The Best Short Stories of Fyodor Dostoevsky by Dostoevsky Fyodor

Author:Dostoevsky, Fyodor
Format: epub, azw3
ISBN: 978-0-307-82408-0
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2012-07-10T16:00:00+00:00

“Why, you—”

“What?”

“Why, you—you’re speaking as though you were reading from a book,” she said, and something that sounded like irony could suddenly be heard in her voice.

I resented that remark very deeply. It was not what I was expecting.

I did not realise that by her irony she was deliberately concealing her own feelings, that this was the usual last stratagem of people with pure and chaste hearts against those who impudently and unceremoniously attempt to pry into the inmost recesses of their minds, and that, out of pride, such people do not give in till the very last moment, that they are afraid to show their feelings before you. I should have guessed that from the timidity with which after several tries she approached her ironic remark, and from the shy way in which she made it at last. But I did not guess, and a feeling of vicious spite took possession of me.

“You wait!” I thought.

VII

“Good Lord, Lisa, what sort of a book am I supposed to be reading from when I, who cannot possibly have any interest in what happens to you, feel so sick myself. But as a matter of fact I’m not indifferent, either. All that has now awakened in my heart—Surely, surely, you yourself must be sick to death of being here. Or does habit really mean so much? Hang it all, habit can apparently make anything of a man! Do you really seriously believe that you will never grow old, that you will always be good-looking, and that they will keep you here for ever and ever? To say nothing of the vileness of your present way of life. However, let me tell you this about this business here, about your present way of life. Though you are now young, attractive, pretty, sensitive, warm-hearted, I—well, you know, the moment I woke up a few minutes ago, I couldn’t help feeling disgusted at being with you here! It is only when you’re drunk that you come to a place like this. But if you were anywhere else, if you lived as all good, decent people live, I should not only have taken a fancy to you, but fallen head over ears in love with you. I’d have been glad if you’d only looked at me, let alone spoken to me. I’d have hung round your door. I’d have gone down on my knees before you. I’d have been happy if you’d have consented to marry me, and deemed it an honour, too. I shouldn’t have dared to harbour a single indecent thought about you. But here I know that I have only to whistle and, whether you like it or not, you’ll have to come with me, and that it is not I who have to consult your wishes, but you mine. Even if the meanest peasant hires himself out as a labourer, he does not make a slave of himself entirely, and, besides, he knows that after a certain time he will be his own master again.

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