Page:The Russian Review Volume 1.djvu/311

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The lamp in the nursery was not lit, and the windows were dark blue. Outside, a winter evening was coming on fast, and it was dreary in the room. You were still sitting on the floor, moving your match-boxes about. Those boxes of yours haunted me. I arose and decided to go out for a walk. But before I was gone, I heard grandma whisper to you:

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Uncle loves you so much and brings you presents and toys."

"It isn't that at all," said I in a loud voice. "The presents have nothing to do with it."

But grandma knew what she was doing.

"What do you mean they have nothing to do with it? It's not the presents that count, it's the spirit."

And then, after a moment's silence, she plucked the most sensitive chord of your heart.

"And who is going to buy him pencils now, and a pen-case, and books with pictures? But then, what's a pen-case? But the figures? You can't buy them for money. However, you can do as you like." And she left the nursery.

Your pride was broken. You were conquered. The more inaccessible is a dream, the more fascinating it is—and the more fascinating it is, the more inaccessible it seems. This I know well. The dream holds me in thrall from my early childhood. And I know that the more precious my thought is to me, the less hope there is of its becoming realized. And I am waging a constant struggle with it. I play the hypocrite; I pretend that I am indifferent. But what could you do?

Happiness, happiness!

You were full of longing for happiness when you opened your eyes in the morning. Confiding, like every child, your heart frank and open, you came to Life and said, "Hurry! Hurry!"

"Be patient," answered Life.

"Please! Please!" you exclaimed passionately.

"Be quiet, or you won't get anything!"

"Just wait, then," you cried in fury.

For a time you were silent. Your heart was seething. You overturned chairs, rushed from room to room, struck the floor with your feet, shouted as if pouring your whole thirst for happiness into that shout. . .Then life struck your heart with the