White nights, and other storiesDostoyevsky, Fyodor
General
White nights, and other stories
Dostoyevsky, Fyodor
Dostoyevsky, Fyodor, 1821-1881 -- Translations into English; Russian fiction -- Translations into English
Vasya sank into silence at once, and looked open-eyed at Arkady, as
though his unexpected argument had settled all his doubts. He even
smiled, but the same melancholy expression came back to his face at
once. Arkady, taking this smile as a sign that all his uneasiness was
over, and the look that succeeded it as an indication that he was
determined to do better, was greatly relieved.
"Well, brother Arkasha, you will wake up," said Vasya, "keep an eye on
me; if I fall asleep it will be dreadful. I'll set to work now....
Arkasha?"
"What?"
"Oh, it's nothing, I only ... I meant...."
Vasya settled himself, and said no more, Arkady got into bed. Neither of
them said one word about their friends, the Artemyevs. Perhaps both of
them felt that they had been a little to blame, and that they ought not
to have gone for their jaunt when they did. Arkady soon fell asleep,
still worried about Vasya. To his own surprise he woke up exactly at
eight o'clock in the morning. Vasya was asleep in his chair with the pen
in his hand, pale and exhausted; the candle had burnt out. Mavra was
busy getting the samovar ready in the kitchen.
"Vasya, Vasya!" Arkady cried in alarm, "when did you fall asleep?"
Vasya opened his eyes and jumped up from his chair.
"Oh!" he cried, "I must have fallen asleep...."
He flew to the papers--everything was right; all were in order; there
was not a blot of ink, nor spot of grease from the candle on them.
"I think I must have fallen asleep about six o'clock," said Vasya. "How
cold it is in the night! Let us have tea, and I will go on again...."
"Do you feel better?"
"Yes, yes, I'm all right, I'm all right now."
"A happy New Year to you, brother Vasya."
"And to you too, brother, the same to you, dear boy."
They embraced each other. Vasya's chin was quivering and his eyes were
moist. Arkady Ivanovitch was silent, he felt sad. They drank their tea
hastily.
"Arkady, I've made up my mind, I am going myself to Yulian
Mastakovitch."
"Why, he wouldn't notice----"
"But my conscience feels ill at ease, brother."
"But you know it's for his sake you are sitting here; it's for his sake
you are wearing yourself out."
"Enough!"
"Do you know what, brother, I'll go round and see...."
"Whom?" asked Vasya.
"The Artemyevs. I'll take them your good wishes for the New Year as well
as mine."
"My dear fellow! Well, I'll stay here; and I see it's a good idea of
yours; I shall be working here, I shan't waste my time. Wait one minute,
I'll write a note."
"Yes, do brother, do, there's plenty of time. I've still to wash and
shave and to brush my best coat. Well, Vasya, we are going to be
contented and happy. Embrace me, Vasya."
"Ah, if only we may, brother...."
"Does Mr. Shumkov live here?" they heard a child's voice on the stairs.
"Yes, my dear, yes," said Mavra, showing the visitor in.
"What's that? What is it?" cried Vasya, leaping up from the table and
rushing to the entry, "Petinka, you?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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