ON the 16th of April I entered, for the first time, and under the wing
of St. Jerome, the great hall of the University. I had driven there with
St. Jerome in our smart phaeton and wearing the first frockcoat of my
life, while the whole of my other clothes--even down to my socks and
linen--were new and of a grander sort. When a Swiss waiter relieved me
of my greatcoat, and I stood before him in all the beauty of my attire,
I felt almost sorry to dazzle him so. Yet I had no sooner entered the
bright, carpeted, crowded hall, and caught sight of hundreds of other
young men in gymnasium [The Russian gymnasium = the English grammar or
secondary school.] uniforms or frockcoats (of whom but a few threw me an
indifferent glance), as well as, at the far end, of some solemn-looking
professors who were seated on chairs or walking carelessly about among
some tables, than I at once became disabused of the notion that I should
attract the general attention, while the expression of my face, which at
home, and even in the vestibule of the University buildings, had denoted
only a kind of vague regret that I should have to present so important
and distinguished an appearance, became exchanged for an expression
of the most acute nervousness and dejection. However, I soon picked
up again when I perceived sitting at one of the desks a very badly,
untidily dressed gentleman who, though not really old, was almost
entirely grey. He was occupying a seat quite at the back of the hall and
a little apart from the rest, so I hastened to sit down beside him, and
then fell to looking at the candidates for examination, and to forming
conclusions about them. Many different figures and faces were there to
be seen there; yet, in my opinion, they all seemed to divide themselves
into three classes. First of all, there were youths like myself,
attending for examination in the company of their parents or tutors.
Among such I could see the youngest Iwin (accompanied by Frost) and
Ilinka Grap (accompanied by his old father). All youths of this class
wore the early beginnings of beards, sported prominent linen, sat
quietly in their places, and never opened the books and notebooks which
they had brought with them, but gazed at the professors and examination
tables with ill-concealed nervousness. The second class of candidates
were young men in gymnasium uniforms. Several of them had attained to
the dignity of shaving, and most of them knew one another. They talked
loudly, called the professors by their names and surnames, occupied
themselves in getting their subjects ready, exchanged notebooks, climbed
over desks, fetched themselves pies and sandwiches from the vestibule,
and ate them then and there merely lowering their heads to the level
of a desk for propriety’s sake. Lastly, the third class of candidates
(which seemed a small one) consisted of oldish men--some of them in
frock coats, but the majority in jackets, and with no linen to be seen.
These preserved a serious demeanour, sat by themselves, and had a very
dingy look. The man who had afforded me consolation by being worse
dressed than myself belonged to this class. Leaning forward upon his
elbows, and running his fingers through his grey, dishevelled hair as he
read some book or another, he had thrown me only a momentary glance--and
that not a very friendly one--from a pair of glittering eyes. Then, as I
sat down, he had frowned grimly, and stuck a shiny elbow out to prevent
me from coming any nearer. On the other hand, the gymnasium men were
over-sociable, and I felt rather afraid of their proximity. One of them
did not hesitate to thrust a book into my hands, saying, “Give that to
that fellow over there, will you?” while another of them exclaimed as he
pushed past me, “By your leave, young fellow!” and a third made use of
my shoulder as a prop when he wanted to scramble over a desk. All this
seemed to me a little rough and unpleasant, for I looked upon myself as
immensely superior to such fellows, and considered that they ought not
to treat me with such familiarity. At length, the names began to
be called out. The gymnasium men walked out boldly, answered their
questions (apparently) well, and came back looking cheerful. My own
class of candidates were much more diffident, as well as appeared to
answer worse. Of the oldish men, some answered well, and some very
poorly. When the name “Semenoff” was called out my neighbour with the
grey hair and glittering eyes jostled me roughly, stepped over my legs,
and went up to one of the examiners’ tables. It was plain from the
aspect of the professors that he answered well and with assurance, yet,
on returning to his place, he did not wait to see where he was placed
on the list, but quietly collected his notebooks and departed. Several
times I shuddered at the sound of the voice calling out the names, but
my turn did not come in exact alphabetical order, though already names
had begun to be called beginning with “I.”
“Ikonin and Tenieff!” suddenly shouted some one from the professors’ end
of the hall.
“Go on, Ikonin! You are being called,” said a tall, red-faced gymnasium
student near me. “But who is this BARtenieff or MORtenieff or somebody?
I don’t know him.”
“It must be you,” whispered St. Jerome loudly in my ear.
