them, and, the higher I happened to be standing in my own opinion, the
less did I feel capable of making others perceive my consciousness of
my own dignity, since I could not rid myself of a sense of diffidence
concerning even the simplest of my words and acts.




XX. WOLODA

THE further I advance in the recital of this period of my life, the more
difficult and onerous does the task become. Too rarely do I find among
the reminiscences of that time any moments full of the ardent feeling
of sincerity which so often and so cheeringly illumined my childhood.
Gladly would I pass in haste over my lonely boyhood, the sooner to
arrive at the happy time when once again a tender, sincere, and noble
friendship marked with a gleam of light at once the termination of that
period and the beginning of a phase of my youth which was full of the
charm of poetry. Therefore, I will not pursue my recollections from hour
to hour, but only throw a cursory glance at the most prominent of them,
from the time to which I have now carried my tale to the moment of
my first contact with the exceptional personality that was fated to
exercise such a decisive influence upon my character and ideas.

Woloda was about to enter the University. Tutors came to give
him lessons independently of myself, and I listened with envy and
involuntary respect as he drew boldly on the blackboard with white chalk
and talked about "functions," "sines," and so forth--all of which seemed
to me terms pertaining to unattainable wisdom. At length, one Sunday
before luncheon all the tutors--and among them two professors--assembled