That was why to him the future shone with all the radiance of a rainbow and drew him towards something in the distance, although what it was he did not know. He was beguiled by wraith-like visions luring him on, but could not grasp their substance; he heard a chorus of voices which he could not distinguish – were they singing of fame, of love? He couldn’t tell, but he was aquiver with a pleasurable anticipation.

He soon came to feel cramped by the world of his home. Nature, his mother’s tender loving care, his nanny’s veneration, and that of all the household servants, his soft bed, the delicious treats, the purring of Vaska – all those pleasures which are so highly valued in later years, he was happy to trade in for the unknown, an unknown fraught with a seductive and mysterious delight. Even Sofia’s love, first love, tender and roseate, was not enough to hold him back. What was that kind of love to him? He dreamt of a tremendous passion which knew no obstacles and crowned glorious exploits. The love he had for Sofia was a small thing compared with the great love yet to come. He dreamt also of the great services he would render his country. He had studied diligently and widely. His diploma stated that he was well versed in a dozen branches of knowledge, and half a dozen ancient and modern languages. But his greatest dream was that of becoming a famous writer. His friends were amazed by his poems. Before him there stretched any number of paths each more attractive than the last. He did not know in which direction to strike out. The only one he failed to see was the one straight ahead of him: if he had seen it, then perhaps he might never have left.

Yes, Alexander had been spoilt growing up at home, but that didn’t turn him into a “spoilt brat”. Fortunately nature had seen to it that he reacted in a positive way to his mother’s love and the adoration of those around him – which, among other things, developed in him early in life temperamental instincts which made him trusting to a fault. This itself may even have stimulated a feeling of self-esteem within him, but, of course, self-esteem itself is nothing but a mould, and what results depends on what mixture is poured into it.

For him a much greater misfortune was the fact that his mother, for all her loving care, was unable to provide him a proper perspective on life, and had failed to prepare him for the battles in store for him as they are for everyone. But for this she would have needed certain skills, sharper wits and a wealth of experience not limited by her narrow rural horizons. It would even have been better for her to have loved him a little less, not to have spent every minute of the day thinking about him, not to have spared him every possible trouble and unpleasantness, not to have done his weeping and suffering for him even in his childhood so as to give him a chance of developing a feeling for the prospect of adversity, and a chance to learn to muster his own resources and consider what lay ahead – in a word to realize that he was a man. How could Anna Pavlovna possibly have understood all this, let alone act on this understanding? Should we perhaps take a closer look?

She had already forgotten her son’s selfishness. Alexander found her repacking his linen and clothes. Amidst the bustle of the preparations for his journey, it seemed that she had totally forgotten how upset she was.

“Now, Sashenka, take a careful look at where I’m putting everything,” she said. “At the very bottom of the trunk, underneath everything else, are the sheets: a dozen. Look and see whether it’s all according to the list?”

“Yes, Mummy.”

“Everything is marked with your name, you see – it’s all dear Sonyushka’s work. Without her, our own oafs would never have got it done in time.

“What now? Oh yes, pillowcases. One, two, three, four – there’s a whole dozen here. And here are your shirts – three dozen. What fine linen – so lovely! It’s Dutch. I went myself to see Vasily Vasilych at the factory; he chose three lengths of the very best quality. Remember, my dear, to check against the receipt whenever you get them back from the laundress: they’re all brand new. You won’t see many shirts like that in St Petersburg, so they may even try to fob you off with imitations: some people are such crooks – not even afraid of God! Twenty-two pairs of socks… You know, I’ve just had an idea, why not put your wallet with the cash in a sock? You won’t need any money before you get to St Petersburg.