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
Going on further and further, before I was aware of it I had reached the
further end of the copse and came out on the river Moskva. It flowed at
the bottom of the hill two hundred paces below. On the opposite bank of
the river they were mowing. I watched whole rows of sharp scythes gleam
all together in the sunlight at every swing of the mower and then vanish
again like little fiery snakes going into hiding; I watched the cut
grass flying on one side in dense rich swathes and being laid in long
straight lines. I don't know how long I spent in contemplation. At last
I was roused from my reverie by hearing a horse snorting and impatiently
pawing the ground twenty paces from me, in the track which ran from the
high road to the manor house. I don't know whether I heard this horse as
soon as the rider rode up and stopped there, or whether the sound had
long been in my ears without rousing me from my dreaming. Moved by
curiosity I went into the copse, and before I had gone many steps I
caught the sound of voices speaking rapidly, though in subdued tones. I
went up closer, carefully parting the branches of the bushes that edged
the path, and at once sprang back in amazement. I caught a glimpse of a
familiar white dress and a soft feminine voice resounded like music in
my heart. It was Mme. M. She was standing beside a man on horseback who,
stooping down from the saddle, was hurriedly talking to her, and to my
amazement I recognized him as N., the young man who had gone away the
morning before and over whose departure M. M. had been so busy. But
people had said at the time that he was going far away to somewhere in
the South of Russia, and so I was very much surprised at seeing him with
us again so early, and alone with Mme. M.
She was moved and agitated as I had never seen her before, and tears
were glistening on her cheeks. The young man was holding her hand and
stooping down to kiss it. I had come upon them at the moment of parting.
They seemed to be in haste. At last he took out of his pocket a sealed
envelope, gave it to Mme. M., put one arm round her, still not
dismounting, and gave her a long, fervent kiss. A minute later he lashed
his horse and flew past me like an arrow. Mme. M. looked after him for
some moments, then pensively and disconsolately turned homewards. But
after going a few steps along the track she seemed suddenly to recollect
herself, hurriedly parted the bushes and walked on through the copse.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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