“MY name is IRtenieff,” I said to the red-faced student. “Do you think
that was the name they were calling out?”
“Yes. Why on earth don’t you go up?” he replied. “Lord, what a dandy!”
he added under his breath, yet not so quietly but that I failed to hear
the words as they came wafted to me from below the desk. In front of
me walked Ikonin--a tall young man of about twenty-five, who was one of
those whom I had classed as oldish men. He wore a tight brown frockcoat
and a blue satin tie, and had wisps of flaxen hair carefully brushed
over his collar in the peasant style. His appearance had already caught
my attention when we were sitting among the desks, and had given me an
impression that he was not bad-looking. Also I had noticed that he was
very talkative. Yet what struck me most about his physiognomy was a
tuft, of queer red hairs which he had under his chin, as well as, still
more, a strange habit of continually unbuttoning his waistcoat and
scratching his chest under his shirt.
Behind the table to which we were summoned sat three Professors, none of
whom acknowledged our salutations. A youngish professor was shuffling a
bundle of tickets like a pack of cards; another one, with a star on his
frockcoat, was gazing hard at a gymnasium student, who was repeating
something at great speed about Charles the Great, and adding to each
of his sentences the word nakonetz [= the English colloquialism “you
know.”] while a third one--an old man in spectacles--proceeded to bend
his head down as we approached, and, peering at us through his glasses,
pointed silently to the tickets. I felt his glance go over both myself
and Ikonin, and also felt sure that something about us had displeased
him (perhaps it was Ikonin’s red hairs), for, after taking another look
at the pair of us, he motioned impatiently to us to be quick in taking
our tickets. I felt vexed and offended--firstly, because none of the
professors had responded to our bows, and, secondly, because they
evidently coupled me with Ikonin under the one denomination of
“candidates,” and so were condemning me in advance on account of
Ikonin’s red hairs. I took my ticket boldly and made ready to answer,
but the professor’s eye passed over my head and alighted upon Ikonin.
Accordingly, I occupied myself in reading my ticket. The questions
printed on it were all familiar to me, so, as I silently awaited my
turn, I gazed at what was passing near me, Ikonin seemed in no way
diffident--rather the reverse, for, in reaching for his ticket, he threw
his body half-way across the table. Then he gave his long hair a shake,
and rapidly conned over what was written on his ticket. I think he
had just opened his mouth to answer when the professor with the star
dismissed the gymnasium student with a word of commendation, and then
turned and looked at Ikonin. At once the latter seemed taken back, and
stopped short. For about two minutes there was a dead silence.
“Well?” said the professor in the spectacles.
Once more Ikonin opened his mouth, and once more remained silent.
“Come! You are not the only one to be examined. Do you mean to answer
or do you not?” said the youngish professor, but Ikonin did not even
look at him. He was gazing fixedly at his ticket and uttered not a
single word. The professor in the spectacles scanned him through his
glasses, then over them, then without them (for, indeed, he had time
to take them off, to wipe their lenses carefully, and to replace them).
Still not a word from Ikonin. All at once, however, a smile spread
itself over his face, and he gave his long hair another shake. Next he
reached across the table, laid down his ticket, looked at each of the
professors in turn and then at myself, and finally, wheeling round on
his heels, made a gesture with his hand and returned to the desks. The
professors stared blankly at one another.
“Bless the fellow!” said the youngish professor. “What an original!”
It was now my turn to move towards the table, but the professors went on
talking in undertones among themselves, as though they were unaware of
my presence. At the moment, I felt firmly persuaded that the three of
them were engrossed solely with the question of whether I should merely
PASS the examination or whether I should pass it WELL, and that it was
only swagger which made them pretend that they did not care either way,
and behave as though they had not seen me.
When at length the professor in the spectacles turned to me with an air
of indifference, and invited me to answer, I felt hurt, as I looked at
him, to think that he should have so undeceived me: wherefore I answered
brokenly at first. In time, however, things came easier to my tongue,
and, inasmuch as all the questions bore upon Russian history (which I
knew thoroughly), I ended with eclat, and even went so far, in my desire
to convince the professors that I was not Ikonin and that they must not
in anyway confound me with him, as to offer to draw a second ticket. The
professor in the spectacles, however, merely nodded his head, said “That
will do,” and marked something in his register. On returning to the
desks, I at once learnt from the gymnasium men (who somehow seemed to
know everything) that I had been placed fifth.