost happy.

Sometimes I would rise quite early in the morning, for I slept on
the open verandah, and the bright, horizontal beams of the
morning sun would wake me up. Dressing myself quickly, I would
tuck a towel and a French novel under my arm, and go off to bathe
in the river in the shade of a birch tree which stood half a
verst from the house. Next, I would stretch myself on the grass
and read--raising my eyes from time to time to look at the surface
of the river where it showed blue in the shade of the trees, at
the ripples caused by the first morning breeze, at the yellowing
field of rye on the further bank, and at the bright-red sheen of
the sunlight as it struck lower and lower down the white trunks
of the birch-trees which, ranged in ranks one behind the other,
gradually receded into the remote distance of the home park. At
such moments I would feel joyously conscious of having within me
the same young, fresh force of life as nature was everywhere
exuding around me. When, however, the sky was overcast with grey
clouds of morning and I felt chilly after bathing, I would often
start to walk at random through the fields and woods, and
joyously trail my wet boots in the fresh dew. All the while my
head would be filled with vivid dreams concerning the heroes of
my last-read novel, and I would keep picturing to myself some
leader of an army or some statesman or marvellously strong man or
devoted lover or another, and looking round me in, a nervous
expectation that I should suddenly descry HER somewhere near me,
in a meadow or behind a tree. Yet, whenever these rambles led me
near peasants engaged at their work, all my ignoring of the
existence of the "common people" did not prevent me from
experiencing an involuntary, overpowering sensation of
awkwardness; so that I always tried to avoid their seeing me.
When the heat of the day had increased, it was not infrequently my
habit--if the ladies did not come out of doors for their morning
tea--to go rambling through the orchard and kitchen-garden, and to
pluck ripe fruit there. Indeed, this was an occupation which
furnished me with one of my greatest pleasures. Let any one go
into an orchard, and dive into the midst of a tall, thick,
sprouting raspberry-bed. Above will be seen the clear, glowing
sky, and, all around, the pale-green, prickly stems of raspberry-
trees where they grow mingled together in a tangle of profusion.
At one's feet springs the dark-green nettle, with its slender
crown of flowers, while the broad-leaved burdock, with its
bright-pink, prickly blossoms, overtops the raspberries (and