myself in the mirror. From the latter, however, I always
turned away with a vague feeling of depression, almost of repulsion. Not
only did I feel sure that my exterior was ugly, but I could derive no
comfort from any of the usual consolations under such circumstances. I
could not say, for instance, that I had at least an expressive, clever,
or refined face, for there was nothing whatever expressive about it. Its
features were of the most humdrum, dull, and unbecoming type, with small
grey eyes which seemed to me, whenever I regarded them in the mirror,
to be stupid rather than clever. Of manly bearing I possessed even less,
since, although I was not exactly small of stature, and had, moreover,
plenty of strength for my years, every feature in my face was of the
meek, sleepy-looking, indefinite type. Even refinement was lacking
in it, since, on the contrary, it precisely resembled that of a
simple-looking moujik, while I also had the same big hands and feet as
he. At the time, all this seemed to me very shameful.

II. SPRINGTIME

Easter of the year when I entered the University fell late in April, so
that the examinations were fixed for St. Thomas's Week, [Easter week.]
and I had to spend Good Friday in fasting and finally getting myself
ready for the ordeal.

Following upon wet snow (the kind of stuff which Karl Ivanitch used to
describe as "a child following, its father"), the weather had for three
days been bright and mild and still. Not a clot of snow was now to be
seen in the streets, and the dirty slush had given place to wet, shining
pavements and coursing rivulets. The last icicles on the roofs were fast
melting in the sunshine, buds were swelling on the trees in the little
garden, the path leading across the courtyard to the stables was soft
instead of being a frozen ridge of mud, and mossy grass was showing
green between the stones around the entrance-steps. It was just that
particular time in spring when the season exercises the strongest
influence upon the human soul--when clear sunlight illuminates
everything, yet sheds no warmth, when rivulets run trickling under one's
feet, when the air is charged with an odorous freshness, and when the
bright blue sky is streaked with long, transparent clouds.

For some reason or another the influence of this early stage in the
birth of spring always seems to me more perceptible and more impressive
in a great town than in the country. One sees less, but one feel