- White Nights and Other Stories - E-Book

Fyodor Dostoyevsky

• Herausgeber: anna ruggieri
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Beschreibung

White Nights and Other Stories by Fyodor Dostoyevsky is a compilation which contains these 7 works: - White Nights - Notes from the Underground - A Faint Heart - A Christmas Tree and a Wedding - Polzunkov - A Little Hero - Mr. Prohartchin

Leseprobe

White Nights and Other Stories

Fyodor Dostoyevsky

First digital edition 2017 by Anna Ruggieri

WHITE NIGHTS

a sentimental story from the diary of a dreamer

FIRST NIGHT

It was a wonderful night, such a night as is only possible whenwe areyoung, dear reader. The sky was so starry, so bright that,looking at it, one could not help asking oneself whetherill-humoured and capricious people could live under such a sky.That is a youthful question too, dear reader, very youthful, butmay the Lord put it more frequently into your heart!... Speaking ofcapricious and ill-humoured people, I cannot help recalling mymoral condition all that day. From early morning I had beenoppressed by a strange despondency. It suddenly seemed to me that Iwas lonely, that every one was forsaking me and going away from me.Of course, any one is entitled to ask who "every one" was. Forthough I had been living almost eight years in Petersburg I hadhardly an acquaintance. But what did I want with acquaintances? Iwasacquainted with all Petersburg as it was; that was why I felt asthough they were all deserting me when all Petersburg packed up andwent to its summer villa. I felt afraid of being left alone, andfor three whole days I wandered about the town in profounddejection, not knowing what to do with myself. Whether I walked inthe Nevsky, went to the Gardens or sauntered on the embankment,there was not one face of those I had been accustomed to meet atthe same time and place all the year. They, of course, donot knowme, but I know them. I know them intimately, I have almost made astudy of their faces, and am delighted when they are gay, anddowncast when they are under a cloud. I have almost struck up afriendship with one old man whom I meet every blessed day, at thesame hour in Fontanka. Such a grave, pensive countenance; he isalways whispering to himself and brandishing his left arm, while inhis right hand he holds a long gnarled stick with a gold knob. Heeven notices me and takes a warm interest in me. If I happen not tobe at a certain time in the same spot in Fontanka, I am certain hefeels disappointed. That is how it is that we almost bow to eachother, especially when we are both in good humour. The other day,when we had not seen each other for two days and met on the third,we were actually touching our hats, but, realizing in time, droppedour hands and passed each other with a look of interest.

I know the houses too. As I walk along they seem to run forwardin the streets to look out at me fromevery window, and almost tosay: "Good-morning! How do you do? I am quite well, thank God, andI am to have a new storey in May," or, "How are you? I am beingredecorated to-morrow;" or, "I was almost burnt down and had such afright," and so on. I have my favourites among them, some are dearfriends; one of them intends to be treated by the architect thissummer. I shall go every day on purpose to see that the operationis not a failure. God forbid! But I shall never forget an incidentwith a very prettylittle houseof a light pink colour. It was such acharming little brick house, it looked so hospitably at me, and soproudly at its ungainly neighbours, that my heart rejoiced wheneverI happened to pass it. Suddenly last week I walked along thestreet, and when I looked at my friend I heard a plaintive, "Theyare painting me yellow!" The villains! The barbarians! They hadspared nothing, neither columns, nor cornices, and my poor littlefriend was as yellow as a canary. It almost made me bilious. And tothis day I have not had the courage to visit my poor disfiguredfriend, painted the colour of the Celestial Empire.

So now you understand, reader, in what sense I am acquaintedwith all Petersburg.

I have mentioned already that I had felt worried for threewholedays before I guessed the cause of my uneasiness. And I felt ill atease in the street—this one had gone and that one had gone,and what had become of the other?—and at home I did not feellike myself either. For two evenings I was puzzling my brainstothink what was amiss in my corner; why I felt so uncomfortable init. And in perplexity I scanned my grimy green walls, my ceilingcovered with a spider's web, the growth of which Matrona has sosuccessfully encouraged. I looked over all my furniture,examinedevery chair, wondering whether the trouble lay there (for if onechair is not standing in the same position as it stood the daybefore, I am not myself). I looked at the window, but it was all invain ... I was not a bit the better for it! I evenbethought me tosend for Matrona, and was giving her some fatherly admonitions inregard to the spider's web and sluttishness in general; but shesimply stared at me in amazement and went away without saying aword, so that the spider's web is comfortablyhanging in its placeto this day. I only at last this morning realized what was wrong.Aie! Why, they are giving me the slip and making off to theirsummer villas! Forgive the triviality of the expression, but I amin no mood for fine language ... for everything that had been inPetersburg had gone or was going away for the holidays; for everyrespectable gentleman of dignified appearance who took a cab was atonce transformed, in my eyes, into a respectable head of ahousehold who after his daily duties were over, was making his wayto the bosom of his family, to the summer villa; for all thepassers-by had now quite a peculiar air which seemed to say toevery one they met: "We are only here for the moment, gentlemen,and in another two hours we shall be going off to the summervilla." If a window opened after delicate fingers, white as snow,had tapped upon the pane, and the head of a pretty girl was thrustout, calling to a street-seller with pots of flowers—at onceon the spot I fancied that those flowerswere being bought notsimply in order to enjoy the flowers and the spring in stuffy townlodgings, but because they would all be very soon moving into thecountry and could take the flowers with them. What is more, I madesuch progress in my new peculiarsort of investigation that I coulddistinguish correctly from the mere air of each in what summervilla he was living. The inhabitants of Kamenny and AptekarskyIslands or of the Peterhof Road were marked by the studied eleganceof their manner, their fashionable summer suits, and the finecarriages in which they drove to town. Visitors to Pargolovo andplaces further away impressed one at first sight by theirreasonable and dignified air; the tripper to Krestovsky Islandcould be recognized by his look ofirrepressible gaiety. If Ichanced to meet a long procession of waggoners walking lazily withthe reins in their hands beside waggons loaded with regularmountains of furniture, tables, chairs, ottomans and sofas anddomestic utensils of all sorts, frequently with a decrepitcooksitting on the top of it all, guarding her master's property asthough it were the apple of her eye; or if I saw boats heavilyloaded with household goods crawling along the Neva or Fontanka tothe Black River or the Islands—the waggons and the boats weremultiplied tenfold, a hundredfold, in my eyes. I fancied thateverything was astir and moving, everything was going in regularcaravans to the summer villas. It seemed as though Petersburgthreatened to become a wilderness, so thatat last I felt ashamed,mortified and sad that I had nowhere to go for the holidays and noreason to go away. I was ready to go away with every waggon, todrive off with every gentleman of respectable appearance who took acab; but no one—absolutely no one—invited me; it seemedthey had forgotten me, as though really I were a stranger tothem!