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
I began to scrutinize the man closely. Even in his exterior there was
something so peculiar that it compelled one, however far away one's
thoughts might be, to fix one's eyes upon him and go off into the most
irrepressible roar of laughter. That is what happened to me. I must
observe that the little man's eyes were so mobile, or perhaps he was so
sensitive to the magnetism of every eye fixed upon him, that he almost
by instinct guessed that he was being observed, turned at once to the
observer and anxiously analysed his expression. His continual mobility,
his turning and twisting, made him look strikingly like a dancing doll.
It was strange! He seemed afraid of jeers, in spite of the fact that he
was almost getting his living by being a buffoon for all the world, and
exposed himself to every buffet in a moral sense and even in a physical
one, judging from the company he was in. Voluntary buffoons are not even
to be pitied. But I noticed at once that this strange creature, this
ridiculous man, was by no means a buffoon by profession. There was still
something gentlemanly in him. His very uneasiness, his continual
apprehensiveness about himself, were actually a testimony in his favour.
It seemed to me that his desire to be obliging was due more to kindness
of heart than to mercenary considerations. He readily allowed them to
laugh their loudest at him and in the most unseemly way, to his face,
but at the same time--and I am ready to take my oath on it--his heart
ached and was sore at the thought that his listeners were so caddishly
brutal as to be capable of laughing, not at anything said or done, but
at him, at his whole being, at his heart, at his head, at his
appearance, at his whole body, flesh and blood. I am convinced that he
felt at that moment all the foolishness of his position; but the protest
died away in his heart at once, though it invariably sprang up again in
the most heroic way. I am convinced that all this was due to nothing
else but a kind heart, and not to fear of the inconvenience of being
kicked out and being unable to borrow money from some one. This
gentleman was for ever borrowing money, that is, he asked for alms in
that form, when after playing the fool and entertaining them at his
expense he felt in a certain sense entitled to borrow money from them.
But, good heavens! what a business the borrowing was! And with what a
countenance he asked for the loan! I could not have imagined that on
such a small space as the wrinkled, angular face of that little man room
could be found, at one and the same time, for so many different
grimaces, for such strange, variously characteristic shades of feeling,
such absolutely killing expressions. Everything was there--shame and an
assumption of insolence, and vexation at the sudden flushing of his
face, and anger and fear of failure, and entreaty to be forgiven for
having dared to pester, and a sense of his own dignity, and a still
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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