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
earth, who are not a bit better than I am, but, the devil knows why, are
never put to confusion; while I shall always be insulted by every louse,
that is my doom! And what is it to me that you don't understand a word
of this! And what do I care, what do I care about you, and whether you
go to ruin there or not? Do you understand? How I shall hate you now
after saying this, for having been here and listening. Why, it's not
once in a lifetime a man speaks out like this, and then it is in
hysterics!... What more do you want? Why do you still stand confronting
me, after all this? Why are you worrying me? Why don't you go?"
But at this point a strange thing happened. I was so accustomed to think
and imagine everything from books, and to picture everything in the
world to myself just as I had made it up in my dreams beforehand, that I
could not all at once take in this strange circumstance. What happened
was this: Liza, insulted and crushed by me, understood a great deal more
than I imagined. She understood from all this what a woman understands
first of all, if she feels genuine love, that is, that I was myself
unhappy.
The frightened and wounded expression on her face was followed first by
a look of sorrowful perplexity. When I began calling myself a scoundrel
and a blackguard and my tears flowed (the tirade was accompanied
throughout by tears) her whole face worked convulsively. She was on the
point of getting up and stopping me; when I finished she took no notice
of my shouting: "Why are you here, why don't you go away?" but realized
only that it must have been very bitter to me to say all this. Besides,
she was so crushed, poor girl; she considered herself infinitely beneath
me; how could she feel anger or resentment? She suddenly leapt up from
her chair with an irresistible impulse and held out her hands, yearning
towards me, though still timid and not daring to stir.... At this point
there was a revulsion in my heart, too. Then she suddenly rushed to me,
threw her arms round me and burst into tears. I, too, could not restrain
myself, and sobbed as I never had before.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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