White nights, and other storiesDostoyevsky, Fyodor
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White nights, and other stories
Dostoyevsky, Fyodor
Dostoyevsky, Fyodor, 1821-1881 -- Translations into English; Russian fiction -- Translations into English
To this hour I am lost in admiration when I recall the truly
gentlemanly, good-humoured, candid tone of my letter. With tact and
good-breeding, and, above all, entirely without superfluous words, I
blamed myself for all that had happened. I defended myself, "if I really
may be allowed to defend myself," by alleging that being utterly
unaccustomed to wine, I had been intoxicated with the first glass, which
I said, I had drunk before they arrived, while I was waiting for them at
the Hôtel de Paris between five and six o'clock. I begged Simonov's
pardon especially; I asked him to convey my explanations to all the
others, especially to Zverkov, whom "I seemed to remember as though in a
dream" I had insulted. I added that I would have called upon all of them
myself, but my head ached, and besides I had not the face to. I was
particularly pleased with a certain lightness, almost carelessness
(strictly within the bounds of politeness, however), which was apparent
in my style, and better than any possible arguments, gave them at once
to understand that I took rather an independent view of "all that
unpleasantness last night;" that I was by no means so utterly crushed as
you, my friends, probably imagine; but on the contrary, looked upon it
as a gentleman serenely respecting himself should look upon it. "On a
young hero's past no censure is cast!"
"There is actually an aristocratic playfulness about it!" I thought
admiringly, as I read over the letter. And it's all because I am an
intellectual and cultivated man! Another man in my place would not have
known how to extricate himself, but here I have got out of it and am as
jolly as ever again, and all because I am "a cultivated and educated man
of our day." And, indeed, perhaps, everything was due to the wine
yesterday. H'm! ... no, it was not the wine. I did not drink anything at
all between five and six when I was waiting for them. I had lied to
Simonov; I had lied shamelessly; and indeed I wasn't ashamed now....
Hang it all though, the great thing was that I was rid of it.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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